The Great Escape (Dilbury Village #2)

by Charlotte Fallowfield

  ‘How could you possibly know that? I’ve been staying here for nearly two weeks and even I’m not sure from the beach. They all look the same to me in daylight, let alone under the dim light of the moon.’

  ‘Not to me,’ he replied, his fingers moving to the small of my back again, making me quiver. Wow, a moonlit beach walk in the heat with the waves crashing on the shore and crickets chirping in the background. Another romantic movie moment that I had a feeling he wasn’t going to take advantage of. I was so sexually frustrated as it was, without a night out with such an overtly masculine and sexy man, I was liable to jump Abbie when I got in and let everyone hear how happy the honeymooners really were. ‘Here we are, after you,’ he suggested as he swung open our gate.

  ‘You’re … coming in?’ I asked. What exactly was going on here? He was hot, he was cold, well ok, he was always hot, but I just couldn’t read him at all.

  ‘No, that really would start tongues wagging. I promised to show you to your door, and unless I’m mistaken, this is just your back gate and the path up to your villa is dark.’

  ‘Oh no, Abbie turned off the lights. She must have assumed I’d come back to the front door.’

  ‘Stay close, right behind me,’ he ordered as he moved off and headed up the steps.

  ‘Unless you’re going to say you’ve been studying the back garden secretly, I think I know the way better than you. Keep to the left, you don’t want to fall in the swim–’ I was cut off by a yelp of surprise and a resounding splash.

  ‘Weston?’ I yelled. I dropped his jacket off my shoulders, kicked off my shoes, and ran forward, using the faint reflection of the moonlight off the undulating water to allow me to jump in after him.

  ‘Shit,’ he gasped, spluttering for air.

  ‘Stay still, I’m coming to get you,’ I called, trying to locate him.

  ‘Coming to get me? I don’t need rescuing, Georgie, I’m an expert swimmer. You stay still, I don’t want you wading into the deep end by mistake and drowning.’

  ‘Please, I’ve swum in here every day, I know exactly where the deep end is,’ I scoffed, as my foot slid out from under me down the slope and I tipped sideways with a shriek. I went underwater, but just as suddenly was hauled up and slammed against Weston’s hard, wet chest. His arms snaked around my waist, holding me tightly to him, his chest rising and falling as rapidly as mine as I reached up to curl my fingers around his firm biceps.

  ‘So, how’s that rescue going?’ he chuckled.

  ‘Like you can laugh, Mr. ex-Army who can read people, assess his surroundings and memorise them, but falls into a swimming pool he didn’t even notice.’

  ‘I used to wear night vision goggles. It’s not as easy to map foreign terrain when your eyes haven’t adjusted to the dark.’

  ‘You’re still holding me,’ I reminded him, noticing that either I’d gravitated even closer to him or he had to me.

  ‘You’re still holding me,’ he rasped, his voice suddenly full of unmistakable lust. I felt the heat of his breath on my lips, but just as suddenly we both screwed our eyes shut as the bright pool lights dazzled us.

  ‘Oh sorry, I heard a splash and a load of yelling. I thought someone was drowning,’ came Abbie’s voice, and Weston’s hold on me was immediately relinquished. ‘If I’d known you were having some romantic re-enactment of Dirty Dancing, I’d have stayed inside. Well, I’d have peeked through the shutters to watch in secret. Carry on smooching, don’t mind me.’

  ‘Don’t mind me, it’s time I was going. I need to get these wet and dirty clothes laundered before I pack in the morning,’ Weston stated in a gruff tone as he waded over to the side of the pool and effortlessly hauled himself out, leaving me standing waist deep in the pool, soaked and quivering.

  ‘I’ll be inside, Georgie, I’ll get some towels ready,’ called Abbie as she slid the glass door shut.

  ‘Give me your hands,’ Weston ordered as I started to make my way towards the steps at the far end, my wet dress weighing me down.

  ‘Don’t worry about me, I can get out over there. You’re obviously in a hurry,’ I called without looking up at him. Why did I feel like crying all of a sudden? Despite his hot and cold behaviour, it stung that I wasn’t ever going to see him again.

  ‘Give me your hands, Georgie,’ he ordered firmly, leaving me in no doubt that he expected my immediate compliance. I sighed and turned to face him as he bent over and held his hands out for me to grab. I curled my fingers around his wrists and seconds later felt weightless, like I was flying, as he lifted me up and out of the water and carefully set me down next to him. ‘Are you ok?’

  ‘Fine, thank you,’ I nodded, then swept my bag off the floor.

  ‘Are you sure?’ he asked, bringing his hands to cradle my face as I looked back up at him. He swept his thumbs across my cheekbones, making me melt. He’d been more tender, caring, and protective of me in a few hours than Greg had been in all the years we’d been together. He was right, Abbie and Daphne were right, I needed to stop worrying about what people thought, stop striving to meet their expectations of me, and carry on living for myself, doing what I wanted, with whom I wanted to. And oddly, I wanted this man in front of me, despite how little I knew about him and his confusing behaviour. I swallowed a ball of nerves building in my tummy.

  ‘Really, I’m fine, just feeling a bit chilly now. Weston, in spite of everything, I had a good time. Could we … could we see each other again?’

  ‘Georgie,’ he hissed, closing his eyes for a second as his hands fell from my face, leaving me feeling bereft. Was I really misreading the way he’d been with me? I pulled out my phone and opened my contacts list, determined not to give up.

  ‘I’ll text you my number and if you’re at a loose end in Shrewsbury one day, text me and I’ll come and meet you for coffee or something, and we can laugh about what a disaster this night was.’

  ‘I … I don’t know my mobile number.’

  ‘Really?’ For a detail-orientated guy, that seemed odd. ‘Ok, well get your phone out and I’ll read out my number for you to save,’ I suggested, pushing at my limits of being forward.

  ‘I can’t do that either, Georgie, it will have been ruined when I fell in the pool. I’m so sorry. I had fun too, in spite of everything. I’ve really got to go. It was great to meet you. Have a safe trip home.’ He grabbed my face and planted a quick kiss on my forehead, so quick I wondered if I’d imagined it. He then ran, not jogged, there was no ambiguity in the way he physically ran from me at speed, scooping up his jacket from the floor as he went, then vaulted over the gate onto the beach and disappeared from view as I stood there speechless.

  ‘Where did he go?’ called Abbie as I heard the window behind me slide open. I should have known she wasn’t joking when she said she was going to watch through the shutters. ‘You looked like you were going to rip each other’s clothes off when I turned on the lights.’

  ‘I think we could have,’ I nodded as I stared at the spot I’d last seen him at.

  ‘God, did I totally ruin your night?’

  ‘No,’ I replied as she headed over and wrapped a warm fluffy towel around me as I shivered. ‘I think I managed to do that all on my own.’

  ‘Don’t say that. You’re a fabulous catch and if he couldn’t see what was in front of him, then he’s a fool. I really thought I’d judged this right. He was into you, so into you.’

  ‘A man who’s into you doesn’t lie when you ask for his number. In fact, he’d ask for yours.’

  ‘He gave you a fake number and you tried it already? Damn, your thumbs move fast.’

  ‘He told me he couldn’t remember his number, then said his phone was ruined when he fell in the pool,’ I sighed, surprised at how hurt I felt at his avoidance tactics.

  ‘Ok, I can believe both explanations, why don’t you?’

  ‘Because he didn’t have his phone on him when he fell in the pool. It was in his jacket, which I left on the floor before I jumped in after him.’ />
  ‘Maybe he forgot it was there,’ she suggested.

  ‘No, he knew,’ I huffed. ‘He knew, Abbie. He just doesn’t want to meet up again.’

  ‘Oh, sweetie, I’m sorry. I pushed this, thinking it was what you both wanted. I feel really bad now. Come on, let’s get you inside, dry and warm. I’ll order some hot chocolates and ice cream and you can tell me all about what an arsehole he was.’

  ‘That’s just it. Up until then, he wasn’t,’ I stated, as I let her guide me indoors. Talk about an ego shatterer. First Greg, now Weston. There was nothing like being rejected, and lied to repeatedly, to ruin any faith you had in men.

  The Next Day - Saturday

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ growled Abbie, as I distracted myself with my reliable book boyfriend again while we enjoyed another morning of gorgeous sunshine.

  ‘What?’ I asked, not looking up.

  ‘He’s got a nerve running past our door after last night.’

  ‘He what?’ I gasped, looking up to see Weston approaching at speed.

  ‘If he goes past without acknowledging you, I’ll kill him, Uma Thurman Kill Bill style.’

  ‘Me too,’ I hissed as I scowled in his direction.

  ‘If he comes with some lame apology, or worse, no apology at all, I’ll kill him!’ Abbie grated out.

  ‘So basically, you’re killing him whatever he does then?’ I observed, cursing my body for reacting positively to the lying … scumbag!

  ‘He deserves it. Let me rip him to shreds and send him packing, a shell of his former self,’ Abbie begged. I considered her request for a second, then shook my head.

  ‘I’m changing, Abbie, standing up for myself, but I still choose to handle this in a dignified manner, so you’ll keep quiet and not say a word,’ I warned.

  ‘Georgie!’ she moaned, throwing her hands up in the air, then dropping them to her sides with a teenager’s sulky pout.

  ‘I mean it,’ I stated firmly.

  ‘Fine,’ she huffed, folding her arms across her chest. ‘That doesn’t rule out shooting deadly laser beams from my eyes and focussing them on his manhood, does it?’

  ‘Are you planning on ogling him to death?’ I giggled. ‘Right, sssshhhh, he’s approaching.’

  I stuck my head back in my book, determined I wasn’t making the first move this time. If he wanted to apologise, he was going to have to make the moves. I became aware of a shadow on my legs, but still didn’t look up.

  ‘Abbie, Georgie, good morning,’ came his warm, velvety voice, with that slight rasp I found so annoyingly appealing.

  ‘Morning,’ I replied without looking up. ‘I thought you were leaving today?’

  ‘I am, I just … I have something for you.’

  ‘What?’ I sighed, trying to sound as uninterested as I could, which was ridiculous as I’d virtually thrown myself at him last night.

  ‘This,’ he stated without telling me what, which forced me to look up at him or appear even more churlish, and my manners were too ingrained for me to be that mean. I gasped as he held out a stunning silver pashmina that glimmered in the sunlight. It was even prettier than the one I’d lost. ‘I felt really bad that you lost yours because of me, I hope this will do.’

  ‘Weston, it’s beautiful,’ I observed as I reached out and fingered the material. It was so soft and luxurious. I quickly pulled my hand back. ‘It’s a lovely gesture, but I can’t accept it. It looks much more expensive than the one I had.’

  ‘You can and will accept, it’s my fault you lost yours. If you won’t take it, I’ll just leave it here,’ he said stubbornly, setting it down on the bed by my feet. ‘And it turns out I was mistaken about my phone. It was in my jacket, not my wet trousers, so I’ve written down my number for you in case you wanted to text me sometime, you know … for coffee.’

  ‘For coffee,’ I repeated slowly, studying his face, trying to work out if he realised his error last night and was covering his tracks, or if it was a genuine mistake and he’d forgotten the phone was in his jacket. But either way, he hadn’t needed to come here at all, he could have flown home and I’d likely never have seen him again.

  ‘For coffee, or something, nothing serious, right?’ He held out a scrap of paper for me to take. ‘I’m not proposing or asking you to move in, not yet anyway,’ he added, a slow smile spreading across his face, those mesmerising blue eyes twinkling with merriment and what seemed to be desire again. I looked down at his hand, wondering if I was misreading things now. I felt seriously confused, and after Greg, I needed perfect clarity.

  ‘She’ll text you,’ Abbie stated firmly, reaching over to snatch the paper out of his hands. ‘Give him your business card, Georgie.’

  ‘My business card?’ I gave her an incredulous look. First, she was supposed to be staying quiet, and second, who took England-based “Dog Grooming Service” cards on holiday with them to Mexico? Or anywhere abroad? I certainly didn’t.

  ‘I keep telling you that you never know when a potential client may fall in your lap. It’s a good job I carry one with my accounting cards in my beach bag.’ She grinned and delved inside said bag, then produced one with a flourish, making my jaw drop. ‘Here you are, Weston. Excellent, now you both have each other’s numbers you can arrange to meet for coffee. Or “something,”’ she added, air quoting with her fingers, making my cheeks flush at the innuendo.

  ‘Thanks, Abbie, always so helpful.’ I gave her a back-off glare and she grimaced.

  ‘Wow, is that the time? We’ve got our daily couple’s massage, I’ll go ahead and let them know you’ll be there shortly.’ She avoided eye contact as she hastily packed her bag and jumped up. ‘Nice to meet you, Weston. See you around in Dilbury sometime, bye!’ She shot off so fast, she tripped over her own feet and landed face first in the white powdery sand. I heard Weston chuckle behind me, obviously reminded of our first encounter, which made me giggle.

  ‘Are you ok? Do you need a hand, Abbie?’ he gallantly asked.

  ‘No, thanks, I’m great. It’s an exfoliating massage, so all this sand stuck to my sun cream will just buff me up even better,’ she called as she scrambled up and disappeared through the gate at speed.

  ‘So,’ he said, forcing me to look back at him. His feet were anchored in the sand, his thighs parted, and his arms were folded over his chest, my card poking out of the waistband of his tiny shorts. God damn it, everything I hadn’t seen in the flesh was at eye level, and it was an effort to drag my eyes up his body to meet his amused gaze. ‘Will you call me?’

  ‘I’m kind of old-fashioned, I think a guy should do the chasing and ring the lady first.’

  ‘Then I’ll call you soon. Have a safe trip home, Georgie.’

  ‘You too, Weston,’ I smiled, my heart fluttering. He grinned and flashed me a sexy wink, then turned and sprinted off up the beach back towards his hotel.

  ‘What is your deal?’ I asked after his retreating back. ‘One minute you’re as hot as a Mexican chilli, the next as cold as a Dilbury winter.’

  I called over Alejandro. I was feeling so hot myself that I was in serious need of cooling down. No doubt Abbie would be back in a while, as she knew our massages weren’t until just before lunch, so I ordered two mojitos and tried not to get my hopes up that Weston might ring or focus on the niggling doubts in the back of my mind as to whether he was a man I could trust if he did. There was just something about him that I couldn’t put my finger on.

  Chapter Four

  Seriously, Was It The Dog?

  Nine Days Later – A Monday in May

  I STOOD BACK, MY electric trimmer in my hands, as I checked out Portia the poodle’s final trim after her cut and blow-dry. Most of my clients brought their dogs in just to keep their coats in check, but Portia was a pedigree show dog and her trim had to be done to precision. She shook her head and sat proudly as I examined her, swapping my trimmer for a small pair of sharp scissors to snip away the odd bit of fur. She was a gorgeous two-year-old bitch, but it made me sad t
o know that she was never allowed to just be herself, to be able to run off lead, fetch sticks, jump in puddles, and roll in the mud like normal dogs. She’d won one of the UK’s most prestigious dog championships last year, which meant her breeding status had her as the hottest property in the country, with poodles from all over being vetted to be a stud for her.

  ‘Poor thing,’ I muttered as I gave her a doggie treat for sitting for me so patiently. Not only was she told when she was going to mate, but she had her partner chosen for her as well. There’d be no sniffing each other’s butts in the park and sussing out whether she liked him more than the next dog before some quick illicit doggie action behind a tree. I hadn’t had sex in over two years, but I’d still want some sort of control over the who, the where, and the why of it all.

  I grinned and danced across the floor of my parlour as my mobile started playing Who Let The Dogs Out by The Baha Men, unable to resist singing along to the catchy tune, which Abbie had chosen as my ring tone. I froze as I picked up my phone and saw that it was Weston calling me. I’d been home for over a week without hearing a word from him and I’d given up hope, chalking up our brief flirtation to the madness of the heat of a foreign climate. I mean, who waited nine days to contact a girl after a first date, when they’d said “I’ll call you soon”? After three days of constantly checking my phone, I’d wrapped myself in a blanket, tub of ice cream and spoon in hand, to watch My Best Friend’s Wedding as a reminder that happy ever afters were never a guarantee. My finger hovered, ready to swipe right to answer, as I bit my lip trying to decide what to do.

  Nine days was a long time to not call someone you were supposedly into. It was one day off ten, and there were classic warning signs about the number ten. Take the films 10 Things I Hate About You and How to Lose a Guy In 10 Days. Ok, technically they’d actually ended better than the titles sounded, but still. I decided I was being silly, that maybe he hadn’t called because he’d had an emergency leg amputation or a heart attack from an overdose of running. It was always the fit ones that had shocking exits from life. All that time spent honing their bodies, only to die on the treadmill or out jogging around the local park. Keeping fit was extremely hazardous to one’s health. Look how he’d lost his balance and fallen over while ogling me on the beach. As a personal trainer, he must see hundreds of pretty, scantily clad women, so falling over in his business was inevitable, which would lead to plenty of broken bones. The thought of him looking at other women the way he had me sent a surge of irrational jealousy through my body as I prepared to answer his call and offer my sympathy, for whatever accident had befallen the lecherous, and impossibly gorgeous and infuriating, Weston Argent. Who’d kept me waiting nine days for a damn call.