Sophie Weston - The Innocent And The Playboy

Rachel looked away from him. They were facing a view of breathtaking beauty over the pale beach to the Caribbean Sea. In the sun it looked like a cloth of silver. The distant islands could have been painted on silk, as insubstantial as dreams.

She said softly, ‘Well, there are none here.’

There was a pause. He neither moved nor spoke. All she could hear was the steady lull of the waves against the shore and the cicadas in the trees behind them. Then he gave a long sigh.

He said slowly, as if something new had occurred to him and he was examining it, ‘You could just be right.’

He stretched. Out of the corner of her eye Rachel saw him move. Instinctively she tensed. Something in her had been waiting for him to make a move in her direction ever since she’d first set eyes on him. She had been aware of it, increasingly, all during the afternoon. It was exciting, but it troubled her all the same. She did not know what she was going to do about it.

But her wariness was unnecessary. He was only lowering himself to lie full-length under the palm. He crossed his arms behind his head and tipped his head back. He closed his eyes and made a noise indicative of total satisfaction.

His lips barely moving, he said, ‘Wake me up when it gets dark.’

CHAPTER THREE

RACHEL spent the next three hours swimming and sunbathing and reading her novel. The pirate slept deeply beside her. At first she was disconcerted, even slightly piqued. But then she remembered the terrible weariness she had sensed and kept herself as quiet as a mouse in order not to disturb his rest.

Eventually he stirred. Rachel put down her book and looked at him. His eyes opened, drifted shut, stayed closed for a moment. Then they flew wide open, a startled expression in their depths.

‘What—?’

Rachel laughed down at him gently. ‘You were tired. You ate. You slept.’

His eyes flickered and went dark. His expression became unreadable. He continued to look up at her. Rachel shifted a little, suddenly uncomfortable under that unblinking stare. She tore her eyes away and made a great business of tidying up the last of their picnic. She even tried a little mockery to ease that sudden tension.

‘You don’t snore.’

He still watched her. For a moment she thought he was not going to reply.

Then he said idly, ‘You reassure me.’

Still not looking at him, she wrapped glasses in the napkins Ben had provided and stowed them carefully. A thought occurred to her. She gestured to the picnic basket. ‘Would you like something?’

‘Well...’ His voice became a drawl. ‘Maybe I would, at that.’

Rachel was surprised but she peered inside the basket, inspecting the remains.

‘Cheese, breadfruit, pineapple—Oh!’

He had reached out a lazy hand and pulled at her shoulder. Not expecting it, Rachel fell back onto the sand in a tumble of flying hair. She was twisting her head, brushing hair from her eyes and mouth when the sky above her went dark.

‘Pass on the pineapple,’ said the pirate, leaning over her. He was amused. He bent forward.

She had been half braced for it all day but now that it was happening it came at her out of the blue. Really, she had the sophistication of a six-year-old, Rachel castigated herself. What was more, now the moment had arrived, she had not the faintest idea what to do about it.

‘Oh, Lord,’ said Rachel, shutting her eyes.

It was not a demanding kiss. He feathered his mouth over her lips, her brow, her eyelids. He took his time and seemed to enjoy it. Rachel thought she could feel him smiling. She swallowed and tried to relax.

He made a small sound of satisfaction and turned her head so that he could kiss the soft, vulnerable place below her ear. Rachel quivered. Suddenly she did not have to try any more. She was relaxing spontaneously. Her limbs felt as if they were melting, moulding themselves round him. She felt lazy, luxuriously alive to her fingertips.

She thought of the boys she had kissed or wanted to kiss at the occasional party she’d got to in London. It had never felt like this. She was not quite sure where the difference lay but she knew it had felt a world away from this. In London she had felt hot and anxious, terrified—of doing the wrong thing, of being laughed at, of being hurt.

If she was terrified now, thought Rachel dimly, it was not of anything the pirate might do. It was of the way he was making her feel.

He kissed her jaw, so lightly that it felt as if he did no more than breathe on her. Unbidden, Rachel’s body jackknifed into an arch. He gave a soft laugh, his hands gentling her down again onto the sand. He slipped the straps of her swimsuit away so that he could kiss her warm bared shoulders.

Her eyes drifted half-shut. She was breathing rapidly. Her head tipped back in an agony of expectation. At last—at last—he found her mouth. This time his kiss was shockingly far from gentle.

So far that, in spite of her own body’s hunger, Rachel was frightened. Her muscles locked, quite beyond her control. She felt suffocated. She tried to turn her head away.

For a moment he would not let her. His body was fierce on hers. Then, abruptly, he let her go and swung away from her.

Rachel lay there for a moment, fighting for breath. Beside her, the pirate sat up and stared out to sea.

‘Crossed wires, I think,’ he said at last drily.

Rachel was embarrassed. That annoyed her.

‘You mean because you jumped on me?’ she snapped unfairly. ‘Why on earth did you do that?’

He shrugged, looking bored. ‘Jumped on you? It’s called a kiss. You should know that by now, even if you don’t use them. As for why... Because I wanted to. Don’t you ever do things just because you want to?’

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