Chapter Two #3
I gave him a genuine laugh, and he laughed too, his face transformed. His smile was broad, and he looked like a little boy. Okay, Nick is a certified hottie.
‘I didn’t need rescuing,’ I pointed out. ‘I just needed to leave some shit I was carrying around in the ocean last night.’ My honesty had overspilled again. I’m not sure what it was about him that made me expose myself so truthfully, but I decided to stop stressing about it.
‘Did it work?’ He leaned forward across the table, genuinely interested.
‘Yes.’ I took a large sip of champagne; the bubbles burned my throat a little.
His gaze was assessing me this time, as if he could tell my answer didn’t ring true. ‘I don’t think it did work,’ he said softly.
His ability to read me was unnerving. I had the sudden feeling of being naked in front of him. Again. I stopped breathing for a second under his intense gaze and felt heat flood my cheeks once more. But if he noticed my discomfort, he didn’t say so.
‘Shall we order?’ he asked.
‘Okay,’ I managed lamely. I picked up the leather-clad menu, fanned myself twice, and then opened it. My mouth instantly watered as I remembered my hunger. ‘I’m starving. Do you feel like sharing an entrée?’
‘Sure, the tuna carpaccio is good.’
‘Ooh, that sounds great. I’ll have the seared fish curry for a main.’ I looked briefly at my white dress and prayed to the stain gods.
‘Perfect. Are you okay if I pick a wine?’
‘That’d be great.’
The wine when it arrived was beyond delicious, grassy and zesty.
The food came quickly too; I was super impressed with the service here.
The tuna was fresh and utter perfection, only topped by the seared fish in the coconut curry and served with flaky flatbread.
It was exquisite, piping hot and tasted amazing.
I ate everything on my plate and may have groaned several times over the meal, not particularly caring what Nick thought about it.
We finished the first bottle with the entrée, and he ordered a different wine for the main.
Our conversation flowed through dinner. He seemed to relax after his second glass of wine.
I had offered up my whole life: daughter, sister, grandmother, ex-husband.
I told him I’d honeymooned in the Maldives but at a different resort, and then finally he gave me something of himself.
‘I come here every year.’
‘To this resort?’
‘Yes. My mother brought me here when I was a child.’
‘Do you ever get tired of coming here? Maybe you should do something else next year? We have great beaches in Australia.’
He grinned at me. ‘I have been to Australia many times.’
‘Ooh, were you a posh backpacker at some point? Maybe we kissed in the nineties?’
‘No.’ He laughed, and I liked the lines that appeared around his eyes and the dimples that flashed at me. ‘I’d have remembered.’
By the end of the meal, I realised I was having an amazing night.
Inside the restaurant, Couples’ Night was in full swing.
They had pushed back several of the tables and dropped the lights to mostly just candlelight.
Music had started and a bunch of couples were dancing to a playlist that seemed composed of a Google search on the best songs to dance to on a date, which, naturally, included Ed Sheeran.
Nick stood up and held out his hand. ‘I’d like to dance with you.’
His manner of speaking, I’d noticed through the course of dinner, was sometimes formal, direct and carried authority.
Sometimes it almost sounded like a challenge; him testing the boundaries of how far we could both push this accidental date, his tone checking in with me, an eyebrow rising.
I always had a choice and there was something about that which felt safe, as if he was someone you could put your faith in.
‘I don’t want to be around couples,’ I said. There was no way on this earth I wanted to dance to Ed Sheeran next to people who loved each other.
‘Ah, a couple-phobe like me. We can just dance here.’
As if someone was hovering, listening to his every word, two waiters came and removed our table and chairs. Nick rescued the bottle of wine and our glasses before they vanished. Hero complex.
I finished my glass after taking it from his hand, having enjoyed the contact as our fingers grazed (regency-romance novel-esque).
I set it down on the deck in the corner and then moved towards him.
The song playing was Chris Isaak’s ‘Wicked Game’.
Of course it was. My arm slid around his narrow waist, and I pressed my thumb into his side.
He smelled amazing. I picked up herbal and citrus scents, but just his skin smelled great.
Even in my heels, I only made it up to his chest, which was as solid as I remembered it being last night.
I knew what was under that navy linen, and it thrilled me.
His hand pressed me from behind, moving me even closer, as his thumb grazed the exposed skin of my back.
That tiny amount of skin-on-skin contact had me drawing an audible sharp breath, and I felt my body press into him further.
His other hand had linked our fingers while we swayed, but he let my hand go, running a single finger up my arm, causing goosebumps to appear in its wake.
It moved over my shoulder, continuing to my chin, where he tilted it up so that I was looking at him.
His eyes were shining in the light and there was a heat in them that my body seemed to respond to.
I had the desire to surrender to him completely.
‘This is a nice dress,’ he said simply.
‘Thank you,’ I managed, hoarsely. I hadn’t danced with a guy since my wedding day; it was intimate and romantic as hell, and I felt as if I was in a Taylor Swift song.
I surrendered to the music and the moment, winding my arm up around his neck and running my fingers through the soft wavy hair at the nape of it.
I caught the scent of his shampoo, which may have been the origin of the citrusiness about him.
He leaned his chin into my temple, tucking his head so his mouth rested against my ear, his breathing heavy.
My body was reacting with pure desire, something I barely recognised.
An overwhelming need to feel his lips against mine overcame me.
I wanted that and so much more. Gone was the lukewarm desire that had plagued my marriage – this was searing heat and the urge to give in to it was strong.
Was I the kind of woman who slept with a man on the second night of a holiday?
Maybe when I was twenty, before Peter. I was once someone who could make decisions about the opposite sex with spontaneity and casualness.
Memories of nightclubs, being pressed against walls, and hot random strangers came to me.
The taste of Midori, the sweat from dancing.
I moved my body closer to him and his fingers dug further into my side.
The other thing in my mind, though, was that this clearly attractive man could have anyone.
He did not need to get involved with a mum in her forties.
He could have any woman on this island, someone whose body was firm and fresh, someone who did not have hangups or baggage.
Someone not trying to remember who the fuck they were.
The song finished and faded into another, and I pulled back from him a little, trying to clear my thoughts by putting some distance between my body and his. It was hard to think straight in his arms with his intoxicating scent around me.
‘Can I walk you back to your room?’ he asked with no hint of innuendo, just pleasant manners. ‘I think it’s right next to mine.’
‘Okay. Can we walk by the water?’
He nodded and then we both sat on the edge of the balcony and slid off our shoes before stepping down onto the sand, which was a little cooler tonight. Or maybe the sand wasn’t cooler, and it was just that I was so full of heat that it didn’t feel as warm as my raging, internal temperature.
We strolled in companionable silence along the beach. He took my hand as my legs tired and led me further towards the wet sand, which was easier to walk on. The water touched our toes. I didn’t relinquish his hand.
‘Are you planning a naked drunk swim tonight, followed by an outdoor shower?’ he asked in a complete deadpan.
‘Not this evening. Maybe tomorrow night though,’ I replied, and shot him an enormous, dazzling smile.
‘I’ll make sure I’m free.’
‘I can pretend to drown again if you have to fulfil your hero complex?’
‘That’s exceedingly kind of you.’
‘This is me.’ I pointed my shoes towards my room.
He mirrored me, pointing to the room next door. ‘And that’s me.’
‘Thank you for dinner. Oh, hey, we didn’t figure out how much I owe you. I’ll transfer you some cash.’
‘You can shout the next one.’
We divided off, our hands reluctant to release each other, holding on for as long as possible.
‘Goodnight, Abbey.’
‘Night, Nick.’
Inside my room, I collapsed on the bed with a massive grin on my face. What was it about attraction that made you feel like a teenager?
When I finally moved, there was a note from Oliver telling me what time to be at the dock for the trip to the private island. Still no couples, it read.
Nick
I stood in the doorway for a long time. I heard her move about her room for a few minutes before she went to bed. It was difficult to comprehend what had just happened. It had felt like a date. But I did not, as a rule, date. Ever.
I could not remember the last time I’d had a nice evening with a stranger over a shared meal. The last ten years, I’d avoided this exact scenario countless times.
There was just something about Abbey. She was unexpected.
Chief among the things I found desirable was that she didn’t seem to care what I thought of her.
She had this attitude that she was who she was.
There was a lack of care to impress me. It was extremely attractive.
So was she. She was funny and warm and really, really sexy.
She’d offered me her vulnerability and her bravado in the same breath.
I’d very much wanted to run my hands through her hair, which fell in Disney mermaid waves tonight. I’d very much wanted to slide that strap off her shoulder and look at all the delights that had been pressed against me the night before.
And I’d had a nice time. Would a holiday romance be so bad? It didn’t mean white picket fences. There was an endpoint. Rules. Perhaps that was something I could commit to.