He slowly lowered his hand from its brief clasp of Fletch's, looking confused. "Didn't you just say he's going to be teaching me to surf?" He asked hesitantly.
I sighed. "Fine, listen to him when he talks about surfing. Ignore him if he talks about anything else."
"Uh, OK?" Aidan's agreement came out sounding a lot more like a question than I would've liked.
"Great, that's sorted," Fletch perhaps saw my displeasure at Aidan's response and jumped in before I could pursue it. "Chuck your board in the back, mate, and hop in, we're going up the Bluff."
Aidan looked to me as if for permission and I nodded my consent before forcing myself back into Fletch's car. I wanted to take the backseat and let Aidan suffer in Fletch's close proximity, but I knew any sort of retreat would've just given Fletch more ammunition so it was back into the front with me.
I'd, perhaps foolishly, hoped that Aidan's presence would break some of the tension, but it didn't. It just meant I had an audience as I started up a new litany of complaints about everything from the smell of Fletch's wetsuit, to the route he took to the Bluff.
My bitchiness was supposed to keep everything else at bay, but as Fletch expertly volleyed back every one of my criticisms without so much as a single jaw-clench, I knew it wasn't having the desired effect.
Desire, no, that was a bad word to use...
Oh God, I was going to kill Saskia next time I saw her.
----------
Lara was in fine form, bitching and moaning and generally being her usual delightful self. Usually this would've gotten to him, she knew the best places to twist the knife, but that day her blows just didn't pack her normal punch. That day it was different because they both knew one, crucial thing.
She'd come to him.
It was a thought that had pressed and pulsed and pretty much bloody consumed him since he'd started down the path to his old house and seen her standing there, waiting for him.
For three years it'd been him going to her; wiping 'slut' off her door, trying to get her to stop punishing the both of them for a mistake they couldn't take back, but that suddenly seemed to have changed. This fact had hit him as he'd stood there in his old kitchen, Lara's perfume cutting through the abandoned smell the house had taken on since his mum left.
He hadn't just been trying to annoy Lara when he'd told Aidan that she was backed into a corner, it was the truth. The thing was, though, she was the one who'd put herself there; he'd done exactly what he'd said he would to the old Italian guy and tried to stay away.
He knew the night with that dickhead Eric and his cronies had at least not ended in outright animosity, but he still didn't see that that would've led her to actually asking him for help with a good deed.
But she had. She'd asked him; in a town full of surfers, it was him she'd gone to.
It was a mind-screw, but as he turned his head slightly and saw her cheeks flush as she worked to find some other way to annoy him, he had to admit it wasn't in an altogether bad way.
Chapter 10 – Want and Release
"If you're coming down to the beach with us, you're going to have to lose the boots."
After a long drive where the rough road surface was only half responsible for my extreme discomfit, we'd reached the Bluff. Aidan and Fletch were in the process of removing their boards from the back of the rattly pile of junk Fletch seemed to think constituted a car when Fletch decided to pass his decree over my choice of footwear.
"You offering fashion advice now?" I asked cattily, placing my hands into the small of my back and arching against them. I swear some of those potholes had permanently shifted the alignment of my spine.
"No, just 'how not to break your legs' advice," came the long-suffering response.
I assessed the situation. I wasn't exactly Thumbelina, and Fletch wasn't freakishly tall so my boots put us on a comfortably even height. By taking them off, I would put myself at a disadvantage to him. On the other hand, I didn't like to fall arse over tit with the high likelihood of death either and, glancing down at the path we'd need to take to the beach, I saw that that was the most likely outcome if I attempted it in my stiletto heels.
Nothing was going my way that day.
"You haven't even waxed!"
I froze in the act of unzipping one of my boots and glared up at Fletch, astounded by his audacity. I was about to snap that my personal grooming routine was none of his bloody business, but that my legs beneath my stockings were smooth as a baby's bum, thanks very much. I swallowed down my fury, however, as it became clear it wasn't me he was talking to. It was actually Aidan's board he was staring down at, a frown between his eyebrows.
Aidan started to mumble some sort of excuse, but Fletch cut him off, reaching into his bag and presenting the wanna-be surfer with two blocks of wax.
"Base coat," he said, passing one across. "Use the edge of the bar and rub round in circles tip to tail, rail to rail. Cold water wax," he handed over the second block, this one wrapped in blue paper. "You want this bumpier, the rougher the better. You go down and get started, we'll be there in a sec."
Aidan nodded, an irritatingly respectful look entering his eye, then tucked his board awkwardly under one arm and started down the steep cliff path.
As Fletch shook his head, presumably at the naiveté of newbie surfers, I returned my attention to my boots. Leaning against the hood of the station wagon for balance I reluctantly slipped the first shoe off and started to undo the second until I held them both in my hand. God, it was like stripping a layer of skin off; I felt ridiculously exposed standing there in just my little dress and opaque stockings.
"Chuck 'em in then." Fletch didn't seem to get the significance of my lack of footwear and, seeing that I'd finished taking them off, gestured impassively towards the back of his car.
"Chuck them?" I repeated in disbelief. "These are designer! They're probably worth more than your bloody car!"
"I think that depends on your definition of worth." Without fanfare, Fletch reached out to pluck my shoes from me. "Don't worry, I'm sure your designer boots won't mind just this once." He shoved the shoes down onto the floor of his car and then, in a move that thoroughly surprised me, grabbed up a jacket that had been lying across the backseat.
Mr My-Veins- Run-Red-with-Lava needing a jacket? Since when?
"Ready?" He asked, not appearing to think the jacket he was proceeding to shove into the bag slung across his shoulder was anything odd.
In no hurry to enter into further conversation with him, and certainly reluctant to reveal how much notice I took of something as seemingly innocuous as his pick-up of a jacket, I nodded curtly.
Stepping gingerly across the gravel of the car park, I started towards the cliff path, only for Fletch to breeze past me, practically pushing me out of the way so he could start down the virtually sheer track first.
"Oh, sure," I grumbled, wincing as the rocks pressed into the unprotected soles of my feet, "don't mind me."
I was so busy slagging off Fletch's complete lack of chivalry that I didn't watch where I was putting my feet as carefully as I should have. And so it was that I'd barely started my descent before I slipped on some of the loose shale. I had a moment of that stomach-dropping inertia as I lost my balance before, without me having uttered a single sound of distress, Fletch's hand shot out to steady me.
"Thought I'd better go first," he said pointedly, as I fought to regain my equilibrium. "You know, just in case you slipped or something."
Supercilious prick.
His fingers burnt hot through the sleeve of my dress, affecting my poise much more than the uneven ground, and I quickly pushed him off me.
One thing to be said of Fletcher is that he wasn't stupid enough to wait for thanks. He stayed close as we continued down, however, basically walking sideways, his hand lifting every now and again in preparation for another fall I refused to take. Yes, the sharp little stones felt like glass under my stockinged feet, but I became insanely fastidious about every step I took so there
'd be no reason for Fletch to touch me again. It'd felt way too good when he had.
So the soft sand of the beach proper was a welcome relief not only on my sore feet, but also as it meant Fletch ceased his hovering and went over to see how Aidan was getting on with waxing his board.
The bay was deserted this time of year; the experienced surfers round at the Point, and the beginners not wanting to chance it in the freezing winter waters. For myself, I liked the beach better in winter. To me, the soft grey blues and greens of the waves and scrubby grass had a certain something that the harsh sapphire of sea and sky and golden sand of the summer just didn't.
What I wasn't so keen on about the beach in the dead of winter, however, was the way the wind whipped against my cheeks, even in the shelter of the bay. Crossing my arms against the chilly gusts, I told myself crossly to harden up and remember that I was there to be an overseer, not for my own comfort.
To spite this supervisor role I'd assigned myself, however, Fletch seemed to be taking his role of teacher seriously. As I watched, he started running over the basics with Aidan, getting him to go through the motions of paddle, jump to squat and stand over and over on the sand before letting him get anywhere near the waves.
When he seemed satisfied with these initial drills, he came over to where I was slowly freezing to death.
"Everything to your satisfaction?" He asked, standing close enough that I was forced to look up at him. God-damn I missed my boots!
"So far," I said coolly...an easy feat to manage as my lips were turning blue.
Perhaps he noticed my muted shivering as he angled himself the better to be a wind block and said, "Look, we're probably going to be here a while, you might want to go back up to the car."
OK, maybe it was amusing him to shine the light of his good guy persona on me for once, but I was too cold to deal with his 'oh shucks, ma'am, let me get that door for you' rubbish.
Shaking my head, I replied brusquely, "I'm good as I am."
"Yeah, I suppose there's still that risk I'm going to suddenly switch to teaching him scuba diving once we get into the water," he said sarcastically. "You better stay here and freeze to death just in case."
"I'm fine," I insisted and he rolled his eyes.
"Of course you are," he muttered and then, without warning, I was suddenly cocooned in a heavy warmth.
For one, astounded, second all I could think was 'well, now the jacket thing makes sense.' I hadn't even seen that he'd been holding it until he'd draped it across my shoulders, tugging it round so I was completely swamped in deliciously toasty, Fletch-smelling material.
"I don't-" I started to protest, but I was cut off as he linked the metal zip edges together and, in one swift jerk, zipped me in. Oh geez, it was so warm!
I was so busy beginning to thaw, I had no quick rebuttal and, by the time I'd begun to adjust to no longer shivering like a leaf, he'd rejoined Aidan and the two of them were heading out to the water.
Fletch pulled his wetsuit up as he went, the dark, slick material conforming to his stupidly fine body, every familiar line of him presented in stark relief.
Fuck.
It'd been a three-pronged attack; demonstrating his strength as he'd caught me on the path, his consideration as he'd wrapped me in his jacket, and his basic hotness as he sauntered away with his body on display. Acknowledging that it was an attack, however, didn't seem to be doing anything to help my defence against it.
Once upon a time I'd thought I could go cold turkey on ogling Fletch, but I was suffering a definite relapse. For the next half hour or so, alone on the beach, without even the cold to distract me anymore, I was free to stare openly at him, a freedom I couldn't seem but to take absolute advantage of.
Even from a distance, I could see the muscles moving beneath Fletch's wetsuit and the droplets of water being flung from the strands of his short, dark hair and trickling down his strong neck.
As he encouraged Aidan to repeat the movements he'd mastered on the sand, with varying degrees of success, Fletch smiled and laughed, his teeth white and bright against skin flushed from the cold.
There was no denying he was what my mum would've called a water-baby; born to be in the ocean. He became lither out there somehow; balanced, centred, incredibly comfortable in himself. There, in his element, he was magnificent, no other word for it, and my pulse started its oh-so-familiar quickening in response.
I wanted him. I wanted the deep voice currently supporting Aidan breathy in my ear. I wanted the hands that steadied his board to be pressing into my hips. I wanted that strong, broad body beneath, above, inside mine. Oh God, I wanted him so much.
By the time the boys returned to the beach, I'd forgotten all about being cold. Their teeth might have been chattering as they stripped out of their wetsuits and roughly tried to towel some feeling back into their reddened limbs, but I felt like I was on fire. Not that I was going to relinquish Fletch's jacket, however. If my personal shields were being destroyed by lust one by one, it was necessary to at least have one more physical barrier between us.
"You good to go?" Fletch, one hand reaching up to dry his hair, glanced over to where I'd remained motionless, watching his practiced removal of his wet gear like it was a strip show. Oh I was good to go, alright...
I quickly looked away before nodding. If I knew Fletch, and I did, intimately, he'd be able to read my expression at 50 paces. Seeing as how my expression currently read: 'do me right now' it seemed prudent to keep my head down.
He waited for me to go up the path first this time, forming the rear guard as Aidan traipsed upward in front of me. I definitely wasn't paying as much attention to my footing on the way up as I had on the way down, but I got through the trek without any mishaps. Once back at the top, I was able to safely ensconce myself back into the passenger seat of the wagon while the boys faffed around with their gear.
The drive back to Shelbys to drop Aidan off was very different from the earlier trip. This time I was absolutely silent, my face turned resolutely towards the window whilst Aidan chirruped away, talking about this wave and that swell with the zeal of the truly converted.
Fletch replied every now and again, his voice patient and steady, and each time my hands clenched involuntarily.
I was at that stage of arousal where every sense became incredibly heightened. The sound of his voice made me squirm, the slight scrape of the zip near my neck made goosebumps rise along my arms, the smell of his car, all sand, surf and masculinity made me cross and uncross my legs. I was in sensory overload.
Eventually we made it back to the Shelbys car park, deserted apart from Aidan's car. I barely acknowledged Aidan's thanks and farewell, any thrill of validation from a good deed well done not coming close to the thrills already coursing through me.
I watched, without really seeing, as Aidan loaded his board onto the roof-rack of his car and then got in and drove off. It was only when his car had disappeared round the corner, leaving only a small puff of gravel dust to mark his exit, that I realised we weren't following him. In fact, Fletch had just cut the engine.
I suddenly became incredibly aware of how isolated this spot was, hidden as we were in a little dip surrounded by scrubby dunes, the only noise the roaring surf and the far off keening of seagulls. My breathing quickened, the rapid rise and fall of my chest standing out as the rest of me went stiff with tension...and expectation.
"OK, Lara, what's going on?" Fletch's voice when it came was not quite a snap, but something quite close to it.
"What? Nothing." I folded my arms and stared straight ahead through the dusty windscreen, but in my peripheral vision, I could see that he'd shifted in his seat to look at me.
"Nothing?" He repeated disbelievingly. "You had a go at me the whole way up to the Bluff and hardly strung two words together on the way back. Never thought I'd say it, but your silent treatment is even more unnerving than your bitching. So what's up?"
What was up? My libido, mainly, up and about and fair rag
ing for me to reach over and... That wasn't my response, obviously, in fact I didn't get to respond as he continued, "So, what? Was the lesson not up to your good deed standards? You sulking because you reckon I've tarnished your reputation or something?"
"Ha!" This ridiculous accusation surprised a choked laugh out of me. "Tarnished my reputation? Really, Fletch? You'd have to try a lot harder than stuffing up some stupid surfing lesson."
Through the fog of lust currently swirling around me, however, I could still see he hadn't stuffed it up. He'd more than adequately upheld his end of the bargain, for all my unease at assigning him that role. Unable to find fault with his teaching, but hardly about to give him a pat on the back (a dangerous move given the circumstances); I sought for some way other than outright praise to respond to his accusation.
"Anyway, it was just surfing for Christ's sake," I sighed eventually, with what I hoped was a good impression of my usual indifference. "'Go in water, stand on board', it's not complex enough to be able to stuff up."
There was a pause and, even before he broke it, I knew he'd seen through me. Sure enough, when Fletch did speak it was to say, "You do compliments like no-one else."
"I do most things like no-one else," I snapped back, "hence the reputation."
I was still refusing to look at him, our banter doing nothing to reduce the throbbing I was feeling in my lips, my wrists, between my thighs…
"So, go on then," he said after a moment, "if it's not about the lesson, what's your problem?"
Oh God, just let it go! I wanted to howl. Stop pushing it! Instead I took a deep breath and gave him one last chance to drop it.
"Problem?" I tried for detached, but missed by a mile as evidenced by the firm way he said,
"Yeah, out with it."
Right, he'd asked for it, I was done trying to get the both of us out of the day unscathed. Reaching for the zip of the jacket where it nestled against the hollow of my throat, I yanked it down. Wrestling out of the material, I finally turned to look at him as I shoved the clothing in his face.
The Do-Gooder Page 12
