She felt her heart twisting. So hard to see him hurting like this, ridiculing himself, because that was what was going on behind the bravado—pain, hurt, bitterness. If only she could tell him how much Anthony had loved him, how deeply he regretted his mistakes, but last time it had backfired, and she couldn’t risk it again. Not here. Not now. Better going with the tide.
‘So you like gambling?’
‘Not exactly...’ He took a hefty sip and then, unexpectedly, he broke into a smile. ‘I liked counting cards.’
Her ribs went tight. ‘But isn’t that—’
‘No, it isn’t illegal.’ He shrugged. ‘It’s just arithmetic. Exercise for the brain.’
‘There are other ways.’
‘So I’ve discovered.’ His gaze fell for a beat then lifted, attached to a wry smile. ‘I mean, what’s bigger and more exciting than gambling on a bespoke boutique hotel in the heart of Lisbon, right?’
‘You’re getting a gambling thrill out of it?’
‘No!’ His features drew in. ‘I was joking, Quinn.’ And then he was shaking his head, his gaze softening. ‘But if the thought of me gambling bothers you then I won’t do it ever again.’ His chin dipped a little. ‘Is that what you’d like: for me to promise?’
Depths in his eyes...depths within depths.
She felt her stomach tingling. So Sadie was right about this too. He did have feelings for her, strong enough to change his ways, do for her what he wouldn’t do for his father.
Her heart pulsed. So, there were feelings running both ways then, but she couldn’t act on hers, not after Lisbon, and, for the same reason, he was unlikely to either—aside from giving her lunch at the best table in the house and a heartfelt promise to quit gambling, neither of which she could think about right now when he was looking at her like this, waiting for her to reply.
She nodded, pressing her gaze into his, loading it with all the love inside. ‘I would, Will. Very much.’
‘Okay, I promise—Scout’s Honour—no more gambling.’ He smiled. ‘From now on, I’ll apply my brain only to work and to our hotel!’
And then he was talking about dessert, something about a ‘deconstructed’ Portuguese custard tart, but it was fading in and out because all she could hear playing over and over were the two words that she’d never heard him say in the same breath before.
Our. Hotel.
CHAPTER TWENTY
HE DROPPED HIS holdall and pulled out his phone. It had pinged as he was riding up in the lift and it could only be Quinn, replying to the text he’d sent from the taxi.
He tapped the screen, felt a smile breaking loose. Quinn indeed!
Sorry Budapest negotiations are dragging. *sad face emoji* To cheer you up, master suite WILL be finished tonight if it kills me and it is going to be FAB-U-LOUS! So sad...aka furious...that you’re in meetings all evening and can’t video call. Even sadder that you’re not here to share the moment because it feels like a milestone and Filipe is no fun at all. I’m in his bad books because the bathroom fittings I ordered from Paris have been delayed again which means the plumbers can’t get on and now this is ‘holding up the whole project’!!! Anyway, hope your meetings go well tonight and that Team Thacker prevails. I’ll send pictures of the finished suite! See you in London next week. Q x
He slipped his phone back and went to the window, staring out over Rossio Square. If only she knew he wasn’t in Budapest! He felt his smile fading, his stomach tightening. Coming here to surprise her like this was tantamount to pinning his heart on his sleeve, wasn’t it? Putting himself on the podium, finally. Then again, hadn’t he been on this trajectory ever since that ‘Lisbon’ lunch three months ago? A supposed business lunch that had ended up with him promising to give up gambling for her.
Transparent, much!
As was going out on street patrol with her and Sadie that night in London, love, and admiration, leaking out of him the whole time. As for taking her along the coast to Cascais last month for her birthday, obvious surely, unless her other friends also took her for champagne lunches on yachts!
He felt warmth unfurling. Her face that day—all smiles on deck. Hair bound up with a colourful scarf, blowing in the breeze, her long brown legs killing him in white shorts, her eyes aglow with fifty shades of mischief.
‘You’re spoiling me, Will! Not that I don’t totally deserve it because I’m the one who’s here, putting up with Filipe!’
Later, they’d found a park to walk through, trees and cacti cohabiting in a magical dappled woodland, and after that, back in the charming little town, they’d happened upon a gallery, and that abstract in oils of the 25 de Abril Bridge that she just ‘had to have’ for the master suite because it was ‘perfect’!
His heart pulsed. Perfect, like every moment was with her. Catch-ups and debriefs in London, but also Sunday brunch as friends. Portobello Market, galleries and jazz clubs—because education cut both ways! Always fun, always easy. And maybe that was because they didn’t feed the demon by talking about Dad, or maybe it was because Quinn had a warm, wonderful way with her but, whatever it was, he was feeling good on it. Drinking less, taking care of himself. He was even looking into the issues around homelessness—not that he’d mentioned it to Quinn yet—talking to the board about Thacker Hotels doing something significant in that regard.
And here, the hotel was coming on apace, which was down to Quinn and the team, but he was keeping his finger on the pulse too, extending himself, even discovering a bit of chutzpah he never knew he had! He felt a smile coming. That was what Quinn had called it anyway, when he’d persuaded Michelin-starred chef Xavier Rankine to leave the Aurelia in Paris to take control of their restaurant. Opening was six months away still, but Rankine was going to put them on the map. As was Quinn’s luxurious avant-garde décor...
He felt his heart softening. Giving her all, spending days at a time here to get things done. Did she really think he wouldn’t have crawled through broken glass to be here to celebrate her completing their flagship master suite? Wild horses couldn’t have kept him away. Because she was everything now, and he wanted her to know it, feel it, and maybe he was misjudging, misreading her signs, but at the same time it didn’t seem possible because every time they were together he could feel the air crackling two ways.
He crossed the room to the mini-fridge. The bottle of fizz was there, just as he’d asked. And two flutes. Damask napkins to wrap them in.
Champagne, then dinner at her favourite place. After that, who knew? He flicked a glance at his watch. But first, a run to calm his nerves. Then it would be time to give his favourite interior designer the surprise of her life!
The plastic sheeting round the door rustled frenetically then disgorged Filipe.
‘Hey, Quinn!’ His eyes darted to the painting she was unwrapping—the striking abstract that she and Will had found in Cascais. ‘It’s seven. Everyone else has left. Are you coming?’
In other words skedaddle, which was not happening!
She smiled to placate him. ‘No, not yet.’ She scanned the rich blue wall—blue for the Tagus—fixing on the blank space where the painting was to go. ‘I’m on a roll, Filipe, so close to finishing...’ And it wasn’t as if she had anything better to do since the one person—the only person—she would have walked off the job for wasn’t here. She turned back to him. ‘You don’t have to wait. I’ve got my keys. I know the alarm codes.’
He peeled off his safety helmet. ‘You shouldn’t be here alone.’
She forced her eyes not to roll. He meant well but he was such a stickler!
‘I know, but I’ll be fine, honestly. I mean, the hallways are clear. I’m not going to trip over any ladders, fall through any—’
Her heart clutched then fluttered, spraying tingles. Oh, the way Will had caught her that day, crushing her against him—so quick, so strong. Nothing to how he was now though! Honed from every sublime angle, skewing her senses every time they were together. It was getting harder and harder not to say something, not to throw herself at him, especially when he was close, when she could feel sparks crackling between them, hear the rhythm of his breathing actually changing around her. When he was so damn attentive and indulgent! Champagne lunch on that yacht for her birthday, then discovering Cascais: that beautiful, lush little park, that amazing gallery. And coming on street patrol with her in London, winning Sadie right over, and herself even more. Signs all the time. Tingles all the time.
But nothing was moving forward. He didn’t talk about Anthony, or Pete, so she didn’t feel that she could either, even though she wanted to. Stuck for weeks, revolving in the same old doors, and it wasn’t enough, God help her. She wanted more: to know more, give more, feel more, emotionally...physically. She wanted to love him, drown in his heat, feel his body on her, inside her, everywhere. God, just the thought of it was misting her up, stealing her...
