to process.
‘What kind of nutty way to live your life is that?’ he said at last.
‘You can mock if you like but it’s actually stood me in good stead.’ She shrugged. ‘It’s nothing personal. We had a great time but it was over with five Christmases ago.’
She held her hand up, five fingers extended, to press the point even further.
‘You’re knocking me back because of some crazy life rules? Is this some recent thing? How come you never mentioned them when we last met?’
‘I didn’t need to mention them then. It was the first time around.’
She saw exasperation fight with determination on his face. Apparently determination won because he came right back with a different approach. She had to hand it to him, he didn’t give in easily. Most men she came across who showed an interest were easy to discourage with a firm no. Not that she was particularly snowed under in that department, her last date having been a brief affair months ago.
‘You do realise you’re working against higher elements here,’ he said.
‘What?’
She looked at him through narrowed eyes.
‘Fate,’ he said. He was watching her intently. ‘Think about it. Everything about this encounter is down to luck. How many probabilities do you think we’ve bucked here?’ He began to count off on his fingers. ‘You’re here because of a competition win, must be thousands of entrants, and now your mate can’t make it through and you’re here alone. Pure chance. And me? White Christmas in the UK. When did we last have one of those?’
She couldn’t stop a smile at his refusal to give in. Obviously taking it as a sign of weakening, he leaned in towards her. She caught the clean woody scent of his shower damp hair. ‘We were meant to meet again and do you really want to be the one to slap fate in the chops?’
‘Fate, in my experience has a crap sense of humour,’ she said. ‘Best not to engage with it at all. I control my life, not the other way around.’
‘I’m asking you to have dinner with me not jump into bed with me,’ he countered.
She could feel her heart quicken, because wasn’t there a part of her that wanted dinner? Wanted more than dinner? That brief hot encounter in the steam room still held her body in its grip. In terms of physical want and need, wasn’t there something about him now that felt…unfinished?
Her mind, not completely turned to mush by his stomach-softening lopsided smile, and by what he could do with his hands, took the opportunity to remind her that however lightly she might portray it now, walking away back then had been no picnic. It had been a bit of a wrench in fact. By the end of that night she had been smitten and there had been a part of her that wanted to swap addresses, make future plans, see how it went. But her resolution had never truly faltered because she didn’t need a crystal ball to know how things would turn out if she did.
Tom Henley was from a different world. Back then and still now. It could never have lasted. Why taint the perfect night by trying to prolong it? Long-term happiness could not be built on a chance encounter. OK so they might have made a strong connection, but it was still just a one-night stand. And she knew better than anyone that you couldn’t build a future on one of those. Not the kind of future that fostered happiness at least.
Why resurrect all this now? It had been neatly filed away in her past and Ella Scott didn’t do the past. She did the future, she did optimism, she turned a fresh new page every day and made her own happiness because she couldn’t rely on anyone else to do it for her.
‘It isn’t about dinner or about sex,’ she said. ‘It’s about principles. Something that’s great the first time around shouldn’t be revisited. You shouldn’t mess with perfection, it will only be a let down in the long run. Nothing’s ever better the second time around.’ She gave him a breezy smile as she walked away. ‘I hope your plane is rescheduled quickly and you have a good journey.’
‘You’re wrong,’ he called after her.
She turned back and looked him straight in the eye. He was staring at her as if he thought she might be crazy, so she took a couple of paces closer so he could see she was serious.
‘Classic movie remakes,’ she said. ‘The first time you visit Paris. Horrible cover versions of great songs. First kisses. Amazing meals. A new book.’ She paused and added, ‘Relationships.’ She stood for a moment looking at him. ‘It was a perfect night, a fantastic memory. How the hell could I possibly improve on it? Why would I want to?’ She gave him a parting smile. ‘I’m sorry. It was nice to meet you again but I never should have let it get beyond a quick hello.’
****
So he was a fantastic memory? His pride took a well-needed boost from that comment because for a while there as she gave him the brush off despite the way she’d melted into him in the spa, he’d been wondering if he was losing his touch. He’d wondered exactly the same thing five years ago in the weeks following that cold morning after a mind-blowing night when he’d woken up to an empty bed.
Finding out that the abrupt end of their time together had been down to her own reasons alone, completely insane though they were, was threaded through with relief that it hadn’t been down to something lacking in him or his performance. And if it had been a perfect night and a fantastic memory he was surely in with a chance of talking her into a second round.
A winning smile for someone called Lucy at the reception desk was enough to get her room number.
She had choice of the twin beds now that Liz wasn’t turning up and most of her unpacking still to do. Disappointment rose a little at that; she’d been looking forward to seeing her friend. But still, if anyone was used to making the best of a situation, it was Ella. She’d made a lifetime out of it. She took the bed by the window.
Tom Henley stayed on her mind. As if it hadn’t taken her long enough to stop him doing that first time around.
She’d hardly made a dent in the unpacking when the knock came at the door and her first excited thought was that by some miracle Liz had made it through the snow after all.
She rushed to open it.
‘Good wine,’ he said, leaning against the doorframe. ‘That second trip to Paris where you take in all the off-the-track sights you missed the first time around. Favourite restaurants. Songs you hear for the first time on the radio and just have to track down. Tiramisu always tastes better on the second day. Boxing day turkey with pickles easily rivals the full-on Christmas roast.’ His molten steel eyes took on a wicked glint. ‘And sex.’
She stared at him.
‘Are you going to invite me in?’
She stood aside, shaking her head lightly as if to clear it. He strode into the room and turned to face her. A hot flash of what had gone on between them last time they’d been in the same room as a bed made her cheeks burn and she folded her arms automatically as if to do so might ward the memory off. The last thing she needed was to think about how it had
