My insides hollow out.
It’s him.
I glance at the clock hanging above the pool, which shows exactly the time that Rafe and I meet to swim every morning.
He came to swim at our normal time.
Relief lurches through my body with such intensity that it almost brings the contents of my stomach up with it.
I can’t believe he came.
He’s not avoiding me. He’snotavoiding me.
I grip the wooden bench beneath me, directing my gaze to the hourglass. It’s nearly empty. I’ve been in here for fifteen minutes.
It’s too hot to stay much longer, but I can’t leave. Not while I’m only in a bikini and he’s out there in his trunks, and I kissed him last night, and my alter ego sent him a ‘come-on-my-face’ text, which he never replied to.
I spin the empty hourglass around and brace myself for another session.
I wait as long as I can, listening to the sound of him swimming. How much longer will he keep going?
I can probably outlast him. Maybe. Unless he’swaiting.
Is he waiting for me? Waiting to see if I am going to show up to swim with him?
Fuck.
I wipe the sweat off my forehead. I’m dripping. Soaked. A sweaty mess.
I tilt back without meaning to, and the sauna sways. I blink, forcing myself to sit straight, but it’s no good.
I’m dizzy and overheating. I can’t focus. In my efforts to avoid Rafe, I’ve pushed my body too far.
This was a huge error in judgment.
I’m going to pass out, and no one knows I’m here.
I could die. Fuck the end of the tube map, I’m going to die in the sauna of London’s most exclusive address.
The idea of Rafe finding my sweaty, dead body in the sauna propels me to my feet. I lurch for the door, pushing it open, my vision swirling and my limbs nearly numb from the heat. Stumbling out into the cool air of the poolroom, I suck in huge, desperate gasps and reach out, searching for something to keep me upright.
My grasping fingers find nothing but air, and the last thing I see before a sweeping darkness sucks me under is Rafe’s horrified expression as he hauls himself out of the pool.
27
RAFE
Afigure exiting the sauna distracts me from my swim. I pause and grip the side of the pool as Diana sways in the doorway, her face so red that she looks like a completely different person. She fumbles against the door frame, then the wall, searching for something to grip onto.
My stomach lurches. She’s going to faint.
I’ve never moved so fast in my life, hauling myself out of the water and skidding across the tiles just as her knees buckle. By some miracle, I manage to catch her as she collapses, preventing her head from smacking on the tiled floor.
Her body is boiling and covered in sweat, and her bare skin slides against mine, wet from the pool.
Carrying her limp body over to the nearest lounger, I lay her down gently. She’s breathing, thank God. Using a couple of rolled up towels, I raise her legs, then grab some of the smaller face cloths and wet them in the cold water from the shower and dab her neck, her chest, her head, her wrists. Anywhere I can cool down.
I perch on the lounger next to her hip and press the towels to her skin with flattened palms.
