‘Not really,’ Nikhil replied instantly.
But, despite his attempt at a casual tone, Isla couldn’t help thinking she saw something deeper, more genuine, usually hidden. Something profoundly sad. Though perhaps she was just being fanciful.
As if he was going to show her a side of himself that no one else ever saw.
‘My brother wasn’t what you might call the dependable sort. Most people aren’t, which is why I can understand why your mother doesn’t believe in love.’
Guilt lanced through Isla.
‘My mother might not believe in love as some deep, romantic concept, but she definitely believes in love for me as her daughter,’ she said, almost apologetically. ‘And for Leo, come to that. Even now, she still treats Leo like another daughter. If she phones me to see how I am, she will have either called, or be about to call Leo too. If she buys me something, she buys something for Leo.’
‘You don’t resent that?’
‘It makes me feel as though we’re still family. In fact, when I told you before that I was here with friends, I wasn’t being entirely truthful. My mother flew herself and Leo out yesterday as a surprise. And, as you surmised, we’re going for dinner together tomorrow night. Though she’ll be furious she didn’t book here. That’s her idea of love.’
‘Indeed.’ Nikhil offered a half-smile but didn’t elaborate. Instead, he turned his questions back on her. ‘And what about you? Do you believe in love?’
Isla hesitated. She had done. Once upon a time.
For all her mother’s wisdom and lessons, she’d believed that true love—soulmates—had to exist, somewhere. A thousand blockbuster romantic films couldn’t be wrong. And when she’d fallen for Bradley she’d understood what every single one of them meant.
Or she’d thought she’d understood.
‘Not any more,’ she told Nikhil simply, quashing the traitorous part of her that tried to argue. ‘You?’
‘Never,’ he answered.
And she thought it was the fact that it was said so certainly, with no emotion or heat, that made it all the more...lamentable.
‘Are you always so controlled? Don’t you ever feel passionate about anything?’
It was a foolish question. She realised it at exactly the same moment that his eyes darkened, his expression walloping her like a punch to the solar plexus—only far, far more exhilarating.
‘I might only be able to offer one night, Little Doc, but I can show plenty of passion, if that’s what you want.’
The heat, the intensity, that she’d felt earlier now felt more like a wall. And she was racing straight for it.
‘Not a date,’ she managed weakly.
‘Of course not,’ he agreed with a smile that she could swear she could actually feel against her sex. ‘But if you feel yourself wavering, just let me know.’
‘Right,’ she murmured. Unable to even deny it.
The wall was approaching faster now.
If she wasn’t careful, she was going to crash—and that could only hurt.
* * *
It was several hours before they left the restaurant. The last to leave, after being served one incredible dish after another, and even Chef Miguel had left the kitchen to come and sit with them for after-dinner drinks, chatting with Nikhil as though they were old friends.
Clearly they were.
But whilst Brad would have preened and peacocked, making her cringe a little at his sycophantism—the way that he always had when Isla had taken him to one of her mother’s high-society events—Nikhil kept it all comfortable and easy.
It told her a lot more about him. And she liked what she saw.
But now it was just the two of them. Her and Nikhil, in the quiet, narrow back streets, which were glowing faintly from the warm yellow-orange lights spilling out from the buildings on either side.