“There's water and orange juice too,” Jenna reassures me. “What's in that?”
She’s pointing at the sports bag which I am unzipping, knowing already what's inside.
“Snorkels!” I say and show her.
“Wow!” She says as her mouth stretches into a smile. “How did you organise all this?”
“Have you met our Resort Manager? Ever such a helpful fellow. Fantastic arse too,” I say as she steps in close and slides her arms around my waist. It's then I wonder how I have spent nearly an hour with her this morning and not kissed her yet, not properly. As if reading my mind, she pushes up and presses her lips to mine, and I am quick to open my mouth, tasting coffee, honey and a little mint too. I sigh and hum as our kiss deepens and I instinctively rock into her when she grabs my butt. I am ready to take her right now and I sense she is too, but I'm not going to let that happen. Not yet.
“I'm afraid this is not on the date's itinerary,” I say.
“It's not?”
“I don't see condoms in that bag, do you?” I nod to the snorkel gear.
“Well, knowing my brother, it's entirely possible.”
“Nothing wrong with being prepared,” I add. “But I would like to get wet in other ways first.”
“Oh, that was bad,” she says, and she loosens her grip, stepping back.
“Wordplay doesn't do it for you, eh? And I thought you were a writer.” I chuckle as I bend down and reach for the bag.
“Not that kind of wordplay.” She pulls her hair back into a ponytail, giving me a far too tempting look at her neck and shoulders.
“Come on,” I say handing her a pair of goggles with a snorkel attached. “Let's go find some fish.”
She looks at the gear with a squint in her eye. “Why do I feel like you're trying to make me wear the least attractive headgear possible today? Don't you want me to look remotely sexy?”
“You look plenty sexy enough, trust me.” I peck her on the cheek before pulling my T-shirt over my head. I hear her inhale of breath as the material drops into the sand.
“Now you're just trying to distract me,” she says, her eyes trailing down my torso.
“No, asking you to put some sun cream on my back and chest is how I'm going to really send you to distraction,” I say before realising. “Oh, shit. I didn't bring any.”
She rummages in her bag. “Voila!” She retrieves a bottle and then drops her bag and turns me around. “Don't move.”
“Ah!” I yell out when the cold spray of the lotion smacks into my back, again and again and again. I am practically dancing with the shock of each spray.
“Hold still!” She starts to rub it in.
“It's your turn next,” I warn.
“Shit,” she says in a quieter voice. “I really did a number on you.”
“What do you mean?”
“There are scratch marks all over your back,” she says. “Must have been from the shower. We didn't even do missionary last night.”
It's almost like she's talking to herself, remembering. I wonder if she’s done lots of remembering. I know I have.
“Is missionary your usual position of torture?” I ask.
She doesn't reply, but then I feel her lips touch down on various places on my back, accompanied occasionally by the wet warmth of her tongue.
“Jenna,” I say as I tilt my head back, so close to surrendering. “I really do want to get in the water.”
“I’m sorry,” she says and it’s suddenly an apology I don’t want. She has nothing to apologise for. I only wish I could see the marks she left on me.
