The Aristocrat and the Single Mum. Michelle Douglas

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      ‘Absolutely.’

      ‘And are you going to enlighten me?’

      ‘Perhaps. It depends on how wholeheartedly you throw yourself into it.’

      ‘Into what?’

      ‘Ah, if you can answer that at the end of the afternoon then I’ll most definitely enlighten you.’

      His mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.

      ‘Simon—’ her hands went to her hips ‘—do you have anything else planned for the day?’

      ‘No, but…’

      ‘Then just go with the flow.’

      ‘The flow?’

      Before he could think of another objection, Kate sped along to the next rack—T-shirts. ‘Any preference for colour?’ she tossed over her shoulder. ‘And do you like a tight T-shirt or something a bit roomier?’

      He was staring at her as if she’d lost her mind. Again.

      She cocked her head to one side and pretended to study him, tapping a finger against her chin. ‘I think you’d look great in a tight T-shirt, but for reasons of comfort I’d understand if you prefer a looser one.’

      And finally he smiled.

      She wanted to dance a victory jig. She didn’t. She just smiled back.

      ‘Are you always like this?’

      She forced her eyes wide. ‘Like what?’ She handed him a shirt—blue-grey. It’d match his eyes.

      ‘Incorrigible.’

      She touched a hand to her throat in mock surprise. ‘Moi?’ Then she pushed him into the interior of the shop. ‘Dressing rooms are that way. If the clothes fit, leave them on. The salesman will give you a bag for your suit.’

      ‘I—’

      ‘And you’ll need a pair of thongs.’ He gazed at her in horrified incomprehension and she added, ‘You know, flip-flops.’ She pointed to a row of them, then turned on her heel and left him to it, her heart racing and her palms sweaty. She swiped them down the front of her shorts. Go with the flow? As long as the flow didn’t contain any more thoughts of kissing and cosying up to Simon Morton-Blake, she’d be just fine.

      She pulled her cell phone from her pocket.

      ‘God! Has he gone?’ Felice demanded, answering immediately and dispensing with pleasantries.

      ‘He’ll be busy for at least ten minutes, I think.’

      ‘Please tell me you’ve talked him into going home.’

      ‘You are joking, right?’ Kate cast a glance back towards the menswear shop. ‘I’m not even going to try. He claims he’s not leaving until he sees you.’

      Felice uttered something midway between a groan and a snort. ‘Don’t worry, he won’t hang around in Australia for a whole fortnight waiting for me to show my face.’

      Kate sensed the hurt that stretched behind those words. ‘We’ll see.’ She bit her lip. ‘Want to tell me about it?’

      ‘There’s nothing to tell. Other than the fact that he’s a total tyrant and too stuffy to step even a big toe out of line.’

      Kate mulled that over for a moment. ‘You know what? I don’t think you should give a moment’s notice to anything other than enjoying your honeymoon.’ A girl only got one honeymoon. ‘I’ll take care of everything at this end, including Simon. I don’t want you to give it another thought.’

      ‘Are you sure?’

      ‘Positive.’

      ‘Thanks, Kate.’

      Felice rang off. Kate turned to wait for Simon.

      When he emerged from the shop ten minutes later, she tried to wolf-whistle, but she’d never been able to wolf-whistle to save her life. Simon was definitely wolf-whistle worthy, though. ‘I’ve been dying to see your knees,’ she teased. He had great legs—strong calves, muscled thighs…even if said legs were a tad pale. A fortnight in the sun would set that to rights.

      Simon didn’t smile. ‘I feel like an idiot,’ he grumbled.

      ‘You look like a holiday-maker,’ she returned.

      Actually, he didn’t. He still looked too tense and…buttoned up for a holiday-maker.

      And a bit too crisp and clean.

      She could set that to rights, at least.

      ‘These are impossible to walk in.’ He lifted a thong-clad foot.

      ‘You’ll get the hang of them. C’mon.’

      She led him across the road, through the park and down to the beach. She kicked off her canvas tennis shoes and closed her eyes, groaning in enjoyment as she dug her feet into sun-warmed sand. Heavenly!

      She kinked open one eye and found Simon staring at her in appalled fascination—thongs still on his feet and two enormous plastic carrier bags clutched in his hands. His spine was as stiff as a surfboard. She opened her other eye and shook her head. ‘Simon, when was the last time you had a holiday?’

      ‘Holiday?’

      Hmm… That said it all, really. She took the plastic carrier bags from his hands and set them carefully on the beach beside her tennis shoes. ‘Thongs there,’ she ordered, pointing.

      He complied.

      ‘Now do this.’ She twisted her body from side to side until she’d sunk up to her ankles in sand.

      To his credit, Simon didn’t glance around to see if anyone was watching, but followed her instructions to the letter.

      ‘Doesn’t that feel glorious?’ she demanded.

      ‘Er…yeah.’

      He stared at her as if trying to work out what reaction it was she wanted. For the briefest moment her eyes stung. She wanted to yell, Don’t think about me. Do what feels good for you.

      But if he hadn’t had a holiday in a long time…

      ‘You live in Europe, right?’

      ‘Last time I checked, England was still a part of Europe, yes.’

      ‘Oh, ha ha, everyone’s a comedian.’

      He gave her a kind of half-grin. She gave him a full grin back. ‘Well, Spain is nearby, isn’t it? Don’t you go on annual holidays to…Aruba?’ She pulled the name from some dark recess of her mind.

      ‘Kate…?’

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