Toni more than matched him, glad the muscle memory of cutting through the gentle waves in open water came straight back to her, even though she hadn’t done much serious swimming in years. She followed him out to where the cliff faces tumbled into the sea, the stone smooth at the waterline. There were hidden crevices in the rock, little cave entrances.
‘This feels like an adventure story,’ she commented. ‘We’ve been marooned on this deserted island with only our clothes and now we have to survive for long enough to be rescued.’ Heat rushed to her cheeks as her brain supplied further twists in that story. It would be a romance. Starting out strangers, they would learn to trust each other and then, when their clothes were little more than tatters, they would?—
Thankfully, his contented smile didn’t indicate he had any idea of what was going on in her mind. ‘Luckily, I packed lunch,’ he said with a wink. ‘The rescuers might be a while.’
9
Toni was charming company. That shouldn’t have been news. He’d been chatting with her for over a year online, always looking forward to her responses – the wry observations about her colleagues and bottomless curiosity about his island.
What was surprising was just how much he was… charmed. When she exclaimed over the fresh focaccia, olives and his home-made sour lemonade with rosemary, the effects of her delighted approval could have powered his house for a week. She devoured three figs and an apricot and declared them better than chocolate, which he’d politely disagreed with, earning him a smile.
Although her eyes told another story, her smile was bright and open. It was those eyes that made him want to give her everything she needed this week – everything she wanted, even if what she wanted was for him to keep his distance.
He could read between the lines. She didn’t want the attraction. He didn’t either – in theory. But she had such beautiful shoulders, soft skin. Her olive-green swimsuit had a pretty wrap-around shape that hid more than it revealed but revealed enough to make his pulse spike. She understood hewas lonely, even if he hadn’t shared much and didn’t intend to. Dangerous things were always the most fun.
‘Now, unfortunately, you cannot go in the water for another two hours,’ he informed her gravely.
‘What? Why not?’
‘It is a strict law in Italy. If you do, a nonna somewhere will appear and shake her finger at you.’
‘As utterly terrifying as that sounds, I’m sure two whole hours is a bit much. But maybe I’ll manage an hour. I’m supposed to finish a book.’
‘“Supposed to?” Or you want to?’
With a jerky shrug, she answered, ‘A bit of both, I think. I’ve got this single week away from my usual responsibilities and my mum was insistent I make the most of it.’ She stood and stretched; the flowery covering she was wearing picked up in the wind. When she settled into the lounger, he adjusted the parasol so the shade over her was complete.
Toni taken care of, he stretched out on the picnic blanket, his toes pointing to the sky, and it wasn’t long until he dozed off.
Only to be awoken by a shriek of alarm.
Disoriented and hazy from sleep, he hauled himself upright, taking a moment too long to process the fact that Toni was no longer on the sunlounger – or anywhere else he could see.
‘Toni?’
‘Yow! I’m over here,’ came the response from behind a boulder to his right – the side of the beach with the fallen rocks that gave the cove its name, Ripa Barata. ‘Crap, I’ve hurt myself.’
Her calm, detached tone didn’t stop the shot of panic up his spine. He leapt up, ignoring the spike of pain in the soles of his feet as he raced over the stones, following the sound of her voice. Striding through the water with a frustrating slowness, he finally found her hunched on the loose rocks – her hands covered in blood.
He nearly swooned.
‘I don’t even really know what happened. I slipped and then suddenly— Are you all right?’
Forcing his eyes open, he nearly closed them again immediately when the sight of the blood confronted him. While his vision blurred at the edges, he swallowed his racing heart that had leapt into his throat and tried to find his rational brain.
Her hands were not bleeding. They were only smeared with blood. She was clutching her shin and – there it was. An ooze of red that made his stomach turn. He crouched down in front of her.
‘Of course I’m all right. Let me see.’
She moved her hands slowly away to reveal a gash on her leg.
‘Cristo santo,’ he muttered, taking a deep breath.
‘Oh, shit,’ was her contribution. ‘I still have a skinned knee to deal with and it’s my own.’
Looking up into her face, he was puzzled that she seemed only mildly put out while her leg appeared to be haemorrhaging and her life draining away. Groping for the neckline of his T-shirt, he dragged it off and fumbled to wrap it around her leg, pulling it tight.
‘Ow!’ She gave a cry that he felt as a stab in his chest.
