Page 25 of One More Sleepless Night

‘Not everything,’ she said furiously. ‘One thing I’d really like to know is, how could you?’

Pretty easily, he thought, as the memory of Nicky in his arms and how she’d got there flashed in his head. Stamping down on the sudden surge of desire that rushed through him, he forced himself to focus on the conversation.

‘What’s your problem, Gaby? Why the outrage?’

In contrast to him Nicky hadn’t seemed particularly upset by the kiss earlier so what was his sister so het up about? Had Nicky had time to reflect and reached the same conclusion that he had? Had she decided that he had in fact taken one hell of a liberty, and said as much to Gaby? ‘It was only a kiss,’ he muttered as a sense of unease and a ribbon of self-disgust wound through him.

‘That’s precisely the problem,’ his sister said vehemently. ‘Nicky does not need kissing. She’s in enough of a mess as it is without you adding to it.’

Rafael frowned. ‘What kind of mess?’

‘It’s not for me to say.’

‘Gaby…’

‘No. She asked me not to. But it’s serious.’

A chill ran through him. ‘Is she ill?’

‘No. At least not physically, I don’t think. But what I will say is that she’s been going through a really rough time lately and could do with a bit of head-space. She needs a break and time to get herself back together. Alone.’

And just like that, as if he didn’t have enough to contend with, a bucketload of guilt landed on top of all the frustration and desire and self-recrimination, and his head began to pound with the force of it.

God, he should have realised something wasn’t quite right with Nicky. In fact, he had, hadn’t he? Within five minutes of meeting her he’d noticed the paleness of her face and the fact that she was a little too thin. He’d seen the way she’d tensed up when they’d talked about her work yesterday evening at supper, and he’d registered the way she’d been so reticent to talk about herself today at lunch. And then what about that nightmare she’d had, and he’d conveniently let drop?

Yes, all the signs that she wasn’t entirely OK had been there. And what had he done? He’d paid it all the barest attention and then like a self-centred jerk switched his focus to himself, completely consumed by the heat and desire she’d aroused in him and outraged by the fact that it wasn’t reciprocated.

And then he’d jumped on her.

As yet more self-disgust unfurled in the pit of his stomach and spread throughout his body Rafael wished he’d never made the decision to head south. He wished he’d stayed right here and suffered whatever torture that dinner party might have held, whatever lengths Elisa might have gone to to make him change his mind, because frankly none of it would have been as unpalatable as having to live with the knowledge that his behaviour over the last forty-eight hours was nothing to be proud of.

‘Well, I’m back at home,’ he said flatly, ‘and as I have no intention of laying eyes on her ever again, Nicky can have all the head-space she needs.’

EIGHT

Much to her surprise, Nicky was enjoying the rest of her so-called holiday immensely. Whether it was because the cortijo was so quiet and tranquil it was impossible not to relax, or whether it was because Rafael was no longer around to bamboozle her poor frazzled brain, she had no idea. All she knew was that in the fortnight since he’d left, she’d settled into something of a routine that largely revolved around eating, sleeping, reading and sunbathing, and she was feeling better than she had in ages.

The Monday following his stealthy departure Maria had returned after her weekend off and had resumed her miss

ion to feed Nicky up. A seemingly never-ending stream of dishes had appeared, each so mouthwateringly appetising that Nicky couldn’t have resisted even if she’d wanted to. Slivers of melt-in-the-mouth jamón. Little earthenware pots of sizzling hot green peppers. Bowls of steaming paella. Strong crumbly manchego cheese. Spicy chorizo, sun-warmed tomatoes picked straight from the vines and freshly baked bread… She devoured it all and as a result had put on a few pounds, which she reckoned suited her.

Filled with good food, she’d been sleeping a lot better. Once she’d got used to the creaks and groans of the two-hundred-year-old house, she found the silence of the night comforting, and tended to crash out the minute her head hit the pillow. Not stirring until dawn, she enjoyed a sleep that was deep and restorative and nightmare-free.

Well, almost nightmare-free. She’d had it again once a week ago, triggered, she suspected, by a phone call from her therapist who was ringing to see how she was, but that was it. Most nights she seemed to dream of Rafael, which was bizarre given that he barely crossed her mind during the day.

Feeling physically so much stronger, Nicky had taken to exploring. The minute she opened the shutters to the coral pink streaks slashing across the sky, she was up, showered and dressed and heading outside into the relative cool of an Andalucian August morning.

As the sun inched higher she wandered up and down the rows of vines, letting the heady scent of ripening grapes and dry, dusty earth envelop her and feeling the warmth of the soil beneath her flip-flops stealing right into the depths of her bones and absorbing the cold that had been there for so long.

She’d got into the habit of having a nap after lunch, then spent the afternoons swimming and reading. In the evenings she sat on the terrace, looked out over the gently rolling landscape, nibbled on tapas and drank wine, the warm night air vibrating with the chirrup of cicadas and redolent with the scent of mosquito-busting citronella.

Not only had she been sleeping—and looking better—but she’d also tentatively been getting back in touch with friends and colleagues. Yesterday she’d even emailed her parents to find out where they were and how they were getting on.

Best of all, this morning she’d woken up, seen the fabulous light that she saw every morning, and without even thinking about it had picked up her camera. Her body buzzing with anticipation and her heart racing, she’d gone outside into the vines as usual, but, instead of idly ambling through them and thinking about nothing, this time she’d found herself automatically studying the way the light fell on the fat ripe grapes and bounced off the browning crumbling leaves, and focusing on contrast, angles and composition.

She’d rattled off a series of pictures and before she’d known it the sun was high in the sky and she was sweltering and dirty and aching all over. And she’d never felt so good, so giddy with delight, so relieved.

All she had to do now, she thought, pulling her eye mask down and settling against the pillows for her customary siesta, was wait for her libido to come back and she’d be well and truly on the road to recovery.

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