Michelle Douglas - The Aristocrat and the Single Mum

She pulled her cell phone from her pocket.

‘God! Has he gone?’ Felice demanded, answering immediately and dispensing with pleasantries.

‘He’ll be busy for at least ten minutes, I think.’

‘Please tell me you’ve talked him into going home.’

‘You are joking, right?’ Kate cast a glance back towards the menswear shop. ‘I’m not even going to try. He claims he’s not leaving until he sees you.’

Felice uttered something midway between a groan and a snort. ‘Don’t worry, he won’t hang around in Australia for a whole fortnight waiting for me to show my face.’

Kate sensed the hurt that stretched behind those words. ‘We’ll see.’ She bit her lip. ‘Want to tell me about it?’

‘There’s nothing to tell. Other than the fact that he’s a total tyrant and too stuffy to step even a big toe out of line.’

Kate mulled that over for a moment. ‘You know what? I don’t think you should give a moment’s notice to anything other than enjoying your honeymoon.’ A girl only got one honeymoon. ‘I’ll take care of everything at this end, including Simon. I don’t want you to give it another thought.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Positive.’

‘Thanks, Kate.’

Felice rang off. Kate turned to wait for Simon.

When he emerged from the shop ten minutes later, she tried to wolf-whistle, but she’d never been able to wolf-whistle to save her life. Simon was definitely wolf-whistle worthy, though. ‘I’ve been dying to see your knees,’ she teased. He had great legs—strong calves, muscled thighs…even if said legs were a tad pale. A fortnight in the sun would set that to rights.

Simon didn’t smile. ‘I feel like an idiot,’ he grumbled.

‘You look like a holiday-maker,’ she returned.

Actually, he didn’t. He still looked too tense and…buttoned up for a holiday-maker.

And a bit too crisp and clean.

She could set that to rights, at least.

‘These are impossible to walk in.’ He lifted a thong-clad foot.

‘You’ll get the hang of them. C’mon.’

She led him across the road, through the park and down to the beach. She kicked off her canvas tennis shoes and closed her eyes, groaning in enjoyment as she dug her feet into sun-warmed sand. Heavenly!

She kinked open one eye and found Simon staring at her in appalled fascination—thongs still on his feet and two enormous plastic carrier bags clutched in his hands. His spine was as stiff as a surfboard. She opened her other eye and shook her head. ‘Simon, when was the last time you had a holiday?’

‘Holiday?’

Hmm… That said it all, really. She took the plastic carrier bags from his hands and set them carefully on the beach beside her tennis shoes. ‘Thongs there,’ she ordered, pointing.

He complied.

‘Now do this.’ She twisted her body from side to side until she’d sunk up to her ankles in sand.

To his credit, Simon didn’t glance around to see if anyone was watching, but followed her instructions to the letter.

‘Doesn’t that feel glorious?’ she demanded.

‘Er…yeah.’

He stared at her as if trying to work out what reaction it was she wanted. For the briefest moment her eyes stung. She wanted to yell, Don’t think about me. Do what feels good for you .

But if he hadn’t had a holiday in a long time…

‘You live in Europe, right?’

‘Last time I checked, England was still a part of Europe, yes.’

‘Oh, ha ha, everyone’s a comedian.’

He gave her a kind of half-grin. She gave him a full grin back. ‘Well, Spain is nearby, isn’t it? Don’t you go on annual holidays to…Aruba?’ She pulled the name from some dark recess of her mind.

‘Kate…?’

Ooh, her name sounded divine in that to-die-for accent. She started to twist again. ‘Mmm?’

‘Aruba is in the Caribbean.’

Was it? ‘What’s a holiday destination between friends?’ she said with an airy wave of her hand.

Simon threw his head back and laughed. She watched in satisfaction. She’d find the holiday-maker in him yet. Still grinning, he gazed out over the water of the bay and she recognised the flare of yearning that lit his eyes. ‘Why don’t you go in for a dip?’

‘I don’t have a towel.’

She shrugged. ‘So run across the road and buy a beach towel. Or dry off after on your T-shirt.’ That’d take the crispness out of it. In fact, it’d leave him deliciously rumpled.

‘What about you?’

‘I didn’t bring my swimsuit.’ She stared out at the water wistfully. ‘Though I have gone swimming in shorts and T-shirt more times than I can count.’ She pulled back. ‘No, no. I have to go back to work in a couple of hours. I have a meeting with my accountant.’ Which was a good thing, she told herself—a very good thing.

Then the scent of hot chips hit her and she forgot everything else.

Simon swung towards her when she groaned. ‘Are you okay?’

‘I am soooo hungry.’ She pulled her feet free from the sand. ‘Stay here. I’ll be right back.’

It took her less than two minutes to race up to the kiosk, buy three cones of hot chips and race back.

She handed Simon one. He grinned at the two she still held. ‘You weren’t kidding, were you?’

‘One for you, one for me and one for the seagulls.’

‘One for—’

She didn’t hear the rest of his sentence because she’d already thrown a chip in the air and seagulls descended from every direction to fight over it. ‘Your turn.’ She held the cone out to him. He took a chip and threw it. Seagulls dived and squawked. The air became alive with the flapping of wings. She laughed. He laughed. Feeding the seagulls was definitely a holiday thing. Fun.

When the cone was finished she tossed it in a nearby bin. ‘These ones are mine and I’m not sharing,’ she shouted to the seagulls, covering her cone with her hand. ‘Come and paddle,’ she said to Simon.

He blinked. ‘Whilst eating chips?’

She didn’t miss a beat. ‘It’s called alfresco dining.’ She cocked an eyebrow. ‘You English lords aren’t too high and mighty to get your feet wet, are you?’

‘Nah,’ he said, entering into the spirit, ‘it’s the colonials who eat with their fingers that frighten me.’

She laughed in delight. ‘I didn’t see you exactly rushing to bring out the silver service.’

‘I’d need a table for that.’ His eyes laughed down into hers. ‘Not to mention a butler.’

She’d known he had to have a sense of humour. He was Felice’s brother, after all.

They paddled and ate their chips. She watched the tension ease out of his shoulders, watched him lift his face to the sun.

‘When was the last time you did something like this with Felice?’ She tried to keep the question casual.

The tension shot back into his shoulders. His grey eyes speared hers.

‘It was just a question,’ she said gently. ‘Instinct tells me a bit of a rift has developed between the two of you.’

He drew himself up and glared at her and, although he wore board shorts and a T-shirt, he looked as formidable as if he wore a suit of armour. ‘I’m not prepared to discuss my relationship with Felice with a…’

‘Stranger?’ she finished for him. ‘That’s okay. You don’t have to. Let me tell you what I think has happened instead.’

‘I don’t—’

‘As you’re ten years older than Felice,’ she rushed on, talking over the top of him, ‘I expect you’ve always felt a certain amount of responsibility for her. As Felice is ten years younger than you, I expect some time in the last few years she’s rebelled against your…authority.’

She glanced at him. He didn’t say anything. His lips were clamped shut, but shadows haunted his eyes.