Summer Is for Lovers (19 page)

Chapter 23

D
AVID WAS ABOUT
to give up on Caroline for the second day in a row when she appeared around the patch of scrub grass that guarded the entrance to the cove.

He tried not to smile as she picked her way across the pebble-strewn beach, an hour later than promised. Her tall frame was recognizable, but the closer she came, the more she looked like someone he didn’t know. Today her hair had been tied up in a hodgepodge of mismatched rags, giving her the appearance of a very frustrated hedgehog. She was wearing that old blue print dress again, the same one she had worn yesterday. Only this time she had added an apron that in no way disguised the gown’s obvious ill fit. To add insult to injury, she was scowling in a ferocious manner that would send small children and wildlife scurrying, should they be unlucky enough to cross her path.

That is, if her hair alone wasn’t enough to do the job.

“You are late.” David slid off the rock as she pulled up in front of him. “
Again
.” He tried to remind himself that he was angry with her. It was a little difficult to maintain a solid hold on his irritation, given the distracting way his body was already stirring to life at the sight of her.

Which was a very concerning thing, given how bloody ridiculous she looked.

Caroline blew a stray wisp of hair out of her eyes, the lone straggler that had somehow escaped the noose of rags the rest of her tresses had been subjected to. “I owe you an apology, David. I had intended to send you a note explaining it. Mama scheduled a dress fitting for me and then all but chained me to the chair.”

“You didn’t look chained when I saw you yesterday evening, on your front porch.”

Her eyes widened beneath the caricature of her hair. “You saw me last night? But . . . why didn’t you say anything?”

“You seemed busy.” He tried to sound nonchalant, even as he cursed his stupidity in all but admitting he had watched her in secret. His was not the behavior of a man determined to help her find her match.

“Not so busy I didn’t worry about disappointing you.” Muddled green eyes met his over the few feet that separated them. “Given my morning, ’tis a miracle I’ve made it at all.”

He pursed his lips and permitted his gaze to meander across her. He decided in an instant that the apron was the thing he hated the most about today’s fashion monstrosity. It bisected her chest, but came nowhere close to delineating her waist. “Yes, I can imagine. You look as though you’ve been playing dress-up with a three-year-old.”

All hint of her earlier remorse vanished, and her chin notched up. “Shouldn’t
you
be undressed? I’ve an hour to devote to this, at most. Mama has declared that it shall take three hours to get ready for the ball I am expected to attend tonight. What could they be planning, given that I have already been scrubbed halfway to Sunday and had my hair wound tight as a bobbin? I could swim to France and back in less time.”

David fought a smile. There was something wrong with him. This was, after all, the girl who had rejected him for a dress fitting yesterday, and then made him wait in the heat of the sun today. He ought to be mad as hell.

Funny how at the moment he leaned more toward snorting in amusement, instead of giving her the dressing-down she deserved.

“Are you referring to the Traversteins’ ball?”

“Yes.” She wrinkled her nose, no doubt weighing the displeasure of the event against a game of shuttlecock. “A little faster with those buttons, if you please.”

He began to unbutton his shirt, but gave voice to the niggling hurt that still plagued him. “You seem rather enthusiastic about hurrying me along, given that it was your tardiness today that has made us so pressed for time. I think an hour devoted to the task of swimming is enough time to accomplish the day’s lesson.”

She drew in a sharp breath, and he couldn’t help but notice how the motion made her breasts, small though they might be, strain against the confines of her misshapen apron. “Are you forgetting we have a bargain?” she demanded. “You promised to teach me a few things as well.”

David froze, arrested in the very motion of shrugging off his shirt. Her words reminded him like a punch to the gut of what else beyond swimming she intended to accomplish this afternoon. The last time he had removed his shirt in this woman’s presence, he had entertained only one objective: learn to swim using her overhand stroke. But today, the act of undressing carried more weight. There were two stated goals to the lesson this afternoon, and he was reminded of the second one as Caroline’s eyes swept over his bare chest in open admiration.

“I had hoped you had changed your mind about that,” he told her.
Liar.
His heart was even now lunging against the end of its tether. “Are you sure you would not prefer to pass the hour focused just on the swimming lesson?”

“We shall divide the hour up, a half hour each.” Her gaze settled behind his shoulder, on the ocean. “And . . . and I cannot swim today.” She gestured to her hair. “Not like this. I shall have to instruct you from the shore.”

Whatever remaining wisps of anger he harbored fell away at that. That she had come, when she couldn’t even swim herself, told him how important this exercise was to her.

David tossed his shirt upon the rock, then hurried to dispense with his boots and socks. He didn’t even consider removing his trousers given her admonishments about time, just dove into the cool water with the fall still buttoned. The wet, heavy fabric created extra drag against the current, but there was no way on God’s good earth he was going to spend the afternoon teaching Caroline . . .
things
 . . . without his trousers on.

Not if he needed her virtue to stay intact.

C
AROLINE WAS GRUDGINGLY
impressed when David finally dragged himself back to shore a half hour later.

“That was really well done.” She meant every word. It had gone remarkably well, all things considered. He had retained most of the salient points of Wednesday’s lesson, and had performed well in the rougher water today.

And tomorrow, by God, she was going to swim with him, the indignity of curled hair or no.

“Still not well enough to guarantee a win on Monday, I’d wager,” he said, shaking his head and sending a spray of water all about.

“I think you will acquit yourself well enough.” She touched her tongue to a drop of water that landed near the corner of her mouth, reveling in the familiar taste of salt, imagining she could taste the essence of the man in it as well. “You’ll be the only one using this stroke, which gives you a decided advantage.” She held out his shirt, which he took and began to rub with brisk, efficient strokes over his chest and arms. “That and the fact I shall be cheering you on from shore.”

He grinned at her, and his rakish smile sent warmth curling through her abdomen. “ ’Tis good to hear you say that. Last night I was convinced you had decided to cry off.”

Caroline shook her head, surprised by how her thoughts spooled up tight at the thought. When he had first suggested this course of action, she had been hesitant, true enough. But now that she had committed to this path, she would not let him down. The inability to race herself would sting, she suspected, but cheering David’s attempt come Monday would be no hardship.

“I promised I would do this.” Her mind whirled in protest as he began to shoulder his way back into his shirt. “But you promised me something as well. Surely you remember our agreement—”

“Aye.” He set his fingers to the buttons, even as his mouth worked its way to a grim line. “I have not forgotten. You shall have your half hour.”

Relief flicked through her. “Wouldn’t this next bit be aided by a continued lack of clothing?”

He seated the last few buttons with slow, deliberate motions. “Clothing was not discussed as part of our bargain. I prefer to keep my shirt on.”

Caroline huffed a frustrated moment. She felt coiled up inside, a child’s toy that had been wound up too tight and was now being held without the opportunity to spring free. Her eyes locked on a droplet of water as it escaped his damp hair and ran down his neck to catch in the collar of his shirt that was now, regrettably, buttoned. She wanted to trace its path with her tongue, to show him what an apt pupil she was prepared to be.

Then again, they had at most a half hour left. A casual exploration would need to wait for another day.

Aware only of the march of time, Caroline took three steps forward, stood on her toes, and pressed her lips against his. His hands came up, hesitant at first and then growing in pressure, to span her waist.

Yesterday’s failure, and her morning’s frustrations, all fell away as the taste of the ocean met her lips again. He felt large and damp and solid beneath her hands, which had come up to fist his buttoned shirt. Her body unfurled. She felt like one of the waves she loved, building in momentum, and she wanted to crash down hard into him.

“Slow down,” he murmured against her mouth, as if he could feel the precarious emotions building there at the point where they were joined. “There is no need to rush this lesson.” He stepped back, forcing a few inches of reluctant sanity back between them.

He was, she noticed with some satisfaction, breathing almost as hard as she was. Nonetheless, she battled a moment of hurt at his rejection. She had hoped that David might seem a bit more enthusiastic about his role as instructor, but she was curious—and greedy—enough to wait and see what he offered.

She studied him a moment, trying to sort out what was different today. He had seemed more susceptible to her in the bathing machine, but that had been a different day, and a different set of boundaries. No doubt he wanted his shirt on to ensure he kept her at some safe, respectable distance.

Well, if he insisted on adding a layer of clothing, she had every right to take one away.

Caroline turned away to face the white cliff walls and presented him with the row of buttons that ran up the back of her dress. She waited, training her eyes on the familiar cliff wall instead of his terse features. “I’ll need your help getting out of this,” she prompted.

She swore she could hear him swallow, and for a second she basked in the pleasure of it. But then he cleared his throat and said, “I have some rules to put down first.”

Caroline looked over her shoulder and raised a brow. “You are not in a position to negotiate the terms of this next half hour.”

“You negotiated the terms of the swimming lesson,” he pointed out, making no move to come closer and help her out of her clothing. “And then you provided today’s instruction from shore, a distance of some two dozen yards or more.” He smiled, and it was a wicked sight to behold. “I offer the same to you. Our clothes remain on. And a kiss, while nice, is a bit more physical contact than what I have in mind.”

Caroline jerked back around to face him, irritation making her restless. “If you’ll recall, you promised to show me far more than just a kiss.”

“Aye. And you’ll not discover what I intend unless you take yourself up on that rock like a good lass and wait for my instructions.”

Caroline sucked in a breath, at a loss to explain why his words, far from making her feel angry or unwanted, sent a sudden, forbidden thrill snaking through her veins.

“What would you have me do?”

“You instructed me from a distance today. Turnabout is only fair.” He crossed his arms, still making no move to touch her. “Up on the rock, if you please. Skirts pulled up high.”

She regarded him for a long silent moment, aware of the accelerating bump of her pulse. This didn’t seem anything close to what she had petitioned him for yesterday. How could she help him overcome his aversion to emotional intimacy if she was not to be permitted to touch him? “This was not our bargain.”

“On the rock,” he said, more sternly this time, “or I shall presume you do not mean to have this lesson today.”

Caroline turned and scrambled up on the rock. The warmth that had earlier percolated in her abdomen now bloomed along her cheeks. “I instructed
you
from a distance because I could not risk getting my hair wet,” she objected over her shoulder, but she clambered up the sun-warmed rock face anyway. “And you did brilliantly out there on your own,” she added as she threw herself down in a puddle of skirts.

“I suspect you will acquit yourself well enough,” he replied. His choice of words sent her embarrassed anticipation soaring even higher. She had no idea what he was about, or what was in store for her.

She only knew the threat of not finding out was untenable.

When he did no more than watch her, their precious seconds sliding by, she felt her ire rise. “Are you going to join me over here, or stand there like a lout?”

The low rumble of his laughter made the fine hairs on her neck stand at attention and she responded with a glare she was quite sure could have singed the sun.

“Neither. Skirts up,” he reminded, looking every inch the smug seducer, for all that he stood at least ten feet away.

She inched them up, wincing as she caught sight of her freckled legs. This was not the day to eschew stockings, it seemed.

“Higher. I want to see your legs.
All
of your legs.”

She jerked her skirts up to the vicinity of her waist, wanting to sink beneath the stone surface in mortification. She pulled her shift down as low as it would go, but it only stretched to mid-thigh. Oh, but this was not what she had in mind when she had negotiated this devil’s bargain. She had imagined tangled limbs and closed eyes and the feel of his hands on her body.

Bright, revealing sunlight, David’s unfettered scrutiny, and squirming mortification had been the farthest thing from her mind.

He stared a long moment, his eyes roving the regrettable length of her legs. She concentrated on breathing through her nose, reminding herself that she had made this deal, pointing out to the rational parts of her brain—the parts that objected to such a bawdy display—that David Cameron had already seen her legs, and likely more, through her wet shift several nights ago.