Valentine's Day. Nicola Marsh

him no apologies.

      ‘And you should enjoy it. It’s your thing,’ he said.

      ‘You’re not up to spectating on a bit of sexy dancing? You didn’t mind the salsa.’

      ‘Sexy would be fine. It’s just that it’s...’

      Colour started to show low on his jaw. Given how dim it was under the shade-sail on the hotel roof, the fact that she could see it meant it had to be a reasonable amount. Was he blushing?

      ‘It’s what?’ she risked.

      Embarrassing? Pathetic? Something that really shouldn’t be done in public?

      His eyes lifted to hers, heated. ‘It’s erotic.’

      Her breath halted. She sagged back in her seat, dumbstruck, and crossed her hands demurely in her lap. Studying them. Then she looked out into the orange glow of the city lights far below. Then the candle of the table next to them. Taking the time to decide what to say. Taking the time to remember how to speak.

      She cleared her throat and had a go. ‘Erotic?’

      Didn’t that suggest some kind of attraction? More than just a kiss by the sea kind of attraction? More than just chemistry.

      ‘It was very seductive.’

      A sense of the same empowerment she’d felt dancing there in front of the mirror came back to her now. Dancing in front of the mirror had felt good because it was good, maybe? ‘It’s supposed to be seductive.’

      ‘We don’t have that kind of relationship.’

      Polite Georgia burned to take the hint. To change the subject. But she was tired of being polite. Of doing what everyone expected her to. She kicked her chin up. ‘You don’t have that kind of relationship with the other women there, either, but you weren’t running a mile from them.’

      Just her.

      The light came on in her mind as slow and golden as the lights of Göreme had glowed to life. But just as certain.

      Just her.

      She took a breath and whispered, ‘You liked it.’

      He didn’t look away. But he didn’t speak. He let her three words hang out there over the city, unanswered, for eternity. But finally he spoke.

      ‘I loved it. And I shouldn’t have.’

      Heat to match his flared up her throat. Her gut tightened way down low. He’d loved her sensual display. ‘Why?’

      ‘Because we don’t have that kind of relationship,’ he repeated, his frustrated hiss more at himself than her.

      She took a breath. Took a chance. ‘Why don’t we?’

      He stared. ‘What?’

      ‘Why don’t we have that relationship?’

      ‘I’m... You’re... We’re doing business.’

      ‘Why can’t it be more?’

      Those all-seeing eyes suddenly darted everywhere but her. ‘I don’t do relationships. Not of that kind.’

      It was true. In the months she’d known him he never once said he couldn’t do a class because he had a date. Never once mentioned anyone in his life. ‘What kind do you do?’

      His eyes flicked up. ‘I have...encounters. Short and sharp. Over before they start.’

      ‘One-night stands, you mean?’

      ‘Sometimes more. But never much more.’

      ‘Why?’

      His eyes shadowed over.

      ‘Don’t you get lonely?’ she breathed.

      ‘There are worse things than being lonely.’

      Like what? Being hurt? Making a wrong choice? She wondered again about what had happened to him in the past to give him that view. And what had changed in her that she was about to suggest what she was about to suggest even though she didn’t feel she could ask him about his past.

      ‘An encounter, then.’ Picking up where they left off that night at Hadrian’s Wall.

      She’d never, ever propositioned someone so directly in her life. Even with Dan, their first time was an awkward kind of inevitable. But this didn’t feel wrong. Or loose. It felt exactly as she’d felt dancing in front of that mirror.

      Strong. And fated.

      ‘Right here in Göreme. We have two nights.’ Her own daring made her breathless. Was there a faster way to screw things up between them than to...well...?

      ‘George—’

      ‘If you’re not interested, that’s OK.’ Knowing without a doubt that he was interested made it OK. ‘But we’re in a fantasy world for the next two days. We might as well get the most out of it.’

      She kept her eyes on his, but it was the hardest thing she’d ever done.

      ‘Is this a Year of Georgia thing?’ he grated.

      ‘No. This is just a Georgia thing.’ She filled her lungs. ‘I think we should go back downstairs.’

      ‘What about dessert?’ he asked, and it smacked of desperation.

      ‘Do you want dessert?’ she breathed, still locked onto his cautious eyes.

      As she watched the caution cleared, the relief filled them, then desire. And that— finally—was what made her pulse hammer. After all the newfound confidence of the last few surreal minutes, the old doubts crept back in. Dancing in front of a mirror was one thing. Getting down and dirty—and naked—with a man like Zander was almost completely overwhelming in principle. Let alone practice.

      She imagined the light cotton of her dress was the caress of sheer silk. And that helped. She imagined the respectful scarf she still wore from their explorations of the city was a face veil covering all but her eyes. She imagined the expression in Zander’s gaze was the same as the one she’d caught in the mirror.

      Only she didn’t have to imagine that because it was. Identical. Only this one was far less repressed and infinitely more terrifying.

      And exciting.

      They stumbled to their feet.

      ‘Which room?’ he asked as he stood back to let her out.

      Was he kidding? ‘Yours. That spa is wasted on you.’

      His hand burned where it pressed into her back, shepherding but also keeping a gentle contact as he urged her down the carved corridor towards the stairs. A teasing kind of torture. A perfect kind of bliss.

      He bent to murmur into her ear, ‘It’s wasted on just me, maybe.’

      And suddenly her mind was filled with images of the two of them tangled together in the hot opulence of the old stone bath, and her breath just about gave out. It was all she could do to keep her feet moving, but she knew if she stumbled Zander would just sweep her into his arms and carry her down the three levels to his enormous suite with its enormous bathroom and that enormous, luxurious bed.

      Just like the conqueror he’d once spoken of.

      He stopped at his door, turned her until the timber was at her back, and pressed into her. Peered down on her. ‘Are you sure?’ he murmured.

      She didn’t waste breath on words. Instead she pressed up onto her toes and kissed him. Showed him how sure she was. Even though this was totally out of character for her, even though she had to block thoughts of anything more future than Sunday night from her mind.

      She was sure about the next two days.

      This was her reinvention, and Zander Rush was an integral part of the new Georgia Stone. She’d never felt more certain about anything.

      He