Gritting her teeth, she gave up all thoughts of an early night and, standing up, unzipped her dress and let it fall to the floor.
Ten minutes later, with a full moon above her, she was running along the cliff path, a light breeze in her face. Usually in London she wore headphones, to block out the noise of the traffic, but here there was no need. It was the first time she’d run in weeks, and the absence of any noise and the taste of clean air and sea spray was as exhilarating as neat alcohol.
Slowing down slightly, she zig-zagged through a clump of pine trees down towards the beach, her gaze following the pale path beneath her feet. And then she was on the beach, her trainers sinking into damp sand and the sound of the surf filling her head.
Hands on her hips, she breathed out slowly, enjoying the relentless motion of the waves and the sheer, dizzying pleasure of being so close the sea. She looked longingly down at the water. It would be so lovely to go for a quick swim. But then again…
She sighed. Swimming alone at night in a sea she didn’t know was probably not the most sensible idea. Maybe she’d get up early and come back tomorrow—
Glancing up the beach, she stopped mid-thought, her attention snagged by a movement on the dark rocks—a flash of white.
Was it a bird?
Frowning, she walked swiftly across the sand. Up close, the rocks were slightly steeper than she’d anticipated, but she managed to grapple her way to the top. It was higher up than she had thought, but on the plus side she could see that there was a less arduous way back through the pine trees.
For a second she gazed at the path, mentally tracing it up the hill. Heart still pounding, she made her way cautiously over the rocks—and then abruptly stopped.
Gazing down, she felt a tug of excitement. It was a tidal pool, almost circular, maybe ten metres wide, carved out and fed by the sea and perfectly hidden. Pulse twitching, she watched the waves lap over the edge of the rocks—and then, without warning, her breath caught in her throat and she took a step back.
Beneath her, swimming with smooth, effortless grace was Luis.
He was on his front, wearing nothing except a pair of blue swimming shorts with a flash of white. Feeling like a voyeur, but unable to stop herself, she inched forward, her eyes locked on his muscular back and the smooth, sleek lines of his limbs.
She knew she should move, but her feet seemed to be embedded in the rock beneath her. All she could do—all she wanted to do—was stare. And then, just like that, he was pulling himself out onto a terrace of rock, smoothing his hand over his wet hair, and it was too late for her to do anything.
Pulse soaring, she watched mesmerised as he made his way up towards where she standing. Right at the last moment he looked up and froze.
Cristina stared at him mutely, her skin on fire as though the moonlight was burning her. Sea water was trickling down from his shoulders over
his chest and stomach, and his eyes were deeper and darker than the pool behind him. He looked like some mythological hero. Her gaze dipped to his mouth. But he was real.
Luis felt his muscles contract.
What the hell was she doing here?
He’d thought he was alone, and judging by her next remark Cristina had clearly been thinking the same thing.’
‘I didn’t know you were here. I thought you were on the mainland.’
Blood singing in his ears, Luis stared at her dumbly. Having made up his mind after their catastrophic kiss not to spend any more time with her than necessary, he had been avoiding her masterfully—even going to the trouble of arranging a meeting with a business colleague on the mainland.
His mouth tightened. If it wasn’t so tragic it might almost be funny!
He’d gone away ostensibly to work, in reality to forget her. But he’d done neither.
Her name, her face, her body, even her voice had been impossible to forget, for she was inside his head. He could taste her in his mouth, feel her swimming through his blood just as he had swum across the pool.
And it wasn’t just his memory and his body that seemed determined to remind him of her at every opportunity. The flowers on the table had conspired against him too, their scent reminding him of her and causing him to lose track of what he was saying on more than one occasion during lunch.
He gritted his teeth. He’d tried to stay away, but he couldn’t. His need to see her, to be near her, kept pulling deep inside him, strong and relentless, like a marlin on the end of a line. And even though he’d known that returning to the island was an admission of weakness he’d come back anyway.
But seeing her like this, here—
His breath felt suddenly too low in his chest. This place was almost sacred to him. Bas had taught him to dive here. They’d tried their first and only cigarette sitting on these rocks. And it was where they’d always come to trade their fears and hopes.
Now he was here with Cristina. A woman he didn’t fully trust and yet who reminded him so much of his brother—not just in her beauty but in her effortless rapport with people even his parents. Usually they were quite formal and reserved with anyone except immediate family and longstanding friends, but they were both already clearly fond of Cristina, and she was delightful with them.
He might have been—would have been—suspicious of her motives had she only bothered to sweet-talk Sofia and Agusto, but he’d watched her with Pilar and with Gregorio, the estate’s elderly and quite deaf groundsman, and she behaved with exactly the same easy empathy.