But she had to face the facts. Tomorrow they’d both be back in London. And no way could things work between them there. Their lives were too opposite, and they just wouldn’t fit.
‘I know I’m being rude and bratty and everything else, but would you mind, um, please closing your eyes while I grab some clothes and have the quickest shower in the world?’ she asked.
‘It’s a little late for shyness,’ he said dryly, ‘given that we saw every millimetre of each other last night.’
Not just saw, either. The memory made her face hot. They’d touched. Stroked. Kissed.
‘Even so,’ she said.
‘As you wish.’ He rolled over and closed his eyes. ‘Let me know when it’s safe to look.’
‘I’m sorry. I really wish things could be different,’ she said, meaning it. ‘But this is the best way. A clean break.’
‘Apart from the fact that my little sister is your best friend, and we’ll still have to see each other in the future.’
‘And we’ll do exactly the same as we’ve done for years and years,’ she said. ‘We’ll be polite to each other for her sake, and avoid each other as much as we can.’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘Like you said, last night—well, it’s been a long time coming. And now we’ve done it and it’s out of our systems.’ Which was a big, fat lie, so it was just as well that he couldn’t see her face. She had a nasty feeling that Sean Farrell would never be completely out of her system. Especially now she knew what it was like to kiss him properly. To touch him. To make love with him.
She shook herself and grabbed some clothes. ‘It’s OK to look,’ she said as she closed the bathroom door.
She showered and dressed in record time. When she walked back into the bedroom, Sean was already dressed and sitting on the bed, waiting for her. Well, he would. He had impeccable manners. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Um—I guess I’ll see you in London when Ash gets back. And I’ll sort out the money I owe you for that helicopter flight.’
* * *
Downstairs, Sammy was pouring a cup of coffee from a cafetière when Claire walked over to her table. ‘So who was he?’ she asked.
‘Who was what?’ Claire asked.
‘The guy who kept you awake last night and gave you that hickey on the left-hand side of your neck.’
Claire clapped a hand to her neck and stared at her friend in utter dismay. She hadn’t noticed a hickey while she was in the bathroom—well, not that she’d paid much attention to the mirror, because she’d been too busy panicking about the fact that Sean Farrell was naked and in her bed, and she’d just messed things up again.
And he’d given her a hickey?
Oh, no. She hadn’t had a hickey since she was thirteen, and her dad had been so mad at her that she’d never repeated that particular mistake. Until now.
When Claire continued to be silent, Sammy laughed. ‘Gotcha. There’s no hickey. But clearly I wasn’t far wrong and there was a guy last night.’
‘You don’t want to know,’ Claire said.
‘I wouldn’t be fishing if I didn’t,’ Sammy pointed out.
‘It was a one off. And I feel suitably ashamed, OK? I said I wouldn’t date any more Mr Wrongs.’
‘Forgive me for saying, but you didn’t have a date for Ash’s wedding,’ Sammy said. ‘So I think he doesn’t count as one of your Mr Wrongs.’
‘Oh, he does. You couldn’t get more wrong for me than him,’ Claire said feelingly. More was the pity.
‘Was the sex good?’
‘Sammy!’ Claire felt the colour hit her face like a tidal wave.
Her friend was totally unrepentant. ‘Out of ten?’
Claire groaned. ‘I need coffee.’
‘Answer the question, Claire-bear.’
‘Eleven,’ Claire muttered, and helped herself to coffee, sugaring it liberally.
‘Then maybe,’ Sammy said, ‘he might be worth working on. Sort out whatever makes him Mr Wrong.’
‘That’d be several lifetimes’ work,’ Claire said wryly.
‘Your call. Pastries or peaches?’
Claire couldn’t help smiling. Only Sammy would ask something so outrageous followed by something so practical and mundane. ‘I thought you’d already scoffed all the pastries? But if there are any left I’ll have both,’ she said.
‘Attagirl.’ Sammy winked at her. ‘And I hope you don’t have a hangover. Because we’re taking that boat out to the Blue Grotto this afternoon before we catch our flights—I’ve got a commission.’