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‘It’s too hot for pyjamas.’ He winked. ‘Besides, you should be grateful. I usually sleep nude.'
That shut her up as she squeezed her eyes shut and prayed for a miracle. Her slumber-party theory wasn't working, not with Nick standing there in his sexy underwear.
'Trying to imagine what I look like without the boxers, huh? Well, if you open your eyes, I can give you a demo—'
'No!' She yelled, her eyes flying open against her better judgement in the faint hope he'd follow through with his threat. 'Just get under the damn sheets and keep your underwear on.'
'Your loss.'
He had the audacity to shrug out of his T-shirt, toss it on a chair and slide in next to her, flashing a dazzling smile in the process. Cocky, brash, and totally shameless.
The next ten hours would be hell. Or heaven, depending how she looked at it and right now, with an amazing expanse of broad, tanned chest on display, heaven seemed uncomfortably closer to the mark.
‘Goodnight, Red. Pleasant dreams.'
As if. Pleasant would be the last word she'd use to describe what she knew would be an erotic kaleidoscope of images that would plague her all night long.
She turned off the lamp, grateful she couldn't see him anymore. Not that she needed to. The image of Nick standing next to the bed wearing nothing but those black boxers and a smile would be a memory to treasure for years to come.
'Can I ask you something?'
She sighed and rolled over to face him, her eyes adjusting to the darkness slowly and just able to make out his reclining form at a safe distance across the bed. Though was a few feet really safe? This was Nick Mancini she was sharing a bed with, the Nick Mancini she'd loved as a teenager and missed for years.
'You will anyway, so go ahead.'
'Why did you run away?'
'I didn't.' The defensive words popped out before she thought about it, an instant response to a subject she'd rather avoid.
'Yeah, you did.'
His whisper floated on the darkness, a mixture of accusation and regret, and she wondered how he'd felt at the time.
When she'd first arrived in London, she'd been too busy coping with her pain to think about anything else. The men she loved kept hurting her—her dad, then Nick—and she'd struggled to hold everything together while trying to build a new life.
Part of her coping strategy had been to paint Nick in a bad light: he wasn't worthy of her, he didn't care, he wasn't capable of emotions.
But what if she'd been wrong?
What if he had cared and there was another reason behind his refusal to accompany her?
After all, she'd hidden her real reason for fleeing.
'I needed a new start.'
The partial truth. She couldn't tell him the real reason behind her desperate yearning for a new start.
'But why London? You hung around Brisbane for a month before you left Australia, so you could've stayed there. Even Sydney or Melbourne at a pinch, places where we could've kept in contact, tried to maintain a rel…’ He trailed off and she resisted the urge to sit bolt upright and flick the light on.
Had she heard right? Was he saying they could've had a relationship if she hadn't wanted to get as far away from her father as possible?
'Maintain a what?' she prompted, eager to hear the words but almost wishing he wouldn't say them.
What was the point of bringing this up now? She couldn't change the past, couldn't change what she'd done, and knowing she could've had a future with Nick outside Jacaranda would hurt her all over again.
'A really strong friendship,' he finished, and disappointment pierced her.
So what? Wasn't that better than hearing that he might've loved her as much as she'd loved him?
