Legacy Of Shame. Diana Hamilton

      The knife-thrust of pain at the very idea of having to say goodbye to him at all made her clench her teeth, made her knees jerk up to her chest in a purely reflex action, sending her down to the blue tiles six feet below. And she didn’t care if she never surfaced, but she bobbed up to the top, shaking the water out of her eyes, and saw Simon silhouetted against the sun, and wished herself down at the bottom again because she didn’t want to have to talk to anyone. She was too depressed.

      ‘That looks good.’ He sounded amused, breathless, too, as if he’d been running. ‘If someone would lend me a pair of briefs, I’d join you. Unless—’ his voice thickened ‘—you’d like to see me in the nude?’

      ‘Why on earth should I want to do that?’ she retorted crossly, diving for the steps and hauling herself up, because she had to get out of here. He had spoiled what little pleasure there’d been in the morning.

      Frowning, she planted her feet on the tiled surround. On the last two occasions they’d been out together Simon had been far too pushy, his language at times too coarse for her liking. She had put up with it only because the only other option had been to stay home, miss out on all the fun, hardly ever see her friends.