It was frustrating. She was frustrating. He didn't understand her. One minute she wanted him, the next she was shrugging him off.
He turned on the shower and stood under the running water. It was cleansing, washing away the salt, the sand, Abbey.
But it didn't wash away the image of her face, her cheeky grin and her pouting, kissable lips.
What had happened in the water today? She'd been so keen, then so cold. He could almost see her mind ticking over, weighing something up, digesting.
Did she not believe him when he said he was sorry? Did she think that he still thought she was a hooker?
Nick placed his hands against the cool blue tiles and bent his head forward. The water rushed down his neck, his spine, soothing, much like Abbey's fingers had done on the first night she'd entered his room.
Or was she just concerned that this was going too far? That a one night-stand should be just that—one night.
In truth, it was beginning to worry him now too. CEO's don't fall for loose women in strange cities. They date nice, respectable women with moneyed backgrounds and amenable personalities. Not wild-haired, impudent women who wear skimpy outfits, and claim to be masseurs.
But if Abbey was concerned that this was going too far and too fast, why had she agreed to make love to him in the water today?
Why had he for that matter?
The answer to that was too easy but opened up a whole new can of worms—because he wanted to.
Nick sighed deeply and turned off the taps. He dried himself, dressed in a light, casual shirt and trousers and opened the door. He stepped into the corridor, pressed the elevator button and waited.
In the foyer, he strode to the reception desk and waited impatiently for the dark-haired woman on duty to finish checking in another guest.
"May I help you, Mr. Vane?" she asked.
"Yes." Nick paused. This could quite possibly be the most humiliating experience of his life. But it would help him discover the truth about Abbey. Right now, that was more important than his dignity. He swallowed. He never thought anything could be that important. But it was.
"Yes," he said again, straightening. "There's a girl who, um, may or may not work here."
"Yes?" prompted the woman, Belinda—according to her name tag. She wore a polite but bland expression on her face, just like every other hotel receptionist around the world.
"Her name's Abbey. I don't know her last name."
"I don't know any Abbeys. Is she in housekeeping?"
"Um, no. At least I don't think so."
"Right. Reception?"
"No."
Belinda raised her eyebrows as if to say, "Well?"
"She's a masseur."
"A masseur?" The eyebrows nearly flew off her face.
"She gives massages to your guests." Nick could feel his face heating up. Control, Delaware, get a grip.
"I don't think we offer that kind of service to our guests," said Belinda, a hint of amusement in her otherwise polite voice.
"Is your manager here?"
"No. But I'm sure we can clear this up without involving him. What sort of massages does she give?"
Belinda was clearly amused now and Nick's temper was heating up. So was his face.
"The usual kind. Not…the other sort." Well, only with him. He hoped.
"Other sort?"
"Yes, you know." Nick waved his hand in the air. "The other sort. The sort you don't tell your wife about."
Belinda's mouth twitched. "Of course. Let me get this straight. You're after an employee named Abbey who gives massages, but not the kind of massage you can't tell your wife about. Is that it?"
"More or less."
"Mr. Vane, I think I can say on behalf of Le Meridian that we don't offer massages of any kind. However, if a woman is posing as hotel staff and charging for massages, of a kind you can tell your wife about—"
"She doesn't charge."
Belinda's brown eyes widened. "Free massages?"
"Yes. Compliments of hotel management."
"I think there's been a mistake, Mr. Vane."
"So do I. I'm sorry I took up your time."
Nick strode away, blood rushing in his ears. He'd never felt like a bigger fool.
"Ah, Mr. Vane."
He turned round and Belinda waved him back to the desk.
"What?"
She leaned forward on the desk, her chin in her hand. The politely bland expression replaced by a flirtatious one.
"If you need a massage, I'm sure we can arrange one. Of either kind." She smiled wickedly then winked.
Nick cleared his throat. "Thanks." He turned and walked quickly to the elevator.
Back in his room, he closed the door and leaned against it. At least he knew for sure that Abbey was lying.
Now he just had to figure out why.
***
Abbey sipped her gin and tonic and settled back into the chair on the balcony of her Armadale apartment. The view wasn't spectacular—just the leaves of the trees from the house next door—but she didn't care. Her mind was still on that afternoon at the beach. And the man she'd slept with yet again.
She'd been a fool she told herself. A damn fool for letting it get this far. It was supposed to be just sex. Nothing more than a roll in the hay with a stranger.
But Abbey's heart was telling her otherwise.
"Forget about him, Abbey Girl," said Lucy, holding the neck of a beer bottle. She threw her head back and swallowed a mouthful.
"He's an S.O.B. He can't keep it in his pants, and you just happen to be the lucky girl in Melbourne. Or the unlucky one."
Abbey sighed. "I know that." She did. She really did know it.
Dusk had settled serenely across Melbourne and its suburbs. The quiet hum of traffic in the background provided a distant reminder of where they were, but the surrounding trees and orange-tinged sky made it feel like the middle of nowhere.
Abbey loved her apartment. Located in one of Melbourne's better suburbs, rent was expensive and the space miniscule, but it was close to everything and the surrounding million-dollar mansions made her feel wealthy.
She was far from it. They couldn't even afford a pizza between the two of them, so Abbey had to cook. Something she hated doing. Something Lucy refused to do, so she'd watched, sitting on a stool at the kitchen bench, sipping her beer as Abbey threw the entire contents of her fridge into a wok. The stir fry wasn't bad but it was rather bland.
Now, as she sat on the balcony, she wondered what Damien was eating. Had he gone back to the restaurant where she'd performed her fancy footwork on him?
She laughed quietly at the memory.