Chapter Thirty-Eight
Sitting at the edge of my bed, I happen to be wearing the smallest outfit I’ve ever owned, discounting babywear and childhood.What the hell have I gotten myself into?
‘It’s called a bikini, not burkini,’ Niamh had taunted at the mall, making to grab the modest one-piece I’d selected out of my hands. ‘You need to get a bit of sun on your pasty bits.’ Shoving a thing that resembled a couple of glittery Band-Aids into my hands, she’d insisted I’d look fab. My argument that it wasn’t really my colour and just ateenybit small went ignored.
It’s the weekend of the pool party, and a Dubai pool party means I don’t get to wear board shorts over my one-piece bathers, apparently, and the only thongs allowed are the kind that sit in the crack of your bum.
Bring it, Niamh had commanded, and as I look down at my outfit; the wedge-heels that are probably a pool hazard, the bangles jingling on my wrists, and the boobage spilling from something that looks a size too small, I decide to tell her I brought it, all right. But that it was too ashamed to go public.
I’m gonna cover it up with my raggy old Balinese cotton sarong.
Pushing myself up from the bed with a sigh, I slide my pony-tail over one shoulder, contorting my head to seek an answer to the female Holy Grail. I don’t know aboutbig, but my bum certainly looks bruised in this teeny bikini as teeth marks peek from the edge of the shiny material, standing prominent against the pale, plump flesh. My insides pulse reflexively as I recall the sensation of Kai’s mouth on my skin. Though shiveringly seductive the bruised reminder may be, it’s also way too graphic for public viewing. Come to think of it, I might have a matching pair on my inner thighs, hickeys I wasn’t at all conscious of receiving.Endorphins certainly have a lot to answer for.
‘Jaysus, the man must be a beast!’
I jump as though caught doing something I shouldn’t, head almost between my legs as Niamh walks in.
‘You’re supposed to knock,’ I reply pointedly, halting the examination.
‘Like I haven’t seen your hootenanny before.’
‘My what?’ If Kai thinks Australians are hard to decipher, he should try to make sense of a conversation with Niamh.
‘Think about it. Rhymes with... ’
‘Granny?’
‘You know full well I mean your vadge.’ Straight-faced, she holds a hand against her cocked hip. ‘And I’ve seen it before. Unless you’re hiding something else down there?’
‘Sandwiches.’ I turn away, averting my face. I don’t want to get into a show and tellMarquis de Sadestyle. Bad enough that I have bruised thighs and butt, but I also have a burn mark from his tie, hiding under the jangling bangles.Who knew silk burned?
‘You’ve got the space for a feckin’ picnic down there, after all that deforestation. I see the man bites, but how’s his Aussie kiss?’
‘His what?’
‘You know, same as a French kiss onlydown under?’
‘That’s really bad.’ I shoot her a withering look, sensing she’s not yet done.
‘Should I ask how his lip service is instead?’
‘I’d prefer you not to ask at all.’
‘That’s not very charitable, is it? Spare a thought for those less fortunate in the sexy-times department. Is it my fault I’m reduced to living vicariously ‘cos I’m getting none?’
Usually, the only trouble Niamh has with men is blowing them... off.Not that she suffers from lock-jaw or anything, as far as I know.Gorgeous and redheaded, men are usually drawn to the lilting tones of her accent, without realising if she’s ever had any use for the Blarney Stone, it was likely to whack some unsuspecting bloke’s head into it. Surely she can’t be losing her touch?
‘Still no luck with Rob?’
‘Rob who?’ Mildly miffed, she plonks herself on the bed.
‘Buff bloke? Deep tan.’ I arch one brow. ‘Looks a bit like he’s been on the ‘roids.’
‘On the what?’
‘‘Roids. Steroids. Buff, like,realbig.’ I make Popeye arms, even with my absence of guns. ‘Ring any bells?’ I ask, raising one, taunting brow.
‘Ah,him,’ she says, continuing with her veneer of indifference. ‘I wouldn’t ride that fecker into battle.’
