stairs were cobweb festooned, littered with stuff she didn’t want to examine too closely. No worries about what she was going to be doing tomorrow. Cleaning...
She brushed her teeth in the downstairs cloakroom, washed her face in cold water.
There was a throw on a sofa in the room Sofia had called her ‘snug’. Andie opened the French doors, hung it over the edge of the veranda so that any creepy crawlies would fall down into the garden and gave it a thorough shake.
Out in the distance she could see the lights of a ship and she paused for a moment, leaning on the wall, breathing in the fresh air coming off the sea. Then a yawn caught her and she shut the French doors, climbed into her PJs and wrapped herself in the lightweight silk robe she’d packed, wishing she’d brought her fleecy one.
Having located the bell cord and tied it up safely out of harm’s way—the last thing she needed was to set it off and have Matt racing back convinced that she had a concussion—she stretched out and was asleep almost before she’d closed her eyes.
She was woken, cold, stiff and with a crick in her neck, by the low sun streaming in through the open shutters. She lay very still for a moment hoping that her stomach had given up on the vomito.
No such luck.
Teeth brushed, hair tied back, she made her way to the kitchen in search of something that would stay put.
The rising sun exposed the state of the villa in a way that artificial light had failed to do as she crossed the gritty floor in search of a kettle. She let the water run for a few minutes before she rinsed the kettle, filled it and put it on the old-fashioned stove. While it was boiling she located the switch for the water heater and, holding her breath, turned it on. The fuses held.
She took a mug from the dresser, washed it under the tap and tossed in one of the mint teabags she’d brought with her. That and a plain biscuit usually stayed down.
She carried them out onto the veranda, planning to let the crisp morning air clear her head but the cushions were missing from the chairs. She crossed the garden to a bench, put down the mug and stretched out her neck. Then, enticed by the soft, lulling splash of the waves breaking over the sand in the enclosed little cove below her, took the familiar path down to the beach.
Kicking off her sandals at the edge of the sand, she walked to the edge of the sea and stood for a moment as the water, ebbing and flowing, sucked the sand from beneath her feet.
One bold ripple rushed in, covering her feet up to her ankles, chilly but exhilarating. She longed to plunge into the water but she’d have to go back for her swimsuit...
There were some moments you could never recapture and this was one of them. If she walked back up the steep path she wouldn’t come back to the beach.
She looked around but the cove was private. Unless you knew it was there you wouldn’t notice it from the sea and it was too early for a call from even the most diligent of neighbours.
Rolling her eyes at her totally British reserve, she slipped off her robe, stepped out of her PJs and tossed them on a nearby rock.
The gesture was oddly liberating and it seemed the most natural thing in the world to raise her arms to the heat of the fast-rising sun, welcoming the soft breeze that rippled across her body like a lover’s touch.
As she stepped forward the cold water swirled around her ankles and calves, goosing her skin. Another step and it was up to her knees, thighs, a chill touch against the heat of her body, and she lay her hand against her still-flat belly, reliving the moment when Cleve, insane with grief, scarcely knowing what he was doing, had cried out as he’d thrust inside her and made their baby.
She shivered, but not with the cold.
It had been wrong, selfish, she’d taken advantage of his moment of weakness and now, instead of saving him, she was going to bring him more pain.
She caught her breath as the water lapped at her belly and then she dived in, striking out for the far side of the cove.
There and back was more than enough; splashed through the shallows and ran, shivering, straight to the hot pool. She had just stepped into it, lowered herself up to her chin, when her brain processed what she’d seen.
She turned slowly and peered above the rocks.
Cleve was leaning against the rock where she’d left her clothes, arms crossed, and he was grinning. ‘That was worth flying thirteen hundred miles to see,’ he said.
Blue with cold and covered in goose bumps? She doubted that...
‘How long have you been there?’
‘Long enough.’
Of course he had. He must have been in the garden when she stripped off, witnessed her mad salute to the sun...
‘A gentleman would have looked the other way.’
‘Only an idiot would have looked the other way. A gentleman would have saved your blushes and pretended he hadn’t seen you.’ He kicked off his shoes, peeled off his socks then tugged the polo shirt he was wearing over his head and tossed it next to her robe. ‘But as I’m sure your father has told you, I’ve no pretensions to being a gentleman.’
‘So if you’re not an idiot and not a gentleman, what are you?’
‘Honest?’
He reached for his belt.
‘Stop! What do you think you’re doing?’
‘Joining you in that oversized hot tub while we discuss why your resignation is not going to happen,’ he said, then paused as he was about to slip the buckle. ‘Unless you’d rather get out and join me over here.’
They had been naked together for an entire night, no holds barred. He’d already watched her take a skinny dip, seen her run across the beach. Modesty was ridiculous but nothing would induce her to climb out and walk over there with him watching her every step of the way.
‘I didn’t think so,’ he said when she didn’t move, and the buckle was history. He flipped the button at his waist and dropped his trousers to reveal a pair of soft white boxers that clung to his hips and buttocks like cream to a peach...
‘That’s far enough!’
She’d had her hands inside that underwear, her hands on that tight backside as she’d undressed him. In her head he was already naked. In her head she wanted him naked, beside her, inside her...
‘Pass me my robe.’
He hooked it off the rock and held it out. She snatched it from him, wrapped it around herself, careless of the hem falling into the water.
She’d intended to climb out and go back up to the villa so that she could face Cleve wearing proper clothes, but he was already walking across rocks worn smooth by centuries of water running from the spring and foaming into the sea.
‘I was going to get out,’ she said.
‘Why?’ He found himself a comfortable spot to sit opposite her, stretched his arms out along the rocks and closed
