wound up. She crossed to the counter and looked through the window at the courtyard. The solar lights had come on, sending the baskets of ferns into feathery silhouettes.
The silvery light reminded her of the Lyons’ pool at night. And reminded her that’s what she needed right now—to dive into its cool depths and thresh the water until she’d driven off this foul mood of frustration. But she couldn’t do that.
Rafe was in residence there.
Rafe heaved himself out of the pool. Standing naked in the moonlight, he shook the moisture from his hair and then bent and picked up his towel from the sun-lounger. Giving his body a cursory wipe, he slung the towel around his hips. He felt better now, his mind freed up from all those images that Matt’s questions had dumped all over him.
Padding back along the path to the annexe, he pushed open the screen door and went inside. The place was air-conditioned but so far Rafe had refrained from switching it on. He preferred the weather as it came. And in February it was stinking hot, the air almost brittle with stillness, the pungent smell of ripening mangoes everywhere. So intrinsic of everything Australian, he couldn’t get enough of it.
For now, anyway.
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