Page 9 of The Forbidden Fling

Diana inhaled at the delicate touch.

Faye wet her lips, and Diana’s stomach rolled at the movement. The urge to close the gap intensified, the air thickening and squeezing them together. Her heart beat louder, the alcohol muddying her brain.

The lift dinged, and Faye jumped backwards, stumbling over a potted plant. She righted herself and slipped through the opening doors, pressing herself against the back wall with an adorable lopsided grin. Diana straightened her pantsuit and followed her in—her breathing heavier than she’d like—and the doors slid shut. Her pulse pounded in her ears, louder than that of the creaky pulley system as they climbed. There wasn’t much room in the lift, even less so with the tension charging the air. She focused on the faded orange carpet, the peeling chrome on the railings, and not the pretty woman’s gaze burning into her.

Finally, the doors opened with a hiss. Neither of them moved.

Diana’s eyes snapped back to Faye. Her soft blue irises, swirled with delicate hints of green, blended into a breathtaking turquoise. Diana’s throat tightened. Then a strong tug behind her sternum made her take a step forward, but Faye beat her to it, closing the distance between them.

Faye’s soft, warm mouth enveloped hers. Diana melted into the touch, her hands cupping Faye’s face and pulling her deeper into the kiss. They hit the back of the wall. Liquid heat coiled in Diana’s belly, winding tighter when Faye gasped softly into her mouth.

She threaded her fingers through Faye’s hair, brushing against her scalp, drinking in every breathless noise she gave her. Diana appreciated the notes of the wine now, recognising the pleasing tang on Faye’s lips. Sweet hints of something fruity, giving her an all-consuming desire to lean in and have another taste.

She could get intoxicated on that alone.

She brushed Faye’s silky hair over her shoulders, then drifted lower. Her hands caressed her small waist. Then her hips.

Faye jumped back, knocking into the railing with a huff. “Sorry. Sorry, I—I can’t. I… fuck—” She shook her head, her chin dropping. Before Diana could say anything, she ran through the doors and down the hallway, her clumsy steps echoing in the quiet.

Diana stayed in the lift a minute longer, observing her perplexed reflection. Her chest, still heaving. Her blonde hair, dishevelled.

What the hell just happened?

Chapter Three

Faye

Faye fidgeted on the bench by the port, the hard wood digging into her bum. She narrowed her eyes at the sudoku page clenched in her fist, trying to focus on the numbers rather than the tumbling terror in her stomach. The pungent smell of fish did little to help, the scent sticking in her nose as she inhaled. She cringed. Then, remembering the way she’d left things with Diana last night, she cringed even harder, folding in on herself.

Very smooth.

Carla’s fierce banging on her hotel room had startled her into one of the worst hangovers of her life—and Faye had had a few, not to mention the one where she’d woken up locked inside a takeaway after taking a nap under the table.

She shook her head, trying to distract her brain from playing a montage of the top twenty most embarrassing moments of her life. But the surprise in Diana’s eyes topped them all. She groaned and took a swig from her electrolyte drink.

Not only had Faye aggravated her stoma from all the wine, but she’d also missed her crossing to the island this morning. Poor Carla had tried her best to get Faye ready in time, but it was difficult to explain to someone she’d just met how she couldn’t simply open the door and leave when an eruption matching Vesuvius threatened her abdomen.

Also quite difficult to explain to attractive women kissing her and running their hands over her hips.

For god’s sake. Nights like that with women like Diana were as rare as unicorn dust. Why couldn’t she just be cool and confident about it?

Because have you seen yourself recently?

Despite the extra care she’d taken matching her eyeshadow to her pink summer playsuit, nothing helped offset the awful bags under her eyes and the pale, pained look on her face. She felt as though she’d slept under that takeaway table for a week, while a heavy metal band practised in the room above her, smashing drums and screaming. At least Diana wouldn’t see her like this.

Her fear of what-ifs meant she’d packed her brand-new lingerie. Some silky, some lacy, all designed to keep her ostomy bag secure and tucked away—but she’d still panicked. It wasn’t like Faye had never had sex before, or that she didn’t want to. When Diana pressed her against a wall and put her mouth to good use, there was nothing she wanted more. It was fear of the unknown.

Faye wasn’t sure if she could do the same things she used to. Even if she could, Diana might be repulsed. It was silly, really. Diana, and the way she carried herself… that sexy, well-spoken English accent, the totally pullable short hair, those soft lips… Why would Diana be interested in her? Admittedly, in the moment, the alcohol had helped Faye overlook that question.

The sobering reality was that she couldn’t plan for some things. No matter how organised she was.

Like last night. Faye groaned. Piss off, brain.

She picked at her cuticles. Where was Carla? She’d disappeared some time ago, chatting and giggling at her phone screen, and Faye hadn’t seen her since. Maybe she’d gone to see Raul.

Lifting her gaze, she took in the sea, the waves rolling and bobbing the boats anchored at the port. Her head ached at the temples, and she took a big gulp of her drink. A fat seagull landed on the concrete next to her, tilting its little head and hopping forward expectantly.

“Sorry, mate,” Faye said. “I haven’t got any fish for you.”