One More Sleepless Night. Lucy King

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       THREE

      Despite his misgivings about any improvement to his night, he’d actually slept remarkably well, thought Rafael, smothering a yawn and setting the coffee pot on the stove.

      When he’d eventually made it to his room after leaving Nicky, he’d downed a couple of painkillers and then taken an ice cold shower, which had respectively obliterated the pain throbbing in his head and the heat racing through his veins. He’d crashed into bed and had been asleep barely before his considerably less painful head had hit the pillow. Consequently he’d woken up in a much better mood.

      Back in full possession of his self-control and all his faculties, he’d had ample opportunity to assess the events of the previous night and had come to the conclusion that he’d overreacted. Big time. He’d been tired and overwrought. In pain and on the defensive. All entirely unsurprising of course given the circumstances, but nevertheless he had overreacted.

      For one thing, he told himself, lighting the gas ring beneath the pot and straightening, he doubted that Nicky, with her big blue eyes, tumbling dark curls and long slender semi-naked limbs, could be nearly as distracting as he’d imagined last night, and the cold light of day would soon prove it.

      His reaction to her last night might have been startling, but it was nothing to get worked up about. Any red-blooded heterosexual man would have responded like that to a gorgeous near-naked woman practically draped over him. It would have been unusual if he hadn’t.

      Nor were the oddly erotic images that had peppered his dreams anything to worry about either, because that was just his subconscious processing what had been an unexpected and surprisingly traumatic half an hour.

      For another thing, last night he’d somehow managed to see Nicky as some kind of threat to his peace of mind, which was a sign of just how tired and at the end of his tether with women he’d become because the very idea was ridiculous. Since his divorce he’d made sure that no woman—apart from family members, and he couldn’t unfortunately do much about them—had ever had such an effect on him, and a woman he barely knew certainly posed no risk.

      The second conclusion he’d come to was that there was no earthly reason Nicky couldn’t stay. Why they both couldn’t. The place was big enough, and however exhausted and fed up he was it wasn’t Nicky’s fault. Nor was it her fault that he’d ignored Gaby’s phone calls and emails and was therefore unprepared for a guest. And yes, she’d lamped him so hard it would have made a saint curse the heavens, but perhaps that was understandable in the circumstances.

      Besides, he couldn’t get the image of her standing there enveloped by that air of defeat and desolation out of his head, and it had been niggling away at his brain all morning. For someone supposedly on holiday Nicky didn’t look very happy. And who holidayed by themselves anyway? Not even he did, and he valued his solitude highly.

      Rafael poured some milk into a jug and stuck it in the microwave, then leaned back against the rough wood worktop and rubbed a hand along his jaw as he contemplated the contradiction.

      He supposed Gaby might have been able to shed some light on the situation if he’d been able to get hold of her, but her phone had been off all three times he’d tried. And the emails and messages he’d eventually got round to checking had said nothing more than ‘call me’ with varying degrees of urgency.

      But that didn’t matter. He didn’t need to speak to his sister to recognise that there was more to Nicky and her ‘holiday’ than met the eye. In fact, he’d repeatedly gone over the way she’d deflated right there in front of him and got the feeling that she was in some kind of trouble. And if that was the case, then despite the fact he had no interest in—and even less intention of finding out—what kind of trouble she might be in, he’d never forgive himself if he sent her on her way and something subsequently happened to her.

      So she was going to have to stay.

      Which was absolutely fine, he assured himself, hearing a strange rumbling making its way across the floor above and abandoning the coffee to go and investigate. He had plenty of things to be getting on with, and staying out of Nicky’s way while she got on with whatever she was planning to do would be simple enough.

      And if he did still feel a lingering attraction towards her, well, he’d easily be able to handle that too. After what he’d had to contend with lately, suppressing tiny pangs of inconvenient desire would be a walk in the park. Especially now that he was well rested, firing on all cylinders, and most importantly, firmly back in control.

      * * *

      Leaving might be the right thing to do, thought Nicky as she trudged along the corridor hauling her suitcase behind her, but it didn’t make it any easier, because what was she going to do when she got back to Paris?

      Moping around her flat didn’t particularly appeal. Neither did booking another holiday and having to go through the whole packing/airport/people thing again. And she supposed she could track down her parents and see if they needed any help, but right now their relentless cheerfulness might be more than she could stand.

      Oh, if only Rafael hadn’t chosen this of all weekends to visit... If only Gaby had managed to get in touch with him... If only she hadn’t bashed him over the head...

      If only...

      Her spirits sank even further. There’d been so many ‘if only’s in her life lately. She’d never used to believe in regrets, and she’d never used to wish for the impossible. However since her meltdown it seemed she’d done nothing but, and she was becoming thoroughly sick of it.

      Nicky gritted her teeth and yanked her suitcase over the edge of the rug that the wheels were rucking up. She had to stop all this before she lost what was left of her sanity. She really did. Regrets and impossible wishes and ‘if only’s were pointless, especially now, because there was nothing to be gained from wishing she could stay, and even less from dwelling on what might have been. However hard she might find it, she had to drag herself out of the past and start thinking about the future.

      ‘Good morning.’

      At the sound of the deep voice rumbling through her gloomy ruminations, Nicky came to an abrupt halt and stared down. Rafael was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, barefoot and rumple-haired, wearing khaki shorts, a black polo shirt and the kind of lethal smile that had undoubtedly brought about many a swoon but left her depressingly unmoved.

      ‘Good morning,’ СКАЧАТЬ