THE beach houses were all very picturesque outside, but very basic inside; just one bedroom, a bathroom, small kitchen and a sitting room. Really they were meant for nothing more than a place to cool off during a day spent on the beach. Or as in Ethan case, the perfect place for the single person to use for a holiday. Problems only arose when the single person doubled to two.
It was a problem that only began to dawn on Eve as she watched Ethan close the door. The fact that it had dawned on him too at about the same moment became apparent when, instead of turning to face her, he went perfectly still.
A thick and uncomfortable silence settled between them. Clutching the sheet to her throat, Eve tried to think of something to say to break through the awkward atmosphere. Ethan tried to break it by taking off round the room to switch on the table lamps.
The light hurt her eyes, forcing her to squeeze them shut. He noticed. ‘Sorry,’ he murmured. ‘I didn’t think—’
‘It’s okay.’ She made herself open them again. She didn’t look at him though—she couldn’t. Instead she made a play of checking out her surroundings—surroundings she already knew as well as she knew her own, because she had been in and out of the Petronades beach house since early childhood.
‘Bedroom through that door, bathroom the other…’
She looked and nodded. Her mouth felt paper dry.
‘Would you like a drink? Something hot like tea or coffee?’ 49
Yes—no, Eve thought in tense confusion. Her head was beginning to pound, a sense of disorientation washing over her in ever increasing waves. She felt strange, out of place and—
‘This was a mistake,’ she pushed out thickly. ‘I think I had better—’
One small step in the direction of the front door was all that it took for the whole wretched nightmare to come crashing back down upon her head. She swayed dizzily, felt her legs turn back to rubber; she knew she was going to do something stupid like drop to the floor in a tent of white sheeting.
Only it never happened, because he was already at her side and catching hold of her arms to steady her. She was trembling so badly her teeth actually chattered.
‘Are you frightened of being alone here with me, or is this a delayed shock reaction?’ he questioned soberly.
Both, Eve thought. ‘Sh-shock, I think,’ was the answer she gave out loud. Then she confessed to him shakily, ‘Ethan, I really need to sit down.’
‘What you need is a doctor,’ he clipped back tautly.
‘No,’ she refused.
Sighing at her stubbornness. ‘Bed, then,’ he insisted. ‘You can at least sleep off the effects there.’
He was about to lift her back into his arms when Eve stopped him. ‘W-what I would really love to do is take a shower,’ she told him. ‘W-wash his touch from my skin…’
There was another one of those tense pauses. ‘Eve, he didn’t—?’
‘No,’ she put in quickly. ‘He didn’t.’ But the tremors became shudders, and neither of them bothered to question why she was suddenly shuddering so badly.
‘The bathroom it is, then,’ he said briskly, and the next thing she knew
Eve was being lifted into his arms again and carried into the bathroom. He set her down on the lowered toilet seat, then turned to switch on the shower. ‘Stay right there,’ he instructed then as he was disappearing through the door.
His departure gave Eve the opportunity to sag weakly. He was back in seconds, though, forcing her to straighten her backbone before he caught her looking so darn pathetic.
‘Fresh towels,’ he announced, settling them on the washbasin. ‘And a tee shirt of mine.’ He placed it on her lap. ‘I thought it might be more comfortable to wear than the sheet.’
It was an attempt to lighten the thick atmosphere with humour, Eve recognised, and did her best to rise to it. ‘White was never my colour,’ she murmured, referring to the sheet.
The tee shirt was white. They both stared down at it. It was such a stupid, mild, incidental little error that certainly did not warrant the flood of hot tears it produced. Ethan saw them—of course he did—when had he missed a single thing since he’d barged into her bedroom?
He came to squat down in front of her. ‘Hey,’ he murmured gently. ‘It’s okay. I am not offended that you don’t like my tee shirt.’
But she did like it. She liked every single thing about this man, every single thing he had done for her. And the worst of it was that he had done it all even though he actively disliked her! ‘I’m so very sorry for dumping on you like this.’ The sheet was covering her face again.
‘I thought we’d agreed that you were not going to apologise,’ he reminded her.
‘But I feel so wretched, and I know you have to be hating this.’