I’m confused. ‘So this isn’t the end of it?’
Kit’s eyes slide to the ceiling. ‘Rye’s stuck here at the hotel for now, but until Suze and David have run their course, we assumed you’d want to keep an eye on things as much he does?’
‘Right.’ My toes are curling at the way they already sound like a couple.
‘Obviously any Hideaway events will take priority. In the meantime, if you’re up for a dip, the next place on the tour is the thermal pool.’
I’m opening and closing my mouth. ‘No one warned me secret agents had to swim!’
The corner of his eyes crinkle with amusement. ‘It’s not compulsory. But when you see how inviting the water looks, you may change your mind.’
Two more doors, and we arrive on the side of a pale blue, mosaic-lined pool surrounded by pine loungers, with semi-circular steps at one end and the kind of soft lighting that makes it feel like there’s sunlight playing on the water.
I’m a wimp when it comes to true cold-water swimming, so I slip out from under his arm and bend down to test how the water feels. ‘It’s very warm.’
Kit runs his fingers through his curls. ‘I knew you’d be tempted. The other hotel pools are colder, but this is kept at thirty degrees.’
I’m wavering. ‘What about guests?’
He looks at his watch. ‘They’re encouraged to swim before dinner, so this is exclusively ours if we want to use it now.’ He nods at a basket. ‘There are plenty of hotel towels.’
My heart is racing. ‘So … skinny dipping?’
He laughs again. ‘I’m keeping my boxers on, but feel free to strip off if you want to.’
My briefs and bra aren’t a matching set but at least they’re both black. ‘My underwear will be fine, thanks.’ My mind jumps to the patchwork of marks above my knicker line. ‘I do have scars on my tummy.’
‘They’re simply a sign you’ve led an interesting life.’ He’s already kicking off his deck shoes, taking off his watch and throwing his shirt onto a lounger. ‘The trick is to get in so fast no one notices.’ A second later his jeans are off and his perfect racing dive slices through the water. When he surfaces a few moments later he’s at the other end of the pool, his dark curls dripping as he scrapes the water from his eyes. ‘I’ll submerge and swim another length to give you a chance to get in.’
When the hell did the wild child inside me get this scared and tentative? I settle Shadow down by a lounger, shake out a towel to leave on the pool edge, step out of my sneakers and let my dress drop. As I slip off the side the water is delicious on my skin, and a moment later I’m doing a racing crawl up the pool, watched by Shadow, who is resting his chin on his paws. After three lengths I stop in the deep end with my back to the side to get my breath back.
Kit glides through the water and pops up beside me. ‘The water temperature is too high for hard swimming; this pool is meant for relaxing.’
I’m in the most laid-back, luxurious place in St Aidan. It should be easy to float on my back, close my eyes, and reach my personal nirvana. But having the hottest guy in town stripped down to his undies, his wet, toned shoulders shiny and within touching distance, is blowing my cool into a thousand tiny pieces. I’m so thrown, my bilateral breathing is all over the place, and that’s been muscle memory since I learned it at swimming club when I was twelve.
I’ve had four long years of living with a libido slightly less alive than a giant panda’s – they’re almost extinct, not because of a shortage of bamboo shoots, but because they have sex so rarely none of them know how to do it – so when I’m practically naked in the local hotel swimming pool it’s not the ideal time or place to discover that my ability to feel fanny flutters has returned. Worse still, they’ve come back five times stronger than they ever used to be when I had them before.
I’d assumed I’d gone menopausal, and I’d never want sex again. But suddenly I’m aching for it so badly it’s not just a want, there’s this drive with the force of a bulldozer crashing through my body. There’s only one thing for it, I’m going to have to swim my way through it.
I push off from the side and call to Kit. ‘Just off for another few lengths.’
‘Great, I’ll wait here and watch.’
I’m storming through the water like a train. I’m on my sixth length when it finally hits me that I might be blaming the wrong thing. My raging out-of-control hormones are down to four glasses of Prosecco on an almost empty stomach. There’s no need to panic after all because it’s nothing to do with the man.Damn.Why didn’t I think of that five lengths earlier?
By the time I arrive at the deep end, I’ve had a hard reset, and I’m gliding like a swan. I catch hold of the pool edge, shake back my hair and look up to test my theory.
There’s an ironic twist to Kit’s grin. ‘This is why I love you so much, Floss. Who else would come in here and do an Olympic workout?’
This time it’s so much worse. The bottom is literally falling out of my stomach. Then he bites his lower lip, and it’s all over.
My hand makes contact with his jaw, and the stubble on his chin is rough against my palm, then my fingers travel and spread. Past his ear, through his damp curls, until I can feel the back of his skull, solid and certain beneath my fingertips. The breath I take is so deep my lungs feel as if they might burst. And for a while he doesn’t move, and it feels as if the world has stopped spinning, and for an age time feels like it’s standing still and I’m certain he’s going to pull back. And then just as I’m about to give up hope, I feel his head dipping, slowly moving towards me, and then his lips brush lightly against mine. Then he comes in again, sweet and hot and tasting of wine, and my arm slides around his neck, and all I can hear is the rushing in my ears like the sound of the sea, as my slick wet skin slides against his. There’s music, there are stars, there are rainbow colours zipping through my head and my pounding heart feels like it might be going to explode out of my chest. And when I finally pull away, I’m rubbing my lips and gasping. Then dying of shame for what I’ve done.
‘I’m sorry, that was a terrible idea.’ I’m disentangling myself, yet somehow still clamped against his chest.
He lets out a low laugh. ‘There was nothing bad about it from my side.’
I’m lining up the reasons in my head, trying to find my best excuse for the outrageous behaviour. I’m at number five hundred and sixty-two when there’s a splash somewhere behind me.
