‘You’ve seemed to love exploring today.’
‘It’s not that. I’ve just found it to be a bit isolating.’
‘Isolating?’
‘Lonely.’
It’s embarrassing, but I’d rather he knew the truth. I tuck my hair behind my ears and stare at the market as my cheeks heat.
‘Which colour?’ he asks.
I glance at him and realise that he’s looking at the rail of Hawaiian shirts.
‘Green,’ I reply, grateful for the change of topic.
‘I think you’d rock a crocheted top.’
I laugh. ‘What, the tiny little triangles of see-through fabric?’
‘Why not?’ he asks mildly.
‘I’m not sure I could pull that look off.’
‘I don’t think you give yourself enough credit.’
I snort and he grins.
‘Come on, let’s go have a look,’ he prompts, signalling for the bill.
It’s only a small market – a row of white gazebos with each vendor selling a selection of clothes, jewellery, bags or souvenirs.
‘It’s a little lurid, don’t you think?’ Ash asks dubiously as I hold the green Hawaiian shirt against his chest to determine the fit.
He’s so tall.
I stretch the fabric sideways to see if there’s enough of it.
And broad.
The warmth of his skin soaks right through the cotton. It’s an effort to stay focused.
‘It is a little lurid,’ I agree with a smile, eyeing the clustersof bright orange flowers overlying dark green palm leaves on a lime background. ‘But I like it.’ I grin up at him and he smiles down at me, my blood fizzing as he picks up a dove-grey baseball hat and pops it on top of my head.
‘Youshould get the cap.’ I blush as I take it off, docking it on his head instead. ‘Your nose is sunburnt.’
He touches his fingers to the tip. ‘Is it?’
‘Yes. Have you got any sunscreen on?’
‘No.’
I tut and shake my head at him, slapping the Hawaiian shirt against his chest. He laughs and catches it, accidently brushing his hand against my thumb and making my breath hitch.
Ash buys the shirt and cap, then steps from the shade into the sunshine and casually strips off his T-shirt. The sleek muscles on his back ripple as he slides one arm into the sleeve of his new shirt, followed by the other. He turns around and slowly walks back towards me, his gaze downcast as he concentrates on fastening the buttons. The taut ridges of his abdomen disappear, and then the line of dark blond hair travelling from his belly button down his flat stomach.
He’s right in front of me before I realise I’ve been staring.
‘Your turn,’ he says in a deep, low voice that steals the remaining air from my lungs.
