‘Do you trust me?’
Margie Doncaster’s blue eyes flashed with daring and Carl Smith’s heart thudded hard.
‘I don’t know, should I?’
A slow smile spread across her pretty face. She leant back, her body arching as she glanced down at the sea. Margie held his hands tight. ‘Of course. Together, on the count of three,’ she said and his gaze stayed trained on her as the ocean churned below. ‘One, two …’
Carl braced himself to jump just as she pulled. They went together, the word ‘three’ flying into the air with them. Hands still clasped, they hit the water, the cool rush shocking his skin. The force of it made him let go and he swam worriedly to the surface only to find her safe, and laughing. Sunlight and blue sky surrounded her and the seawater rippled and foamed, offering tantalising glimpses of her tanned limbs and clinging yellow swimsuit.
‘You jumped before three,’ he said, unable to resist drawing near. ‘Thought you said I could trust you.’
‘Just keeping you on your toes,’ she replied. Margie whipped back thick wet hair and it clung in sticky, honeyed strands on her cheeks and neck. One foot sailed over, the contact whisper-soft as it grazed his leg. Carl sucked in his breath. Margie moved closer and their skin met lightly in other random places as they trod in the current and swayed with the tide. A glide of her arm skimmed his stomach, a whisper of her velvet hip found his own. His eyes drew to her mouth and suddenly he had to taste her lips, his promise to himself that he wouldn’t kiss her today abandoned. They were soft, and wet with salty water. A taste definitely wasn’t enough.
Carl pulled her into his arms and the contact shot through his entire being as their warm, floating bodies collided. He kissed her again and she wound her hands around his neck, wrapping herself to him in the dragging churn. Suddenly she was the sea itself and he was drowning in her as they began to sink.
‘Carl! Hey, Carl, come and have some sandwiches.’
Carl broke away in a guilty rush, trying to regain control of his roiling senses and find his breath. ‘Sorry.’
A sudden grin lit her features and she shrugged. ‘What for?’ she said. ‘Come on, let’s eat.’
They swam to shore, the exertion extinguishing some of the fire in his veins, although it was difficult not to stare as she walked on ahead through the whitewash. Fortunately his mate Joe Hannaford was providing a distraction…
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