A Very French Affair. Эбби Грин

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      The next day they were due to do a couple of quick shots in the morning and then travel to New York in the afternoon. Sorcha had tossed and turned all night, unable to get the memory of being in Romain’s arms out of her mind…her body. Giving up at six a.m., seeing the first light of dawn, she got out of bed. She knew what would calm her.

      She put on her running clothes—a long sleeved T-shirt and jogging bottoms. Her battered sneakers. She tried to jog wherever she was, finding it to be almost like a form of meditation as well as exercise. She met no one on her way outside, and pulled back her sleep-mussed hair into a ponytail, heading for the beach. The air was crisp and fresh and blue skies promised another beautiful spring day, which in the west of Ireland was an anomaly to be savoured.

      Hitting the beach, she found that it was pleasingly much bigger and longer than she’d expected, stretching away a few miles into the distance. After some warming up she set out at a steady pace. The repetition of movement, the control of her breath, all transported her away from disturbing thoughts and images.

      About forty minutes later, feeling much calmer and very smug with herself, she came back closer to the house and stopped to rest at the seashore. Impulsively she took off her shoes and socks, wanting to feel the cold sting of the Atlantic on her hot feet. She contemplated going back to get her one-piece, knowing that the initial pain of the icy water would be far outweighed by the exhilarating feeling afterwards. As she stood debating whether or not to go back and get her suit, she looked out to sea and something caught her attention. Someone swimming. Powerful arms scissoring in and out of the water, a glimpse of a strong, olive-skinned back.

      Her breath hitched and stopped. It could only be one person. No one else had that physique. And she knew that it would take more than average strength first of all to brave the icy Atlantic and then to swim in it. The currents were sometimes lethal. Mesmerised by his grace and beauty, she couldn’t move. And then, too late, she realised that he’d been coming closer all the time. The arms stopped and he stood waist-deep in the sea, water streaming off a perfectly muscled torso. Like some kind of god, he emerged from the waves, and the unreality of it all made Sorcha feel as if she was in some kind of dream.

      It was only when he was walking out of the water, showing a broad chest that tapered into a slim waist, dark shorts which clung to powerful thigh muscles rippling under bronzed skin, that Sorcha finally seemed to come to her senses. The sleepless night had obviously taken its toll. She was standing there like some kind of drooling groupie!

      With a strangled gasp, she turned and picked up her shoes and socks, about to make a hasty retreat. She hadn’t counted on his speed.

      ‘Wait.’

      She stopped in her tracks. The serenity of the morning was gone. Her heart hammered anew, and it wasn’t from the exercise. She turned to face him and tried to look as blank as possible. It was hard. Romain stood just feet away, hands on hips, chest rising and falling, salt water sluicing off his skin, his hair plastered to a well-shaped skull.

      ‘Enjoying the view?’

      She coloured in an instant and Romain frowned. The outraged virgin? Where had that come from? Just another aspect of Sorcha’s chameleon-like personality. He could see the way she held herself…so stiff…but when he’d been coming out from the water, when he’d seen her first, she’d had a look of something close to exultation on her face.

      ‘Don’t be ridiculous. I was out jogging. And I was merely making sure you were OK. I didn’t know who was swimming, and the currents here can be strong.’

      He picked up a towel from nearby. She hadn’t even noticed it. ‘Would you have saved me if I’d got into trouble?’

      Sorcha snorted inelegantly. ‘What do you think?’

      He rubbed at his hair, totally unconcerned by her comment. With his face obscured momentarily, she couldn’t halt the inevitable slide of her gaze downwards again, seeing how the cold water had made his nipples hard. Her own seemed to pucker and tighten in direct response, and she hurriedly crossed her arms over the thin material of her T-shirt.

      ‘It was amazing.’ He jerked his head back towards the pounding waves.

      Sorcha was distracted for a second, that sexy accent making her breath hitch again. And she did envy him the experience, knowing well how he must be feeling right now—the rush of endorphins, the tingling sensations as life came back into a body that would be near frozen.

      ‘I know.’ She sounded wistful. ‘It’s been a while since I swam in the sea here, but I remember.’

      ‘Nothing stopping you now. You could go in in your underwear. I can keep an eye.’

      The lightness in his voice didn’t fool her for a second. And if he thought she was going to strip off in front of him…

      She shook her head and watched with widening eyes as he proceeded to hitch the towel around his waist and strip off his shorts underneath. At the last second she whirled away from him.

      ‘Do you mind?’

      Romain studied her taut back. Just who was Sorcha Murphy?

      ‘I’m decent again.’

      Sorcha turned around reluctantly, relieved to see him buttoning up his jeans—although that led her eyes to his hands, and the line of dark hair that snaked up to his chest. A worn sweatshirt abruptly concealed him from view and she felt saggy with relief.

      He strolled towards her nonchalantly. ‘So, why don’t you?’

      She frowned, her head feeling muggy, unconsciously backing away ‘What?’

      ‘Go for a swim.’

      She shook her head again. ‘No.’ And she struck off up the beach.

      He kept pace with her all too easily.

      She looked at him sideways, it seemed silly not to admit the truth. ‘But you’re right…I did think of it. I was going to go back inside and get my swimsuit.’

      ‘Coward,’ he called softly.

      She avoided his eye, afraid of what she’d see, and looked at her watch. They were at the back of the house, a huge hedge obscuring them from view. ‘As I have to be in make-up in less than half an hour, I’m sure you don’t want to be encouraging me to be late?’

      He spread an arm wide for her to precede him up the path and dipped his head. ‘Of course you’re right.’

      She went to squeeze past him. The narrow gate was too small for two people, and he wasn’t budging an inch. Sorcha gritted her teeth, not even breathing, but even so she could feel his chest. She imagined it would still be cold from the sea…and were his nipples still hard?

      She felt like screaming inwardly. Until she’d met him in New York, thoughts like this had never entered her head. She didn’t know if he was doing it deliberately, just to unsettle her, or because he—

      Two arms came round her at that moment, and her heart СКАЧАТЬ