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“Yes, let’s hydrate at the pool. Then we can go again tonight!” I smile at Lucy’s enthusiasm as she disappears back into our room and starts to unzip her suitcase. “Scar, you have that black bikini you need to get your ass in. Nobody should look good in it, and it fits you like it was made for you.”
We use the en suite to change and then make our way downstairs, where we find the guys lying out on the sofas. Elliot is in nothing but a pair of black shorts and a cap that he’s using to cover his face as he sleeps. Lance and Charlie are still fully dressed and chatting, oblivious to our presence at their backs as they look at something on Charlie’s laptop.
Lucy puts her finger to her mouth and tiptoes to the side table. She picks up the jug of icy water and then pads around to stand behind Elliot.
“Tip that water on me, princess, and I’ll have you off the cliff top.” He gasps as the first drip splashes over his wide chest. “Luce!”
“Oops.” She empties the jug, quickly dropping it down when he bolts up from the sofa and clears the back of it. They run through the kitchen and out the folded doors to the terrace.
There’s a huge splash a moment later.
“They need to have sex or something. The sexual tension is killing me.”
Charlie and Lance both turn at the sound of Megan’s voice, but she’s already turned and disappeared to the kitchen, leaving me standing like a lemon.
“You guys better not be working right now,” I say, unsure what to do with their stares locked so intensely on me.
Charlie swallows, clearing his throat when Lance’s eyes only linger on my body. “I’m done for the week. In fact…” He stands, shutting the laptop. “I should go shower and change before dinner.”
He gives Lance a slap on the back as he leaves, and it seems to shake him out of whatever trance he is stuck in. He scrubs at his face and shifts his attention away from me again.
I know I should speak to him.
Ineedto speak to him.
I’m just terrified of what he might say.
“Lance.” I round the sofa and sit beside him, bringing my legs up and under me so I can face him. “Can I speak to you?”
He smooths his hand from his face, back through his hair, and then turns his head toward me.
And the heaviness, the pure, unfiltered need in that one look, makes my mouth go dry, my heart thudding uncontrolled.
“Are you okay?” I ask, resisting the urge to reach for him, knowing how badly he craves physical touch. My physical touch.
His eyes roam every inch of me, bouncing from my eyes, nose, hair, then lips. My breasts and neck even. Taking everything in.
And as if it pains him to look at me, a frown creases his brow when he eventually speaks. “Are you?”
I drop my gaze, toying with the loose thread on the pillow between us. No. Not even a little bit. But instead, I say, “I’m fine.” Because I made a choice to not make it his concern, and burdening him with it now isn’t fair.
I look up, finding his stare burning through me—through my lie.
He sighs, and I wonder if he’ll call me out, pull me to him, and tell me he’s missed me like I’ve missed him.
He doesn’t do any of those things, though.
And it’s not until he stands from the sofa and simply says, “Good,” and leaves the room that I see just how much I hurt him.
Lance
Come to Bora Bora, they said.
It will be fun, they said.
I even managed to convince myself that it was a good idea. To be able to see Scarlet and confirm that she’s all right. That she’s doing as well as Charlie said she is.
She looks beyond fucking well.
