I've always been someone who likes to stay completely in control. Of my feelings. Of my behaviour. Of the things I say. Even my thoughts.

(As a lifelong chronic overthinker, that last part is particularly difficult.)

I guess when you keep such a tight rein on everything you hold inside, the emotions start to build up. Like a pressure cooker or a . . . volcano! Thoughts and feelings start to shift like tectonic plates, and metaphorical lava eventually starts to spew.

And, in my case, that lava has taken the form of those seven mortifying words that have escaped from my mouth.

"I'm thinking that we should have sex."

The humiliation is almost instantaneous. Mount Ruby has finally erupted, but don't you worry, the villagers below are okay. She's only destroying herself here.

Lewis' face is an absolute picture right now: that's the only comfort I will get from this when I replay this scene later in my head. I've finally managed it, folks - I've taken the wind right out of his sails!

He takes a step backwards, his hand dropping from my shoulder abruptly. He simply stares at me for several moments, his forehead creasing. "What the hell, Ruby?" he asks eventually.

I don't know! I still can't believe I just said that. But, for the briefest of times, my libido outweighed any common sense, and the balance tipped overwhelmingly in favour of sex. It's only now righting itself, and my common sense is hurling burning volcanic ash at my brain in angry retaliation.

"Forget it," I mutter, knowing my cheeks are bound to be crimson by now. "I'm not sure why I even suggested it."

He ruffles his hair up with a groan, eyes focusing on me hard as if I'm a target he's trying to strike. "Okay, so you've just thrown this . . . proposition out there, and now you're taking it back immediately?" He asks. I can't work out the tone colouring his voice. Exasperation? Bitterness? He's definitely annoyed, though, that's for sure! "I really don't understand you, Ruby! An hour ago, you launched yourself into the fucking sea so you didn't have to talk about our kiss and now . . . You're telling me that we should have sex?" He turns away. "Except you've already bloody changed your mind," he adds, that last sentence a low mutter.

"I'm sorry," I mumble under my breath. The second time I've apologised to him today. I search for an explanation - hard to do when I'm not certain myself. "I thought it might . . . Ease the tension."

"What does that even mean?" He swings back towards me, eyes blazing with some unidentifiable emotion. The frustration from earlier has returned, evident in every movement of his body, in the crisp bite of each word he utters. I've never witnessed him so wound up, and despite myself, I'm finding it . . . incredibly attractive.

Do I have some sort of naughty schoolgirl role play kink I wasn't previously aware of? Hmm. This is probably not the time to pull on that thread.

I take a deep breath, trying in vain to calm myself down. "You know exactly what I mean," I counter. "Remember your 'hate sex' comment on the plane? You're the one who said we should just do it and clear the tension."

"I told you that was a joke!" he snaps, his hot gaze shooting sparks at me. "And you denied there was any sexual tension between us anyway."

"Come on, we both know there was some element of truth to it." Normal service has resumed, and I'm now determined to win this debate. Even if it means I have to admit to the fact that I'm physically attracted to him. "I just thought - very briefly, I might add - that you may have been right after all, and it might diffuse this weird vibe we've always had between us." I struggle to think of a way to explain it further. "Like when it's really muggy outside and a thunderstorm will break that shit right up?"

He huffs out a dark laugh at that. "Only you, Ruby Rafferty, could compare a quick roll in the hay to a meteorological event."

A quick roll in the hay? Okay, that kinda stung . . . But I probably deserved it. "Look, it wasn't one of my brightest ideas. It probably wouldn't work anyway." I scoop my hair into a ponytail, simply for something to do with my hands, and search my mind for a change of subject. "Shall we just go and hire this pedalo?" I start walking down the beach, and I can hear him follow.

"If I thought there was a chance you'd be nice to me afterwards, I might consider it," he says quietly, after a few moments of silence. I inwardly groan - I hoped the subject was closed. When I turn to look at him again, his face is solemn. "Would you?"

"Would I . . . be nice to you afterwards?" I screw my face up, deciding it's easiest to treat his query as a joke. "Do you mean just in the direct post-coitus afterglow, or forever? Because I'm not sure I can promise the latter."

He winces and then smiles sadly. "I guess that answers my question," he concludes."Okay, let's race to the boats!" He sprints off before I can say another word, leaving me a confused mess of feelings.

One thing I do know for sure though is that I'm really fucking horny. This conversation has not helped at all in that respect.

Lewis treats me with kid's gloves for the rest of our time on the beach, helping me onto the pedalo like a gentleman, insisting on doing most of the grunt work during our race. He keeps our limited conversation strictly surface level and polite, throwing in the odd joke to make me smile. Every so often, though, I do catch him shooting me a thoughtful look, but he always glances away as soon as my eyes meet his.

I wish I had a guidebook to his brain. I'd follow the route to the chamber where he keeps his deepest innermost thoughts, unlock it, and study the walls in great detail. Once upon a time - a few days ago - I wouldn't have dared to venture there. I wouldn't have wanted to. I'd have imagined it as something of a sleazy mancave, featuring video games, beer . . . and probably porn. Now, when I picture it, it's neater and more organised, possibly full of books and far more interesting than I would have ever believed.

What is happening to me?

On our return journey to the port, I deliberately keep my distance, still feeling the white hot humiliation of propositioning him in that way. I try to bury the feeling, but it keeps returning with a vengeance, like an aftershock that just won't end. Mount Ruby has never felt so unstable.

The boat is scheduled to arrive back at port just after sunset, so I get the pleasure of watching the sky turn pink and orange as the sun lowers itself gradually into the water on the horizon. I can't resist snapping a couple of photos, tensing up as Lewis appears beside me once again. He leans on the railing, staring out to sea. "This was a good trip," he says, his voice husky and it seems full of hidden meaning. "I feel like I got a lot out of it." I can sense his warmth against my arm, even though he's a few inches away. It radiates off him, and yet the heat makes me suddenly shiver.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" I nod at the view.

"Yeah." I can feel his eyes on me. He's definitely not looking at the sun. And I'm fairly certain he's not talking about the sun either.

My insides tighten, and I suddenly find myself wishing things were different. That we hadn't cast ourselves as enemies, and then allowed everyone else around us to fan those flames, encouraging us to remain foes.

Maybe then we could have been something else to one another. Something better.

I'm still turning this over in my head when I'm lying in bed a few hours later. Another sleepless night beckons. I'm doomed to relive my ridiculous words from earlier forever on a loop like my own personal Groundhog Day. Cursing Mount Ruby for her ridiculous eruption. For handing the power over to Lewis, allowing him to say no . . .

Wait a minute!

I bolt upright, at the exact moment I hear the lock to the suite clicking closed. Lewis, probably wisely, made a beeline for the bar when we returned to the hotel after a mostly silent journey. Even Dimitrios was quieter than usual, as if he sensed the thick atmosphere between us.

Slipping out of bed, I pad towards the bedroom door and fling it open. Lewis is standing at the bottom of the stairs, his back turned as if he was coming to see me, but then thought better of it. He rotates slowly to face me now, though. "Ruby," he says hoarsely, eyes black as night. He drags a hand across his stubble as he gazes at me in my skimpy pyjama shorts set, and there's no mask there anymore; no humour whatsoever. All I see is a guy who very much wants me in this moment, just as much as I apparently want him.

"I just realised something," I tell him tentatively, walking down the steps so I'm barely a heartbeat away from him. "You didn't actually say no."

The chemistry is suddenly fizzing and bubbling between us, just like prosecco - seemingly nonexistent until it springs alive from its bottle. A small smile curves his mouth as he closes that last tiny gap between us. "I didn't," he confirms.

And then his lips capture mine.

So . . . What are we thinking???