A Twist of Fate (4 page)

‘So could you!' I chided with a smile.

He laughed and poked the fire. ‘Mad, really.'

‘Well, we haven't exactly got a lot in common, have we?'

He pouted. ‘Edward III.'

‘Apart from him.'

‘You never know though. There could be more. Try me.'

I smiled at his game. ‘Alright. Umm … Tea or coffee?'

‘Tea.'

‘Earl Grey or PG Tips?'

He looked at me wearily. ‘Whatever's put in front of me.'

‘
Downton
or
Game of Thrones
?'

‘
Downton
? Isn't that a song by Petula Clark?'

‘Don't be silly,' I chided.

He chuckled. ‘I don't mind a bit of
Game of Thrones
. S'pose you like all those posh people poncin' about.'

‘
Downton
's nice on a Sunday night. Cats or dogs?'

‘Both.'

‘Me too. Rugby or football?'

‘Cricket. I'm a Yorkshireman, after all.'

‘There we go. I love cricket too.'

‘You were wrong then, weren't you? We've got a lot in common.' He smiled. I melted.

Paul stood up and stretched. ‘It's gonna be a scorcher.' He reached for a net he'd mocked up with a stick and some mesh. ‘I'm gonna try to catch us some fresh lunch.'

And right there in front of me, in one fluid motion, he pulled off his grey T-shirt. His naked torso revealed itself, broad, muscled, golden in the sun. I couldn't help staring. I think my mouth fell open like a guppy. He could have mistaken me for one of the fish he was catching. Oh God, he was stunning.

His chest was smooth, save for the faintest dusting of dark hairs along his breast bone. At rest, the muscles swelled and dipped with smooth grace, but I suspected when he was using them, they'd firm up gloriously. I swallowed and remembered to drop my head. Paul bent to pick up the net again and looked out to sea. ‘There's something else too.'

‘What?' I asked, confused.

‘Something else we have in common.'

‘What's that?'

‘Survival. We have that in common. Life.'

He looked down and held my eyes. Had I ever wanted anything so much?

‘Oh,' he grinned, before sauntering off to the sea and calling, ‘and gin and tonic!'

Paul set about fishing with concerted determination. He was like a heron, pacing through the water, his bright eyes gleaming on his prey. Every so often he'd exclaim in delight or frustration.

The sun continued to beat down. I was boiling.

I called over, ‘I'm just going to see if I can find a good spot for a swim.'

‘All right! There's a cove round the corner. Try there.'

I stood up, dusting myself off, reluctant to tear myself away from the sight of his beautiful body in hunting mode. But I picked my way carefully over the rocks and disappeared around the corner.

It was phenomenally beautiful. A golden beach curved around, with rocky outcrops framing it on either side. The sun sparkled like the purest diamonds off the clear water, and palm trees swayed in a caressing breeze. We'd found an island paradise, but for the worst reason possible. I sighed, but, ensuring I was not being spied on, stripped off to my bra and pants.

My upbringing had ensured I remained shy of my body and demure in my exhibitionism. My desires were as strong as any woman's, but, with strict parenting, I'd been careful at every stage of adolescent discovery. Perhaps that was why I held back from Paul now. It just wasn't the right thing to do, was it?

But alone here, I could shake off my inhibitions. I dived into the inviting water. God, that felt good. It seeped into my aching body and immediately soothed me. I swam the length of the beach, then across again on my back, gazing up at the clear sky above me.

There was a little pool, half enclosed by rocks, over on the side I'd approached from. It would be the perfect place for a little spa-like relaxation. I swam into it and found a spot to lie back against the rocks.

Closing my eyes, I let the water continue its healing restoration.

Paul, semi-naked, smiling down, his blue eyes dancing, appeared behind my closed eyelids. Would it matter? Just once? There was no one here. We could just do it and move on. But what if no one ever found us? What if this was it? Forever? At that moment, the thought did not terrify me. If I was going to be stuck on an island forever with someone, I could think of worse candidates.

I splashed my legs under me, grinning at the thought, imagining him lowering himself onto me and taking hold of me. My legs rubbed instinctively together, my lust brewed.

My feet brushed against something near the bottom of the pool. It was firm but gave a little and felt like it was covered in some kind of material. As I pushed against it, it moved.

With a violent splash, the object rose to the surface. I opened my eyes.

There, staring at me, wide-eyed, white, vacant, and dead, was a human face. The body, a middle-aged man, was bloated and bulbous, the arms and legs hung limply on the surface as if doing a star float in the pool.

I screamed. I knew I was screaming but didn't hear it. Not a sudden, shrill squeal of surprise, but a gut-propelled, soul-filled cry of horror and despair. My scream didn't end. It kept reforming, torn from me as I tried to push myself from the pool, ripping and scoring my feet on the rocks in my desperation to get away.

I didn't know where I was going; I didn't know what to do. I just had to go. Then I was being held again. Those same arms, those same hands, those comforting, strong hands.

‘Callie! It's all right, it's all right. I'm here, I'm here. Look at me. Callie, look at me.'

It was Paul. He was there, a little out of breath from having hurled himself around the rocks to me and wet from fishing. He held my face and guided it up to meet his eyes. Once I saw the blues, strong and direct, I calmed a little.

‘Breathe in slowly through your nose, then out through your mouth.' I'd do anything he said. He always said the right thing. I followed his instructions. He held my eyes the whole time. ‘In … Out. In … Out. That's the way.'

When my breathing at last steadied, a sob welled up and burst out. Tears followed, unstoppably and endless, it seemed. I was enclosed in the strongest embrace, and I cried it out. Standing on the rocks, Paul held me safe and rocked me gently, soothing me with his low voice, holding me against the whirl of despair. I'd completely forgotten we both had hardly anything on.

He eventually led me back to our beach, not allowing me to look back at the body. He'd deal with it, he assured me.

After helping clean and bind my feet, he made me have a nap. After his calming words, I did manage it, fitful but restorative.

Four

When I emerged in what must have been early afternoon, I smiled at him in embarrassment. ‘Sorry about that.'

‘Don't be daft. It were a shock. I'm sorry you had to see it.'

‘Have you …?'

He knew what I meant. ‘Aye.' He must have put the body with the others.

‘Thank you.'

‘I've dealt with worse.'

I sat down beside him. ‘Where did you serve?'

‘Afghanistan. Three tours.'

‘Was it horrible?'

‘Aye.'

I didn't ask more.

We sat together quietly as he cooked his catch on the fire before giving me some. I ate well and I could see Paul was pleased with my appetite.

Being in his company relaxed me from the trauma of earlier and we spent the afternoon chatting. It helped to talk, and it was easy talking to him. Everything was easy with him. Here, at least.

As the sun set on our second night on the island, we sat again, staring out at the sea. After all, there was little else to do. We were closer together than we had been before, and our shoulders kept nudging each other. Neither of us acknowledged it, but neither did we move apart.

The conversation turned to education again.

‘So, did you go to finishing school or something?' he asked with a smirk.

I looked at him with an incredulous gawp. ‘Finishing school? Nobody goes to finishing school any more!'

‘So you didn't have to do ballroom dancing or elocution lessons?' he grinned.

‘No. I don't know anything about ballroom … although I can do a mean cha-cha!'

‘Can you?' His eyebrow rose up in appreciative curiosity.

‘I learnt it on a holiday in Brazil one year.'

‘Brazil? You get around, don't you? Go on then,' he nodded to the shore in front of us. ‘Show me your cha-cha-cha.'

‘I need a partner,' I declared.

He gestured to a palm tree to our right. ‘That tree over there'll oblige.'

I stood quickly. ‘Oh no, Paul Mason, you don't get away with it that easily. Come on, Twinkletoes, up you get!'

He looked up wearily. ‘You're kiddin' me.'

‘No, you wanted to see it, you have to be involved. On your feet.'

I held out my hand, took his, and pulled him up. He fell forwards, nearly against me. A rush of desire shot through me and the horror of earlier was forgotten. I felt like a teenager at a school disco. I giggled a little in embarrassment and noticed his gentle, teasing smile. Clearing my throat, I raised my arms, placing one on his still bare shoulder. He took my extended hand in a firm grip and placed the other around my waist. It felt so ridiculously good, I could scarcely breathe. Desire was robbing me of air. I stared down at our feet to focus.

‘Right, so, you rock forward … back … then cha-cha-cha.' I showed him the simple moves. ‘You simply follow me with your opposing feet.'

‘I thought the man was supposed to lead,' he said.

‘Only if he knows what he's doing, you ninny!'

His face wrinkled in amusement. ‘Ninny? Didn't know people still said that.'

‘Stop changing the subject. Now concentrate,' I chided. ‘One, two, cha-cha-cha.'

He was hopeless. I kept narrowly avoiding getting trodden on.

‘One, two – ow! No. Just go with me.'

‘Sorry. Was it forward or … Do I move at the same time …?' We were like two flailing jellyfish.

‘One, two, cha-cha – no! Three, four, cha-cha – no!'

Soon we were laughing too much to continue. When I laughed my ribs hurt. ‘Oh, I have to stop. It hurts.' I was giggling and groaning at the same time, almost bent double with mirth.

‘Careful,' he said with a chuckle, and helped me stand upright. He held my arm and I was lost in the blue of his eyes again, even in the dim moonlight. He was still holding me, and ran a hand along my good arm. His other hand rested on the small of my back.

Paul smiled gently and said, low and steady, ‘I can't dance the cha-cha, but I can do this.' He started to move me, slowly, like the last slow dance at the school disco. And I was as thrilled as I had been at the Lower Sixth Ball when the rugby captain had yanked me onto the dance floor and pulled me into him.

Those muscles I'd seen flexing and shifting earlier were hard and hot under my fingers. He leaned into me and, instead of stepping back, I stayed put, overbalanced, and lost my footing. I stumbled and fell backwards into the sand. He fell with me, trying to slow my descent.

I landed in the sand with a laugh. It hurt but I was too exhilarated to care. Paul was right there, inches away, his strong, sturdy body right over the length of mine. Rupert was forgotten. Reality was forgotten.

He didn't move, but remained there staring down at me then murmured, deeper than ever, ‘One, two, cha, cha –'

‘Yes.'

Slowly, he bent his head and kissed me. His kiss was immediately certain and searching, as if we had been building to this for years, not hours. He held my head tenderly, guiding it for perfect attention, and kissed me with growing need. I responded. My insides churned relentlessly, my sex was screaming for more, wet and hot for his touch. I arched up into him and he groaned, that low, throaty moan I'd heard and fallen for as soon as he slumped down into his seat on the plane. I could feel his erection pushing through the denim of his jeans.

After what seemed like hours of kissing, kisses of discovery, deep and devouring, he broke away. My hands skittered over his shirt but moved instinctively down to his belt and jeans buttons.

‘I didn't think you wanted it,' he murmured. ‘Didn't think you'd want me.'

‘I wanted you as soon as I saw you. I just … didn't think I should, didn't think you wanted someone like me.'

‘How could I not want you?' His eyes narrowed. Paul fiddled with his belt some more, but then paused and said, low and heady, ‘Are you sure? I don't want to hurt you.'

‘Yes, so sure. Please. I want this so much. Want you so much.'

He took my head and kissed me again, his tongue dancing with mine, his mouth open and hungry. He moved one hand to help me undo his jeans, then pulled back with a hiss of annoyance. ‘Shit. I haven't got any condoms.'

‘Oh, don't stop. I'm on the pill. They're in my pocket. I've still got two weeks' worth. I've been taking them, I promise. I haven't had sex with anyone for nearly a year, anyway.'

He grinned but added seriously, ‘Look, I had a medical three weeks ago when I came out for the job – hotel owners insisted on it – and I haven't been with anyone since. It was clean. The paperwork was in my bag, but … my bag's at the bottom of the ocean. I can get a copy and show you when we're gone from here.'

He lifted himself off, trying to stem his burning passion.

‘Yes, yes, that's fine, please, Paul.' My hands were now scrabbling frantically at any part of him I could get hold of. Still he held back, not wanting to impose on me unless I was certain.

‘Are you sure? Do you trust me?'

‘You saved my life. How can I not trust you?'

His eyes sparked and his mouth curled into that gorgeous lop-sided grin. ‘Christ, you're beautiful.'