Page 18 of Another Lucky Number (Lucky Number #2)

Chapter Seventeen

S ébastien looks at me expectantly, gesturing towards the other dancing couples, and before I can properly register what’s happening, I’m getting to my feet.

With the current song coming to an end, I’m hoping the next one will be a bit more upbeat, but instead the band transition seamlessly into Let’s Stay Together by Al Green.

Oh god. It had to be one of the most romantic songs ever written.

Lola warbles the lyrics, eyes closed, face all mushed up in that soppy kind of way, and I can’t help wondering if she’s picturing Sébastien.

Sébastien, meantime, has slipped one arm around my waist, clasped my right hand with the other, and is sweeping me round the makeshift dancefloor with skills to rival the contestants from Strictly Come Dancing .

It turns out that I had nothing to worry about regarding my dancing abilities.

I’m basically his puppet, and he has total control over my movements.

The whole experience is quite overwhelming.

The lyrics make me blush, especially when we make eye contact.

Then there’s the feeling of Sébastien’s muscular back through his shirt, him being so close that I can feel his breath on my neck and the wafts of his heady fragrance mixed with his natural masculine scent.

I feel like I might spontaneously combust. It’s too much doing this with the man who will be putting me through my professional paces on Monday.

Then Lola opens her eyes, and my discomfort reaches a whole new level.

She shoots me one of the filthiest looks I’ve ever seen; a stark contrast to the romantic soulful melody she’s projecting to the room.

Now I know she was fantasising about Sébastien – and is probably thinking about how she’d like to kill me with her guitar.

Sébastien continues to shimmy me around the floor, while I attempt to block out Lola’s murderous looks and Amber’s smug face across at our table.

‘ ?a va , Emma?’ Sébastien seems to tune into my discomfort. ‘You are OK?’ I can feel his smouldering eyes on me.

‘Yeah… I’m fine.’

‘I am sensing that you are not at ease with the dancing.’

‘Oh, no. It’s nothing like that.’ I attempt a wave of my hand and he course corrects me, keeping us in time with the music. ‘It’s just… you’re going to be interviewing me in a few days’ time. Whatever way that goes, it kind of makes me feel like I’m dancing with my boss.’

‘And it would be a problem for you to dance with your boss?’

‘Us Brits are awkward about this stuff. You know, “stiff upper lip”, that kind of stereotypical nonsense that has some truth behind it.’

Sébastien chuckles. ‘It is good then that I am not British, and I can spin you around this dance floor with no qualms whatsoever.’

‘I suppose, but also… us being seen dancing like this, and then you assessing me quite publicly for the job. People could ma ke assumptions.’ I regret this comment the second it’s out of my mouth.

‘Ah, OK. You are concerned that my staff and guests will think that I am favouring you for the role, and if you are successful this will be the reason for it.’

‘Well, yes.’ This didn’t actually dawn on me until I said it but it’s quickly becoming my main concern.

Sébastien chuckles again, and performs a slick dance move that involves twirling me away, and pulling me back into him in one smooth snapping action. He then draws me even closer.

‘I will share a secret with you, Emma,’ he says. ‘I do not care what anyone thinks. The decisions I make are for the right reasons, and I do not need to justify them.’

His breath tickles my ear, which on top of the proximity of our bodies, sends my pulse racing, and I briefly wonder if he might kiss me.

Feeling ever more self-conscious, my eyes scan the room as Sébastien continues to sweep me round in circles.

I can see Cat and Amber’s delighted faces, the bar staff giggling and whispering to each other as they watch us, Lola shooting cruise missiles in my direction, and James looking shocked and horrified by the entrance to the bar.

Wait … what? James? I try to glance back towards the entrance, but Sébastien (unknowingly) thwarts this attempt by performing another of his fancy dance tricks. The movement and the confusion make me feel dizzy and I stumble, prompting Sébastien to bring us to a halt.

‘Emma, you are looking off colour.’ He takes my face in his hands.

‘I’m… um, yes… I think maybe I’m dehydrated again.’ My eyes dart to the entrance but there’s no one there.

I must be dehydrated if I’m now hallucinating. James isn’t here. Of course he’s not. He’s in the US with his mates, probably celebrating his first night of holiday freedom by drinking too much – a move he’ll likely regret in the morning. I make this assumption because that’s exactly what I did.

Sébastien signals to the waiting staff to bring some water and leads me back to our table.

‘What’s wrong?’ Cat gets up to help me into my seat. ‘You’re really pale, honey.’

‘I’m OK, don’t worry.’

The water arrives and Sébastien practically force feeds it to me. ‘ Pardon , Emma. I apologise if the dancing was too much.’

‘I think it’s you that’s too much for her,’ Amber mutters under her breath and winks at me.

‘It’s fine, Sébastien,’ I say between gulps. ‘The dancing was lovely. And thanks for the water. I probably just need some sleep.’

‘I think that is a good idea,’ he says. ‘I will call the concierge to drive you back to your suite.’

‘There’s no need for that. I’m fine to walk.’

‘ Non , Emma. You must not walk if you are feeling faint. Allow me.’ He disappears across to the bar to arrange the transport.

‘How are you feeling now?’ Cat places her hand against my forehead.

‘I’m OK, but…’ I shake my head to clear the jumbled thoughts. ‘I was dancing and it was weird… I saw James… He didn’t look happy, like he assumed that Sébastien and I were “together”.’

‘Sorry… you saw who?’

‘ James . I saw him over by the entrance. At least I thought I did, but… that can’t be right, can it?’

I catch Cat and Amber sharing a concerned look.

‘Let’s get some more water down you and pack you off to bed.’ Cat rubs my back soothingly. ‘You might have a touch of sunstroke or something. ’

‘Um… I feel a bit better,’ I say. ‘Can we go for a walk around the resort? I want to check if it was him.’

‘Emma, it couldn’t have been him,’ says Amber. ‘He’s in the US. You told us that yourself.’

‘I know, but—’

‘Emma, you imagined it.’ Amber’s tone is caring but firm.

‘Your mind is playing tricks on you. You must have seen someone who looked like James and your brain filled in the rest. It’s probably a mix of stress, dehydration and the guilt you’ve been feeling about liking Sébastien.

It’s created the perfect tropical storm. ’

‘I guess.’ I sigh, only half-convinced. ‘It seemed so real though.’

‘ Mesdames , your chariot awaits.’ Sébastien has already returned with a colleague. ‘Ricardo will see you to your suites. I wish you a goodnight and, Emma, I will check on you tomorrow.’

Before we can say anything else, he shoos us out of the bar and onto the waiting golf buggy.

Back in my suite, once Cat and Amber have tucked me up in bed, made me promise to go straight to sleep and left for their own rooms, I get straight back out of bed and retrieve my phone from my clutch.

Disappointment washes over me as I see I have no messages.

Nothing from James, which means he’s either too busy having a great time to message me, or he really was in that doorway – and now he hates me.

Neither of these options are particularly appealing, but it’s not like I can message him to ask which it is, because the far higher probability is that my brain was playing tricks on me. He’d think I’ve lost the plot.

Climbing back into bed, I place my phone on my bedside table and settle down for an inevitably restless night, as I repeatedly check for a non-existent message.

I wake up early the next morning, and despite my broken sleep and there still being no word from James, I feel quite good – a blessing considering the amount of interview prep I’ll have to pack into my day.

After doing some more work on my presentation content, I have a quick FaceTime call with Lottie, who I’m pleased to see is still recovering well, then I get showered and changed and wander along the corridor to breakfast.

On approaching the entrance to the restaurant, Sébastien materialises by my side.

‘Emma, ca va? I was hoping I would see you. How are you this morning?’ He greets me with his signature double kisses, to which my body responds with a flush of awkwardness and involuntary desire.

‘Morning, Sébastien. I’m good. And well hydrated.’

‘I am glad to hear this. I was concerned for you, especially after you were also feeling unwell the evening we went to dinner. I can arrange for you to see a doctor if this would be helpful?’

My flush deepens at this suggestion. Obviously, I don’t want to lie to Sébastien but I can hardly tell him that the cause of my “sickness” is a guilty conscience.

‘Thank you, that’s very kind, but there’s no need. I’m feeling much better.’

‘ D’accord ... if you are certain.’ He doesn’t seem satisfied with my decision but it’s clear that he respects it. ‘If you change your mind, please ask reception to contact me.’

‘I will. Have you had breakfast?’ I inwardly curse myself for asking this in case he takes it as an invitation. I can barely stomach the effect he has on me, so he’s hardly a good pairing with a buffet breakfast.

‘I have eaten, yes,’ he says, to my relief. ‘I am what I think you British call “an early bird”. I wish you a pleasant one, Emma.’

We part company, and despite being delayed by our unexpected interaction, I’m first to arrive. I grab a table near the breakfast buffet and order jugs of tea and coffee, which arrive at the same time as Cat and Amber.