The sharp wine hit the back of his throat.
‘I didn’t expect to see you again, Rach.’ He let the words hang in the air between them.
When she finally spoke she didn’t sound quite so exasperated. ‘I didn’t expect to see you again either.’
She turned her head towards him. Her voice had changed; it wasn’t so strong. There was the tiniest waver. ‘I don’t know how to be around you. I don’t know how to act. I don’t know what’s normal for us any more. I don’t think things can ever feel normal for us again.’
She was right. She was saying everything that was running through his head. They’d gone from normal to nothing. One day she’d been there—the next she had gone. With a fifteen-minute fraught and tearful conversation tacked on the end.
This situation was alien to them both.
After spending a couple of years at university together with flirtation and attraction, he’d finally acted on instinct and asked her out. They’d been together for five years—through finals, through placements as medical students and then out into the world together as junior doctors, and then senior house officers.
Their relationship had been good. There had been passion and mutual respect in equal measures with only the occasional cross word. She’d been his best friend. Losing her had devastated him at a time when he’d needed her most.
In a way it was a relief that she was struggling with this too. He’d always thought he’d been instantly replaced by Darius Cornell. He’d never understood how she could just walk away from their relationship without a backward glance. And it made him doubt himself—doubt his own ability to read people. He’d questioned that he’d ever known her at all.
She turned her body towards his. ‘Would it help if I said sorry? I’m sorry that I left?’
‘It would help if you told me why you left.’ It came out without any censorship. Without any thought. After eight years, he had to say the thing that was truly on his mind. He needed an explanation. He deserved an explanation.
She paused, obviously searching her brain for the right words. ‘I had to go.’ The words were measured—deliberate. ‘It was the right thing for me. It was the right thing for you. It was the right thing for Charlie.’
The mention of his brother made his temper flare. ‘Don’t you dare tell me that was the right thing for my brother. You weren’t there. You didn’t see. You chose to not see. In a world of madness you were the one thing to give him a sense of normality. You never even told him you were going. Have you any idea how hurt he was? He’d just lost his mum and dad. He didn’t need to lose someone else who’d been a permanent fixture in his life for five years.’
A tear rolled down her cheek. She reached over and touched his arm, the cold fingers from the wine glass causing him to flinch. ‘I know that. Don’t you think I know that? And I’m sorry. It broke my heart; it really did. But I had to. I just had to.’ She was shaking her head, oh, so slowly. As if she’d had no choice. But that was rubbish. There was always a choice.
It was words. It was just words. There was no explanation. No rational reason to explain what she’d done. But it was just the two of them sitting alone on this sun lounger on the beach in the glow of the setting sun. And she was confusing him all over again. How could she still do that after eight years?
He could see the sincerity in her eyes. He could hear the emotion in her voice. She wasn’t lying to him; she meant every word—even if she wouldn’t explain them.
Frustration was simmering in his chest. All he wanted was an explanation. A reason. Something he could make sense of in his head. ‘Why, Rach? Why can’t you tell me now? It’s been eight years. Surely whatever mattered then is in the past?’
Her lips were quivering, her fingertips still on his arm. He could feel the tension in the air between them, hanging like the fireflies above their heads. But there was more than that. There was the buzz, the electricity that still sparked between them.
All he wanted to do was reach up and catch the tear that was rolling down her cheek and wipe it away.
But she moved first. Something flitted across her eyes and she leaned forward, crossing the gap between them. Her perfume surrounded his senses, invading every part of him. He stopped breathing as her lips touched his. It was gentle, coaxing. Her fingertips moved from his arm to the side of his cheek.
His first reaction was to pull back. He’d thought about this from the first second he’d seen her. But he hadn’t actually imagined it would happen. He hadn’t even let his mind go that far.
But his body had other ideas. His hand tangled through her long hair, settling at the back of her head and pulling her closer to him.
He couldn’t think straight. But he could kiss.
And Rachel was kissing him right back.
Her fingers brushed against his tightly shorn hair, sending tingles down his spine as the kiss intensified.
Eight long years he’d waited to do this again. Eight long years to feel her familiar lips against his. They fitted, just the way they always had. Memories of kissing Rachel swamped him.
In their student accommodation … in one of the on-call rooms in the hospital … at one of the hospital balls … and on the street one night in the pouring rain when they just couldn’t wait to get home.
All of those memories raced around his head. This was too tempting. She was too tempting. Her hair was softer than cashmere, the skin around her neck and shoulders smoother than silk.
His hands slid down her back, feeling the contours of her spine and the curve of her hips. He paused. This was where he thought he’d glimpsed a scar. But now his brain felt as if it were playing tricks on him.
Every pore in his body wanted to move closer, to lie backwards on the sun lounger and pull her body against his. To feel the warm curves underneath her sundress press against the hard angles of his body. But the beach was too exposed. Any minute now some of the crew could appear. Anything that happened between him and Rachel was private—not for public consumption.
Then he felt it—the tear brush against his cheek. Was it the one that was already there? Or was she still crying?
He sucked in a breath. She gently pulled her lips from his, not breaking contact, leaving her forehead resting against his while she gave a few little gasps.
He had so many unanswered questions. So many things he wanted to say.
But she lifted her finger and placed it against his lips before he had a chance to speak. She gave the tiniest shake of her head. As if she was still trying to stay in the moment. Not trying to face up to the past, the present or the future.
His hand lifted and stroked her cheek. It was wet with tears. ‘Rach?’ he murmured.
She pulled back, her cheeks glistening. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I really am. But I just can’t talk about it. I can’t give us that time back. I just can’t.’ Her voice cracked and she stumbled to her feet, making a grab for her wrap. ‘I’m sorry. This was a mistake. I need to go.’
She was off in a flash, running towards the path away from the beach and back to the cabins. Nathan didn’t move. His heart was thudding against his chest. The caveman instinct in him wanted to run after her. But he could hardly get his head around what had just happened. Why had she kissed him?
He’d wanted to kiss her … but Rachel? Making the first move? It left him stunned.
Then his legs moved before he had a chance to think any more.
No.