“What are you doing?”
Her pale sarong blooms under the water like a pale flower as I reach for the back of her neck.
“Helping you out of excess clothing.” Pulling her closer, I undo the knot one-handed when she presses her hand over mine. “You know that’s all I’m good for.”
“Niko, don’t—”
“Own your beauty, Isla.” Red for warning. Red for life and death. Red for love. A vine of need twirls through my insides as I soak in her lushness. The freckle on her collarbone, the hard pucker of her nipples begging for the warmth of my tongue. “God knows, it owns me.”
Any answer she might be about to make is drowned out as I find Archie limpet-like on my back.
“You dunked my mummy!” he squeals, pressing his small hands to my head. “Now we have to dunk you.”
“Oh no!”
“My saviors,” Isla exclaims with a laugh.
“Defend the mother ship!” Hugh’s yell is a strangled war cry.
“Mother ship?” she splutters. “That’s not exactly flattering.”
But neither boys listens, intent on joining in the fun. Or drowning me.
“Death to the pirate!” Archie presses his hand to my head. Taking a breath, I slide under the water, making him giggle as I surface, adding a little flailing motion, playing along.
“Maybe not death.” Isla laughs as, with a long, elegant stroke, she makes for the side of the pool.
“The pirate’s escaping.” Hugh gives a childish war cry, splashing sounding from behind me. So I turn and hurl both delightedly squealing boys deeper into the pool. I’m at her back before she can climb out. Using my body, I cage her against the side of the pool bringing my lips to the glistening shell of her ear.
“I’m glad to hear you don’t want me dead.”
“Not yet.” Her face in profile, the tip of her tongue unconsciously swipes water from the bow of her lip. Need streaks instantly through me, my hand snaking around her body. She rocks suddenly against me, her breast in my hand, so full and lush.
“Not until I make you wet again.”
Isla swallows a gasp as I slide the triangle of her bikini top sideways, exposing the curve of her breast then her hard nipple to the air. My mouth waters. I want to turn her and suck the perfect peak into my mouth. She’d slide her legs around my waist, and I lift her to the stone tiles and press my body over hers.
“The boys,” she whispers, her voice tight with want. She shivers as I slide my thumb across her nipple, then pull the red triangle back into place.
“I just can’t help myself.” Pressing my lips to the side of hers, I steal the briefest of kisses. “But you know what they say. To err is human.” The water swirls around us as I turn to the sounds of Archie and Hugh. I launch myself in their direction with a yell. “And to pirate is arrrr!”
ISLA
Own your beauty for it owns me.
Climbing out of the pool to Archie’s squeals of, “Mummy’s bum is squishy” and Hugh’s cackle of delight at my “mega wedgie,” does not do my confidence a great deal of good. Or maybe it’s theirs is just the perspective I need because the way Niko looks at me makes me feel like a queen. A desperately horny queen.
I take care not to put myself in his orbit for the rest of the morning, but I feel his eyes following me anyway. Who am I kidding? My eyes devour him just the same. I feel like I’m being seduced and not just in the way he looks at me. It’s also in the way he is around my sons. He had such boundless energy in the pool, launching them into the air, letting them win swim races again and again. He shows endless patience for their incessant questions, playing down his wealth at Hugh’s childishly invasive questions and Archie’s more whimsical addresses.
In just one morning Hugh asked:
How much money do you have in the bank?
How many houses do you own?
Meanwhile, Archie’s enquiries had sounded more like:
If you were a pirate ship, what would your name be?
Would you rather have a pirate peg leg or a hook for a hand?
How is this man not a father already?
“Really, boys. That’s enough. Leave the poor man alone.”
“But he’s not poor, Mum,” Hugh answers cheekily. “Uncle Sandy says he’s minted.”
“I’m sure Uncle Sandy would never say such a thing.”
“He might think it,” Niko answers, not helping things. We’re sitting on the terrace, plates of fresh bread and grilled chicken, salad and fruits lying between us. When his gaze meets mine over the table, everything inside me pulls tight.
“Can you eat these?” Archie picks up a tiny pink flower from one of the salad plates, twirling it between his thumb and forefinger.
“I imagine so,” I reply. Why else would it be in the salad? “Elbows off the table please.”