“Who’s in charge, now?”
“Let go, let go,” she protests, without too much conviction.
From her fidgeting I understand that she’s kicking underwater as if it might help, so I drag her to a point where the pool is deeper.
“I said let go of me,” she repeats.
“All right.” I release her and she sinks up to her eyes, surprised not to touch the bottom.
I swim towards the ladder, but I feel two slender arms grasping me from behind and encircling my neck.
Jemma is trying to push me underwater, but I free myself from her grip. “If you play it this way, then I’ll have to drown you.”
She swims as fast as she can to the inflatable chair, but before she can get up on it, I grab her by the hips and drag her back down with me.
She struggles in the narrow space left between me and the chair, which I decide to reduce even more.
We are clinging to each other and panting after the fight and, to be honest, I doubt that either of us dislikes it.
If it bothered her, she would end it here.
I realise that we’ve never had so much physical contact.
She keeps wriggling with less and less conviction, until her legs encircle my waist and her fast movements become gradually slow ones.
Is it possible that she’s clinging to me on purpose? Or is it just a trick of my imagination?
I relax my grip, now I’m holding her gently.
I look at her. The water has washed away all traces of make-up from her face. Although her make-up is no longer as heavy as it used to be, it’s surprising to see her like this, with her cheeks reddened by the heat of this moment and moist lips. This close, I realise how big her eyes are.
Her face looks so innocent, but there’s a spark in her eyes, a flirty flash that makes it impossible for me to take my eyes off her.
Her fast breathing makes her breasts raise and lower against me, and this is torture.
“You… you won,” she says, in a whisper.
“You fought well,” I answer.
On paper, this situation would be perfect for a kiss. Just the two of us in a pool, clinging to each other. A textbook kiss.
But this is Jemma and I, there’s no textbook for us.
She remains there, as if she didn’t want to do anything else. What if she were waiting for me to do something?
No! Let’s not be silly, it’s unimaginable.
And yet… fuck it! I’ll do it. I’ll get closer and see how she reacts.
I tilt my head slightly, gradually getting closer and closer.
Wait a second: am I hallucinating? Is she doing the same, as if to humour me?
I pluck up the courage to get even closer, now we’re just a breath away from each other.
“Your Grace?” I hear Lance’s muffled voice from the other side of the doors, together with his light knocking.
Instinctively I release Jemma from my hold and let myself back in the water with two strokes. “Yes, Lance.” In the meantime, she takes the opportunity to run to a deckchair, get a towel and slip out as soon as Lance enters. Not before stopping in the doorway for a second to throw me an enigmatic look.
