Page 41 of Girls Just Want to Have Sun

After all, he has not mentioned that magical almost-but-not-quite kiss we shared. I think back. Was it alarm on his face, or did I misread the situation? Our lips were almost touching. It was a sort of magical lip hover. And itwasmagical. Totally fucking magical, and he must have felt it too.

Unless he didn’t. And I’ve got it all wrong because I am so out of practice. My nerves are unbelievably fraught. I must behave like a grown woman and stop this obsessive fantasising. But it is much harder than it sounds. When we come to a stop at a set of traffic lights, he casually twists round to check on me. He takes his hand from the handlebar, palm up, and nods as though to ask if I’m okay. Can he not feel my crotch burning into him? My legs squeezing against him in a provocative manner? Feeling uncharacteristically brave, I take his hand and place it on my thigh in answer. My breath catches as I wait to see what he does. I can see nothing of his face through the helmet.

If he’s not single, or interested, then he’ll move it off my leg and I’ll simply dismount and make my way straight to the airport.

As the lights change to amber, and the moment stretches on with me thinking about hurling myself from the bike to avoid the ensuing embarrassment, he lightly strokes the entire length of my thigh before returning his hand to the throttle. I freeze.

I feckin’ knew it!

We wind our way through the streets down to the sea and along towards the marina with me barely able to think straight. We park up and I wait, shuddering at the thought of what I want him to do next. He slides easily off the bike. I hand him my helmet and swish my hair free as though I’m in a hair commercial and doing a hard sell on him. He steps towards me, not breaking eye contact, and we do the sexy, slidey body thing where he lifts me off the scooter and we are inappropriately touching each other until my feet touch the ground. I feel the electricity crackle between us. His dark eyes are full of promise. I lick my lips – they’re not even dry! – and bat my eyelashes – like I’m in aFifty Shadesfilm! – another thing to thank the girls at the salon for: the flamenco-fan lashes. He holds me close with one arm, clamping me to him tightly, while his other hand roams my back and then cups my bottom, and I melt as he pulls me even tighter against him.

He seems almost bewildered. ‘You do something to me. I can’t explain it. I feel drawn to you.’ He swallows and runs a hand through his hair.

My entire body is on fire. I am in immediate danger of actually panting, my lust for him reaching critical levels. The sun is setting over the mountains, and the air is heavy with fresh salty sea and the aroma of palm trees and olives and distant garlic and herbs. It’s intoxicating.

Matteo takes in a deep gulp of air. ‘I’m about to do something very unprofessional.’ As if to make absolutely certain that I get his drift, he cups my face with his hands and gently kisses me on the lips. We take a beat to let his actions sink in. Technically this is a murky grey area. It could have disastrous repercussions from a client-manager point of view. And I’m sure Nancy would be the first to disapprove. I tip my head, eager for more. As soon as our lips touch again there’s an unmistakable charge of energy, like he’s lighting the fuse to a firework. ‘This could complicate things,’ he says.

‘Could it?’ My voice is huskier than a phone-sex worker just back from the night shift. I am trembling from head to toe and very much of the opinion that this could be one of those relationships that can become quite physically sexual yet still retain a certain modicum of professional distance. Before either of us changes our minds, I reach up to return the kiss. As our lips melt together, we struggle to pull apart. It feels so wrong yet so, so right. Matteo looks as startled as I feel, with his hair a bit messed up from me manhandling it and his cheeks flushed.

‘I’m never this spontaneous,’ he says, blinking a few times as if to get himself together before leading me over to the marina. I float alongside him, admiring the brute force of his stride, his long legs, his firm grip on my hand and the sexy way he keeps looking at me as though to check I’m real before he shakes his head as if he’s wondering if he’s lost his mind. It feels like a wild dream. If I’m Cenicienta then he is totally my Prince fucking Charming. The water twinkles like it’s covered in sparkling jewels, reflecting the last of the setting sunlight. It’s enchanting and dreamlike.

‘Is this where they find me at the bottom of the ocean wearing concrete boots?’

‘No,’ he says. ‘Concrete is so bad for the marine life. We only use kelp now.’

I find his passion for the future of the planet a huge turn-on. I’m about to tell him when we suddenly reach an imposing yacht rising majestically out of the marina. It’s straight out of a music video, complete with supermodels in bikinis serving trays of drinks.

I gasp.

‘I had no idea you had such a… big one…’ I trail off, making myself sound filthy dirty yet suddenly overwhelmed at the same time.

‘Come on, let’s get you on stage. Just follow the playlist, interact regularly with the audience and try not to do any avant-garde stylings,’ he says briskly like he’s arranging a military coup. ‘Then I’ll give you a tour.’

I find this sort of professional adeptness enormously engaging. I gaze up at him moonily, wondering if he can see the twinkling stars bursting from my eyes.

I’m in a perfect moment.

I allow myself to fast-forward and imagine us being together. An actual couple in a fully functioning relationship. Him, not minding my lack of joie de vivre and my frequent teary outbursts, and me, able to ignore his too-perfect looks and the fact that he is my boss.

14

He sweeps me on board and takes me straight into the VIP section. The celebrity DJ for the night spots us immediately and greets Matteo like an old friend. I listen to them chatting in French.French!The party is already in full swing. The music is thumping, and there is a frisson in the air. Overwhelmed and out of my depth, I hover at the edge of the circle before heading over to prepare for my set. I am suffering from a permanent flutter of butterflies in my stomach since the kiss. I can think of nothing else. I just want him to kiss me and put me back under his spell with those gorgeous dark eyes of his.

While Matteo is networking, he makes sure to glance over to the stage area where I am checking the equipment and scrolling through the songs that Nancy has chosen. I hear a commotion and witness Nacho strutting in like a magnificent prize peacock, with some of the cliff divers who are dressed equally as glamorously. He comes over to say hello and tells me his friends at the salon WhatsApped him the Cinderella photo I sent them.

‘Cenicienta,’ he says, ‘are you doing the same comedy routine from last night or different?’

Christ alive. I will be forever haunted.

I laugh it off and catch Matteo staring over at me. He doesn’t seem too happy that I am chatting with Nacho. Both men exchange a determined smile. First, it seems ridiculous that these two Greek gods are even giving me the time of day, let alone paying me this much attention, and second, it probably is high time I did some cyber-stalking of Matteo if we are to continue heavy petting like we have been.

‘How do you two know each—’ I’m cut off mid-sentence as the manager comes over to ask if I’m ready to start.

‘We need you on quickly. Amy Housewine has run out of songs to sing.’

I send a quick prayer up to my mother.Please let me be good.

An hour later, I’m still light-headed. I don’t know quite what came over me, but somehow, I did exactly what I was told. As if on automatic pilot, keen to get the show over with and to stick rigidly to Matteo’s plan ofnothinggoing wrong, I have breezed through every song in a technically perfect manner. I went through each one without dropping a single note or upsetting the audience with my preference for reducing grown men to tears. All my years of training have kicked in to lead to this very moment as I keep my nerves and feelings for Matteo at bay, to concentrate fully on the job at hand. And while I do like to take my audience on a journey with me, I have to admit they look like they have enjoyed happy songs being sung to them. I’m on the home straight and on to the last track. I glance down to see what it is.

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