by Liz Fielding
‘It is,’ she replied, wondering whether a comment about the weather would help. She didn’t risk it, but tucked in with sufficient gusto to suggest that she could manage without conversation of any kind for the time being.
For a while he respected her silence, but it was too good to last and when she shook her head at the offer of a pudding, he obviously considered he had been forbearing for quite long enough.
‘Would you like to dance?’ The question was obviously rhetorical since he stood up without waiting for her answer. For a moment she considered declining so that he would have to sit down again, but that would be petty and besides she liked dancing.
‘Will I have to brave my fan?’ she asked.
‘No. He didn’t stay. You’re quite safe.’
That was a matter of opinion, but as they danced on the terrace to the lively rhythm of a local band she decided to forget everything but the fact that the music was good, the night beautiful and by the time the music had changed tempo and Jack drew her closer, Mel had no difficulty at all in laying her head against his shoulder.
‘You know, I rather like it here,’ she said, as she nestled sleepily against him.
‘I’m glad to hear it.’
‘I could almost like you, too.’
He drew back and looked down at her, his shadowed face masking a thoughtful expression. ‘The feeling is mutual, Cinderella, but if you don’t get to bed soon you’ll be asleep on your feet.’
Mel was tired. It had been a long day. ‘Horses sleep on their feet, did you know that?’ she asked him as, with his arm about her shoulders, he led her from the terrace.
‘I had heard. I wouldn’t advise it in your case.’
‘Can we walk back along the beach?’
‘I don’t think so.’
But she giggled and standing on tiptoe, whispered loudly in his ear. ‘But isn’t that what lovers would do?’
He stared down at her. ‘Just how much champagne did you drink, Mel?’
‘Two glasses,’ she replied, without hesitation.
He was sceptical. ‘And the rest.’
‘No.’ She was adamant. ‘I never drink more than two glasses. It goes to my head, you see.’
‘I do see. Especially when combined with jetlag. I’ll make a note for future reference,’ he said, turning her firmly in the direction of the path back to the cottage.
Mel resisted. ‘No, it’s this way to the beach.’
A couple passed them, throwing them an indulgent glance as they went. Jack Wolfe was not accustomed to being indulged and he didn’t like it. Besides, walking along a beach hand in hand with a girl as desirable as Mel Devlin when he was sleeping on the sofa was, in his opinion, above and beyond the call of duty.
Not that she was in any state to stop him sharing the bed.
But until he knew a little more about her, he preferred to wait until she did the inviting before he climbed into the four-poster beside her, even when sleep was the only item on the agenda.
‘Forget the beach,’ he said, roughly, and without warning he picked her up and strode towards the cottage.
Mel, opened her mouth to protest, then deciding that being carried was every bit as enjoyable as walking on the soft sand, she changed her mind, wrapped her arms about Jack Wolfe’s neck, closed her eyes and fell asleep.
Jack Wolfe, his arms full of the most unexpectedly enchanting creature he’d met in years, gave a wry little smile. They might be in paradise, but Eve was apparently beyond temptation. At least for tonight.
CHAPTER TEN
MELANIE, opening her eyes to early morning sunlight was, for just a moment lost. Then remembering where she was, she smiled and stretched beneath the luxurious canopy of the four-poster secure in the knowledge that she didn’t have to scramble out of bed this morning and fight her away across London in a crowded tube train.
‘Do you always wake up happy, or is it the prospect of a week in my company that makes you smile like that.’
Her smile was rapidly replaced with an expression of horror as, sitting bolt upright, Mel discovered that she had an audience, had apparently had one for some time judging by the relaxed manner in which Jack Wolfe was stretched out across the foot of the bed, his back propped against one of the posts, his bare legs crossed, a cup of tea balanced on the palm of his hand.
‘What the devil do you think you’re doing in here?’ she demanded.
Jack grinned. ‘Taking refuge. I didn’t want to be caught sleeping on the sofa by the maid when she brought the tea. A thing like that causes gossip.’ He raised his cup. ‘Can I pour one for you?’
‘Isn’t it a bit early, even for early morning tea?’ Mel asked, pulling the sheet up to her chin, quite unnecessarily in view of the demure nature of her nightwear. ‘Under the circumstances.’
‘There’s no compulsion to get up but since the circumstances would seem to preclude all the more entertaining possibilities of spending the time, I thought you might like a swim before breakfast.’
She relaxed a little. ‘That’s the first good idea you’ve had since I dropped that duster at your feet.’
‘I don’t know about that,’ he demurred. ‘When it comes to thinking on my feet I believe I’ve had an unexpectedly good week so far.’ Of course he could be kidding himself.
She watched uncertainly, as Jack eased himself off the bed and poured her a cup of tea from the tray, handing it to her before retrieving bathing trunks from a drawer and heading for the bathroom. He reappeared a few moments later wearing it and a towel around his shoulders, nothing else and Melanie decided that all her fantasies about his body had been right. It was sun darkened and teak hard.
‘I’ll see you on the beach,’ he said, heading for the door. Then he turned and paused in the opening. ‘Oh, and before you join me please hide that thing you’re wearing.’
‘Thing?’ Mel looked down at her t-shirt, anywhere to avoid the almost magnetic lure of the black strip of cloth bisecting his narrow hips. She swallowed. ‘I’ll have you know that this is my favourite nightshirt.’
‘Really? Well it takes all sorts, I suppose, but I’d hate to frighten the chambermaid.’
‘Why would it frighten the chambermaid?’
‘It frightened the hell out of me.’
‘You?’ She glanced down at it, her forehead creased in a tiny frown.
‘Don’t be long, darling. It’s a beautiful morning.’ With that he was gone and the room seemed suddenly very empty.
Mel sipped her tea slowly, then knowing she wouldn’t be disturbed by her very disturbing companion, took her time about covering as much of herself as she could manage with a high factor sun cream.
It was pure luxury not to be in a rush. A simple pleasure, one that she could never have anticipated when every morning had begun in this leisurely manner.
She hesitated for a moment between two bathing suits, then chose a demure one piece in colours like those of the beckoning sea, pale turquoise at the shoulders, darkening to midnight blue at the hips. She brushed out her hair, slipped her feet into a pair of sandals and taking a towel from the bathroom followed Jack down onto the beach.
The sand was soft and white and she immediately abandoned the sandals, longing to feel it between her toes as she walked, lifting her face to the fresh breeze coming in off the sea. After the weeks of mind-numbing drudgery she felt suddenly released and foolishly grateful to Jack for his trickery. Not that she was about to tell him that.
Jack hadn’t waited for her on the beach. She could see his dark head as he cut through the water in an economical and decisive over arm stroke. So, the wolf could swim as well as bite. The thought disturbed her for a moment, then, as the warmth of the sun began to heat her shoulders, she dropped her towel and ran across the sand eager to throw herself into the curling Atlantic rollers. For a few minutes she swam vigorously, enjoying the warmth and clarity of the water.
After a while she paused for breath, treading water, looking about her for Jack. He was n
owhere to be seen and she looked towards the beach half expecting to see him standing there, laughing at her.
Somehow he was always laughing at her. It was empty but for a couple of youths raking the tide line. She turned in the water, looking about her, seized by a sudden anxiety at his disappearance.
That was when a something gripped her ankle and pulled her under.
For a panicky, heart-stopping moment she struggled. Then she saw him, grinning at her, his hair standing on end as they floated down. For a moment relief was the overwhelming sensation; this was rapidly overtaken by fury at the fright he had given her. She kicked free and flew at him. The water slowed her and he caught her, his hands on her shoulders, holding her off without difficulty. She would have sworn it was impossible to laugh under water. Apparently not. And suddenly she wanted to laugh too.
They erupted breathless. At least she was breathless. He was still laughing. Mel gasped in some air and brushing aside his hands, she lunged at him, determined to give him the serious dunking he deserved. Jack made no effort to avoid her and this time he didn’t hold her at a distance but looped his arm about her waist and pulled her close, letting the water absorb the shock of their collision. And as they collided the sea wrapped itself around them, holding them close so that their legs tangled beneath the water, wet skin against wet skin and the dark hair across his chest grated against the swell of her breasts. She gasped again but not from lack of air.
Then, quite suddenly Jack stopped laughing, his eyes darkening as he looked down into her face and Mel watched, mesmerised, as his mouth descended with agonising slowness.
It was just a kiss, she told herself. Despite his unkind comments on her abilities as a kisser, Melanie had long ago lost count of the men she had kissed on stage and for the television cameras during her career, but that had just been acting. It hadn’t meant anything. This didn’t mean anything. It was simply another role.
She kept telling herself that as his sea washed mouth began to tease hers but the trouble was that none of her previous encounters had been with men as expert in the subject as Jack Wolfe. Or with men as eminently kissable. As her clumped wet lashes crashed down against her cheeks, she found herself wondering if his talent was simply happy chance, or the result of long and serious practice. And since it meant absolutely nothing, did it matter? Seriously?
Then, just exactly who she was trying to kid.
Without prompting, she opened her lips to his sweet invasion and wrapping her arms about Jack Wolfe’s neck, Melanie let the movement of the water wash her against him and began to kiss him back.
Seriously.
Drifting down beneath the surface of the water, her heart thundering in her ears, her blood singing, Melanie stopped reasoning and instead her entire being centred on Jack’s long fingers as they slipped through her hair to cradle her head, his hand at her waist turning her, so that she was below him, held there by the pressure of water forcing her upwards. And the pressure of his body holding her beneath him, moulding her against him.
The tender skin of her thighs grated against his hair-roughened legs, tangling with them in a kind of dance; her pelvis offered an eager frame for his hips; the softness of her breasts crushed against the unyielding barrier of his chest made her long to discard her costume, let him know how she tightened to his touch; and his hand behind her head, his mouth on hers was so sweetly seductive as they began to drift slowly to the surface that she wanted it to last forever.
Instead, seemingly endless minutes later, they erupted breathlessly from the water, his arm still holding her against him, his fingers still teasing the smooth skin at the nape of her neck while the water poured from her hair.
And for a moment Jack regarded her through steeply lidded eyes. ‘You look like a mermaid,’ he said, at last.
‘Do I?’ Her lids flickered up so that she was looking directly up into his eyes. ‘I’m a little overdressed to be a mermaid, surely?’ She was completely relaxed in his arms, boneless, and he suspected that if he peeled away her costume, he would meet no resistance. The thought aroused him, a fact she must be aware of, but mermaids were dangerous creatures, sirens luring unsuspecting sailors to their doom. And he wanted to be certain who was doing the luring.
He abruptly disengaged himself, putting a yard of distance between them. ‘I appreciate your enthusiasm, Mel, but it would be a pity to waste such a seductive performance when there isn’t an audience to appreciate it.’
For a moment Mel didn’t understand what had happened, she was floundering and out of her depth but it had nothing to do with the twenty feet of ocean beneath her.
‘Audience?’ The boys had finished sweeping the sand and the beach behind Jack was now totally deserted. Then the slightly acerbic tone he had used penetrated her addled wits. ‘Audience?’ she repeated, suddenly furious with him for reducing something beautiful to his own miserable standards. ‘For your information, Mr Jack Wolfe, seduction was the last thing on my mind,’ she added. ‘I was simply...’ She stopped as she realized that she was making a grade A fool of herself.
‘What?’
‘Practising,’ she said, crossly.
‘Oh, I see.’ Hands linked behind his head, he lay back in the water and began to float away from her. ‘Then I’m happy to confirm that you’re a very apt pupil. In fact I’d have to say you’re making excellent progress.’
She didn’t waste breath on a reply, instead she threw herself on him, swamping him, pushing him beneath the waves and when he was submerged to her utter and complete satisfaction, she turned and left him, swimming back to the beach faster than an extra from Jaws.
It was only minutes later, standing beneath the shower, bathroom door securely locked, that it even occurred to her to wonder why he hadn’t turned the tables on her. He could have done it quite easily. Dunked her, made her beg for mercy. She’d seen it a dozen times, a hundred times, as couples had fooled around in the water. Couples. She blushed at her own stupidity.
They weren’t a couple. For one crazy moment out there as they had ridden the emerald waves locked in each others arms, she had forgotten that. But he hadn’t.
Melanie wrapped herself in a towel, returned to the still empty bedroom and sank onto the stool in front of the dressing table. She picked up her comb, it snagged in a knot and she tugged it irritably, starting tears to her eyes.
‘Damn!’ she said, beneath her breath. Why on earth had she ever allowed things to get to this state of affairs. Why on earth had she ever thought...
She swivelled on the stool as the door began to open. ‘Would you please knock before you come in here,’ she snapped, blinking back the tears.
‘I did,’ he said, in an equally ill temper. Then he stopped as he saw the over brightness of her eyes. ‘I assumed you were still in the bathroom. Do you mind if I use it now?’ he continued, more gently.
‘Help yourself.’ Jack made no immediate move to avail himself of the invitation, but continued to look at her as if he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure how she would respond. Unsettled, she finally broke the silence. ‘What are your plans for today?’
‘Nothing very strenuous. Recover from jetlag, sunbathe, explore a little perhaps.’
‘No clandestine meetings beneath the palm trees?’
‘Not today,’ he said, solemnly.
Was he laughing at her? ‘Just checking. I wouldn’t want to be in the way,’ she said, in a manner that let him know she didn’t think it was at all funny.
‘I’ll tell you when you’re in the way.’ He dragged his fingers through his wet hair. ‘There are a couple of bikes outside the cottage, we could ride down to the other beach if you like.’
‘We?’
‘You and me.’
She looked doubtful. She’d seen the bikes, but it hadn’t occurred to her that she would be expected to ride one of them. The last time she’d been confident on a bike, it had had training wheels.
‘I thought you’d be busy,’ she said, turning back t
o the mirror.
‘I’m sorry to disappointment you, but I’m afraid you can’t get rid of me that easily. But you can have another shot at drowning me tomorrow. I’ve chartered a boat for the day. You don’t suffer from sea-sickness I hope?’
‘Don’t wear anything you’re fond of,’ she warned him, still tugging the comb through her hair. Then realising she was being silly, she shook her head. ‘No, Jack, I don’t suffer from sea-sickness.’
‘I’m glad. There are some coves you can’t get to any other way. I’m reliably informed that they shouldn’t be missed.’
‘I’m sure it will be lovely,’ she said, unenthusiastically. ‘The whole island is lovely. Why else would you be interested?’
‘Why else.’ Then, ‘For heaven’s sake, Mel, you’re supposed to be an actress, can’t you at least pretend to be having a good time? Why are you making such a drama out of this?’
Her eyes flashed. ‘Drama is what I do for a living.’ Correction, wanted to do. What a pity her agent didn’t take the same attitude. ‘Of course this isn’t anything as grand as a drama. It’s more your below average sitcom.’ Well, there, maybe Trudy was right after all. Maybe she should have taken that sitcom. At least that part had a decent fee.
‘I’d have said the weather is rather better. And the scenery. And there’s no reason we shouldn’t have some fun.’
‘Fun? This is supposed to be fun?’
‘Of course. If I’m not having a good time, not one will believe that we’re-’
‘It’s all right, Jack,’ she interrupted, hurriedly. ‘I get the picture. You want fun. Fun you shall have.’
‘I can’t see why it should be so difficult to try and enjoy yourself.’
Oh, but it wasn’t. It wasn’t difficult at all. That was the trouble. She had been enjoying herself out there in the sea, enjoying herself rather too much but she wasn’t about to admit it.
‘Why? Because by rights I should be back in London cleaning someone’s greasy oven?’
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘You didn’t have to.’