He stood up and despite their initial conversation he helped pull out her chair. ‘It gets a little tricky in the sand when the chairs sink in a bit.’
Bonnie felt him beside her. Her arms did that hair-waving thing again and this time the shiver went right down to her toes. To break the mood she said the first thing that came into her head. ‘Are you saying I’m so heavy I bogged my chair?’
His teeth flashed as he glanced at her figure. ‘No.’
He nodded at the waiter to say they’d be back and they took the few steps to the water’s edge and began walking along towards the airport in the distance. They didn’t speak but strangely it wasn’t as awkward as she’d thought it would be.
The waves lapped politely, no big chasers in the occasional wash up like happened at home, just gentle lapping that never threatened her light slides, or her concentration at maintaining a safe distance.
The sand crunched firmly beneath their feet and the stars overhead twinkled benignly down on them. She could feel her annoyance from his refusal to discuss his life recede like the water beside her and she let it go.
It didn’t matter. Really it didn’t. She didn’t know him. Probably wouldn’t see him again and it had been a very pleasant meal.
Then he ruined it. ‘Any chance of meeting up tomorrow?’
She fought back the overreaction she wanted to make, like a full-throated scream of Yes, and impressed herself by the way her answer slid out quite lightly. ‘No.’
‘The day after?’
She wanted a flirtation, not an affair. Already she was too aware of every facial expression, every shrug of those lovely shoulders and the strength in those powerful legs that walked beside her. Sensory overload. She glanced at him. ‘Thanks for dinner. Can we go back now?’
Harry felt her pull away, even though her body didn’t move. It was a subtle stiffening and leaning to increase the distance between them. Unmistakable. Well, he’d blown that. Not something he was used to doing but he was just out of practice. Funny how he could be smooth with someone he didn’t care how it went with and a bumbling idiot with someone he wanted to impress.
Now, why was he trying to impress her? He slanted a glance at Bonnie of the determined chin and wondered why as they walked back to their table. He liked it that she was taller than most women, though she was a little frail. He could easily imagine being able to span her waist with his hands, and maybe he should insist on dessert to fatten her up.
She seemed too fragile to him. Maybe nursing her gran had really taken it out of her. He could feel the swell of empathy pulling bricks out of the walls he’d built over the last two years, snapping mortar and the solid pattern of layers like a berserk tradesman. Now, how had he left himself open to that?
His sensible side began a mental slurry of cement on the cracks and crumbles and hardened his heart. Then the words came easily.
‘I’ll pay the bill and take you home, then.’
CHAPTER THREE
IN THE early hours of the morning Harry lay on his side and gazed out over the beach. He watched the stars inch their way across the sky. He’d tried turning his back on them but he knew they were there. Laughing at him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d tossed and turned over a woman. Well, he could but he didn’t want to remember that disaster.
But Bonnie was different, softer, like a calm place to sit and enjoy situations and surroundings he’d forgotten how to enjoy. And that tinge of sadness around her sat like a mist he wanted to wave away. Problem was that voice in his head had burnt him before. He squeezed his pillow again and buried his ear into the packed softness of feathers. Softness was a pain.
Next morning, he found himself standing beside her breakfast table. Just in case she’d changed her mind. ‘Good morning, Bonnie.’
Bonnie shook her head. Obviously Harry didn’t understand no. Which for an intelligent man seemed a little bizarre.
She took a careful sip of her tea, savoured the honey— Bali had lovely black tea—and ignored the little glow that wasn’t leaf-related. ‘Good morning, Harry.’
‘You must be Bonnie’s friends.’ He glanced at the girls as if to check their response to her fake name. Bonnie’s smile kicked. Now, that was gold.
‘May I join you?’ His open-necked shirt exposed a strong brown throat and the buttons strained as he leaned over the table. Her poor young friends nearly swallowed their spoons. Too much testosterone this early in the morning.
Sacha stuttered. ‘O-of course.’ With cheeks like fairy floss she practically offered him her own chair, then turned wondering eyes on Bonnie. ‘You said it was a one-off.’
It was a six-seater table. Bonnie made a note to herself to insist on a table that would only seat three next time. ‘He’s obviously slow on the uptake.’
Sacha waved him into a bamboo chair and he sat down. ‘I wondered if I could interest you ladies in a bike ride down Mt Agung. I have a friend who runs tours and he’s got a couple of places left this morning.’
‘Two or three?’ Bonnie asked sweetly. It was dare for him to be specific. He smiled sweetly at her.
‘Three or four.’
‘Even room for you?’ Bonnie sighed. Before he could answer, Jacinta dropped her shoulders and Sacha did too. ‘We’re out. We booked that cooking class thing today.’
Harry attempted to look disappointed. ‘And you?’
‘It really is Bonnie, you know.’ She smiled sweetly. Did she want to spend a whole day with this guy? Or would she spend it by herself, wishing she’d gone with him?
After the call last night this was her last full day and the bike ride sounded ideal. She’d see the countryside after all and she needed to break out of this cloud of apathy she’d been in for the last few months. He was certainly helping there.
It seemed unlikely he’d attempt to race her off in a pack of cyclists. And she had some say in it. ‘What time is this ride and how do I know it really exists?’
‘You do have a nastily suspicious mind.’ He produced a brochure and a mobile phone. ‘But I expected that. You could ring Wayan and ask him.’
She took the glossy pamphlet and turned it over in her hands. The number stood out plainly and she was very tempted to do it. He was daring her now and she couldn’t decide if he was real or fake. He’d be great at poker.
He looked suspiciously ready to go in that open-necked shirt that dared her to peek at the strong column of his throat but she wasn’t going to.
He wore different blue jeans and scuffed joggers that might have been expensive in their heyday, and that watch, which she’d decided was definitely not real. Like him.
There, she’d made a decision. If the watch was fake, he was fake. She’d buy one in the women’s version and this man would know the right vendor on the street. ‘Where’d you buy your watch?’
‘Geneva.’
She
