She stopped by the edge of the bed and looked down at him, one hand poised to tap his bare shoulder. But she paused, her hand hovering in mid-air before slowly, silently, she crouched down, level with the mattress. Face to face, she stared at him in a way that was impossible when he was awake. Without the resentment in his jaw, without the anger in his eyes whenever he looked her way, he was probably the most beautiful man she had ever seen. She could see Linus in his profile, that darling child.

Her eyes grazed him, remembering how she had reached over that night on the boat and how his cheek had curved beneath her palm, how his lips had felt as she’d kissed him first . . . How easy it had been in that aberrant moment when, simply strangers, they had succumbed to a momentary temptation because it felt so good. So right. So natural.

His eyes flickered open, the pupils dilated, sleep like a veil upon him still, and it struck her suddenly how cruel it was that those eyes had remained closed for seven years. How much had he missed? The world had carried on turning without him, his family’s lives had continued –

‘Bell.’ The word was an exhalation, a sigh, a fragile sound giving shape to a wish.

‘I’m . . . sorry,’ she whispered, trying to pull herself back. She was delirious, sleep-addled herself. ‘It’s one o’clock. I have to . . . I have to check you’re okay.’

His eyes had closed again and her gaze skimmed him once more with a voracious freedom never normally hers. She remembered how it had felt to lie beneath him, his weight pinning her down, his mouth on her neck . . . Her heart rate quickened and without even knowing she was going to do it, she leaned in, kissing his temple as lightly as a feather falling onto snow.

She pulled back and saw he was looking at her. The sleep was lifting and there was recognition now, eye to eye in the moonlight. There was truth. They had started something that wasn’t yet finished, lighted a flame that wouldn’t go out until they let it burn.

‘Bell.’ There was heat in the word, shape to a need, and his arm reached out, snaking around the back of her neck, gripping it tightly, cupping her head. Instinctively, she leaned into it, eyes half closing as his fingers worked in her hair. A groan escaped her as she rubbed her neck against his hand, wanting more –

He pulled her to him, his lips so close she could feel their warmth, and her body ached for that first primal touch between them again, the touchpaper that would send them both up in flames. She waited for it.

And waited.

She opened her eyes and stared straight into his. But it wasn’t desire she saw – but despair. He didn’t want to want her.