I really don't know what to expect the next morning. We left everything on such a weird cliffhanger last night, soap opera style, and I've no idea what way the next episode is going to go.

"Were we ever okay, really?" Those words still ring in my head. You wouldn't want to be a visitor to my brain right now, that's for sure! The memories of what happened yesterday are combining with every single other interaction I've ever had with Lewis Sheridan over the years, as if they're being mixed in a blender. Tiny snapshots of moments flash between pulses. I'm trying to pick through them, trying to pinpoint . . . well, I'm not actually certain what I'm trying to identify, but the images move too fast anyway, like strobe lights. I'm trying to grasp at flashbacks that simply slip away like sand through my fingers, and I eventually have to give up before I drive myself completely insane.

When I finally force myself out of bed and glance in the mirror, I can't help but grimace: to be perfectly blunt, I'm the textbook definition of a girl who has been completely and thoroughly shagged the night before. I look knackered for a start. My mouth still seems slightly swollen from Lewis' kisses, and there's the faintest imprint of a lovebite on my neck. My fingers trace the bruise, eyes fluttering closed as I imagine his lips revisiting that area, and I feel a delighted shiver course through me.

The best sex I ever had was with my enemy.

"Morning!" Lewis greets me cheerfully when I nervously enter the living room, much to my surprise. He's lounging on one of the sofas, fully dressed and seemingly engrossed in the novel the old woman forced on him yesterday. "I picked you up a croissant again at breakfast if you're hungry? It's just over there on the counter."

How unexpectedly sweet. I'd been anticipating the silent treatment. Or for him not to be here at all. I should have known better, really. "Thank you," I mumble, my eyes sliding up to his face. He appears tired too, dark eyes slightly puffy around the edges as if he didn't sleep particularly well either. But otherwise, he just looks like his usual annoyingly cute, unbothered self.

Like last night never happened.

"Would you like a coffee?" he offers, wandering over to the Nespresso machine and picking up the box of pods beside it. I nod silently. The machine whirs into life as I sink onto a stool and start buttering the pastry. Anything so I don't have to look at him. The butter doesn't want to cooperate in my plan, though - for probably the first time in my life, it spreads smoothly and quickly, and I'm left just glaring angrily at it. When I finally have no choice but to look up again, Lewis quickly glances away. I wonder how long he was watching me. My heart beats double-time against my ribcage, insides fluttering with nerves.

"Here you go." He cautiously places the mug of coffee in front of me and takes a few steps backwards, even though the counter is already acting as a barrier between us. I feel like I'm on a TV judging panel, and he's about to break into song. "So - um - did you sleep okay?" he asks instead. His voice is shaking slightly, and I suddenly realise he's as nervous and awkward as I am.

"Yeah, great!" I lie nonchalantly around a bite of croissant. "You?"

"Totally," he fibs right back.

We're both playing an entirely new game now. And it appears neither of us understand the rules. We've been thrown in with all the necessary parts, bar that vital instruction booklet, and we don't know how to move forward. We're trapped on the same square of the board, looking helplessly at each other, pondering how we got there, wondering who takes the first turn. With no idea how the game ends and how the winner will be determined.

Tension hums between us. My gaze drifts to his neck, to the shadow of a bruise almost identical to mine. I remember exactly the moment my teeth sank into his skin - it was the point where we both succumbed fully to the sensation of a joint climax, clinging onto each other as if we might drown if we let go.

"This is ridiculous," he sighs finally, tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth in irritation as he runs a hand through his already tousled hair. "Wasn't what happened last night meant to clear the air between us?"

I suddenly find myself giggling. "I guess that was just a theory - those don't always work in practice."

"So what do we do now?" he asks softly. "We're here for nearly another full week - I'd rather not spend that time feeling like this! But I also don't particularly want to go back to that place where you're sniping at me all the time."

"Er, excuse me, Mister, I think you'll find that was a mutually shared land - it wasn't all on me!" I feel a glimmer of my previous feistiness returning, much to my relief. (Not gonna lie, I was slightly worried his penis had knocked that out of me permanently.) He nods, taking my point.

"Fair enough. Regardless, it's exhausting sometimes, and I really want to just relax for the rest of the holiday. Don't you?" He raises an eyebrow quizzically, and I try not to dwell on just how sexy a look it is on him.

"So . . . What are you saying?" I ask, swiping butter from my bottom lip with a finger and trying not to notice that his gaze lingers there, darkening ever-so-slightly. It causes a completely unnecessary tingle between my legs, and I find myself clenching everything down below as if in protest.

He seemingly realises he hasn't actually answered me yet and snaps out of it, his cheeks reddening. "I'm saying . . . Can we try to be friends? At least while we're still on Greek time?" He smiles teasingly as I hesitate. "You can go back to hating me afterwards if you want - I promise I won't hold it against you." His voice cracks slightly on the last few words, and I can't help but notice his grin doesn't meet his eyes. And I understand that.

Because I'm not sure either of us can go back to hating each other now. I'm now not even certain we ever really did in the first place. We may still not be okay . . . But it's not clear what we actually are.

"Friends" currently seems a better option than "adversaries", however. So I take a deep breath, as if I'm about to leap off the edge of a cliff. Plunge in. "Okay," I agree. "Let's give it a go."

My head is satisfied with this decision. My heart, however, is terrified at the potential ramifications of this shift in our relationship.

"Great." Relief lightens Lewis' features, and the tension seems to drain from his body. He raises his arm to check his watch. "So we need to leave for today's trip in like half an hour; is that enough time for you to get ready? I can find Dimitrios and ask if we can go later, if you want?"

"Hey! Are you trying to say I can't make myself presentable in such a short period of time?" I joke. "I'm not that much of a mess."

His eyes soften. "You're not a mess at all," he assures me. "You already look amazing without even trying." He shakes his head immediately, as if to clear his own words, turning abruptly on his heel and walking towards the patio. "And that's exactly the sort of thing I probably shouldn't say to someone who is just a friend," I hear him say, apparently almost to himself.

I deliberately make my shower as cold as it can be. I can't explain why; it just seems essential.

After layering a pale green sundress over my bikini and throwing some make-up on, I join my brand new (old) friend, and we walk up to the hotel entrance. We're actually right on time, but Dimitrios is nowhere to be found. We've not known the dude long, but this seems unlike him. Regardless, we both lean against the wall and soak up the sun while we wait.

"Oh god, here we go!" Lewis suddenly mutters under his breath, and when I glance towards him, his eyes are narrowed suspiciously. I'm not entirely sure why . . . until I turn in the direction he's looking and see Milos approaching. Wow, I haven't actually thought about him in more than 24 hours! The last time I saw him, he was walking away after Lewis and I kissed. With all that has passed since, that seems like weeks ago now.

He's looking mighty fine, though - he's not in his usual suit today but in a white t-shirt and form-fitting jeans instead. Surely Levi's must already be in the process of negotiating a modelling deal with him? It's such a wasted opportunity otherwise.

"Kalimera, Lewis and Ruby!" Milos says warmly. He definitely lingers over my name, and I swear I hear Lewis growl in response. I shoot him a warning glare - we might be "friends" now, but I'm still going to read him the riot act if he's rude to our (very sexy) host!

"Unfortunately, Dimitrios has a family emergency and is unable to be your driver today," Milos continues regretfully.

"That's okay," Lewis says quickly. "We can make other plans."

Yes, Lewis, we can! We could go back to the suite. As friends, of course. Do some friendly skinny dipping, maybe. Or have a friendly - but sexy - bath together, even? The daydreams keep coming, against my will, until I realise Milos' mouth is still moving, and I've missed half the conversation. Oops!

". . . So I'll be driving you instead," he's currently concluding. Lewis is shaking his head. What the hell? We can't spend the day with Milos trailing around after us - he'll definitely smell a rat!

"That really won't be necessary. We wouldn't want to put you out on your day off," Lewis tells Milos, his voice flat, but our resident Greek God is insistent.

"We must make sure you get the full Crete experience we promised you," he says firmly. "Please . . . come with me!" It seems we have no choice in the matter.

And, as we both reluctantly follow Milos to his car, I'm sure I can see storm clouds forming in Lewis' eyes.

Hope you're enjoying the story even half as much as I'm enjoying writing it! I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️