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If he wanted to flirt with her—or more—then what was wrong with that? She could recall the way some of her colleagues boasted about holiday romances. Apparently it happened all the time.
Fun. Fun was all it was. And what was the harm in a few kisses? She craved his kisses.
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Which, also with the clarity of hindsight, she recognised meant that Troy had done her a favour. She couldn’t have been in love with him at all. He’d hurt her pride, her sense of self-worth, but, being of a cheerful, optimistic disposition she’d soon got over that.
‘Apparently,’ Lisa was saying, ‘he gave them a real sob story. He didn’t know what came over him. Burn-out, he guessed. He’d been working so hard. He’d never forgive himself for hurting you so badly, for messing up his own life, come to that. He loves you more than he thought possible, and just wants the chance to put things right. But he didn’t know where you were working, how to contact you—blah-blah-blah. And you know Mum. A soppy romantic if there ever was one. She went and got all dewy-eyed and sentimental and told him where you were, working with a cancer patient. And—this is more than a guess—I know he’ll be turning up any time now. As soon as he can fix time off from that supposedly mega-impressive job of his in the City. I wanted to warn you. I don’t think you’re the type to go all gooey when a guy gets down on his knees and begs forgiveness with crocodile tears in his eyes, but some women just might—’
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