How to Get Over Your Ex (14 page)

No. He wanted to haul her behind him into that big,
comfortable, wasted bed and not come out till morning. But that wasn’t going to
happen. Not outside his head. And if he was smart he wouldn’t let it happen
inside his head, either.

No complications.

No risk.

No Georgia.

‘Sure. Show me the town.’

* * *

There
was a lot to see in Göreme. They
roamed all over the maze of paths and stairs and twisted byways, sometimes
emerging accidentally in the private areas of people’s homes and then
retreating, embarrassed, despite the friendly and unsurprised response of those
intruded upon. Clearly, they weren’t the first tourists to end up in someone’s
living room. They hiked out on foot a half-hour from the town and spent the last
two hours of light poring over the ancient rock-hewn world-heritage monasteries
with their immaculate and stunning frescoes. A local kindly showed them back
through the warren of now-dark dwellings after the sun plunged unexpectedly
quickly below the horizon. Orange light glowed from almost all of them but it
didn’t help them a bit with their orientation.

‘Thank you,’ Georgia gushed as the pleased-as-punch man
deposited them on the doorstep of their hotel and then waved his farewell. She
wasn’t totally sure Zander would find his way back to his room without
assistance—she’d needed two attempts the first time for her own room—so she
followed him up.

‘Left,’ she dropped in just at the last moment.

He turned and looked at her. ‘Not right?’

‘Not right.’

Left it was. One more corridor and they were at his door. ‘What
about dinner?’ he asked.

She groaned. ‘That would have been good to mention back at the
entrance. We’ll have to retrace our steps.’

‘Hang on, I’ll just get a jacket.’

He was back in moments with a light jacket over his T-shirt.
Whether it was for the evening cool or whether he wasn’t used to going to dinner
in a T-shirt, it didn’t matter. He always looked extra good in a collar so the
stylish jacket was very welcome from her point of view. He’d morphed back into
casual Zander as the afternoon wore on. The same man she’d spent so much time
staring at and smiling at back in the King’s Arms.

That was a slight analgesic against the dull ache of his
rejection the past fortnight.

Discovering the city with him was a joy. His inquisitive mind
and her gentle probing drew fascinating information from the locals. Twice he’d
bemoaned not bringing his recorder with him on their walk to capture the
lyricism and beauty of the language and the particular sound of voices as they
soaked into the ancient limestone. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.

The hotel had a small outdoor balcony restaurant on its roof
and a serve-yourself arrangement inside. Georgia laughed at Zander’s bemused
expression.

‘When was the last time you ate at a buffet?’ she said. Though
this was no ordinary buffet. Colourful fruits she’d never seen before spread out
on one table and dishes of aromatic mysteries on another. She loaded a little
bit of each onto a large plate and planned to round off her day of Turkish
discovery here.

Some of it was odd, some of it was tasty, and two things were
just plain amazing. She went back for seconds of those. They talked about the
flight, the drive out, their impending early start for the balloon trip;
anything they could think of that wasn’t about London.

As if by agreement.

Here, they could be two totally different people. She didn’t
have her purposeless life or her humiliating proposal to deal with. He didn’t
have his work or his marathons to distract and absorb. And they didn’t have the
Year of Georgia between them.

Or the kiss, and what it meant.

Or his running from the dance studio. And what that meant.

She knew that she never would have achieved this amazing
experience if not for the shove that Zander’s radio promotion had led to. She
would have drifted along in her rut for who knew how long before eventually
bumping to shore and clambering out, miles off track.

‘It’s hard not to sit up here and feel that anything is
possible,’ she murmured out over the night lights of Göreme.

‘Anything
is
possible.’

She laughed. ‘Spoken like a true executive. For most people a
lot of things are impossible. Financially, socially, time-wise.’

‘You just have to get your priorities in order.’ He
shrugged.

She stared at him. They could make small talk or she could ask
him something meaningful. ‘Do you prioritise activities over personal
things?’

He looked up. Cocked his head.

She sank back into her over-stuffed chair, stomach full and
single drink warming her from the inside out. ‘You keep yourself closed off from
people, yet you’re so busy and active all the time. That must be a conscious
choice. It would take quite a bit of work, I would have thought, to be around
people all the time but not really interact with them on a meaningful level. It
must be exhausting.’

Wary eyes considered her. ‘Are we talking about my staff
again?’

‘No. But that’s a good place to start. Why do you work so hard
to keep them at a distance?’

He thought about not answering. She could see it in his
expression. But something tipped him the other way. ‘Because I’m their manager.
I don’t want to be friends with them.’

‘Is it that you don’t know
how
to
be friends with them?’ Or maybe anyone.

‘Pay them more and give them half-day Friday off and I’m sure
they’d feel more friendly.’

‘You don’t buy friendship.’

‘I bought yours. At fifty grand to be exact.’

That stung. Not because it wasn’t true that it was his money
funding her fabulous year of self-revelation, but because it cheapened what she
would gladly have given him for free.

‘You don’t think I’d have chosen to be your friend without the
Year of Georgia?’

‘We never would have met without it.’

That was true. If she’d run out of his radio station a few
moments earlier or later she might have been sitting here alone. Or not at all.
So much of who she was finding deep inside was because of Zander’s prompting.
His goading.

She sat up straighter. Tired of the subterfuge. ‘If we’d met in
a coffee shop and I’d got to know you I would have wanted to be your friend.’
Though she’d never have worked up the courage to speak to him. She’d have
considered him way out of her league.

Her sub-conscious use of the past tense suddenly became
remarkably apparent. Exactly when did she decide that Zander Rush was in her
league?

‘Is that what we are? Friends?’

‘That’s what I think we are. Though I know you wouldn’t call it
that.’

‘What would I call it?’

‘Acquaintance? Contact? Obligation?’

‘You’re not an obligation, George.’

But she
was
just an acquaintance?
‘I’m sure you’re not going to tell me what a great time you have trailing me all
over London for my classes. Not when you bailed on the belly dancing at the
first decent opportunity.’

He studied the way the dark liquid swirled in his glass. ‘I owe
you an explanation about that...’

‘Is there even a Tuesday night network meeting?’

His eyes lifted. ‘There is. That’s real. But I did use it to
get out of the dance class.’

She just stared.

‘I wasn’t...’ He paused and tried again. ‘I wasn’t comfortable
there.’

Her jaw tightened. ‘Was it me or everyone else?’

He didn’t answer. Her stomach sank.

So it was her.

‘It’s a very confronting form of dance when you’re on the
receiving end,’ he said.

‘You didn’t look too confronted.’ Until he’d looked at her. ‘I
was just enjoying exploring the art form.’

The intense need to justify why she’d let herself get carried
away with the sensuousness of the dance washed through her. And hot on its heels
was the blazing knowledge that she owed 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.