Fuck!
I jerked away to the furthest edge of my seat, hoping for the small mercy that he’d remained asleep. But when I glanced over, he met my eyes with a derisive smile.
‘Sorry,’ I mumbled, my face hot with embarrassment.
‘I always knew you couldn’t wait to get your hands on me again, Burrowes. Thanks for drooling on me, by the way.’ He smirked and held out the wet patch on his T-shirt.
‘Leave me alone, Nick.’ I twisted my body away from him and squeezed my eyes shut to quell my mortification.
How did he always manage to make me feel so stupid?
‘Thank god that’s over,’ I said as we stepped out of the airport. My whole body was heavy with exhaustion from the long journey and lack of sleep. The warmth of the Mediterranean sun on my shoulders was a welcome caress after the brittle Melbourne winter.
Nick slung his camera bag over one shoulder and his backpack over the other. He looked at my suitcase with a critical eye. ‘Doesn’t that thing at least have wheels so you can pull it behind you?’
‘It did, but one fell off when James and I went to New Zealand.’
‘You took it to Auckland as well? Four days and you needed a suitcase that size?’
‘I didn’t know what we’d be doing. I had to pack for all possibilities.’
He shook his head in disbelief. ‘Chicks. Can’t live with ’em, can’t shoot ’em.’
Before I could slap him down with a bitchy comeback, he turned his attention to his iPhone. Probably updating his Facebook status lest his friends wonder where he was.
‘Is this really the time to be playing with your phone?’
He held it up to show me the screen. ‘It’s Google Maps, you twit.’
‘I picked up a map from the information booth, remember?’
‘And why unfold that great bloody thing every time you want to get somewhere when a GPS can instantly tell you exactly where to go, which direction and how long it’ll take?’
He had a point, but I was hardly about to admit that my phone was incapable of such wonders. ‘There’s nothing wrong with doing things the old-fashioned way. Anyway, what do you need to look for now? We haven’t even got to the hotel yet.’
‘I’m looking for the quickest route there.’
‘I’m not bloody walking! Let’s just get a taxi.’
He threw me a mock patient glance. ‘I want to know the general direction so we don’t get driven around the city twice before we get to the hotel.’
‘Does it really matter? It’s all being paid for by work.’
He grinned. ‘I’m going to tell Katrina you said that.’
‘Whatever,’ I mouthed at his bowed head. But to be honest, I was feeling vulnerable and unsure of myself, and couldn’t help being relieved that Nick, however detestable he may be, was taking charge until I got used to my new surrounds.
I stared out the window for the whole taxi ride, transfixed by the beautiful buildings and the streets bustling with dashing men and glamorous women. But the thing that really struck me, having spent my entire life in a two-hundred-year-old country, was how old everything was. Enormous cream and white buildings with stately pillars and arches held court over the main roads. The narrow streets looked as if they’d been there forever, the windows of the warm-coloured apartment buildings billowing with washing hanging out over the street. Brilliant green plane trees lined every street, cooling the otherwise dry appearance of the city, and palm trees towered over the parks and squares. This was a new world, casual yet sophisticated, grubby yet beautiful.
But our accommodation didn’t quite fit into my vision of this world. Far from the four-star quality I’d expected for a work gig, it was a small, dingy-looking hostel with no lift. The owner was a young, slim woman with short brown hair and a big smile. She was dressed in a bright yellow T-shirt and faded jeans that hung from her hips more as an adornment to her figure than a mere item of clothing. Her skin was a natural deep bronze and her eyes were golden brown.
‘Hola,’ she said cheerfully as we walked in.
Nick brushed past me and rested his elbows on the counter in an affected casual stance.
‘Hola,’ he drawled with a lazy smile. ‘Habla inglés?’
He spoke Spanish? Why hadn’t he told me he spoke Spanish?
‘Yes!’ she said. ‘My name is Estel, how can I help you?’
‘Great to meet you, Estel. I’m Nick.’
He took her hand and held it for a moment longer than necessary. I rolled my eyes. He was an idiot if he thought a girl would fall for such an obvious pick-up routine. But then, hadn’t I?
‘We’re staying here tonight, but we may need to extend that to another night or two,’ Nick went on.
‘Of course!’ Estel said. ‘Just let me know by tomorrow afternoon if you wish to stay another night. What name is the booking under so I can find which room you will be in?’
‘Burrowes,’ I broke in. ‘The booking is for two rooms.’
I thought I saw her face colour slightly with pleasure as she rifled through the reservations. She obviously wasn’t immune to Nick’s charms after all.
‘OK, you’ve got rooms 405 and 407,’ she said. ‘They are on the fourth floor—turn left at the top of the staircase and down the corridor. Here are your keys. Enjoy your stay.’
‘Thank you, Estel.’ Nick reached out and took the keys from her before I could. I saw his hand touch hers again. What a sleaze. Well, I wasn’t sticking around for the rest of the show. I made for the staircase, dragging my stupid big suitcase behind me.
‘Here, let me
