Anne Mather - A Wild Surrender

She didn’t suck another gulp of air into her labouring lungs until he’d pulled on his cargo shorts. He wrung out the boxers he’d worn to swim in, and then put on the damp body shirt that clung even closer now. She could count the vertebrae in his spine, the neat lacing of muscles over his stomach. And then she realised, with a sense of frustration, that she hadn’t even begun to get dressed herself.

Fool, she thought impatiently. She was acting like a moonstruck schoolgirl. Heaven knew what her mother would think if she could see her now.

She fumbled beneath the towel, trying to dislodge the swimsuit. But her body was wet, the suit damp and clingy. She couldn’t help thinking how much easier it would be if she dared drop the towel and strip in front of him.

Of course she didn’t do any such thing. And to her relief Matt bent to gather up his shoes. With a supreme effort she managed to kick the swimsuit off her legs. It was fairly simple, after that, to step into her skirt and panties using the towel to protect her as she pulled on her tank top.

It was only as she was stuffing the damp towel into her backpack that she saw her bra still lying on the sand. She said a rude word under her breath, but it was too late to worry about it now. She stuffed it into the bag, too, suddenly aware that Matt had started away along the shoreline.

He glanced back when she straightened, however, and his timing was so perfect she had to wonder if he’d been as indifferent to her struggles as she’d believed.

‘Let’s walk,’ he said neutrally, apparently prepared to humour her. ‘If you can stand the heat.’

‘I think I can.’

Rachel slung the backpack over her shoulder and hurried to catch up with him. But when she came level he reached over and lifted the bag from her arm.

‘Leave it here,’ he said, dropping it onto the sand. He spread an all-encompassing arm. ‘No one’s likely to steal it.’ He pulled a wry face. ‘Except him, of course.’ He indicated the pelican, who looked poised for flight. ‘But I doubt he’d find one of my towels to his taste.’

Rachel glanced up at him. ‘I know. I shouldn’t have brought it.’

‘Did I say that?’

‘You didn’t have to. I feel guilty enough as it is.’

‘Forget it.’ He dismissed her claim. ‘What’s one towel or more between enemies?’

Rachel caught her breath. ‘Are we enemies, Mr Brody?’

‘Matt,’ he corrected her shortly. And then, ‘Well, we’re sure as hell not friends.’ He started to walk again. ‘Come on. Keep moving. Or you’re going to need to cover up.’

Which wasn’t his problem, thought Rachel, trying to distract herself. But if she wanted to stay with him she had to do as he said. And it was surprisingly pleasant, walking in the shallows, feeling the sand melting away between her toes.

They walked for a while in silence. Rachel had expected to feel uncomfortable after what he’d just said, but she didn’t. In actual fact she enjoyed the sense of isolation, with only the cry of birds and the muted thunder of the ocean to disturb the peace.

And then he asked the question she’d been dreading.

‘Why did you come to St Antoine, Ms Claiborne?’

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