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“Please, don’t go,”he begs, slipping his finger under my chin so he can see my eyes. “Nothing’s going to happen if you don’t want it to. We can just sit here and talk, or watch a movie. I don’t want this night to be over. Please, stay. Is that too much to ask?” I stare up at him and for the first time, I see a desperation that almost matches my own. “Nothing’s going to happen,” he repeats. “Scout’s honour, I promise to be on my best behaviour. I just want to spend some time with you, Carly.”
My head is screaming for me to get out of there, but his eyes hold me entranced and my body is refusing to take instruction.
At last, I let out a sigh. “All right, I’ll stay.”
Bowing my head, I allow him to lead me over to the bed, and for what seems like forever, the two of us sit side by side, looking away from each other, the air thick with unspoken tension. My arms are still folded across my chest, putting up an invisible barrier between us. The screeching silence pulsates through the room like an electric current.
“So, do you come here often?” I ask, breaking the ice at last.
“You mean to this hotel?”
“Mmm.”
“Yes, I stay here a couple of times a year. It’s one of my favourite hotels.”
I give a low whistle. “Sounds like you’re a pretty busy guy.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.”
“If you’re implying that I bring women regularly to the Corinthia, I’m afraid you’re very much mistaken. My business here is purely professional. Sometimes clients fly over from abroad, and I’m obliged to stay in the same hotel as a show of hospitality.”
“How nice for you.”
“Do I detect a note of sarcasm?”
“No,” I laugh. “Definitely not.”
There’s another silence.
“By the way, Nick, I never asked you how old you are.”
“How old do I look?”
“Oh, I don’t know, thirty?”
“I’m one- hundred and fifty-five years old.”
“Yeah, right. Pull the other one.”
“I’m not pulling anything. It’s true.”
I decide to join in the fun. “Okay, I’ll say this. If you really are over a century old, then you must use a bloody-good moisturiser. I must get the name of your supplier.” We both chuckle and then I add, “No, but seriously Nick, how old are youreally?”
“I just turned thirty-eight in September.”
I smile in triumph.I wasn’t too far off.
We go quiet again. I start getting heart palpitations; Nick’s giving me long, lingering looks that make my body tingle. He’s probing me deep, reading my face like my features are hieroglyphics.
Suddenly, he leans forward and whispers, “You’re so beautiful. Can I touch you?”
I catch my breath then nod slowly.
Cautiously, he reaches out and tenderly caresses my cheek with the back of his hand. Then he gently strokes my hair and the dip and hollow of my ears, his fingers warm and slightly shaky. With a shock, I realise he’s just as scared as I am, and this knowledge makes me feel a little less insecure.
Slowly, his hand travels down the side of my face, then down to my neck, and lightly caresses the sculpted base of my throat. As he works his way back up, tracing the outline of my veins, I marvel at the silky softness of his fingers.
