Chapter Twenty

Daytime in Madrid during the Fiesta was one thing—but nighttime was a whole new level, where the party atmosphere hung in the air, so that it felt impossible not to feel the buzzing under your skin. There were a few places to enjoy the evening festivities, but they'd settled on Las Vistillas. It was a big garden with a huge fountain in the center of it. Some people were sitting on the edge of it, sipping their drinks and chatting, others out on the grass, but the majority were congregated around the pop-up stage at the end of a concrete path, where there were various pop-up bars and food stalls. They'd been here in time for sunset, had watched the low pink-and-orange glow filter through the grass, but evening had set in now, and the two of them were sitting at a table near the stage, drinking what was left of their sangria. They'd hunted down tapas for dinner—something that would have to be on the itinerary for guests—and Lexie had decided Rachel had been right about the patatas bravas , the Spanish restaurants she'd been to in the UK just couldn't quite match the food she'd had out here.

Earlier, there had been traditional dancing onstage—the chotis, a far cry from the salsa Mike had imagined, where it seemed to Lexie that the men mainly stood still while the women moved around them—but now the music had shifted into something more modern and sensual, and the whole place was alive with celebration as people danced all around the garden.

There weren't all that many tables to sit at, and Lexie and Theo were bunched next to another couple, who kept awkwardly leaning over to kiss in a very public display of affection. Given the lack of space, Theo's knee kept bumping hers under the table, sending heat shooting up Lexie's thigh each time it happened, in a way that made it hard to think straight. The band playing up on stage was a useful distraction, and she kept making a show of watching them during the pauses in conversation. She'd had a message from Fran earlier in the evening, asking whether she was coping with Theo and telling her that her latest date had gone terribly wrong because the man in question had kept trying to touch her thigh under the table after about five minutes of knowing each other. Lexie had then proceeded to imagine Theo's hand on her thigh under the table, and so when she'd replied saying she was just about coping, it had felt like a lie.

The Spanish couple next to them leaned across the table to kiss each other again, apparently oblivious to how close to them Theo and Lexie were sitting.

"When I was sixteen," Theo said loudly, as if to make it obvious to the couple that they were not alone, "I got a tattoo on my back. I thought about getting it removed but it seemed like too much hassle and money, so it's still there."

"You have a tattoo? What of?"

"Nothing, really. It's basically just a black squiggle."

Lexie grinned. "You make it sound so macho."

"It's really not. It was a decision sixteen-year-old me made and although I don't spend much time looking at my back, so can't be sure, I'm pretty sure the guy made it uneven when it's not supposed to be—which I suppose is what you'd expect from a dodgy tattoo shop that didn't bother to ask how old I was."

Lexie laughed. "Will you show me?" She immediately regretted it. If it was on his back, he'd have to be at least semi-naked for her to see it, and seeing him semi-naked would not be a good idea. Picturing him semi-naked was not a good idea either. Stop it, Lexie.

He cocked one eyebrow in that way of his. "Maybe one day."

She cleared her throat, tried to brush past the moment. "Did your parents find out?"

"Yeah. My mum went mental, but that was sort of the reason I did it, so mission accomplished. I think my dad just sighed and went back to reading the paper." He gave her a meaningful look. Right—a truth for a wish. She could feel his eyes on her, even as she looked to the band—her safety net. And right now, she was wishing her body didn't react like this to him, wishing the music and the sangria and the evening shadows weren't getting to her so much.

"Ah…" She glanced back at him, shifted enough that their knees brushed under the table. An accident. Mostly. His eyes turned heavy on her, enough to make heat gather between her thighs. She cleared her throat and uncrossed then recrossed her legs. He followed the movement, and his glass of sangria paused, resting on his bottom lip for a second before he took a sip. She wished she didn't remember what that lip tasted like. Wished she didn't wonder if it would be the same if she kissed him again.

"Would you like a dance, mi amor?"

Lexie started and looked up into the face of an attractive Spanish man who had approached their table without her noticing. He was clean-shaven and had a mess of dark hair, and his eyes sparkled as he smiled at her, his hand out in a question. She nearly declined. Then she glanced at Theo again, who was watching her a little too carefully, and decided that, actually, a dance with a random Spanish man sounded like a great way to get a little space from Theo so she could get control of herself. So she put her hand in his and let him pull her into the throng of people, all dancing under the stage.

The music thrummed under her skin, and though she wasn't a hugely talented dancer, she could move well enough, and she caught the rhythm easily as the man put his hands to her waist, guiding her through the steps. She closed her eyes for a beat. She'd forgotten how much she loved to dance, just for the hell of it. The man twirled her under his arm, twice in quick succession, and she let out a laugh. The night air was cool, but it was hot enough with all the bodies pressed close together that she could feel sweat dampen her back.

"You are beautiful, mi amor," the man said, in what was clearly supposed to be a low, seductive tone.

She laughed to cover up the slight awkwardness she felt. "Thank you." She hadn't had a chance to change today—the days here had been very full-on, trying to fit in as much as possible, and her strappy dress felt less suited to a nighttime of dancing than it had to a picnic in the park. Her skin felt warm and tight, a warning that she'd been out in the sun for too long, and her hair was messed up in a way that was definitely on the "dragged through a hedge" rather than the "beachy" side of the scale.

His hands traveled up her sides, back down again, in a way that felt a little too intimate. She pulled away slightly and he got the message, kept them on her waist as they moved to the beat. It was definitely a salsa vibe, though the music added a modern spin on the traditional, so that it felt a little wilder. She glanced over to the table where Theo was still sitting, saw him scowling at the man dancing with her. She felt herself flush and looked away before he caught her eye. Was he jealous ? But she was allowed to dance with someone else, wasn't she? They were just colleagues—colleagues who had barely even tolerated each other until recently. And OK, fine, they'd ended up having a nice afternoon in the park, but all they'd ever done was kiss—once—in a moment where they had mixed up hatred with lust. And he'd held her hand this afternoon as they'd walked—but just in comfort, because she'd cried about her dad, and he felt sorry for her. Right?

But despite the way she tried to reason it out, to convince herself that the heat now licking at her insides was only because she felt embarrassed—or guilty for leaving him at a table alone—she couldn't quite hide behind it. Because she knew that somewhere over the last few days she'd fallen into liking him—even if she wasn't sure she wanted to. And she also knew that if he was up here dancing with someone else, she'd feel…well, a bit like the way he looked, scowling over at them. She'd probably have stalked off, leaving the party altogether, or else found someone of her own just to show she didn't care and—

"Mind if I cut in?"

Lexie jumped, moving out of the Spanish man's hold as she did so, at the sound of Theo's voice behind her. Her breath whooshed out—partly in surprise, and partly in relief, that he hadn't gone off to find some other girl, like in the scenario her overactive imagination had been playing to her.

He took Lexie's hand and gave the Spanish man a one-eyebrow look that clearly told him to sod off. The man looked for a second like he might say something, but maybe her earlier protest at him getting a touch too grabby had made him decide he wasn't going to get what he wanted from her, so he gave a shrug and headed into the crowd to find someone else.

Lexie felt a rush of indignation at being moved from man to man like she was a thing to claim. She pulled back from Theo, shoving at his chest. His hands moved to lightly rest on her waist, not keeping her there, just barely touching.

"What are you doing? What if I wanted to—?"

But his hands slid down her waist to her hips, his fingers curling there, and her skin heated. And really, who was she kidding? Because being this close to him, even surrounded by other people, she knew there was no point in trying to lie about it—to him or to herself. She might not really have understood why, but it was his hands she wanted on her right now.

"Wanted to what?" he asked.

She swallowed. "Nothing. Forget it."

"Gladly," he said, his voice low, on the edge of a growl. He started moving, pulling her with him into the beat. Her hands went to rest on his shoulders, and she told herself firmly to keep them there.

She cleared her throat, trying to ease some of the tension between them. "When I was twenty-one, I wished for a 2:1 in my course at university. I was studying biology, which in hindsight was a terrible idea—I'm really not good at it."

His eyes stayed level on hers, and the corner of his mouth crooked up. "And?"

"I got a 2:2."

"Better than me—I didn't even go to university. As my parents like to remind me on a regular basis." He looked at her expectantly—she was supposed to ask a question.

She searched his face briefly before asking. "Why do you care so much about the company? Why…What was the deal with you and my dad?"

He didn't falter as they kept in time to the music, but she saw his brow pull together. "Your dad…" He glanced down at her, like he was figuring out how much to say—or what would upset her to hear. "So, you know how I called you flighty?"

"I vaguely remember the implication, yes."

"Yeah, well. The thing is, I jumped to that conclusion because I was like that. After I left Ireland, I moved around a lot. I couldn't settle and I went through a phase of fucking everything up. What you do, moving around…It's something that clearly works for you, and that's what I didn't get. But for me…"

His eyes weren't focused on her anymore, so she could look at his face freely, watching the expressions play out there.

"I tried so hard, to be what my parents wanted—and then, because it never worked, I suppose I tried to be the opposite. It might be a cliché, but it's true. Bounced around a lot, didn't try too hard because I didn't want to fail."

She wanted to ask more—about why he wasn't what his parents wanted, about what he'd done while he bounced around. But she also didn't want to interrupt, in case he stopped talking.

"I got the job with Richard through coincidence, really—saw an advert for a junior position at a travel company, thought, hey, that sounds like fun for a bit. He took a chance on me—and I think I've already said that Ange may have had something to do with that. But I hit a snag early on, screwed something up. Funny thing is, I don't even remember what I screwed up. But it was enough that I tried to quit—you know, get out before you get fired. Before I failed. But Richard wouldn't let me. Just kept refusing to let me leave—and instead he spent time with me, teaching me stuff, not getting worried if I got things wrong. It was the first time anyone had ever done that. And because I stuck at it, I got better at it. So Richard, he made me feel like I was good at something. He listened when I talked, too, and made me feel like my ideas were, you know, valuable." He shrugged like it was no big deal, and she could sense some embarrassment there, at admitting all this. "And now, I think the company is cool, and I want to carry it on for him. He loved what he did, and it was something he poured everything into—and when he died, I didn't like the idea of that being lost."

Lexie went quiet, thinking, as the music changed, slowed. She tried to imagine it. The man who had left her, who had let her down repeatedly—this was also someone who had helped Theo, who had made him feel a little less lost. And that was why he'd hated the idea of sharing the company with her in the first place, wasn't it? Because he'd wanted to keep the legacy alive, and she'd wanted nothing to do with it.

"Why? Why do you think he didn't let you give up?"

He shrugged again rather than answering.

"He didn't tell you?"

"I never asked." He hesitated, and it was like he knew she needed more than that. "I was with him when he found that restaurant in Menton—you know, the one we ate at during the Lemon Festival." Lexie nodded, remembering. "He admired those guys so much, because they just weren't giving up. It was something he talked about a lot—but I think maybe that was the first time it really hit home for me. He used to say that you could never do everything perfectly, but that if you at least tried, you'd have less to regret in the long run."

"I've never really thought of him as a ‘trying' or ‘sticking with it' kind of guy. What with, you know. Everything."

He nodded slowly. "Maybe that's why, though. Maybe he was so determined to stick with the company—and to help me stick with it—because he didn't want to repeat his mistakes of the past."

"Maybe," she said, hedging. And maybe she'd never know for sure. Maybe there were a lot of things that she'd never have answers to, about why her dad had done what he did over the years. She bit her lip as she glanced at Theo, thinking about what he'd said. I think the company is cool, and I want to carry it on. Something pulled at her. Because they might have put that conversation on hold, but at some point it was going to come back around to bite them.

Then he slid his hand up her back, fingers grazing the exposed skin above her dress—and she decided not to think of that. Not right now.

"When I was fourteen," she said, "I wished for dance lessons. I was going through a phase of thinking I would be a dancer when I grew up—even though I'd never taken ballet as a kid or anything. I was imagining some kind of dancing like Step Up or Save the Last Dance . They're films," she added when he looked at her blankly. "I think I thought I'd be cast in a film and play this cool, tormented soul who lived to dance. My school didn't have dance lessons, and I'd found this academy thing. Mum couldn't afford the lessons—seriously, way too expensive. But I thought I might get a scholarship. For the space of about two weeks I was weirdly confident I'd get in, before the auditions."

"I'm guessing you didn't get in?"

"No—I was about as good at dancing as I was at biology."

He spun her around, brought her back to him and drew her a little closer than they had been before. He managed to do it so easily, she couldn't help wondering if he'd ever had dance lessons. "You seem like you can dance OK to me," he said, and his mouth was close enough that his breath caressed her ear.

Her insides seemed to shimmer at the sound of his voice, but she forced herself to keep it easy. To keep pretending. "That's because you are weirdly good at this."

He grinned, then skimmed his hands down her sides. "Would you tell me a wish?" she asked. "What would you wish for—if you were the type to make wishes?"

He let out a low laugh. "I don't think you want to know what I'd wish for right now, Lexie."

She bit her lip, felt a flare of satisfaction as his attention zeroed in on it. "What if I do?" What if she wanted to give in to it, stop pretending?

His eyes darkened, and something pulled low in her stomach.

He said nothing, but his right hand skimmed down her spine, the other coming to her hip. Her hands moved to his neck, and she saw his pulse jump at the base of his throat as his gaze dropped to her mouth. They were so close, breathing the same air—close enough that his nose skated down hers as he shifted his head. Her heart was hammering hard enough that she was surprised they couldn't hear it over the music. They'd slowed out of time now, moving in their own rhythm as her hands traveled over his shoulders, down his muscled back. His fingers at her hip dug in, and the hand on her spine flattened, pressing her against him. They were both breathing heavily now, their lips separated by less than an inch, the air buzzing in the space between them. She moved her hands to his stomach, spread her fingers there, and he shuddered a little, moving his own hands lower behind her. There were people all around them, dancing, but she didn't care. She couldn't think outside the two of them, couldn't do anything but stare at him as she remembered what he'd tasted like last time. As she wondered what it would be like to have more.

Then it started to rain. The heavens literally opened, seemingly without warning, and though it might have been warm in the daytime here, there was a chill in the evening air, and the water was cold, a shock to the system. Like the world was reminding her to cool the hell off and take a goddamn shower.