I take stumbling steps, traveling back the way I came, rounding the rocks until I come back to the beach. The light is bright, and the mist has gone as if it was never there. The brown head of the seal bobs up at the water’s edge, and I pause.
The sight of the seal eases my feeling of loss, of panic. As I watch it, I begin to feel calmer, and again become aware of that strange, pulsing energy.
Once more, I’m struck by the feeling that I’m meant to be here. I take a breath, poised on the edge of something I have yet to understand.
The seal comes closer, its head dark and wet in the waves.
No. It’s not a seal. It’s a man. My breath leaves me in a shocked gust.
He swims in strong strokes towards the shore, and I stay where I am, watching wonderingly as he rises to his feet on the beach’s edge. My gaze travels up and up. He’s strikingly tall. My eyes drop, and my mouth falls open. He’s naked.
Chapter Two
“H-Hello,” I stammer.
He walks over to me, his strides long and graceful, and I blink when he gets close. He towers several inches over my own five foot ten, and he’s absolutely beautiful in the Cornish light—like a film star just landed in Cornwall, ready for his close-up. His hair is long, reaching down his back in red-blond waves the colour of a sunset in an Impressionist painting. Some of the thick waves are plaited around his face, giving him the appearance of a Viking. This effect is reinforced by his lean, muscled body, broad shoulders, and long legs. His skin is tanned all over, and tattoos flow over his body, down his arms, and over his shoulders.
He reaches for a piece of fabric on the rocks, his movements graceful for such a big man. The cloth is cream coloured with red symbols painted on it, and I watch as he winds it around his narrow hips. I can’t help but sneak a glance at his cock before it’s covered. It’s long and wide, and I catch an intriguing glimpse of gold at the head.
“I do beg your pardon.”
I jump as I realise he’s talking to me. “Eh?” I reply, which is not the most sterling of conversational repartee.
His lip twitches, and he gestures down his body. The sarong covers him now, more’s the pity. “I said I would beg your pardon for appearing so indecently in front of you.”
His voice is lovely—deep and low, with an accent that softens the vowels, blurring them slightly.
“You shouldneverapologise for your nakedness,” I say fervently. “Don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise.” His lip twitches, and I grin at him.
“How heartening to have such affirmation.”
“I live to please.” He chuckles. “Anyway, don’t worry about it. It’s notnearlythe strangest thing that’s happened to me today.”
His eyes are gold. I’ve never seen eyes that colour. It’s so vivid—like looking into the centre of a flame. “Really?”
I nod. “Oh yes. I’ve never been to Cornwall before, and then I had a weird dream last night, which turned out to be about this very beach in exact details I shouldn’t know about.” I’m babbling and I never do that, but I’m just so relieved to see someone and tell them about this weird morning.
His eyes widen. “Mayhap you have seen a picture. It is a very famous beach and rightly so.”
“Which is a perfectly reasonable assumption, but I ended up coming here after I started out for home when my boyfriend dumped me. I went to the Minack without really meaning to, and when I saw this beach, I left a perfectly lovely meal to come and look at the place. I’m not sure why, as I’ve seen many beaches in my time. Then my stupid hire car conked out.” I pause for a much-needed breath.
He stares at me. “You have not eaten?”
“After that recitation, that’s the only thing you want to ask me?”
He shrugs, grace in the movement of his broad shoulders. “Food is important.”
“So is a psychiatric intervention.”
I watch, awed as he laughs. The sound is rich and so full of life and warmth that I take a step towards him before I can help myself. He stops laughing, but his eyes are creased very attractively. He has a nice face. It looks like he laughs long and often. I like that.
“Food is important in life.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Not really. It’s necessary to refuel, but that’s it. I’ve never really understood the obsession.”
His eyebrows rise. “But preparing food is a way that we express ourselves.”
“In what way?”
