I blinked twice at the tender tone of his voice. “What about it?”
“You don’t remember?”
“I remember you being an arsehole again, but a few days in to this holiday and I’m already getting used to that being your default setting. It’s nothing new.”
“Yeah?” he said, a little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Such an arsehole that I was the one to carry you back to your apartment when you’d had one drink too many and blacked out.”
I stared at him, seeking out the lie he had to be telling. The only thing I saw, however, was his smug truth. “You… carried me back here?”
“Me.”
“I was… in your arms?”
At that, his smirk faded, and he cleared his throat. “Erm. Yeah.”
“Yourarms?”
The tightening of his jaw and another small nod were all I got.
“As in… you held me?”
This time, he didn’t respond.
I imagined it, me so drunk I couldn’t even stand on my own feet properly. Henry seeing me drooling and slurry, a complete mess bundled up against his chest.
Jesus,his chest.
My attention drifted down to it without thought, and my mouth watered.
Had I been pressed against that? Had I moaned with lust at the feel and smell of him so close to me? Had I said anything I shouldn’t have? Had he put me to bed? Were we alone? Had I, had I, had I? Did we, did we, did we? Oh, good God in Heaven above.
What had I done?
I threw my hands over my face in embarrassment and let my head fall back against the lounger with a groan I couldn’t contain. He’d sought me out this early in the day to gloat and rub this in my face, that much was obvious. I wanted the earth to open up and swallow me whole. I’d have to suffer this ridicule from him for the next however many days, knowing he’d seen me at my worst, knowing he’d somehow won this battle between us that I didn’t even want to fight.
“You can go now,” I told him from behind the palms of my hands. “You’ve achieved what you set out to.”
“Which is?”
“My mortification.”
I heard his huff of manly laughter, and I dared myself to peek out between my fingers only to see his head dropped between his shoulders as he shook it in obvious amusement. “Shit. I guess I don’t need to apologise for anything, then.”
His apology. I’d forgotten all about it, too busy drowning in my own shame and embarrassment to have given him much thought.
Henry looked up quickly, and his eyes locked on mine. “You make it really hard for me to dislike you sometimes, Phoebe Turner. You know that?”
“You want to dislike me?”
“I have to. The alternative carries far too many risks for both of us.”
Without another word, Henry rose to stand over me, blocking out the sun, yet somehow making me hotter than I’d been all morning.
“Just look after yourself out here. Not all guys have good intentions,” he said softly.
“What about your intentions?”
He held my gaze before he quietly said, “I don’t have any.”
