His kiss stole the last words and she found herself pulling away from him just long enough to drag her suitcase inside the room, push the door closed, turn the key in the lock and walk Atholl backwards towards the pile of mattresses and quilts now covering the floor.
Beatrice hadn’t noticed the sounds of the tide coming in or the changing light as the sun started to fade in the hazy, watery afternoon sky, but the cool breeze over her bare skin from the open window told her it was getting late.
‘We should eat something,’ Atholl said in a murmur, but he didn’t move, instead running his fingertips over Beatrice’s side.
‘Hmmm. Good idea. I’ll get up and go any minute now.’ She opened one eye dreamily but didn’t move. ‘Do you know you’ve got some mattress down in your hair?’
Reaching into the copper coils above his ear she freed the soft white feathers and Atholl took the opportunity to kiss her again, slowly and tenderly.
Beatrice shuddered at the lovely memory the kiss provoked; Atholl’s curls skimming her neck and moving down over her breasts and belly as he trailed his lips over her, pressing warm, intent kisses into her flesh until her hands tangled in his hair and he delivered stroke after stroke of his tongue in languorous circles as she drew her thighs around his shoulders and forgot everything that had ever hurt her. The memory made her nerves sing and tingle.
He broke off their kiss with a smile and, looking around the room, passed her the clothes he’d cast to the floor behind him in his fervour to have her naked. ‘You look half asleep, Beattie.’
Beattie. That was the name he’d called out into the still noon air when she had made him ball his hands into fists against the piled up mattresses and quilts, pushing his heels hard against them, gasping for breath like he was drowning, her hair tumbling in silky waves over his stomach.
They’d stayed hidden in their nest of feathers and sheets all afternoon, sipping whisky and kissing until Atholl had fallen asleep. Beatrice had draped an arm over his chest and watched his slow breathing until she too closed her eyes. She had known they’d be good at this. All her intuition had been correct.
Chapter Thirty-One
Return to the Coral Beach
Two pink lines streaked the watery sky as the sun began to sink into the horizon and Beatrice and Atholl picked their way across the coral beach, their arms tight around each other’s waists.
‘Are you sure coming here’s a good idea, Atholl? We don’t have a good track record on this beach, do we? I’ve been stampeded by cattleandwe almost drowned. Are you sure a comet isn’t about to burn through the atmosphere and put an end to us for good?’
The sound of Atholl’s laughter warmed her against the chilly evening as they found their way to where Gene and Kitty had lit their fire this morning.
‘You know, that was what made up my mind, in the car, with Rich. I was thinking about the few days you and I spent here and all the crazy things that happened: the cattle, the matchmaking, the trip to Skye, and meeting your family, and the riptide, rescuing the lavender field and then planning the ceilidh.’
‘We certainly kept you busy.’
‘Rich said to me that he and I had been through too much to throw it all away, but I couldn’t help thinking that me and you have been through just as much, even in our few short days together, but I enjoyed my holiday ten times more than the entire decade I spent with Rich.’
He responded only with a satisfied kiss by the side of her mouth before tipping the pile of kindling and scrunched newspapers out onto the ashes from the earlier fire and searched in his pocket for the matches.
‘Wrap up warm,’ he said, as Beatrice set blankets down for them to sit on, keeping a large tartan travelling rug to wrap over their shoulders.
The fire came to life quickly with the help of only one match and Atholl’s pursing lips blowing softly into the centre of the building flames.
Beatrice held out one side of the blanket and Atholl slid underneath it, smiling at the warmth and being so close to Beatrice.
They sat for a while in contented silence and Beatrice thought about the afternoon they’d spent locked away in the dismantled princess room and how Atholl had kissed her and held her as though she were a precious, tender, priceless thing, and they had made love for the first, and second, and third times.
Atholl, Beatrice noticed, was smiling to himself as he looked out at the calm water. The sunset was turning from pink to orange. Anyone passing would have been astonished at how their eyes shone in the brightness and how their skin glowed, but they were alone. Even Echo had left them to it this evening.
Atholl reached for the willow basket he’d carried with them and drew out russet apples and a curved knife. Silently, he peeled away slices for Beatrice, handing them to her one at a time, and taking crisp bites himself. Occasionally he stopped just to watch her eat or to press a kiss beneath her ear or on her cheek, and all the while they smiled contentedly.
Brushing an apple pip from the blanket, Beatrice turned to Atholl. ‘You’re quiet tonight. Not having second thoughts again, are you?’
‘Second thoughts?Again? When did I have second thoughts before?’
‘When you told me to go back to Rich, and the morning of the ceilidh when you disappeared all day and didn’t come back till late. I sat in that garden in my fancy white frock for two hours wishing you’d come find me…’
‘Och,’ Atholl exhaled sharply. ‘You thought because I disappeared all day leading up to the ceilidh that I was avoiding you? You said as much, I remember.’
‘And weren’t you?’
Atholl pulled Beatrice closer beneath the blanket.
