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‘Do you think what you saw was a true memory?’
‘Definitely not,’ she reassured him. ‘The scene is from the photographs Charles took, but it’s muddled, the faces morphing from ex boyfriends into those of the men who harassed us at the restaurant.’
He eased them both further down the bed so she was lying down next to him, her head resting on his chest. It felt natural. So perfectly right. ‘We’re going to have to get you thinking about something else then. Something pleasant.’ His heart was a steady, comforting beat beneath her ear. ‘What do you want to picture when you close your eyes? A mountain of chocolate? A flashing row of cameras?’
She managed a weak laugh. ‘Nice try, but neither of those is going to help me sleep. The first gives me hunger pangs. The second kick starts the adrenaline.’
‘Okay, okay. Let me think. How about a warm, sun-kissed beach? Glistening white sand, clear turquoise water?’
‘Any sharks?’
She felt him shake his head. ‘You’re not playing fair. Come on, close your eyes. Feel the sand beneath your feet, the warmth of the sun on your back.’
Slowly she shut her eyes. ‘Umm, now you mention it, that sounds lovely. I’ve not been on holiday for years.’
‘You live by the beach,’ he pointed out.
‘That’s not the same as going on holiday. Nothing to do but read books in the sun and paddle in the sea.’
‘Now you’re getting there.’
As she listened to him describing her dream holiday, she instinctively snuggled closer. Through his thin cotton T-shirt she noticed how beautifully solid his chest felt. Athletic and muscular. He certainly didn’t feel like an accountant, not that she could say she was an expert in that field. The longer Nick’s deep, steady voice washed over her and his strong arms transmitted safety and security, the less the nightmare taunted her. Gradually she began to relax.
It was a while before she realised he’d stopped talking, though his hands still stroked her arm. Soothing, calming. She moved, wrapping her arms more tightly around him. Warm and strong, he felt heavenly. Male and spicy, he smelt heavenly, too. Dimly she became aware that his hand had moved from her arm to her back, the strokes still slow and steady.
But now she wasn’t feeling sleepy any more. In fact her breasts were starting to tingle, her pulse to flutter. His movements were no longer sending her to sleep. They were turning her on.
Oh God, she wanted this, but she didn’t want this. Wanted this because she’d fancied him forever and was now starting to fall in love with him. Plus if anyone could banish her fear of being intimate with another man, Nick could. Didn’t want this, because she was rubbish when it came to men and relationships, as her recent track history had proved. Sleeping with him would only poison what they had. She was better suited to men in the limelight. Those who craved the attention she could give them. Who treated her as she deserved to be treated. Men like those on the list she’d given Nick last night.
Automatically she started to shift away, but the motion brought her head up close to his. Her mouth on a level with his mouth. Her lips inches away from his.
The inches disappeared, and Nick kissed her. Gently at first, softly enough that she had time to move away, had she wanted to. Her mind might believe she should, but under the persuasive heat of his lips, her body had other ideas. She was helpless to do anything other than melt. Seductive, arousing, his mouth caressed and teased. He didn’t demand, but rather coaxed, enticed. As he increased the pressure her head fell back against the pillow and his body eased across hers. She inhaled sharply at the feel of long, hard, male lines and a hot, heavy arousal against her thigh. But even as his mouth trailed sexy kisses over her face and down her neck, inside a voice niggled. Is this really what they both wanted?
‘Nick?’ Gently she pushed him away.
Dark brown eyes snapped sharply into focus. The flare of passion drained away, replaced with a look of horror. ‘Shit.’ He leapt from the bed with the speed of a man who’d touched a live wire. ‘I’m sorry.’ With another oath he yanked open the door. ‘I’ll leave you in peace.’
* * *
Nick stumbled back to his bedroom, disgusted with himself. Had he really thought he’d be able to lie next to her and simply soothe her to sleep? When only a few strips of cotton separated her slender body from his, her soft breasts from his chest? Clearly when it came to Lizzie, all his brain cells disappeared.
With a groan of frustration he lay on his bed, hands over his face, body as stiff as a board. He’d blown it. There was no way he could mistake the puzzled look on her face, the confusion in her eyes when she’d tried to push him off. Hell, he was supposed to have been comforting her, not forcing himself on her. He shuddered at the thought of what he’d done, after all she’d been through. How was he meant to steer their friendship back on an even keel after a move like that?
For several hours he lay awake, staring into space. By the time the soft light of dawn crept between his curtains he knew he couldn’t stay in the house any longer. Pulling on his running shorts and a T-shirt, he crept downstairs. Perhaps a long run would help to rid him of some of this terrible ache he had inside. The ache of wanting something he could never have.
* * *
Lizzie didn’t manage much sleep, either. Hard to, when she knew two doors down the hallway, Nick was in his bedroom. Impossible to, with the memory of his tender kisses still lingering on her lips and her body a mass of sensitised nerve endings, crying out for him to finish what they’d started. But it didn’t matter what she wanted. It hadn’t eight years ago when she’d first propositioned him, and it didn’t now. Nick didn’t want her. Oh, his body had been keen enough, but when he’d realised what he was doing, or more precisely who he was doing it with, he’d not been able to get away from her fast enough. Wearily she rubbed at her eyes, wishing she hadn’t had a nightmare. Wishing Nick hadn’t tried to comfort her. More than anything, wishing he hadn’t been horrified at the thought of making love to her.
At the sound of a door closing she peered out of the window, only to see Nick running down the drive. Who was he running away from? Her or himself? With a groan she slumped back onto the bed and willed herself to drift back to sleep.
A few hours later she woke to a grumbling hunger. Unable to ignore it, she grabbed her dressing gown and crept downstairs, feeling stupidly nervous about bumping into Nick. But after peeking into all the rooms, she soon realised he wasn’t in. Was he still running? Surely not — she’d last seen him hare off down the drive two hours ago.
Just then his exhausted, bedraggled form stumbled through the front door.
Bent over, hands on knees, shirt streaked with sweat and legs caked in mud, he heaved in several, ragged lungfuls of air.
‘I was starting to wonder where you’d disappeared to.’
