by Sally Graham
“One of the most show-off cars ever invented,” she finished. “Not to mention its gas guzzling quotient. I thought you wanted to save the planet?”
“Hey - hey,” Simon joshed. “A show-off car that’s exactly right to show off the woman standing next to me!”
Did he really mean that?
“I take it you can remember which side of the road to drive on?” she answered half-crossly. “I’m not going to feel safe.”
“You’re in safe hands - as I believe you already know?” he joked, sliding his hand down her back.
Tamara couldn’t reply: the launch was tethered quickly and they walked ashore. One of Simon’s security team walked towards them and handed over the keys. “She’s a beauty, Mr. Henty. Drives like a dream.”
“Thanks, Frank. I’ll let you know when we need you to collect. Is everything I asked for packed OK?”
Frank nodded and smiled at Tamara as he opened the passenger door for her. “Have a great day, Tamara.”
She slid into the charcoal dark leather luxury seats and watched as Simon checked the console before revving the engines.
“Ready for take-off?” he grinned.
A moment later she was pressed back into her seat as their car shot forward, scattering seagulls that wheeled around them angrily. “Stop it!” she shouted. “Let me out!”
Simon immediately braked and pulled over to the kerb. He reached across and put his hand on Tamara’s thigh.
“That’s enough showing off for today,” he said penitently. “I’ll put my boy racer kit away. Promise.”
She looked at him to see if he was joking, but his turquoise blue eyes looked at her seriously. “Let’s hit the road,” she said, laying her hand on his, her heart racing, noticing the short, golden hairs on his forearm as he changed gear.
“We’ll take the coast road for a couple of miles. It’s dramatically beautiful, and then we’ll turn off. Enjoy!”
It didn’t take long to clear the outskirts of Positano, and then the curving road clung to the contours of the steep hillsides as they swept along the Amalfi coastline, the Mediterranean glittering below them, every road bend offering a dramatic vista of azure water shimmering in the heat below a sheer precipice. With the roof open, Tamara enjoyed the scent of pines mingled with the clean breeze from the sea below.
Simon glanced at the sat-nav screen and slowed. “We should be approaching the exit in a couple of miles. Then we start climbing into the hills. Somewhere - I hope - we’ll find an entrancing spot to stop and eat!”
Before long they had left the coast road and their road twisted and turned through narrow ravines dappled with sunshine; the smooth tarmac changed to rougher road surfaces, and the dense pine trees gave way to small olive groves, rising on narrow tiers up the slopes on either side of them.
“There’s something mysterious about olive groves,” Simon said, pulling to one side of the road and switching off the engine. “Many of these trees are hundreds of years old. Heaven knows when people first carved out the hillside to plant them.”
“I love the way the sun filters through the branches giving everything that shady, greeny, coolness.”
“That’s the secret, you see. You prune an olive tree until it is open enough for a bird to fly through it. Letting light into the trees improves the quality of the olive.”
Tamara turned and looked at him. “How do you know all this stuff? When did you learn to prune an olive tree?”
Simon paused for a second. “My folks had a tiny olive grove. My great grandmother was Italian, you see. Pruning and harvesting was passed down. We had a small press and even managed to make enough oil to see us through each season.”
In spite of the heat, Tamara felt an icy prickle of anxiety when Simon talked about his parents, but she didn’t have to answer because he started the engine and pulled out onto the road. “OK, let’s get going,” he said cheerfully. “We level out soon, and then you can choose where we stop.”
Simon was right. The steep climb levelled out and they soon found themselves among olive groves dotted with dark green cypress trees. The hills stretched away in the shimmering heat and when Simon drove slowly to avoid ruts in the track Tamara was certain she could hear larks singing high above them.
“This is wonderful,” she breathed, “The countryside is so beautiful. It’s like we’re in a different world. It’s so peaceful.”
“And you call yourself an expert in stylish travel?” Simon teased. “Wait till I complete my customer feedback questionnaire!” He slowed the car as they approached a fork in the road. “Left, or right?” he asked.
Tamara squinted at the faded lettering on a broken sign. “It’s very faint. I think it says San Gregorio - which means there might be a chapel or something. Why don’t we explore?”
“OK - let’s go.”
Simon drove carefully along the uneven track past squat circular water reservoirs and straggly barbed wire fences until they rounded a bend and suddenly saw the tumbled stones of a ruined building whose bent, iron crucifix was silhouetted against the sky.
Simon pulled up and they walked together towards the remains. “What an amazing setting. It must have been a wayside chapel.”
Tamara gazed across the panorama stretching before them. “It’s so quiet. You can’t help feeling something special, can you?” She turned impulsively and hugged Simon tight. “It’s magical!”
He held her fast for a few moments, and then drew back, “It certainly is,” he whispered to her.
“But you aren’t looking at the view!”
“No. I’m looking at the person I’m holding. And - she’s magical!” He gazed at her disarmingly. “You just don’t know how special you are!” Tamara flushed with pleasure as he held her hand and they walked together over the fallen stones into the shade of the sun baked wall.
“Wait here. I’ll get our picnic.” Tamara sat down, leaned against the wall and watched as Simon moved to the car; he was looking so fit, she thought. The way his jeans fitted him so closely, his pale blue shirt looking as though it was bonded to his muscular shoulders.
Moments later she was staring open mouthed as Simon began unpacking a vast hamper. “There’s enough here for six people,” he grunted. “Are we expecting company?”
“I hope not,” Tamara giggled. Simon looked up at her quickly but then uncorked the bottle of champagne and handed her a glass.
“A wish?”
Tamara looked around. “It’s idyllic,” she said. “Yes, a wish. That we can grow old under these olives!”
“Well - I’ll drink to that!” he laughed, “But, hopefully, not become as gnarled!”
****
There was a shrill keening above them, and Tamara squinted against the sky to see two eagles lazily riding the thermal currents before swooping away into the valley. They had finished lunch; Simon was stretched out beside her, stroking her hair.
“What are you thinking?” she asked.
“Rude thoughts!” he answered lazily.
“Simon!”
“That’s the problem with cool wine, and hot sun, and delicious food, and lying next to a beautiful woman.” He leaned across and kissed her lightly. “This has been the best vacation I’ve ever had. And you know why? Because of you, you mysterious, secretive creature!”
Oh God - has be found out?
“There’s so much I don’t know about you,” Simon continued. “I don’t know how you like to be kissed, for example. Here?” And he brushed his lips behind her ear. “Or here?” He knelt across her effortlessly and kissed Tamara’s forehead. “Or here?”
Tamara’s body quivered with life as he trailed his tongue down her neck before sitting back and slowly undoing the top button of her blouse. She could feel herself responding to his dark, hungry gaze and felt the blood thrumming in her ears.
“Don’t stop,” she whispered, feeling her nipples harden as his hand eased her blouse open.
“You smell so good,” he said. “You have t
he most beautiful skin,” and his mouth circled first one nipple, teasing it hard before kissing her other breast so that she almost swooned with delight as the first ripples of excitement coursed through her.
“You’re very responsive, Tamara,” he murmured, his eyes never leaving hers.
She squirmed and gasped as he leaned back and slowly took off his shirt, undoing each button unhurriedly before pulling it free from his jeans and tossing it on the ground beside them. He was a bronzed god against the bluest of skies, a small tangle of dark hair on his chest, his stomach taut, his muscularity intoxicating.
She lifted her arms and pulled him towards her, arching her back, exhilarated by the sense of entrapment as his body prevented her from moving. His eyes molten, he pushed his tongue into her mouth as she moaned in reply, delighting in his taste, his passion and the way that she could feel the wet sensation all the way to her groin.
He pulled back and sat up before gazing at her hungrily and undoing her thin leather belt. Wordlessly, abandoning herself to his desire, Tamara allowed him to ease off her trousers, laughing with delight as she wriggled free, until she was lying naked before him save for her white cotton panties.
“I think you’re overdressed,” she teased, “allow me to return the favor!” Simon grinned as she slowly unfastened his belt and unzipped his jeans. His erection was full, and for the briefest of moments she slid her hand into his boxers and caressed his impressive length.
“Not so fast, you temptress!” he said huskily, sliding away from her so that she moaned in frustration.
I want him so badly.
She closed her eyes in delight: his body blocked the sun for an instant and then she could feel his lips kissing her thighs, her hip, kissing her panties there, before he slid them off, so that the was gloriously naked, the sun caressing her skin, his kisses burning between her legs.
“You’re so wet,” he groaned, “You taste divine, my darling.”
Tamara felt she was shattering into tiny fragments as Simon brought to the edge of delirium, before pausing to stroke her, and then returning to kiss her to a climax, a delicious slow build of volcanic lust.
Her legs were like jelly, her breath ragged. “I want you inside me,” she gasped. “Please, Simon. Don’t make me wait any longer.”
She felt him move away for an instant and heard him rummage in his jean pocket for a condom before tearing the foil.
“You look lovely,” she heard him say, “Do you want me?”
“Yes, yes,” she said weakly, feeling wanton and greedy for his body.
A moment later she gasped with delight as he entered her, filling her effortlessly, gorging her with pleasure as she met him thrust for thrust, bucking her hips the better to savor the raw, primal energy that surged between them. She was screaming with pleasure at him in her head, and through half closed eyes she could see his head thrown back, his lips open in approaching ecstasy.
He was slamming deliciously into her now, her body wound tight around his, gripping him hard so that every thrust was an exquisite delight.
Tamara couldn’t think anymore; she felt she could touch the sun and reach to the sea as Simon pushed her over the precipice of release. With a primal groan of joy she abandoned all restraint as wave after wave of pleasure overcame her senses, her feelings, and her mind.
At the same time Simon thrust deeply into her and sprawled over her chest, panting, his heart pounding against hers.
“Shhh, my darling, be still” she managed to whisper, cradling him in her arms, rejoicing in the union still within her.
Overhead, the eagles soared high, swirling and turning against the sun; around them, the ancient olive trees, rooted in the unending cycle of harvest and rebirth, stood silent and protective.
Chapter 12
Their return to Positano was a blur of exhilaration, happiness and laughter. Simon called ahead to make sure that the launch was ready for their return.
“Good job, Frank,” he smiled as he handed the keys back. “Nice machine. Don’t wreck it!” And he hugged Tamara to him as they settled back in the deep seats ready for the short journey to the yacht across the harbour.
“Anything I need to know?” Simon asked his P.A as he came on board. “I’m not in the mood for number crunching!”
“You’re going to be pleased. There’s only one message for you.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Oh? From?”
“Damian. He said it was urgent, and to let you know he’s sent a file to your personal email address.”
“Hmmm - he wouldn't do that unless it was something he thought was important. I’ll have a look at it - no, wait.” He turned to Tamara. “It can wait till the morning, can’t it? Everything can wait!”
Chapter 13
When Tamara woke next day she could tell that the weather had changed. The ceiling of their cabin wasn’t criss crossed with glittering reflections of the light off the sea. And there was the slightest of movements as the yacht moved gently in a swell.
She turned over sleepily to cuddle Simon. But when she stretched out her arm, she found no comforting warmth - the sheet on his side of the bed was cold.
Tamara sat up on one elbow to see if he was in the shower, but she was alone. He must have got up early… probably jogging around the deck.
She pulled on her jogging pants and top and went up to the main deck, expecting to see Simon completing the umpteenth lap he maintained he needed to keep in shape.
“Good morning, Tamara. Would you like breakfast?”
She turned round. “Oh, hi, thanks, Gina. Um - do you know where Simon is?”
“I believe he’s working in the business cabin. He was up early.”
Tamara looked at the security officer as a flash of jealousy surged through her. How does she know Simon was up early? “Thanks, Gina - I’ll go and find him. Oh - and thanks - maybe breakfast in a couple of minutes?”
She walked along the deck to the stairs that led up the administrative quarters. This was where most the crew spent their time. When she was given the tour after their arrival she had been shown the navigation suite with rows of screens and joysticks that made the control panel look like an outsize computer game.
Beyond that was a large cabin set aside for business use, with the computer and satellite links that Simon needed to keep in touch with his offices. Because of the time zone differences between New York, Italy and Sydney, he had taken to slipping out of their bedroom during the night now and then to check emails and respond promptly if he needed to.
She looked over the rail as she moved between decks. There was no sun today. Clouds had gathered overnight and while there were still wisps of faint blue sky here and there, it was clear that the fine weather was on the wane. The blue-dark sea had transformed into a metallic grey, and the dancing waves were replaced by an unsettling swell.
Tamara peeked through the cabin porthole to check that Simon was there. He was turned away from her, talking intently on the phone, his laptop beside him. She opened the door quietly, intending to tiptoe to him and place a surprise kiss on his neck, as she had done before when he was working.
Just as she was about to embrace him, he turned around, still talking, and put his finger to his lips, shaking his head, and looked at her vacantly, as though he didn’t recognise her.
Tamara stepped back and felt a sudden chill. He had never been so preoccupied before when she had interrupted him. Instead, he had ended a call quickly and scooped her up, kissing her hungrily.
She stood uncertainly for a moment, but he turned back to his laptop and went on with his conversation, his words peppered with the impenetrable vocabulary of stratospheric finance. As he showed no signs of ending the call, she turned and decided to wait for him while she had breakfast.
****
Simon finished the call and turned wearily to his laptop screen and re-read the email whose burning contents threatened to engulf him.
To: Simon Henty, CEO.
From: Damian Gre
ene, Security.
Subject: Requested information
Dear Simon - just before you left you asked me to do a confidential background check on Ms Tamara Tremaine. The attached file contains that information.
However, I think you would want to know that eight years ago Tamara changed her surname, legally. She was born Tamara Ahern. She is the daughter of Douglas Ahern, the disgraced financier..……
Simon had stopped reading, as his dreams crashed around him, and buried his face in his hands. The woman he had fallen in love with was the daughter of the man who had wrecked his parents’ lives.
