Wife in the Making. Lindsay Armstrong

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СКАЧАТЬ did so, up to her knees in water, but kept his hands around her waist.

      ‘Now let me go!’ she gasped, unable to believe what was happening to her as her skirt billowed wetly around her legs. ‘I don’t know who you think you are or what you think you’re doing, but this is crazy.’

      She looked around wildly but Clam Cove was serene with its curve of white beach fringed by shadowy palm trees. There were no lights on in any of the cottages, although the restaurant was still lit, there was no sign of Eric, and beneath the surface of the water her shoes sank into the sand.

      ‘Fleur,’ he said mildly, ‘you’re almost as messy as I am.’

      She glanced down at herself then up to the heavens in furious exasperation because she was also now liberally coated with cream and raspberries.

      ‘Therefore,’ he continued reasonably, ‘I thought we both might avail ourselves of the sea’s cleansing properties.’ And, so saying, he lifted her off her feet and moved to deeper water so that when he put her down again, it lapped around her shoulders and was about mid-chest height for him, but still he didn’t release her waist.

      And he actually smiled down at her as he said, ‘Now, that’s not so bad, is it? A bit cool but then we were both overheated—emotionally at least.’

      But Fleur was not ready to be placated in any way. ‘Cool?’ she retorted with her teeth chattering. ‘I’m freezing and you’re mad, Bryn Wallis! Not only mad but horrible and…and…’

      As her voice broke he released her waist but took her hand. ‘Can you float on your back, Fleur?’

      ‘Of course I can float on my back but it’s not something I usually do fully clothed and with my shoes on in the middle of the night!’ she replied witheringly.

      ‘Take them off and give it a try,’ he suggested. ‘The Southern Cross is up there bright and clear—it’s a marvellous way to do a bit of star-gazing.’ He let her hand go and pulled off his bandanna then his shirt and tossed them away from him.

      ‘If you’re suggesting,’ she said arctically, ‘that I—’

      ‘Just down to your undies,’ he reassured her and, not without some difficulty, pulled his trousers off under the water and threw them away too. ‘Feels wonderful!’ Two shoes and a pair of socks bobbed away from them. ‘And I’m still quite decent, believe me.’ He lay back to reveal a pair of boxer shorts and, with his ankles crossed, floated gently and with little effort. ‘The more you’re in it, the warmer it gets incidentally,’ he told her seriously. ‘Wow, just saw a falling star!’

      Fleur muttered something and, with no real idea why she was doing it other than that she felt awful with her voluminous dress clinging to her and weighing her down, struggled out of it and threw it away from her. To her surprise, she was immediately conscious of a sense of liberation mental as well as physical. So she reached for her shoes and consigned them to sink or swim, and dived beneath the water. When she surfaced she dragged her hair out of her eyes and flipped onto her back to float as effortlessly as did her tormentor.

      There was a sheen of starlight on the dark surface of the water, and the soft, rhythmic sound of waves breaking on the reef that protected Clam Cove. The Milky Way looked like silver tinsel pasted to a midnight-blue heaven, so close you felt you could reach out and touch it.

      ‘Not such a bad idea after all?’ he suggested.

      ‘I still think you’re quite mad,’ she replied after a long moment. ‘Nor have I forgiven you for anything, but…the stars are fantastic.’

      He laughed softly. ‘You were fantastic tonight as a matter of fact.’

      Fleur sank beneath the surface and came up spluttering. ‘So why…?’

      ‘Race you to the beach, and after I’ve made you a nightcap I’ll tell you.’

      ‘No—’

      ‘Fleur, lovely as this is, enough is enough.’ He flipped over. ‘Ready?’

      ‘I…oh, all right!’

      They reached the beach together and he took her hand as they waded out of the water. ‘Let’s run,’ he suggested. ‘Just to your bungalow.’

      ‘Hang on—what other Olympic endeavours do you have in mind for me tonight?’ she enquired a little bitterly.

      ‘None,’ he assured her, ‘but it will ward off the cold.’

      She hesitated then remembered she was standing before him in her bra and briefs. Indeed, as she hesitated his gaze slid up and down her sleek wet body and a frisson communicated itself to her to be beneath his gaze wearing only a mostly lace bra and a triangle of matching satin and lace, both pasted to her skin revealingly… Had it come from him through their hands? she wondered. Or was it only she who was responding, not only to her state of undress but also to Bryn Wallis, who was tall and rangy and rather magnificent?

      She shook her head to dispel these thoughts and said with some acerbity, ‘OK, but that’s my last form of exercise for the night!’

      He grinned and they started to jog down the beach towards her bungalow.

      Twenty minutes later she’d showered and was wrapped in an ice-blue towelling robe and drying her hair, when he returned bearing a tray. He came into the bungalow wearing an old football jersey with cut-off sleeves and a pair of khaki shorts, with his tawny hair ruffled and spiky as if he’d dragged a towel through it then used his fingers as a comb. And he had on the tray two of the house specials—Irish coffee à la Clam Cove in tall glasses with filigree silver holders, topped with swirled cream and sprinkled with chocolate.

      She raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment and sat down on the bed beneath the furled-up mosquito net so he could have the only chair. In typical Bryn Wallis fashion, however, which was to say there was never any disputing who owned and ran the place if not to say dominated it, he made a few adjustments to the room before he sat down. He lit the oil lamp she never used because he’d explained to her it was only for power failures, and switched off the overhead light. Then he adjusted the pole that lowered the palm-frond window so that it was only open a few inches.

      Finally, he looked around and commented that she needed another chair.

      Fleur lowered the towel she was using to dry her hair and replied that she wasn’t planning to entertain anyone in her bungalow on a regular basis so one chair was fine with her.

      ‘Yes, well,’ he said a little drily and brought her coffee over to her, ‘perhaps you should.’

      Her eyes widened, then she smiled ironically. ‘You were the one who was afraid of just that,’ she reminded him.

      He studied her comprehensively, her fresh, perfect, radiant skin, the fair silk of her drying hair, the elegance of her chin, her slender neck enfolded in the blue terry towelling and the twisted grace of her body as she sat sideways on the edge of her bed, her slim bare feet. Then their gazes caught and held again and, because of the long moment during which neither of them were able to break it, it was unspoken but obvious that a physical awareness of each other had come into play between them.

      Fleur swallowed visibly and her fingers tightened on the towel as she wondered how to get across to СКАЧАТЬ