The little things—the time we spend together when we are not making love. The ease of being with her. The laughter. The silences that are a tranquillity, not a strain. The companionship.
Whatever they were doing—whether it was eating under the stars or lazily lounging on the beach, or by the pool, or taking a boat out on the water, watching the sun set in a blaze of glory, or watching the moon rise through the palm trees—it was all just so … so easy …
And as for the sex—
His eyes flared and he felt his body tauten despite its satiation.
How could he want her so much? How could he feel what he did—such incredible intensity every time, reaching such an incredible peak? Feel afterwards as he did now, every time, as if there was nothing more in life that he could want except to lie here with Marisa in his arms?
And he was going to have to end it. Ruin it. Destroy it.
Denounce her as the woman threatening his sister’s happiness. That would end it, he knew with biting certainty. Once he had told her what his intentions for her had been all along there would be nothing left of what they had here—now.
His eyes stared at the chopping fan blades, slicing through time, slicing up his thoughts, his emotions.
I don’t want to do it. I don’t want to tell her, confront her, denounce her, accuse her.
But if he didn’t …
He hardened his heart against himself. How could he bottle out of it? How could he put himself in front of his own sister? Put his own desires, his own longings first?
I have to do it. I don’t want to but I have to. If I don’t I’m just a selfish, self-indulgent coward, who cares more about myself and what I want than about my sister.
That was the brutal truth of it. The truth he couldn’t deny. Couldn’t hide from. He had to do it—finish what he’d started.
In his arms Marisa stirred, waking from the drowsy sleep that came after physical fulfilment. He felt her body move against him, felt himself respond. Her eyes fluttered open, met his, entwined with his. She smiled slowly, sensuously at him.
Lifted her mouth to his …
He answered her invitation, and in the velvet pleasure of her mouth he banished the disquieting thoughts that beset him.
London was far away—an ocean away.
Here, now, was all his universe.
All he wanted …
MARISA sat in the taxi heading from Heathrow into central London. She looked out of the window at the bleak view beyond of the outskirts of London encased in winter’s drear grip. A million miles away from the caressing warmth of the Caribbean. The grim landscape echoed the feeling inside her. In her lap, her fingers clutched each other tightly. At her side Athan had got out his laptop and was frowning at the screen, his face closed. He was only a foot or two away from her—and yet much, much further.
Tightness gripped her. She knew what was coming. Knew it with a deep, stricken sense of dread—of impending loss. Knew exactly what was going to happen. It was what she had feared would happen. He was going to escort her back to her apartment and then, in whatever way he deemed appropriate, he was going to tell her that he wouldn’t be seeing her again.
The knot in her stomach tightened and her heart slugged heavily in her chest. She tried to blot out her thoughts, tried only to stare out of the window, not thinking, not feeling.
But thoughts came all the same. Of course Athan had been all over her while they were on holiday! Of course she had been the entire focus of his attention, the intensity of his desire for her would be his whole purpose. But it was only a holiday—that was what she had to remember. Nothing more than a holiday. He’d seen her, wanted her—got her. Not in any kind of exploitative way—she could never accuse him of that—but his interest in her was temporary. Inherently so. They had had a fabulous time together—but now it was over.
Time to move on.
The knot in her stomach clenched. That was the thing—he wanted to move on. She … she only longed for him not to. Longed for him to want to keep her in his life.
I don’t want to lose him, I don’t want to never see him again. I don’t want it to be over!
But her wants were not going to come into it.
That was what she had to face. What she dreaded facing.
The taxi came off the flyover, threading down into the streets of London, making its way towards Shepherd’s Bush, Holland Park, the street she lived on. It drew up at the apartment block. The moment it stopped she got out, shivering in the sunless cold air, acrid with the scent of the city. Athan was paying the driver, picking up their suitcases. Politely he ushered her inside and they made for the lifts. She gave another little shiver.
‘It’s so cold after the Caribbean,’ she said, as if attempting a light remark.
Athan only smiled briefly but said nothing, not looking at her.
He would be steeling himself for his speech, she knew. How many times had he given it before? How many other women had he whisked away to paradise and then returned to earth, bidding them farewell and walking away? She felt her emotions clench, her insides hollow.
Well, what did it matter how many times before he’d done it? This would be one more time. One more It’s been good but now it’s over declamation. She hoped against hope that he wouldn’t try and give her some kind of parting gift. She hoped she wouldn’t cry. Hoped she would find the strength, the courage, to simply smile agreement at him and thank him for such a fabulous time together.
Part as friends.
Or just passing acquaintances.
Not that she would see him again. With his own apartment ready to move back into now, the rented one next door to hers would not be necessary. He’d probably already had his things moved out. Easier that way—easier to make a clean break with her.
The lift doors opened and she got out her key, opening her door while he followed with her suitcase. He set his own down in the hallway.
‘Could you just leave mine in my bedroom?’ she asked. Her voice was steady. Light. Deliberately so.
She went into the living room. The air in the flat was stale and chill, and she moved to the wall to turn up the thermostat. She gave another shiver, but not from the cold. Temperature reset, she turned round.
Athan was standing in the centre of the room. His expression said it all. She waited tensely for him to speak. She would take it on the chin, and if nothing else behave with dignity.
I won’t plead, I won’t cry, I won’t question. I’ll just accept and move on—the
