it isn’t a date. You gave me some lame excuse about your penthouse needing to be fumigated, and I pretended to buy into it. Apparently we had to take refuge in your mate’s holiday house for the weekend or suffer dire consequences from inhaling pesticides. So, really, this isn’t a date, it’s a necessity for my delicate constitution, right?’
He snorted. ‘Delicate? Yeah, as an angle grinder.’
Chuckling, she squeezed the last droplets from the ends of her hair. ‘But just so you know, I’ve never jet-skied before, and it’s awesome.’
Her eyes glittered with pleasure as she fiddled with the zip on her wetsuit, sending his excitement meter off the scale. ‘Glad you liked it.’
Seeing her like this, exuberant and glowing, resurrected the scary tight-chest feeling. Yes, they’d only just met up again. Yes, it was too early to be thinking long-term. But he knew.
Their marriage was alive and kicking.
He trusted his gut instincts, the same instincts that had made him a fortune in the building industry, the same instincts that had catapulted him to the top of the construction world and made him a multi-millionaire ten times over, and right now his gut was telling him she wanted to reunite as much as he did.
Getting reacquainted as friends was the first step, and this amazing woman, standing in the sun like some golden glowing glamazon, would hopefully be right alongside him as they took the rest of the steps towards a long, happy life together.
‘You hungry yet?’
Her stomach growled in response, and she laughed, patting her belly. ‘I guess falling off that thing a hundred times worked up an appetite.’
‘I only counted fifty.’
Dodging the playful slap she aimed his way, he held out his hand. ‘Come on. Let’s head back to the car.’
She didn’t hesitate, slipping her hand into his, and as he curled his fingers around hers he marvelled at how right it still felt after all this time.
Oh, yeah, she might be singing the anti-marriage tune, but this maestro had every intention of conducting them straight into a happily-ever-after concerto.
‘Is there anywhere to change around here?’
He shook his head. ‘Sorry. It’s behind the car door or wait till we get to the house.’
The corners of her mouth curved into a deliciously naughty smile. ‘Or you could hold a towel up for me, but only if you promise not to peek.’
As all the blood from his brain rushed south, he tugged on her hand till she stood flush against him, murmuring in her ear, ‘No deal. And it’s no use asking me to turn around because I’ve got eyes in the back of my head.’
‘It can’t be too hard, right?’
She wriggled within the circle of his arm around her waist, the wetsuit soaking water through his T-shirt, the damp a welcome relief for his skin burning up from the inside out.
‘I think you know exactly how hard it is.’
He could have shown her if he shifted his pelvis a fraction to the left, but she was driving him beyond the limits any red-blooded male in his right mind could tolerate, so he settled for a quick, blistering kiss, chuckling when she gasped after he released her, and twirled her towards the car, giving her a gentle pat on her very cute butt for good measure.
‘I’ll give you two minutes to change. You take any longer, and I won’t be responsible for my actions.’
She flung a saucy look over her shoulder. ‘Is that a threat or a promise?’
‘Change!’ He pointed to the car before his good intentions to romance her in the style she deserved went up in flames along with his libido.
‘I’ll be over that sand dune.’ He held up two fingers. ‘Two minutes, that’s it.’
With a fake pout, she puffed out an exaggerated sigh before reaching for the zip and slowly, agonisingly, drawing it downwards inch by excruciating inch.
He stood rooted to the spot, unable to tear his gaze away from her fingertips, the nails short, practical and unadorned, wrapped around that tiny piece of black metal, sliding downwards in a deliberate, unhurried tease.
She reached the tantalising dip between her breasts, the hint of cleavage making him grit his teeth to stop himself from groaning.
‘Remember that time we went skinny-dipping after the Labour Day picnic?’
Remember? How could he forget? Instant memories swamped him: sharing hot nachos down by the creek, licking the spicy salsa off each other’s fingers, flickering moonlight playing over her exquisite features, him daring her to join him in the frigid water, buck naked…
‘Cam…’ He took a step towards her, barely managing to stop when she waggled a finger at him and pointed over his shoulder.
‘I think there’s a sand dune over there with your name written all over it.’
With a frustrated growl, he turned away from her teasing grin and marched over the hot sand, putting as much distance between the gorgeous temptress and himself as possible.
He might be a romantic but he wasn’t a saint, and if that zip had gone any further, he couldn’t have been held accountable for his actions.
Cam might like to tease him, to push things along but he had all the time in the world.
Like for ever.
Camryn wondered if she’d made a mistake.
When Blane drove through the tiny coastal town of Barwon Heads on their way back for lunch with its single main street dotted with a bakery, pub, grocer and a few cafés for the holidaymakers who probably frequented the quiet town in the summer, she’d had the distinct feeling he was trying to recapture their past.
The streets had been almost deserted, the foreshore home to a few seagulls too lazy to raise a squawk, and as the car had stopped at the lone roundabout to let a helmetless kid on a bike through, it had taken every ounce of her willpower not to interrogate him on the spot.
Barwon Heads was reminiscent of Rainbow Creek, from the few old guys loitering around the rusty anchor in the town’s sole park, making desultory small talk over cigarettes, to the curious glances cast their way when Blane stopped for petrol.
And considering they’d first met in Rainbow Creek, it didn’t take a genius to figure out he was trying to take a trip down memory lane.
Not a bad thing in itself when she’d enjoyed every moment she’d spent in her errant husband’s company so far, and this weekend would prove no exception. The kicker lay in the fact her intentions to tread softly had flown out the window since the first time they’d kissed in his penthouse, and she hadn’t been able to recover her equilibrium since.
It was getting harder and harder to hold him off, to pretend she was just getting reacquainted with a friend and not falling deeper with every passing day.
‘Chardonnay
