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‘Why don’t you admit it?’
He laughed. ‘There is nothing to admit.’ He flicked his fingers along the water’s surface. ‘The first building I bought was something no one wanted. It was very cheap. I couldn’t save it.’
‘What did you do with it?’
He grinned. ‘I thought you knew everything about me?’
‘What did you do with it?’ she repeated, too curious to exchange teasing jokes with him.
He sobered, leaning back in the water a little and staring at the canopy of trees overhead. ‘I arranged to demolish it but I salvaged everything. My first business was a brokerage of historic building parts. Tiles, bricks, marble, mirrors, light fittings—even carpets.’
‘How did you know that would even work? That people would be interested in buying the parts alone? I would have ended up with only a run-down old building to my name.’
‘There is value in beauty,’ he said finally. ‘Always.’
She bit down on her lower lip, focussing her attention on the cliff face. His words had set her pulse racing, but it wasn’t just him and his words. It was the island. The whispering trees. The warmth of the sun and the saltiness of the water.
‘What’s there now?’
‘A steel monolith,’ he responded with wry humour.
‘Ah.’ She flicked her eyes to his face to find him staring at her. Her heart skipped.
‘The building in Harlem isn’t just a collection of bricks. It marks a time in the city’s history when man was mastering the skills of constructing homes in the sky. It is a snapshot of time, a testament to what was. To the strength and resilience and the wonderment of what could be. It speaks of history and hope. If we demolish all of these old buildings there will be nothing left to show what used to be.’
Her pulse fired. His words sparked passion in her blood; their cadence was a call to arms she was quick to hear.
‘I agree.’ She smiled at him, her enthusiasm radiating from every pore. ‘London is an ever-changing city. So many of the buildings in my area have been knocked down to make way for new developments and every time I go past them I feel sad at what we’re losing. Homes that survived wars don’t have value any more.’
He lifted his fingers from the water. She watched, mesmerised. They were beautiful fingers. Lovely hands. Strong. Confident. Tanned. She blinked and looked away, before she did something stupid like reach out and wrap her fingers around his.
‘Where did the previous owner of the island want to build the hotel?’ she asked, bringing the conversation neatly back to business, desperately looking to stifle the desire that was wrapping around her.
‘Not far from the cabin.’ His words were spiced with an unknown emotion. ‘It is an ideal spot.’
‘I think you’d be hard-pressed to find anywhere here that isn’t ideal.’
He shrugged. ‘Perhaps.’
He rubbed his fingers over his shoulder, scratching at something she couldn’t see.
She swallowed and looked away.
But the trees whispered above her.
Inevitable.
Don’t fight it.
It’s going to happen.
She sent them an angry look and swam closer to the rocks.
What did trees know, anyway?
He was right behind her, but at the same time he kept his distance. A distance that allowed her to breathe.
‘I’d be interested to pick your brain on that. You’ve spent more time on the island than I have. Even in a week, I’m sure I won’t have really got to grips with the place.’
