is needed to achieve that particular vision and assigns us each roles. Her list can include anything from strategies to prevent my grandmother hitting the gin too early to calculating the number of Brussels sprouts needed. She then informs us of what she expects in terms of performance.’
‘Nice relaxing festivities, I imagine.’ Amusement glinted in the depths of his eyes.
‘Quite. On the actual day she gives us evaluation updates at regular intervals.’
‘What happens if something goes wrong?’
Phoebe gave him a look of mock horror. ‘Doesn’t happen. Contingencies are built in. Should something go awry, and it hasn’t since the memorable incident involving my father and a rolling pin ten years ago, we’re to simply remind ourselves of the vision. The experience gets absorbed into the following year’s strategy.’
‘It’s probably not a bad way of handling Christmas,’ he said dryly.
‘Yes, well, next year I’m boycotting it.’
‘The family is revolting.’
Phoebe grinned. ‘Not at all. My siblings, rather worryingly, embrace the whole thing with gusto, so technically I’m the only one who’s revolting.’
‘You’re not revolting. You’re—’ Alex broke off, the humour fading from his eyes.
Phoebe’s heart skipped a beat at the sudden shift in his demeanour. I’m what? She suddenly longed to know. What am I? Tell me. ‘I’m what?’ she said and her breath hitched in her throat as she waited for his answer.
Alex blinked and the stormy look in his eyes vanished. ‘Going to burn if you’re not careful.’
Oh, how annoying was that? He’d been staring at her face as if trying to commit every inch of it to memory, and the way his eyes had darkened as he’d fixed on her mouth had her thinking that concern for her skin had definitely not been uppermost in his mind.
‘I’m always careful,’ she said loftily.
‘So am I,’ he muttered, frowning into the distance and standing up. Alex stretched and then to her consternation reached round the back of his neck and pulled his T-shirt off.
At the expanse of taut brown skin that hit her eyes, Phoebe nearly passed out. Muscles rippled over his abdomen, a smattering of dark hair covered his chest and narrowed down into a fine line that disappeared into the top of his shorts.
She sat on her hands to stop them from darting out and whipping open the button and sliding down his zip. A primitive longing to run her hands over those muscles, to trace the contours of every inch of him, walloped her in the stomach.
‘Did I just hear a whimper?’ Alex dropped his T-shirt on a deckchair and turned to her, a tiny smile playing at his lips.
‘A whimper?’ Phoebe snapped her gaze to the horizon and frowned as if in concentration. ‘No. I don’t think so. I certainly didn’t hear a whimper.’
‘I could have sworn I did.’
‘It must have been the wind.’
‘It must.’
‘What are you doing?’
‘Going for a swim.’
Thank God for that. Who cared if the Atlantic was supposed to be freezing? Or that swimming after eating was generally considered to be a bad thing? If it removed him from sight and out of temptation’s way he could swim to the States and she’d cheer him on with every stroke.
‘Want to join me?’
Phoebe shuddered at the thought. ‘No, thanks. I’ll stay here and look after the boat.’ And no doubt drive herself mad speculating about what he might have been going to say.
She tried not to stare at his back as he stepped up onto the guardrail, but then figured that, as he couldn’t see her, she could sneak a peak. He twisted and stretched, the muscles of his shoulders and back tensing and flexing, and Phoebe had to clamp her mouth shut to stop another whimper escaping.
Alex dived into the clear blue water and as he disappeared beneath the surface Phoebe let out the breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. It was only when she started putting the remains of lunch back into the cool box that she saw quite how much she was shaking.
By the time Alex stopped his relentless pace, the boat was a speck in the distance, his muscles burned and his lungs stung. The icy water, however, hadn’t had the effect he’d hoped.