‘Don’t you know how fucking dangerous it is?’ he snarls.
‘Fuck off,’ I spit at him, and begin to swim toward the beach. He grabs me from behind. His body is hard and slippery.
It is a relief to stop kicking and simply relax into his body.
He nuzzles my neck, his breath warm. ‘Can you make it back on your own?’
‘No,’ I admit reluctantly.
He catches me under my arms, and slowly we make it back to shore.
We lay at the water’s edge, naked. I look up at the wonderfully blue sky and feel the heat of the sun penetrating my skin. ‘It was a stupid thing to do, I’m sorry.’
He turns his head and our eyes meet. In the sunlight they are bright and intense, dizzying: the color of spring grass. His eyelashes are all long and dark and stuck together with seawater, like a child that has been crying. ‘I’m sorry I shouted at you, Lil. But you scared me.’ He blinks. ‘If anything had happened to you, I would have been too far out to do anything to help you.’
I raise my hand and lay it on his flat stomach. He takes his hand and traces my mouth and desire starts to stain his eyes. He moves forward and leans his forehead on my shoulder and takes a deep shuddering breath. ‘Oh, Lily. What am I going to do with you?’
I wriggle myself so I am underneath his body, sweat seeping into my skin. ‘I have an idea,’ I say, focusing on his brutally masculine chest.
He looks down on me. A hint of that which is centuries old, plain ol’ human lust, shines in his face. Fire explodes in my skull. I am so addicted to this man.
‘I really like the way you think.’ His amused whisper slides into my head like a little mind trick.
Some may call it love. I don’t.
‘Hungry?’ I ask.
‘Starving.’
We toss a coin to decide who is to make breakfast. He loses and to ease the pain I promise to make dinner. I stand against the counter and watch him put a pan on the stove.
‘Who taught you to cook?’
He smiles, cheeky. ‘Let’s get something straight, Lil. I don’t cook. I’m frying a couple of eggs because I lost a coin toss.’
I can’t help smiling back. Like this he is pure magic. The twinkling of his eyes warms my heart the way standing next to a three bar heater in a freezing room in winter warms the body. It actually makes me want to kiss that sexy mouth.
‘You don’t smile very often, do you?’ I say.
‘No?’
‘No.’ I look at him from beneath my lashes. ‘What would make you smile right now?’
An inscrutable expression crosses his eyes then is gone as quickly as it came. Then he smiles suddenly, dashing and irresistible. The pull of it is undeniable. I feel my knees weaken.
‘How’s that?’ he asks.
‘Not bad, considering how out of practice you are,’ I tease.
He steps closer and taking my shoulders in his hand, lowers his mouth to mine. The power of the unexpected kiss is shocking. It whips through me, setting fire to my senses. I hear the roaring in my ears as my mouth opens. He draws me closer and my whole body presses into his hard, clear need, and gives without questioning. My body knows what I refuse to acknowledge: I need him. I open my eyes quickly.
‘I’ll make the toast,’ I squeak, and walk unsteadily away to put some slices of bread into the toaster.
We have breakfast on the terrace and I eat with relish. I wipe my plate clean with a piece of toast and grin at him. ‘That was delicious, thank you.’
He leans back in his chair and smiles, beautiful eyes flashing. ‘So, my little wildcat, how would you like to take a tour of the island?’
I let my gaze travel over him, cool. ‘You know all my buttons.’
‘Good. Because I’m trying to impress you here.’
‘You’re doing great so far.’
He rises and holds out his hand.
Putting a sway into my hips, I walk with him through the house into the garage. He hits the button that opens the outside garage door and pulls a plastic cover off an absolutely stunning red and black Ducati Multistrada.
‘Wow! This is some bike,’ I exclaim walking around it, my sway forgotten. It is so spanking new there is not a scratch on it. I look at him, impressed.
He is beaming like a child. ‘Great, isn’t she?’
‘Awesome.’
‘Come on,’ he says, throwing his leg over the machine.
‘What? You’re going to go like that!’ He is wearing the same faded jeans, old sneakers and nothing else.
‘Why not?’
‘No helmet?’
‘Ah, Lily. Do you need the government to be your nanny and tell you what to wear all the fucking time?’
‘What if we meet with an accident?’
He sighs. ‘There’s a helmet in the cupboard.’
He kicks the bike over and it roars dangerously into life the way a really good bike should. The smell of exhaust fumes fills the garage. He turns to look at me as I fit the helmet on my head.
He winks at me and I gingerly swing my leg over the seat of the bike and place my feet on the passenger pegs.
‘Hold me tight,’ he says.
I scoot forward until my body is leaning against his and wrap my arms around his hard midsection.
‘Ready?’
‘Ready.’
He takes off and as he leaves the driveway and gets on the road he accelerates and I hold tighter. He rides with precision and skill as if the bike is an extension of him. When he dips I follow. We cruise along the open road, the wind in our faces, my body glued to his. We travel downhill through the labyrinth of cobbled lanes and make for the roads lined with pines, almond trees and juniper bushes that hug the coastline. Ibiza is full of goats, picturesque coves, tall rocky cliffs, lovely beaches and old-fashioned boatsheds made of wood. Contrary to what I believe about the island being the playground of celebrities and fashion models, so much of it is green and undeveloped. We pass a lonely, whitewashed, hilltop church and at the end of it an olive grove starts. I tap Jake’s shoulder and shout over the roar of the bike for him to stop. He slows down and pulls up at the edge of the road then cuts the engine.
‘What?’ he says, turning to me, his hair wind-blown, his cheeks flushed.
The whole time the tips of my breasts encased only in the thin bikini top have been rubbing against his naked back and I am feeling unbelievably horny.
‘I want you,’ I say, and taking my helmet off I get off the bike and walk into the grove.
By the time he comes for me I am lying naked on the hot orange soil, my legs spread. When his hard cock enters me, his eyes raping me, raking over my exposed body like rough hands, I hiss with relief.
THIRTEEN
Jake
From the open door I watch her wash vegetables in the sink. She turns off the tap and reaches for a knife. Her hair falls forward and she flicks it away carelessly. The gesture arrests me. Compels me to stay and watch. It is as if I am watching a movie. She is someone else. I am someone else. The picture of domestic bliss is so foreign. So alluring. It warms my heart.
What is it about her that makes her so magnetic? Even the simplest thing she does becomes a movement of grace and beauty. I have to stop myself from going into the kitchen, lifting her onto the counter and fucking her until she claws at me.
She leaves the tap running an
d turns to check on a pan of boiling water. As she puts the lid back on it she looks in my direction, sees me, and for an instant loses her concentration. The lid slips from her hand and falls to the ground, catching a ladle resting by the side of the pan on its way. The ladle pings up and falls into the pan of boiling water and splashes boiling water onto her hand.
I hear the ladle clatter to the floor as I rush to her and try to pull her toward the cold water tap, but she shakes her head vehemently.
‘Flour,’ she gasps. ‘Find me some flour.’
I stare at her, confounded; convinced I have heard her wrong. ‘What?’
‘Where’s the flour?’ she barks urgently.
Flour! As if I would know where that is. I start opening cupboards and clumsily rifle through them. Dropping packets on the counter and floor. Cursing. I find an unopened packet in the third cupboard I open. I turn around quickly, ‘Open it,’ she instructs, white with pain.
I open it and pass it to her. She takes a handful of flour and holding it against her burn, closes her eyes. It must have given her some relief because she looks up at me and smiles tremulously.
‘I know it looks weird but it’s an old Chinese trick my grandmother taught me. She actually keeps a packet of corn flour in the fridge so it is cold and ready for use whenever she burns herself.’
I stare at her in shock. This is the first time she has offered a tiny little snippet of herself, without being prompted, and something real!
‘It’s brilliant,’ she adds. ‘It actually helps heal the burn faster and stops the skin from marking.’
I keep my voice casual. ‘Your grandmother is Chinese?’
She smiles. A tender expression comes into her eyes. ‘Yes.’
‘And you love her very much, don’t you?’
‘Yes, yes I do.’
‘And she is still alive?’
Suddenly the expression in her eyes changes, becomes guarded and fearful. And all I want to do is hold her close to me and tell her it doesn’t matter. It does not matter a damn. She has ruined nothing by telling me that.