he was nothing. He had no choice but to sever whatever bond had sprung up between them, because right now he sensed she was more dangerous to him than a hairpin turn at three hundred clicks.
He saw the moment comprehension dawned that he was rejecting what she was unconsciously offering and silently cursed as a moment of hurt flashed across her beautiful face.
It was as if he’d betrayed her. And maybe he had. The way he’d come on to her on the beach, then taken her for ice cream, grilled her about her life, his behaviour with her boss...
Feeling as if he owed her a massive apology, he didn’t know where to start. Or if it would make the situation between them better or worse.
Then she took the decision out of his hands and closed down her emotions as effectively as he had, pivoting on her sexy heels and walking away from him.
Immediately, an image of his father slotted into his brain, but rather than shake it off straight away, as he usually did, he let it settle there for a moment. The image was always the same. A smiling, larger-than-life hero in a white jumpsuit with a cerulean-blue helmet under his arm.
Miller’s eyes.
His father’s helmet.
His father’s death hanging over him like a sword.
In this game, you never look back.
Tino felt his old rage at his father rear up and flattened it. This weekend was supposed to be light and easy. Relaxing. But Miller was drawing something out of him he had no wish to face, and it was messing with his head.
She was messing with his head.
He wasn’t supposed to want her. At least not this much. And he sure as hell wasn’t supposed to want to make her world a better place.
What a crapshoot.
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