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Is he saying that’s why he went with her? I wonder whether he broke it off, or if she left him to go back to her husband. I remember her introducing her husband at the table, and Huxley shaking hands with him. That must have been hard. “Did she break your heart?” I ask softly.
He gives a rueful smile. “No. You’re the only one who’s ever done that.”
My eyebrows rise. “What do you mean?”
He looks into his glass and doesn’t reply.
“Do you mean when we were nineteen?” I ask.
He stretches out his legs, sliding down on the sofa a little. “Six months after Joanna was born, when I asked you out and you said no, I went around Victoria’s apartment, and I was so angry I swung one of her golf clubs at a tree and bent it.”
“Really?”
“It was a 5-iron, I think. Maybe a 4-iron. Anyway, she called Mack and Titus, and they brought a bottle of Laphroaig around and sat there while I drank a third of it and then passed out on the sofa. Victoria said I snored so hard her flat-mate thought there was a pneumatic drill outside the room.”
He’s trying to make me laugh, but I’m so shocked I can only stare at him. “I didn’t know,” I whisper.
His lovely gray eyes observe me. “I stopped seeing you because I had to do right by Brandy and Joanna. But I was devastated when you wouldn’t go out with me again. I was crazy about you. I still am.”
“Do you think that will change when we’ve gone to bed?” I ask.
He tips his head to the side. “Nice to hear you say when, and not if.”
“You haven’t answered the question.”
“You think I’ve only had acrushon you for ten years?”
I frown. I’m not sure what the alternative is.
He finishes off his drink. “Come on. I think it’s time we went back to the villa.” He gets to his feet.
I have the last mouthful of whisky, wincing as it slides down inside me, and let him pull me up. I bump against him, and he slips an arm around my waist. I’m not drunk, but the alcohol is definitely having an effect. He was probably right—it was necessary.
He holds me until he’s sure I’ve got my balance on my high heels. And then he holds me for a little bit longer. His gaze has dropped to my mouth, and right there, in the middle of the room with all the tables filled around us, he lowers his lips to mine.
It’s not a long kiss, no tongues or anything, hardly X-rated, but when he eventually lifts his head, my face is burning. I glance around, and I meet the eyes of an older woman who’s sitting at a table with a man. She gives me a mischievous smile, and my lips curve up before I look away.
Huxley goes over to the desk, ignores me when I ask if I can pay half, and touches his Apple watch to the card reader. The waiter says goodbye, and we walk out into the night air.
We took a couple of hours over the meal, so it’s now nearly eight, and the sun has set. Luckily solar lights mark the path. Huxley takes my hand, and we slowly walk back to the villas.
We don’t say anything as we walk. It’s not an awkward silence, but I can feel my nerves building again.
“Thank you for a lovely evening,” I say, because I can’t think of anything else.
He gives a short laugh, then he stops and pulls me into his arms. “You haven’t changed a bit since the day I met you,” he says. “You’re still maddening. Confident and shy in equal measure. Still fucking gorgeous.” And then he slides a hand to the back of my neck and crushes his lips to mine.
It’s relatively forceful for a guy I’ve always thought of as gentle, and my heart hammers. I hadn’t expected that. I feel as if I went with Pooh Bear into the woods, and I’ve suddenly discovered he’s actually a grizzly bear.
He slides his tongue into my mouth, and his other hand presses against the base of my spine, pulling me against him. Oh my God—he has an erection. The feel of it, long and hard, makes me feel as if someone’s thrown a bucket of water over me.
We’re really doing this. I’m really going to bed with him.
Elation floods me, and I lift up on my tiptoes and wrap my arms around his neck as I tilt my head and return his kiss a hundred percent. He growls deep in his throat and his fingers clench in my hair. Ooh, I like passionate, sexed-up, grizzly-bear Huxley.
I stroke my tongue against his, thrilled at the invasion, as the wall I’ve built around me over ten years of longing, yearning, comes crumbling down. I want him so much. I want his hands and mouth on my body; I want him naked; I want him inside me.
He tears his lips away from mine. His chest heaves. Without another word, he takes my hand and marches along the path.
