a no-no. Anyway—doesn’t Alex have a whole cinema in the palace?’
‘Probably. I don’t know. I just can’t think straight around him, Pol. He walks in a room and my whole body—it just tingles.’ She gave a little shake as she said the words.
‘Oh, no. No tingling. Definitely no tingling.’
‘People here—they’re different. The way they treat Alex. The way they treat me when I’m with Alex...’
Her voice drifted off as her train of thought started to take her down the railway line to mild panic.
‘His mother spoke four languages. I can’t do that. I know nothing about politics. Or history. Or modern studies. I only got a passing grade in geography because I memorised stuff about eroding coastlines.’
‘What exactly do you think you’re auditioning for here, Rubes? You’re a speech and language therapist—an expert in your field. You’ve published professional papers. You work at one of the finest hospitals in London. Why do you think you’re not good enough for him?’
She started shaking her head. ‘It’s not that I think I’m not good enough. I’m just worried. Alex wants to give us a chance—I want to give us a chance—but what about the rest of the world?’
‘Hang the rest of the world, Ruby. This is your life. Not theirs.’ Polly groaned. ‘You know I want you back here with me. But ten years, Ruby. Ten years you waited for this guy to come back into your life. You can’t let what anyone else thinks matter.’
Ruby straightened up. Polly was right. Alex was right. He was just trying to prepare her. Trying to let her understand that things might be difficult.
But Alex de Castellane wanted her—Ruby Wetherspoon. It had to mean something.
She walked over to the other side of the cabin. ‘Oh, Pol. He’s bought me clothes.’
‘Again? What is he—a personal shopper or a prince?’
She lifted up a scrap of material from the bed and squinted at it—trying to imagine what it covered. ‘Well, they’re not clothes, exactly. More like tiny bits of cloth. I think they’re supposed to be for swimming.’ She started to laugh and shake her head as she moved her phone to snap a picture and send it to Polly. ‘What on earth is that supposed to cover?’
There were five different styles of swimming costume on the bed, along with a whole host of scraps doing their best impression of itsy-bitsy teeny-weeny bikinis. She picked up the first and checked the label. At least they were her size—but there was no way she was wearing one in front of Alex. Not right now anyway.
There was a screech at the other end of the phone as Polly got the photo. She started howling with laughter. ‘Gotta go, honey—the baby’s crying. But, please—if you wear that you’ve got to send me a photo!’
Ruby smiled as the call was disconnected. She always felt better after talking to Polly. But Polly’s life had moved on. They were still best friends. But Polly had a husband and a baby. She’d found her happy-ever-after. What about Ruby’s?
She picked up a red swimsuit, slightly padded with a ruched front. Perfect. Something that actually covered the parts it should. It only took two minutes to put it on, and she grabbed a sheer black sarong to knot around her waist.
It was time to get out there.
Let’s find out.
* * *
Alex was doing his best impression of a male model in white trunks. She gulped. She was going to have to avert her eyes. Either that or put a sign on her head saying that if she looked at that area it would make her knees go weak.
He was waiting for her out on deck and he led her around to the back of the yacht this time. Again there were some seats, but Alex had also laid down towels on a flat area overhanging the edge. There was no ladder down the side. This flat part seemed to have been designed purely for getting in and out of the sea.
She sat down on a white towel and blushed as she noticed his appreciative gaze. ‘What do you normally use this for?’
‘Diving. I used to do a lot of diving with friends. Nothing too spectacular. Just for fun. So when I commissioned the yacht I knew I wanted a diving platform attached.’
‘You commissioned the yacht? You didn’t just buy it from a catalogue? Just how rich are you, Alex?’
She was laughing as she said the words and turned to dip her toes in the water. Even though the sun was blistering hot the sea was cold.
‘Youch!’
She pulled her feet back in as Alex laughed. ‘Here.’ He tossed her some sunscreen. ‘Put some of this on or you’ll burn your nose.’
It was easy to forget how hot the sun was with the sea breezes around them. She smeared some sunscreen on her face, arms and legs, then stood behind him, poised to put some cream on his back.
But he grabbed her arm and pulled her into his lap. ‘I’ve already got some. You, however, need some on your back. Give me that.’
He squirted some cream on his hands and started to rub it over her back. She was almost scared to move. Her position was precarious. They were right at the edge of the moored boat and she was balancing on his knees. Right now there were only two very thin pieces of fabric separating them. Her right arm was pressing against his bare chest, the dark curling hairs tickling her skin.
His hand movements slowed, going from initially brisk and efficient to sensual, circling her back, slipping under the straps on her shoulders and smearing cream across every part of her skin. She breathed in sharply and his hand circled lower, fingertips sweeping below her swimsuit.
His voice was husky, his accent thicker. ‘You didn’t like the bikinis?’
‘I didn’t like me in the bikinis.’
‘Why ever not?’ His fingers slowed and stopped, staying just underneath the back of her costume. ‘You’re a beautiful woman, Ruby.’
She felt her cheeks flush, instantly embarrassed by his words—which was ironic, really, since she was sitting half clothed in his lap. Could anyone see them, sitting here on the back of his yacht? In front of her all she could see was the Mediterranean Sea. There wasn’t even another boat in sight.
His hand moved gently around her waist, touching the fabric of her costume and resting next to the knot of her sarong. ‘This is definitely your colour. You suit red, Ruby. It seems as though your mother named you well.’
‘My mother named me after the ruby slippers in The Wizard of Oz. But I’ll tell her you appreciate her choice,’ she teased.
This was too much. She was sitting here, feeling the rise and fall of his chest next to her arm, the warmth between his skin and hers. Their faces were inches apart. Not touching him properly was torture.
She moved that little inch, putting her hand at the back of his head and tugging him closer until their lips touched. His fingers started tugging at the knot on her sarong. It fell apart easily.
The
