Second Chance At Sea. Jessica Gilmore

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      Just keep going, she thought fiercely. Concentrate on that latte...visualise it. It was certainly one incentive.

      And if Jonas just happened to be working at the Boat House today then that, just possibly, could be another incentive. The pain in her side was forgotten as the night before flashed through her mind, her lips curving in a smile as she remembered. Another night of heat, of long, slow caresses, hot, hard kisses, hands, tongues, lips. Bodies entwining.

      Lawrie’s pulse started to speed up as her heartbeat began racing in a way that had nothing to do with the exercise.

      She upped the trot to a run, her legs pumping, her arms moving as she increased her pace. She wasn’t going to think about it. She wasn’t going to dwell on the delicious moment when day turned into evening. She wasn’t going to remember the tingle of anticipation that ran through her as she sat on the terrace in the evening sun, an untouched book and an iced drink before her, pretending not to listen for the purr of his car. Pretending not to hope.

      She was most certainly not going to recall the thrill that filled her entire body, the sweet jolt that shot through her from head to toe, when he finally appeared.

      Time was moving so fast. She had less than a month left in Trengarth. So she wasn’t going to question what was going on here. She was going to enjoy the moment. And what moments they were. She couldn’t remember the last time she and Hugo had made love twice in a week, let alone in a night, whereas she and Jonas... Well...

      Sure, she hadn’t planned for this, and for once she was being the exact opposite of measured and sensible. But wasn’t that the point? She had to make the most of this enforced time out. It would all get back to normal soon enough.

      Starting with today. Her first interview.

      It was all happening so fast. Just a few days since the initial approach, the phone call, and now a face to face interview. In New York.

      It was perfect. This would show Hugo and the partners. She could just imagine the gossip. Lawrie Bennett? Out in New York, I believe. A most prestigious firm. Anticipation shot through her. It was as if a load had been lifted. To be approached for such a role meant that her reputation was intact. It should be, but sudden departures were responsible for more scurrilous gossip in the legal world than any tabloid could imagine.

      Lawrie slowed her pace as the cliff path began to wind down towards the harbour and the pretty stone cottages clustered beneath her. Which was Jonas’s? He hadn’t asked her over and she was certainly not going to invite herself, to admit she was curious.

      Even if she was.

      Was it the one overlooking the harbour, with the pretty roof garden situated in exactly the right place for the afternoon sun? The three-storeyed captain’s house, imposing its grandeur on the smaller houses around? The long, low whitewashed cottage, its yard covered in tumbling roses?

      What did it matter anyway?

      Despite herself she slowed as she jogged along the harbour-front, looking into the windows, hoping for some clue. She didn’t care, she told herself, but she still found herself craning her neck, peeking in, searching for a sign of him.

      Beep!

      A car horn made her jump. The follow-up wolf whistle which pierced the air brought her to a skidding halt.

      Lawrie turned around, hands on hips, ready for battle, only to find her mouth drying out at the sight of Jonas Jones in that ridiculous low-slung sports car, top down. She coloured, looking around to make sure nobody had heard, before crossing the narrow road and leaning over the car. ‘Shush. People will hear you,’ she hissed.

      He raised an eyebrow mockingly and Lawrie clenched her hands, controlling an irresistible urge to slap him. Or kiss him. Either would be inappropriate.

      ‘Let them,’ he replied nonchalantly, that annoying eyebrow still quirked.

      She wanted to reach out and smooth it down, caress the stubble on the strong jaw, run her fingers across the sensual lips. She clenched her hands harder. She wouldn’t give him or the curious onlookers openly watching them the satisfaction.

      Jonas leant closer, his breath warm and sweet on her cheek. ‘They all think they know anyway.’

      ‘Let them think. There’s no need to confirm it.’ She was painfully aware of people watching them—many openly. How many times had she seen neighbours, parents at the school gates, people in the local shop watch her mother in the same way as her latest relationship began to disintegrate? ‘I hate gossip, and I really hate being the focus of it.’

      ‘Just a boss having a chat with his festival-organiser—nothing to see...move it along,’ he said, an unrepentant grin curving the kissable mouth.

      She bit her lip. She was not going to kiss him in public, no matter how tempted she was. But how she wanted to.

      Her eyes held his, hypnotised by the heat she saw in the blue depths. The street, the curious onlookers faded away for one long moment. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed when he leant back, the grin replaced with a purposeful businesslike expression.

      ‘I was on my way up to collect you—thought you might appreciate a lift to the airport. Yet here you are.’ He ran his eyes appreciatively over her and she fought the urge to tug her running top down over her shorts. ‘You’re not really dressed for flying, though. And I don’t mean to be offensive, but...’

      Lawrie snorted. ‘That will be a first,’ she muttered.

      ‘But I’m not sure eighties aerobics is really the right look for business class or an interview. You might want to get changed,’ he continued, ignoring her interruption. ‘I could give you a lift up—or, if you really want to finish your run, I can pick you up in ten minutes.’

      ‘If you’re in such a hurry I’d better take the lift,’ Lawrie said, opening the door and sliding in, her pride refusing to admit to him that she’d had no intention of running up the hill. ‘I was planning to drive myself, though. I do appreciate the offer, but can you spare the time?’

      She sounded cool enough—shame about her hair, pulled high into a sweaty bun, the Lycra shorts, the sheen of sweat on her arms and chest.

      ‘Actually, it’s on my way—that’s why I’m offering. I’m heading over to Dorset to look at some potential sites. I’ll be passing Plymouth so I might as well drop you off.’

      ‘Oh.’ He wasn’t making the journey especially. Of course he wouldn’t—why would he? Her sudden sharp jolt of disappointment was ridiculous. ‘Well, it’s very kind of you.’

      There was a long silence. She sneaked a look over to see him pushing his hair out of his eyes, his face expressionless.

      ‘It’s nothing,’ he said. ‘As I said, I was passing the airport anyway.’

      Neither of them spoke for the two minutes it took to drive back to the cottage, and as soon as the car pulled up in the driveway Lawrie was ready to leap out. The atmosphere was suddenly tense, expectant.

      ‘I’ll be five minutes,’ she called as she hurried over the lawn and round to the back door. ‘Make yourself at home.’

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