noise makes me jump at the same time as the lights come back on, so bright they’re blinding. I look up to see him clutching his forehead as my own throbs as if I’ve been hit by a brick.
‘Damn it, Phoebe, you head butted me.’
‘Shit.’ I can’t help but giggle at the whole situation. He was coming in for the kill. That’s the only reason I’d have been able to give him a head injury. ‘Sorry,’ I offer lamely with an apologetic grimace.
Now that the lights are back on, I know it’s over. That brief insanity has disappeared. Our confusion reawakened by the lights.
‘Time for bed, then,’ I say, my voice tight and clipped. I spin on my heel and bolt before I can make any more bad decisions.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Friday 16th October
I couldn’t feel worse about what happened with Clooney last night. I totally overstepped the mark. Well, we very nearly overstepped the mark. I mean, strictly, he’s my employee. Yes, my employee that gave me an orgasm in the bathtub, but still.
I shouldn’t be trusting him like this. I shouldn’t be offering my wanton lips up to him. It’s clear he’s not a relationship kind of guy and I’m not a one-night stand kind of gal. Not that I haven’t fantasied about it. Several times. But I know deep down that this is all temporary. I’m building this business up so that we can finally sell and move back to England. Back to our normal lives.
There’s no point making the time I have with Clooney even more awkward by throwing myself at him every time there’s a power cut. Not that I suspect that happens often, thankfully.
I’m just out of the bath, wrapped only in a towel as I walk back to my room, my thoughts distant, when I literally bump into Clooney.
My eyes swoop upwards, along his partially naked body. He’s only in some black boxer shorts showing off his broad muscular shoulders, slim but athletic torso with the smallest smattering of dark hair over his chest and down to his belly button. My eyes follow it to where it goes under his boxer briefs. I’m sure they call that a happy trail. Something tells me I’d be very happy if I got to the end of that trail. I finally find his face. He smirks, knowing I’m checking him out, his eyes lazily dancing over my bare shoulders.
My heart races, I’m not sure if it’s the embarrassment of last night, or the secret hope that he’ll lean forward, drop my towel to the floor and drag me by my hair into his room.
I shake my head, trying to get all those stupid intrusive thoughts out of there. It’s then that I notice the small bruise on his forehead.
‘Crap, is that bruise from my head?’
He smiles, exposing his perfect white teeth. I wonder if they’re real or veneers. Knowing him he didn’t even wear braces and he was just born with a perfect set. Well, not as a baby. That would be weird. Come on, Phoebe, back in the room.
‘Yep. Turns out your head is full of bricks, not brains.’ He grins playfully.
I scoff out a laugh, loving that we can get back to light-hearted banter so easily. ‘Gee, thanks. No wonder you know how to get all the ladies. Such a charmer.’
I turn to walk back into my room.
‘I don’t go out to get the ladies,’ he says after me. I turn to him. His eyes dance with mischief. ‘They all come willingly.’
My eyes nearly burst out of my head. Is he talking about last night? Making out I was willingly going to him? He is, he’s trying to embarrass me. Make me out to be some sort of desperate clinger. This guy likes to make me squirm. Sadistic bastard.
My damn body doesn’t understand these games. Heat flares along my cheeks. His grin becomes wider, knowing he’s affecting me. Damn dickhead.
I spin on my heel and storm back to my room before he can make me flush any more. I get dressed quickly, but make sure to put on my best jeans and a nicer bra than usual.
I tell myself it’s because I want to feel good about myself when I face him next. When I’m applying my make-up I think of it like war paint. Because I am at war. I’m at war with my own feelings. I will not let myself be vulnerable in front of that cocky bastard again.
I was hoping not to hear