…
Belle stood at the top of the steps and watched Nick plunge into the waves. In the relative stillness of the moonlit water, his powerful figure cut a swift path as he struck away from shore.
She couldn’t explain why she’d remained out here instead of upstairs in her room. After all, as she’d told herself a few dozen times already, there was no future for them.
Very early on after she’d walked out, a part of her had hoped he’d come after her. But he never came, never sought reconciliation. The one time she’d tried to reach out—her desperate need for him winning out—her email had bounced back—message undeliverable.
In terms of signs, that had been a huge, impossible-to-miss one.
I always intended to come after you…
To believe him would mean to believe Nick hadn’t consigned their marriage to a failed venture. But at what cost would it come when he couldn’t even admit how he felt about her?
And why the hell was she was standing here, watching Nick swim farther out into the ocean, like some kind of wide-eyed groupie? Because at the back of her mind the thought niggled that she’d somehow gotten it wrong?
Her mind whirled, and she hated herself for the doubts she was letting creep in. A cool breeze blew over her, and she rubbed at her arms, her gaze straying to the water. She could no longer make out Nick’s form. His powerful breaststroke had taken him out of the path of the moonlight. Whatever questions she had would have to wait until tomorrow.
Besides, from his coldly furious expression when he’d turned away from her, this might not be the right time to try and talk to him. She’d wait till morning, after a good night’s sleep, when they were both level-headed.
Exhaustion seeped through her, and she walked toward the house.
Approaching the terrace, her feet slowed. She couldn’t shake the look on Nick’s face when he’d realized she didn’t believe him. Not even the best actor could fake a look like that. He’d looked angry, yes, but also…devastated.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” she muttered, her mind in turmoil. She was about to step off the terrace when she heard the phone ringing.
She frowned. Only a handful of people knew the island’s number, and most of them used Nick’s business line in his study.
At the insistent ring, she hurried inside and picked up the handset. “Hello?”
Silence. Not just silence. Menacing silence.
A shiver raced over her, turning her from warm to icy in an instant.
“Hello? Is someone there?” she demanded, her voice husky with sudden fear. The slow exhale that came down the line was unmistakable.
A second later, the line went dead. Hand shaking, she dropped the phone back in its cradle. Her heart hammered as she stared down at it. It was nothing. She fought to regulate her breathing. She was safe.
Charles Mwana was thousands of miles away. And even if he wasn’t…Nick would keep her safe. There were security guards stationed around the island. Lots of them.
She was safe.
She repeated the phrase over and over until the thought settled deep, calming her.
Returning outside, she stood on the terrace, her arms wrapped around her middle. Short of joining Nick in the sea—and there was no way she was doing that—or swallowing a couple of those hated sleeping pills, a vigorous workout in the pool was the only way to banish the past hour’s turbulent exchange.
At the poolside, she stepped out of her slippers. Cool flagstones inlaid with the same rich mosaics that graced the interior of the house soothed her warm soles.
Her dress came off easily, and she stood in her lacy bra and thong. Her cheeks flushed at the thought of skinny-dipping. Electing to stay as she was, she stretched her arms over her head and executed a clean dive.
The water closed over her, and her troubled thoughts receded. Setting a fast pace, she swam lap after lap until her arms protested at the punishment. She clung to the side until she caught her breath, then she climbed out of the water and walked to the marble-tiled shower wall next to the pool. The multi-headed jets sprang to life at the push of a button. She sighed as soothing, warm water caressed her from both sides of the curved wall.
Her wet lace underwear chafed her skin. After a moment’s hesitation, she peeled them off. Demetra and Yannis had retired to their cottage a while ago, and the wall was high enough and hidden from view of the house. She braced both hands on the tiles in front of her, let her head roll back onto one shoulder and reveled in the water flowing over her.
She let out a sigh of pleasure as the jets pounded her, melting away the knots and tension in her body. A few more minutes of this, and she’d head for bed.
“Christos!”
The harsh oath cratered her serenity. Her head whipped round, and she froze.