Page 33 of Benidorm Again

Where does one go with that?What is the social etiquette around two work colleagues sharing a giant bath when one of them is clearly attracted to the other? This is wrong on so many levels, not least professionally, but I am equally alarmed to be enjoying the attention. But I must discourage this thing before it goes any further.

‘I get that a lot,’ I joke. I have butterflies raging inside me and my voice has become low and husky. I now sound like I’m from Buckinghamshire. I turn coyly away.

‘I blame my upbringing,’ he says. ‘Norwegians are very open and honest about things. And I did go to a boarding school in Switzerland where anything goes, so that hasn’t helped.’

I am reminded that he probably speaks French like a native. And we all know what else French men are famous for.

‘I don’t want to be the cause of any embarrassment. And I’d hate to make you uncomfortable.’ He is impeccably polite. ‘But I’ve never met anyone quite like you before. You are trulyexceptionelle,and I have a deep respect for your talent. I just need you to understand that.’ The intensity of his words sends a crackle of excitement shooting through me. ‘I know I’d regret not telling you.’

I. AM. GIDDY.

I am also quite tipsy. And when I am tipsy, I also become fluent in French. I have a GCSE in it. Well, I don’t. It’s in Spanish. Which is the only explanation I can find as to why I blurt out this next thing.

‘Non, je ne regrette rien.’

His eyebrows shoot up. ‘Exactly. Life’s too short for regrets. Edith Piaf certainly had a weakness for men. Raised in a bordello, you know.’

I do know. Istudied everything about her turbulent romantic history as part of my music degree.

I must get a grip. It’s not my fault we seem to be drawn together like magnets. But it will be my fault if I allow anything to happen. Especially if I keep openly propositioning him with song titles that sound like sexual invitations. I really hope Matteo is not also on the receiving end of such blatant French temptation.

‘The French have rather cornered the market when it comes to songs about love… and sex, of course,’ he says, not taking his eyes from mine.

I swallow nervously.

We are work colleagues I chant silently. We are professional artists. We are doing nothing wrong. We are having playful conversation. All is above board and morally certifiable because we are creatives. And everyone knows creatives have a different way of doing things.

‘Forbidden sex is always the hottest sex, don’t you find?’ he says, breaking the silence. He tilts his head, as though he’s wondering how I’ll react. ‘The French are very good at that too.’

I nod blankly. I have no idea. Although, in this moment, I can quite imagine illicit, steamy,handprint-on-the-car-window sex with someone you really shouldn’t be having sex with, being very, very erotic.

We stare at one another for what feels like an eternity. My heart is thumping wildly in my chest. I don’t want to be this attracted to him, but I am. I just am.

Gah!

Just as I’m about to blurt out that my heart belongs to another, he stands up, the water swishing round his muscular thighs. His swimming shorts are sticking to him like clingfilm. My eyes are drawn to his manhood straining like a giant, prize-winning cucumber to get out, a few inches from my face.

I gulp. This man has no sense of boundaries.

‘We should go,’ he says in a serious tone, reaching out his hand to help me up.

‘Go? Go where?’ I say, stalling.Christ Almighty, what have I done?

We stand inches apart in the hot, bubbling water, steam billowing around us. The only two people in the entire place. My chest expands with each deep breath. Once again, my drill bits draw his gaze, causing a low moan to escape from his throat. He drags his eyes to my mouth, my lips have parted with the heat as water drips slowly down my face, my neck, my chest. He holds out his hand to help meup, leaving a tingling sensation in my fingertips. The spark causes me to let go. He felt it too. His eyes immediately cloud with lust.

‘Back to the room.’

Chapter 13

This is all my fault. I have indicated that I am a woman of questionable morals without a care in the world, albeit in a foreign language but it still counts, and now I have to backtrack out of it.

I stare up at him in panic as he climbs out ahead of me. I try not to be distracted by the long, long legs or, the massive cucumber or, the six pack or, the chiselled jawline or his hand waiting for me to take it.

Oh, God. How embarrassing is this?

‘Don’t look so terrified.’ He says, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. ‘I meant we need to get dressed if you want dinner at 5pm.’

Relief floods my body.

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