She watched as Jack swam strongly away. Floating on her back, she shut her eyes against the glare of the sun as wayward thoughts crowded her mind.
He’s probably regretting the kiss
right now. He had no idea I would respond that way. Neither did I.
He seemed as shocked as I was
when we lost control. I’m sure he’s not some sort of playboy intent on seducing me, but I don’t really know anything about him
,
do I?
She moved her arms and legs through the water slowly propelling herself toward the shore. He hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d said he wanted her. She saw it in his eyes, in the depth of that kiss and in his hands touching her. Was she in love with this rugged fisherman or was it the island weaving a strange magic spell over them? She knew she was foolish to stay another night, but she couldn’t bear to say goodbye yet. Not to the island. Not to Jack.
At the house, she dried herself and changed into a fresh top and slacks. Her long hair was sticky and unmanageable from the salt water and she made a mental note to wash it with the shampoo she had brought with her.
They sat opposite each other eating their lunch in silence. She was awkward and unsure of what to say while he looked cool and controlled in his clean blue shirt and shorts.
“I want to go over to the boat this afternoon and tidy up a few things,” he said at last, taking a swallow of water. “Then I’ll catch another couple of fish for our dinner.”
His smile was warm and she responded. “There’s a bottle of white wine in the fridge. We could celebrate.”
“Celebrate what? My lack of control?”
Her eyes widened at his blunt statement. “We’ll celebrate meeting and being on this lovely island…and parting.” Her voice quivered and to cover her confusion, she stood abruptly gathering the empty plates.
He also stood. “You’re quite right. We should make our dinner a happy occasion,” he said. She was relieved to hear the tone of his voice had lost its sarcastic edge.
“I’ll even make a white wine sauce to go with the fish,” he added.
She stacked the plates on to the sink top. “You must have missed your vocation. You should have been a chef, not a fisherman.” She turned to face him and was still at the look of desire in his face.
“If I was a chef I wouldn’t have met you,” he said softly, his blue eyes caressing.
This time she didn’t lower her eyes, but returned his look. “In that case, I’m glad you’re a fisherman.”
~ * ~
It was four hours later and he still hadn’t returned from Jezebel or his fishing expedition. She had cleared up after the lunch and neatened the tiny, lopsided cottage once again. She had washed some of her clothes and repacked her suitcase ready to leave the next morning.
Finally, she had shampooed and conditioned her hair in the strange, antiquated shower near the house. The water from the large container above her head had been pleasantly warmed by the long, hot day in the sun but she’d used it sparingly aware the rainwater in the tank could be getting low.
At last Jack returned holding two fish aloft as he entered the front door. “Here we are,” he said cheerfully, as she placed the book she had been reading to one side.
“You’re not expecting me to…to gut them, are you?”
She was so aghast that he burst out laughing. “Seeing that you are all clean and pretty, I’ll let you off that particular chore,” he responded, slapping the fish onto the sink. “I’ll prepare them, then I’ll go and have a shower. Can’t have you being the sweet smelling one while I reek of fish.”
He was being remarkably affable, Lara thought. She was sure he had many other things he would rather be doing than stuck here. She decided to follow his positive lead. After all, it had been an adventure and they would never see each other again after tomorrow. What was the point of dwelling on things and being miserable? This time next week she would be home in the palace and a secretary would be going through her appointment diary to arrange engagements for at least the next year. Lara blinked away the tears that welled in her eyes. She had been prepared to return and take up her royal duties after her few days on Seagull Island but now meeting Jack, she could see the careless freedom he took for granted. How she wished life could be different for her. And if she let her romantic ideas really take hold that she could stay here with him. Perhaps he would learn to love her. Love her and care for her.
“I’ve opened a can of chicken soup. We could have it as a starter,” she said, watching as he prepared the fish.
“Good idea.” Jack glanced up. “Cuts healed?” he asked, as he continued to fillet the fish.
“I think so.”
“I’ll have a look at them later. You don’t want to risk an infection.”
She nodded and busied herself heating the soup. She brought the wine from the fridge and endeavored to open the bottle with a rusty opener she’d found in the cutlery drawer.
He washed and dried his hands and then rescued the wine from her. “May be easier if I do this,” he said casually as he removed the cork with a gentle popping sound and poured the wine into the two waiting glasses. He handed one of the glasses to her and chinked his own against it.
“Here’s a toast to the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. May she find the happiness she seeks.”
Lara was stunned into silence as she sipped the cold, fruity Riesling. His eyes caressed her, making love to her, and she was tempted to throw herself into his arms and to hell with the consequences. Fortunately, the temptation was removed as he set his glass down and retrieving his towel and bag of toiletries, headed for the shower.
She waited nervously for his return and when he strolled through the door a short time later, she clutched at the back of a chair as her eyes drank him in. He was naked except for the towel draped around his lean hips. His tall, magnificently proportioned body glistened with moisture and his dark hair gleamed in a shaft of sunlight from the window.
But it was his face that captured her attention, her eyes riveted on his clean-shaven chiseled jaw and firm chin with a small cleft adding character to his handsome face.
“You look so different,” she breathed.
“I’m normally clean-shaven. Seeing we’re returning to civilization tomorrow, I thought I better shave off my beard.”
“But, you’re a fisherman.”
He grinned. “Not all fishermen have beards,” he remarked, and moved past her to his bedroom. She caught the scent of soap and shampoo and took a shaky, controlling breath. Suddenly, even standing there half-naked, he had acquired a polished veneer and her vulnerability to him intensified.
~ * ~
“You never finished telling me from whom you were escaping.”
They were seated on the patio after dinner in two old rocking chairs watching the sun sink low in the sky. Earlier, with much hilarity, Jack had made a grand performance of preparing his wine sauce to go with the fish, which she had declared the best she’d ever tasted. She had stacked the dishes while he had made the coffee. He sat opposite her now gently rocking in his chair and it seemed, determined to have a heart-to-heart discussion.
She watched a stray coffee grain swirl around in her cup as she measured her reply and how much she would say. She would explain just a little, she decided.
“It was a friend.”
“Male?”
“Yes. I left because I wanted some time alone.”
“Why? Are you in a relationship? Is he annoying you?” The questions came thick and fast and although Jack’s tone was casual, she sensed he was more than just a little inquisitive.
“No. He was a friend only.” She smiled as she thought of her burly detective and what he would make of this conversation. “As I explained, I had attended the race meeting, which was the last…last thing I’d planned to do before returning home to my parents in Europe.” She hesitated as she almost blurted out that she had been on an official engagement to present the cup to the winning racehorse owner. She was surprised Jack didn’t know about her visit. The small town of Port Margaret had buzzed with the news that a real princess was the special guest at their annual race day.
“While I was in Port Margaret, I booked the rental home on Seagull Island so I could get a few days to myself. I’ve just finished my studies at university and wanted some time out.”
Jack frowned, his eyes narrowing as he watched the sun disappear behind the horizon. Something didn’t make sense. It sounded odd that this lovely girl should want to be alone. Real Greta Garbo stuff. “What did you study,” he asked.
“Fine arts.”
“Hmm. Handy subject.”
She laughed. “Don’t be cynical, Jack. It will be very useful.”
“Yeah, if you’re going to work in a museum.”
“I also majored in political science,” she added.
“In that case I guess you could get a job in a museum run by the government.”
She laughed again and he watched the pure line of her profile as she leaned her head back against the chair. He wanted to touch her. He wanted to smooth his fingers over her white skin and place his lips to the tiny hollow at the base of her throat. He wanted to lift her against him, her body on his.
“Why did you have so much luggage?” Inane question, he thought but he had to take control of his lustful imagination.
“I will return directly to Europe from Port Margaret after changing planes in Adelaide. I’ve shared an apartment with my two best friends while we were studying. Now we’ve gone our separate ways.”
A fleeting sadness reflected in her eyes and Jack wondered if one of her friends had been the man she’d been running from. A shaft of jealousy gave him a hefty punch in the stomach.
She leaned forward and lifted a foot to examine the sole. One of the cuts hadn’t healed and looked red and sore.
“Problem?”
“It throbs a little. It will be okay.”
Jack stood. “Stay there. I’ll get the first aid tin.” He returned with the tin, plus a bowl of water and towel. “Rest your foot on my thigh,” he demanded and she obediently lifted her leg to rest on his. He cleaned the wound and placed a Band-aid across the small cut.
“Your skin is very tender from walking around without shoes. You should have taken more care.” He examined the fine bones of her foot. “I’ll massage them for you.”
He squeezed a sweet smelling cream from the first aid tin into his hands and rubbed her foot with long strokes.
“So, you’ve heard about me. What about your life story?”
“Nothing much to tell,” he replied, concentrating on his task. “I was born along the coast in a small village. My father and my grandfather before him were fishermen. It’s my life.”
“You appear to be well educated.”
He raised an eyebrow at this remark but one look at her embarrassed expression, he decided to ignore it. “I went to school, if that’s what you mean,” he replied and motioned for her to balance her other foot on his leg.
“Was your wife local?”
“No.”
“I’m sorry it didn’t work out.”
He shrugged. “We were very young. She was a city girl and it was always going to be tough. Fortunately, we didn’t have any kids.”
He slowed the massage of her foot as he thought fleetingly of his wife and what might have been? Between them they had made such a mess of their marriage. They had tried hard to make a go of it but it was doomed from the start.
Too young, too selfish.
Lara tried to pull her foot away but he tightened his hand around her ankle, caressing the delicate bone.
“Of course, there are other ways of making love,” he remarked, his tone casual.