Page 51

She held her breath as she and Benson stepped into the garden, her eyes sweeping over the scene. Cressida and Ewan lying on side-by-side sun loungers, looking more like the glamorous couple she’d seen in the tabloid photos online, her in a white bathing suit and large sun hat, him in navy blue swimming shorts and aviator-style sunglasses. Rupert was in the pool, fair skin smothered in shiny sunscreen, a pale green hat perched lopsidedly on his head. And Eleanor sat like the lady of the manor she was, on the edge of the pool with her feet on the shallow steps, a colourful kaftan wrapped around her frame, and a straw hat on her head.

“You made it,” Eleanor said, as Tia and Benson drew close to the pool. “I was beginning to think you’d never stop working.”

Tia smiled, almost laughed. She’d only worked for about an hour, in the end. Her mind had been too fogged by the sensual web Hamish had so effortlessly invoked.

“You going to swim?” Rupert asked. “The water’s perfect.”

Tia nodded. “I’ll warm up a bit first.”

“Shouldn’t take long. This heat’s unbearable,” Cressida’s voice interjected, but she didn’t look in Tia’s direction. She’d picked up her phone and was lazily scrolling the screen.

“I don’t mind it,” Tia said, choosing to sit not in one of the spare sun beds, but rather at a white cane table with large, cushion-padded seats.

“Ma’am, can I get you a drink?” Benson asked, so Tia smiled at him.

She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I can handle them, Benson. You don’t need to babysit me—or them—in that suit, and this temperature.”

“Hamish was adamant.”

Tia wrinkled her nose. Just where was he, anyway? She’d thought he was with his father, but Rupert was in the pool. Had something held him up? She glanced around and it just happened to be at the exact moment Hamish stepped into the garden, wearing black swimming shorts and a casual white t-shirt that showed off the depth of his tan. She hadn’t seen him out of long pants before, and the sight of so much skin made her mouth go dry, her heart begin to race. He wore dark black sunglasses that concealed his eyes, and slides on his feet.

“Well, perhaps I shall return to the house. Have fun,” Benson said with a wink, leaving the pool area and passing Hamish, who gave him a handshake as he went. And then, looked at Tia, lifting his sunglasses to rest atop his head, so his eyes could properly lock to hers and in that one glance, he could communicate so much that she felt almost as if he were speaking.

Heat. Desire. Concern—are you okay? And more heat. It simmered between them, every bit as smothering as the day was warm, but so much better.

He greeted the various members of his dysfunctional family as he made his way to Tia, his eyes barely leaving her face. When he got close enough, he leaned down, trailing his fingers over her thighs, where the wrap had parted to expose her skin. “Hi,” he simply said, the single syllable landing deep inside of her chest and spreading like magic through every single cell and fibre.

“How were the stables?” she asked, as he settled beside her, hoping that he couldn’t tell how frantically her heart was racing as memories of his hands on her body came back to her.

“Couldn’t tell you,” he said, eyes raking over her face. He leaned a little closer. “I had this image in my head I just couldn’t get rid of. Distracted is an understatement.”

A smile spread slowly over her face. She felt as though she’d died and gone to heaven. A sudden splashing sound and an onslaught of water droplets broke through the moment. She glanced around just as Cressida emerged from a deep dive. Ewan was watching her, frowning.

Tia settled back in her chair, focusing not on the people at the pool, but rather the garden in which it sat, the historical features, the beauty of the home.

It was strange how the place had come to mean something to her, too—the thought of this historic homestead being a part of their child’s heritage made her heart feel rich and full. It was a sense of place she’d never known.

He waited only a few minutes after Cressida had left the water in search of food before standing and holding out a hand to Tia. “Shall we?”

He sounded so casual, as though he didn’t care either way, but he was desperate to be in the water with her. To have his hands on her body, to be close to her once more.

She took his hand and stood, unfurling her wrap with the other hand and stepping out of her shoes. His eyes dropped to her body, flames flicking through him at the sight of her—and what he knew was beneath. He could picture her naked every time he blinked his eyes, every time he breathed. The image had tormented him long enough.

They walked, hand in hand, to the stairs where his mother was sitting, Tia stepping into the water first, letting out a little sound of contentment as the water lapped at her ankles before going deeper, until she was submerged to her hips, and then, Hamish was behind her, his hands on her waist, spinning her in the water, so she laughed, tilting her head back. His hands dropped lower to her bottom, pressing her closer against him, and she no longer felt the presence of his family, of his ex-fiancée, his brother, none of them. It was just the two of them on a blissful summer’s day, in a gloriously historic swimming pool that was the most perfect balm to the sunny heat.

Another splash, and Cressida was back, swimming a lazy breaststroke lap closer to them, her eyes slipping towards Hamish as she reached the other end and stood, so she could make conversation with Eleanor. It was impossible then not to be aware of them, not to hear the way Eleanor addressed ‘Cressie’, with such easy affection and reliance. Obvious too was the way the other woman knew so much about Eleanor’s life. Her treatment, her social circle, all of it.

Was it only yesterday that Tia had sworn she’d do whatever she could to make the other woman jealous? To be the perfect wife, swooning over her contracted husband so that no one could be in any doubt of their happiness. For all that she’d committed to that little vengeance side quest, it was the furthest thing from her mind as she brushed her body close to his beneath the water, enjoying the sensual feeling of skin on skin, and blinked up at him. The sun was high overhead, casting him in that dazzling light, making him shimmer, so her breath caught in her throat and she wanted to ask him again, ‘are you real?’. Because there was something otherworldly about him, and here, in this garden, with birds singing on the edges of the citrus grove, and with the water lapping at their edges, he seemed almost like a god from the ancient world. She lifted a hand and brushed it lightly to his cheek, earning a quizzical expression that made her heart thunder like a horse’s hooves on asphalt.

She knew she should say something to break the spell. And it was indeed a spell. Some sort of ancient magic wrapping around them, heavy with all that they’d shared in such a short time, with the way his body could make hers feel. It was a spell that seemed to have her utterly in its thrall. Protective instincts fired to life. Tia didn’t want to be in the power of anyone or anything, and the safest thing to do was to reduce this magical feeling down to the physical. To say something about what she wanted from him, what she wanted his powerful body to do to hers when they were next alone. But he was staring down at her face and she was lost. The spell was too strong; she’d let it linger and now the threads were like spider’s silk—invisible but unbreakable.

So instead, she surrendered to its power, lifted higher against his body and brushed her lips to his, the horses in her chest running faster and harder as he kissed her back, and every single bird stopped singing; silence fell in the gardens, the water stopped lapping. There was only this, and she was glad.

Lunch was predictably tense despite the delightful setting, but Tia was used to that now. Ewan and Cressida sat stone-faced and silent, Rupert held court with the sensitivity of a rhinoceros and Eleanor sipped her Pimm’s and made occasional waspish remarks at everyone except for Tia—whether because she was new, or under Hamish’s protection, or perhaps Eleanor feared her response in some way. Hamish handled it all deftly. He barely looked across the table, at his brother and Cressida. He spoke of business to his father, the estate to his mother, common acquaintances as needed, but in a way that left Tia in little doubt that this world of his was in his past, and he was glad of that. At least so far as the society people were concerned.

But around the time a cheese platter was brought out and dessert wine served, Eleanor said, “I’ve been thinking about your wedding.”

Tia had glanced quickly at Hamish, wondering if there was some way his family had learned the truth—that this wasn’t as it appeared, and frowning because for a moment, a dangerous moment that might as well have been an eternity, she’d almost forgotten this wasn’t, in fact, real. The horses were back in her chest but now their thundering took on an almost merciless quality, ghoulish and mocking.