CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SIX

Lynn did not see Blair during the following week, and this, she assured herself, was a relief. Or was it? Relief, she realised, would have been more intense if she had been capable of getting him out of her mind—and if she had been able to forget those kisses in the kitchen.

But despite her efforts to do so she kept seeing his face with its regular features and tanned complexion, and she had only to close her eyes to recall the closeness of his athletic body pressing against her own. The aura of his masculinity seemed to wrap itself about her, and she found herself longing for the sound of his step on the front veranda, or his knock on the back door.

In fact he was so much in her thoughts that she even reached the stage of expecting to turn round and find herself confronted by him; but fortunately this did not happen, otherwise she might have revealed the turmoil raging within herself, as well as the depth of her yearning to see him.

At the same time she made valiant attempts to fasten her thoughts on her own work, but, although she spent hours at the typewriter, the stories made little progress while her memory seethed with the feel of his arms holding her against him, and the pressure of his lips on her own.

Nor did she see anything of Tony. Day after day she heard the school bus rumble past without stopping, and by the end of the week she was fighting a growing despondency. Blair had had a word with the bus driver, she decided. He'd arranged for the man to stop at Marshlands and to forcibly evict one small disobedient lad whose desire was to go on to Frog Hollow.

Eventually she became aware that Max was observing her in his own quiet way, and therefore she was not surprised when the questions she guessed to be simmering in his mind were brought out into the open. Her problem then lay in knowing how to answer them.

'Are you becoming bored with this place?' he asked one afternoon.

She was startled by his abruptness. 'No, of course not, Grandy. What would put such a thought into your head?'

His eyes regarded her intently. 'I just wondered. You've been very silent for much of the week. Is anything wrong?'

She sent him a direct look. 'No. What could possibly be wrong?'

'The little boy hasn't been near us recently,' he observed.

'Hasn't he? I really hadn't noticed,' she responded carelessly. It was a lie and she knew it.

'Perhaps your thoughts are more with the big boy,' he remarked in a shrewd tone.

She laughed, brushing the suggestion aside. 'That's quite...quite ridiculous. You're my only big boy, Grandy.'

He ignored her banter by demanding abruptly, 'Have you had a quarrel with him? Has that fiery hair put sparks on your tongue?'

She avoided his eyes, then controlled a deep sigh that was about to escape her. 'You might as well know I'm not his most favourite person. He blames me for Tony's visits to this place. He thinks I'm encouraging disobedience in the boy and he... he even...' Words failed her as she recalled Blair's suspicions.

'Yes? He even what?' Max was watching her closely.

'He even fears I might be planning to take the boy to Delphine,' she admitted while trying to override the hurt caused by his distrust.

'I hope you wouldn't be stupid enough to make such an attempt,' Max growled, making no attempt to hide his irritation. 'There are passports and other travel formalities to be considered.'

'Don't worry, Grandy—no such idea entered my head. I'm not completely nutty, despite Blair's opinion of me. Besides, wouldn't I be in trouble with the law?'

'You can put a ring round the word trouble, and that's a fact.' He paused, looking at her reflectively. 'So, without the little boy to interrupt your afternoon, how much of your own work has been achieved this week?'

'Not very much,' she confessed. 'My mind keeps wandering. I need a few lessons in mental control.'

'You mean you need something to get the big boy out of your head,' he suggested drily. 'You can't fool me, my girl.'

'Will you please stop harbouring silly ideas, Grandy?' she flashed at him, then, fearing his acute perception, she added hastily, 'I think I'll give myself an exercise. I'll take a notebook out to the seat beneath the willow, and I'll observe. I'll write a few descriptions of the birds on the lake.'

'You'll find plenty there, especially if you throw stale bread on the water. The ducks will arrive at once, and the black swans will come quite close. Well, now—I'll be away to my club.'

A short time later she relaxed beside the water where the lake's feathered residents' waited for more bread to the thrown. The silence of the still air was broken by the hum of bees in the hawthorn trees, and the warm sun on her back made her feel drowsy. Closing her eyes she sat listening, then opened them suddenly as the humming changed to the more intense drone of an aircraft.

Gazing into the distance, she saw a helicopter hovering like a giant bumble bee over the back hills of the Marshlands property. She then recalled that Grandy had said he'd been talking to Gary Palmer, who had told him the thistles on the hills were due to be sprayed.

As the dark spot moved against the sky her mind returned to her previous idea about city children staying in the country homestead. They would be there when the thistle-sprayer arrived, she now decided. The kindly pilot would take them up for a flight while becoming acquainted with the boundaries of the property.

Peering down from the helicopter the children would see a cave, which they would investigate as soon as the spraying work was finished. When they reached it they would discover articles that had been stolen during recent burglaries. The robbers would be caught, but exactly how this was to be achieved had yet to be solved in Lynn's mind.

A burst of enthusiasm sent her back to the cottage, where she settled herself at the typewriter. The afternoon sun shining through the alcove windows gave comfort to the room, and she no longer felt drowsy while tapping out the first draft of the story.

Her fingers flying over the keys, she became so engrossed she failed to hear Blair's knock on the front door, nor was she aware he had arrived until he tapped on the window while staring at her through the glass. The sight of him caused her heart to leap, and as she went to open the door she felt her cheeks become rosy.

They stared at each other in a long silence until she said, 'This is a surprise.'

'Pleasant, or otherwise?' he drawled, his eyes raking her face.

'That will depend upon the reason for your visit,' she returned, making an effort to control her inner excitement. 'If you're searching for Tony you'll not find him here.'

'I know where to find Tony,' he informed her. 'Sandra has taken him to town to buy new pyjamas. Apparently he's grown out of the old ones. Actually, it's you I've come to see.'

'Me?' Her breath quickened as she waited to hear more, and, looking at him wonderingly, she hoped her face did not betray the underlying gladness the sight of him gave her.

'Yes. Aren't you going to ask me in? Or are you too busy writing letters? I can guess to whom.'

'You're jumping to conclusions again,' she said without making further explanations, at the same time wondering why his presence made her feel like a jittery schoolgirl. 'Please come in.'

As he entered the living-room he said, 'Tomorrow I'm driving a few miles along the coast road to look at a pony for Tony. Would you like to come with me?'

She remained calm while endeavouring to conceal the surge of delight bubbling within her. 'That would be pleasant,' she said in the most casual tone she could produce. 'But you must realise I know nothing about horses.'

'You can leave the judgement of the purchase to me. However, if you'd rather not come ‑'

'Oh, yes, please. I'd like to come,' she assured him quickly.

'You'll not be too busy? When I looked in the window you appeared to be deep in thought. You hadn't heard my knock on the back door, nor on the front door, yet I felt sure you were here. I had no option but to look in the window, and there you were, surrounded by papers, and typing as though your life depended upon it.'

'It's just a small project of my own,' she admitted.

'You're making another attempt to write a story?'

'I suppose you could say so,' she admitted reluctantly.

He looked interested. 'May I see it?'

'Certainly not.' Her words were emphatic.

'Very well, but better luck this time.' He brushed the subject aside by adding, 'I'll pick you up after lunch tomorrow.'

'Thank you. I'll be ready and waiting,' she promised.

There was no attempt to kiss her, Lynn noticed, watching him drive away. But it didn't matter. Tomorrow he'd be taking her out, which was something to look forward to. Nor was it easy to control the feeling of exhilaration that gripped her as she returned to the typewriter.

But despite her efforts to get back into the story her concentration had disappeared. Blair's face kept looming before her eyes, interrupting her train of thought until at last she gave an exclamation of impatience and went to the kitchen to prepare the evening meal. But even there she found herself pausing to gaze into space.

Next morning the sense of exhilaration was still with her, causing a light song to escape her lips as she cleared the breakfast table. And, although she tried to assure herself that this inner excitement had nothing to do with the prospect of going out with Blair, her basic honesty forced her to admit the truth.

Max looked at her with interest. 'You sound merry and bright this morning. I notice something has lit candles behind your eyes.'

She kept her back towards him as she said, 'I always feel good when I have a story running through my mind. It—it stimulates me.'

'In that case you'll be working all day?'

'No—only this morning. This afternoon I'll be going to look at a pony, with Blair.'

'Ah.' His tone held satisfaction.

'It's on the coast road. It's one he's considering for Tony.'

'And your valuable opinion is most necessary.' Max grinned.

'I know you're laughing at me, Grandy,' she protested. 'It's—it's just that I need to know about animals for—for my children's stories, you understand.'

He continued to grin. 'Oh, yes, I understand perfectly well. Of course you must learn about animals. Make sure you take a good look at the two-legged colt driving the car.'

'Why should I do that?' she queried loftily.

'Because he's a fine specimen. He's one that can be relied upon to run a straight race.' He shrugged himself into a jacket. 'Now then, I'll be away to my ewes. One is about to produce a late lamb.'

Lynn watched him stride away with Mick at his heels, then went to the typewriter where she remained until it was time to prepare lunch. But despite her efforts to concentrate the story refused to flow smoothly because anticipation caused constant pauses to glance at her watch, or to consider what she should wear. Nothing too dressy, she decided, otherwise it would look as if she hoped to impress him, and that was the last thing she had in mind. Or was it?

Eventually she decided upon an emerald leisure suit with pleated pants and a top that zipped up to a mandarin collar. Extra care was taken with her hair and her makeup, and when she emerged from the bedroom Max, who had returned for lunch, nodded his approval.

'You look fine,' he muttered. 'That green outfit makes your eyes look like traffic-lights, and your hair looks nice curling round that high collar. I dare say Blair will see these things for himself. He's not exactly blind.'

'I'd prefer him to keep his eyes on the road,' she retorted in a cool voice, then drew a sharp breath as she heard his steps on the front veranda.

He was casually dressed in fawn trousers that hugged his slim hips, while the oatmeal open-neck shirt revealed a triangle of crisp dark hairs on his chest. His eyes flicked over her as he entered the room, then he turned his attention to Max, telling the older man about the pony he intended to buy.

'It's a twelve-hand grey Welsh gelding,' he explained. 'Eight years old and very quiet. It should be suitable for Tony for several years.'

'Who owns it now?' Max queried.

'Bill Jordan who lives on Tamumu Road. His children have reached the stage of needing larger horses with more life in them,' Blair explained.

It was still early afternoon when they left, and as Lynn sat in the Peugeot she became aware of a feeling of serenity. She was also vitally conscious of the man sitting beside her, the subtle aroma of his aftershave indicating that care had been taken with his toilet before coming to take her out.

They drove eastward, through farming country, the green hills on their left being grazed by black Aberdeen Angus cattle. On their right were heavily fleeced sheep nibbling the lush flat pastures which stretched towards the river, which was concealed by a border of dense willows. Little was said as the road fell behind them, nor did conversation appear to be necessary.

All too soon—or so it seemed to Lynn—they turned in at an entrance where a metalled drive ran between fields towards a homestead. Blair stopped the car halfway along its length, then pointed to a grey pony grazing a short distance from the fence.

'There he is, waiting for a new owner to ride him.'

Lynn said, 'Tony will be delighted. Have you told him?'

'Definitely not. I must make sure the pony is suitable before allowing him to become excited about it. Quiet ponies for beginners are difficult to find.'

When they reached the house Bill Jordon emerged to greet Blair. He carried a tin which contained a few oats, and after being introduced to Lynn he went to the fence and banged the side of the tin with a stick while calling to the pony. The animal raised its head, regarded the tin, which received another bang, then trotted towards them.

Lynn watched with interest while Blair examined the pony by rubbing his hands over it, looking at its teeth and by walking it backwards and forwards. Its feet were checked, and at last he seemed to be satisfied. How much would he have to pay for it? she wondered, then guessed that the price would run into several hundred dollars at least. Yet he was willing to do this for Tony.

A short time later he wrote a cheque which he handed to Bill Jordon, and as they drove away he said with satisfaction, 'Bill will deliver Taffy tomorrow in his horse trailer.'

'Taffy? Of course—a Welsh pony.' Then she sent him an enquiring look. 'Shouldn't the pony have come home on trial before money changed hands?'

'I doubt that it's necessary in this case. I'm not unfamiliar with the animal, and I know Bill. He guarantees it to be free of vice and most suitable for Tony.'

'Oh. Well, it's nice to have confidence in people.'

'Yes, it is,' he returned drily.

A sudden despondency descended upon Lynn as she realised that Blair had much more confidence in Bill Jordon's word than he had in her own. In the midst of trying to shake it off she realised he had not turned for home after leaving the Jordon gateway, and therefore she straightened in her seat and asked quickly, 'Where are we going? Isn't home in the opposite direction?'

'I thought you'd never notice,' he said, grinning. 'Are you in a desperate hurry to return home, and to get on with that all-important project?'

'No, not really.' What did he have in mind? she wondered.

The answer came as though he'd read her thoughts. 'I've had a sudden urge to take a drive to the coast, I haven't walked on the sands since I've been home, and today seems to be appropriate.'

'Why would that be?' she asked carefully.

He thought for a while before he said, 'Perhaps buying the pony has made me feel light-hearted.'

'Perhaps that's as good a reason as any other for feeling happy,' she said, realising that his good spirits had nothing to do with the fact that they were going out together—though heaven alone knew what had put such an idea into her head. Nevertheless the beach lay at least twenty-four miles from Waipawa, so the outing was proving to be more than the promised short trip to look at a pony. A smile touched her lips as her own spirits lifted.

It caught his attention. 'Is it possible that you also feel a little light-hearted?'

'Light-headed would be a more apt term,' she admitted. 'This is an unexpected pleasure.' Then, fearing he could possibly take too much from that confession, she added hastily, 'You see, I've never been out to the coast in this district. Visits from home have always been too short to do so.'

He considered her reply in silence while staring ahead at the tarsealed road winding through the hilly country.

Contentment wrapped itself about her as she gazed at the high slopes where dark green pines and stately poplars held back slips of soil erosion, and eventually she asked, 'Are there hills all the way to the coast?'

'Yes, range after range of them, but apart from climbing over a few ridges the road finds its way along the valleys.'

They passed well-established country homes, most of them nestling within the shelter of plantations and approached by tree-lined drives. Sheep and cattle grazed the vivid green growth of spring pastures, shearing sheds stood surrounded by railed yards, and hay barns held the remains of winter feed.

'It all looks so peaceful,' Lynn was forced to comment.

He arched an eyebrow in her direction. 'Entirely different from your own environment at home, where there's the buzz of the community on all sides. I doubt that this tranquillity would suit you for long.'

She felt nettled. 'What makes you say that?'

'The fact that you're Delphine's friend. The old saying would prove itself to be true.'

She turned to stare at him. 'What old saying?'

'Birds of a feather flock together. Like Delphine, you'd become bored with the peace and quietness.'

'You're jumping to conclusions again.' She smiled, determined to not take offence. 'Frog Hollow is peaceful, and I'm not even remotely bored.'

He laughed. 'Give it time and you'll become fed up with the silence. At the moment it is just something that's different from home and all its hubbub of activity. In any case, Frog Hollow is close to town, but how would you feel about settling away out in the backblocks?'

'That would depend upon the man with whom I settled.' She sent him a sly peep of innocent enquiry. 'Tell me, Blair—are all men the same, or is it just that some disguise their male chauvinism more cleverly than others?'

'Are you suggesting there are no happy marriages?'

'No, of course not. My parents never hide the fact that they love each other. I think it keeps them feeling young.'

'My own parents are rather like that. Personally I consider it important for the right people to meet each other.'

Had he never met the right person? she wondered, taking unobtrusive glances at his handsome profile, and at his well-shaped hands resting on the steering-wheel. Not that the answer to that question really interested her, of course. And then her thoughts were diverted as they topped the summit of a long hill and were offered a panoramic view of receding ridges which became lower as they reached the coast. Beyond them lay the sea, a vast expanse of blue stretching towards a distant horizon.

'That's the South Pacific Ocean,' he informed her.

'That much I happen to know,' she returned with a laugh.

When they reached the coast he drove along a sea-front road to where beach cottages nestled at the foot of a line of sloping hills. Some of them were occupied, although the majority appeared to be closed while waiting for weekend residents.

A Norfolk-pine-sheltered turning bay at the end of the road enabled him to point the car's bonnet towards home, but instead of driving back at once he recalled his earlier intention and switched off the motor. Then, bending to unlace his shoes, he said, 'Let's go for a walk along the sands.'

She followed suit by slipping off her own shoes and the socks she wore beneath her leisure pants, then felt suddenly carefree as she followed him over soft sand to where a track ran beside the base of bare grey cliffs.

'This is called Muddy Point,' he informed her. 'This track is just firm clay that has slid down from the cliffs. It goes only a short distance.'

To their left a wide flat reef, cluttered with rocks and large grey clay boulders, stretched towards the surf that broke in a line of curling white foam. They wandered across it, pausing at times to peer into pools glistening between the rocks, or to pick up small iridescent shells that glowed in a variety of pinks, blues and mauves.

On one slippery surface her foot slid, almost causing her to overbalance, and it was only his swift grip on her arm that saved her from falling. His hand then moved to hold her own in a firm clasp, his touch sending tingles through her nerves. She peeped at him, wondering if he had sensed a similar effect, but his casual attitude gave no indication that holding her hand meant anything at all. Nor did he try to retain it when she released it gently.

Instead he gazed out to sea and said nonchalantly, 'If you swam far enough in a straight line you'd hit the south Chilean coast.'

'And very chilly you'd be,' she quipped back, glad of a diversion to help her feel normal. 'Don't let me stop you if you feel the urge to set off—but do watch out for sharks. I'll take the Peugeot home for you.'

'Do you think you could drive it?'

'I'd do my best not to hit anything.'

'I must let you take the wheel on some occasion.'

She gaped at him, scarcely able to believe her ears. 'You'd actually allow me to drive your—your precious Peugeot?'

'Why not? And what's so precious about it?'

His reply left her speechless, yet conscious of a growing suspicion. Was it her imagination that he was being especially nice to her? She felt sure it was not—therefore what did he have in mind? Was he trying to gain her confidence? Was that the entire reason she was being given this outing? The questions tumbled about in her thoughts, warning her to be on her guard. But against what?

And then her apprehensions were swept aside as she listened to his voice telling her of his more youthful days spent on this beach—of fishing trips in launches, and of moonlight picnics round bonfires built on the sands. Had she ever tasted foil-wrapped potatoes and sausages cooked in the hot embers? She hadn't? Then that omission in her education must be remedied.

She hardly noticed when they left the flat reef and reached the firm sand which made walking easier, and it was only when she turned round to look back that she realised how far they had wandered. The beach cottages were now hidden beyond Muddy Point, while the tips of the Norfolk pines could be seen peeping above it. 'How far do you intend to walk?' she asked, forcing a light tone into her voice.

'No further than this, because the tide's on its way in.' He stood still, staring towards the upper reaches of the beach, then added, 'We'll take a short rest on the dry sand beside those coastal shrubs, then we'll head for home.'

He took her hand again, then guided her across the sands towards a position nicely protected from the cool breeze that had now sprung up. The low growth of coastal shrubs also sheltered them from the observation of anyone who might walk along the sands, and as she sat down she became aware of the isolation of the place.

For some unknown reason she began to feel tense, waiting for she knew not what. However, within a short time she realised her fears were groundless because nothing happened. Blair merely lay back against the sandy turf, his hands clasped behind his head while he gazed at the sky.

'Old Max seems to be improving in health,' he remarked at last, his words coming as an anticlimax.

'Yes, thank goodness.'

'Your pleasant company and the good food placed before him are beginning to show results.'

His words caused an inner glow which remained hidden as she said, 'People living alone are apt to become lazy about preparing meals for themselves.'

'So, how long do you intend staying with him?' The question was put to her casually.

She thought for several minutes before answering. 'I haven't decided,' she admitted at last.

'Your own special plans will not force you to leave?' he drawled.

The mention of plans hit her ears with something of a shock. The subject had come up before, she recalled, but she merely smiled as she said, 'I'm not in any great hurry to rush away from Grandy.'

'Why do I get the feeling there's something you're not telling me?' he asked, turning on his side to look at her.

'Probably because your mind is good at building up suspicions. And may I point out that you've said very little about yourself? You know much more about me than I know about you,' she added, hoping to switch the conversation away from herself.

'Would you be interested?' he queried.

'Of course,' she exclaimed, hoping she didn't sound too eager.

He moved a few inches closer to her. 'Well, when I left boarding-school I came home expecting to begin work on Marshlands, but Dad had other ideas. He declared that a man who knew only his own small patch retained a small mind to match, therefore he sent me away to gain experience on other properties—but you already know that.'

Something stronger than herself forced her to say, 'There must have been an attractive daughter on at least one of those properties. Someone who could ride, and who wasn't a city type.'

'You're probing,' he teased accusingly. 'You're anxious to know whether or not I fell in love.'

'Anxious? Certainly not. Why should I be anxious?' she flared, furious with herself for having uttered the words, and aware that a flush had risen to her cheeks.

'Indeed, why should you care?' he drawled smoothly. 'However, I can assure you that marriage was the last thing on my mind because--like you—I had plans for overseas travel.'

His words amazed her. 'Like me? Who says I have plans for overseas travel?'

'Sandra says she feels sure you're considering it,' he said, watching her through half-closed lids.

Indignation shook her. 'You've discussed me with Sandra?' she demanded angrily.

'There's no need to become ruffled,' he soothed. 'She was merely saying what she felt to be a fact.'

Lynn fought to control her irritation. 'I have not discussed overseas travel with Sandra. If she says so, she's lying. And for your information I haven't given it any thought at all.'

'Nevertheless you'll be off—sooner or later,' he persisted, watching her closely.

'Oh, perhaps at some time in the dim future,' she conceded, knowing that at present her books were keeping her too busy to think of travel—but there was no need to admit that fact.

'Possibly sooner than anyone realises,' he commented drily.

The words surprised her. 'What makes you so sure about that?'

'It's just a suspicion that keeps nagging at me.'

'Suspicion? Surely that word is too strong for something that can have little or no interest for you?'

'Perhaps I've given it more thought than you realise.' His eyes had become hooded, emphasising the shadows within their depths.

She gave a shaky laugh. 'I fail to see why any travel plans of mine could possibly interest you.. .' The words died on her lips as light dawned, causing her jaw to sag slightly. Of course—travel plans to take Tony to his mother. Her spirits plunged to zero, making her feel almost sick as she realised the depth of his distrust. Obviously, the plans hinted at by Grandy had been fanned into something more extensive by Sandra.

She took several deep breaths to control the angry words rising to her lips, and, while she longed to give vent to her feelings, she knew that to do so would cause a quarrel which would completely ruin the remainder of the afternoon. It was something she wished to avoid, therefore she switched back to the former topic of himself.

Forced brightness tinged her words as she said, 'Tell me more about your earlier years.'

He looked at her for several long moments then complied, perhaps because he too thought that a change of subject would be wiser.

Lynn's tension left her as she listened to his deep voice recounting incidents, and she also became convinced that Grandy was right in saying that Blair was a man of stability. A man to be relied upon. His loyalty to Stan was proof enough of that fact. Then, as she became even more comfortably relaxed, and despite her determination to avoid chatting about herself, she found small happenings with her own group of close friends slipping off her tongue.

Watching the animation on her face he queried casually. 'No doubt one of these city fellows was your... lover?'

She glared at him, her green eyes flashing with indignation. 'You've got a nerve to make such a suggestion. I've never had a lover—either in the true sense of the word, or in the way you mean.'

He frowned, then demanded sharply, 'The way I mean? What way would that be?'

'You're referring to a... a one-night stand—which is all you would be likely to offer,' she flung at him furiously, then, realising what she had said, a slow flush began to creep from her neck and up to her brow. She also became aware of how completely he had broken down her reserve. Well—not quite completely, she assured herself, because she had not yet admitted to her small success in the realm of children's books.

'I had no idea your opinion of me was so low,' he gritted. 'You make me sound like the proverbial tomcat.'

'Then hear this—I'm nobody's tabby,' she flashed at him.

His manner changed abruptly. 'I'm pleased about that,' he said in a low voice that had become husky, and, as he turned to face her, his arms slid round her body to draw her against him.

The action was so unexpected that she could only stare at him, her eyes widening with surprise, her instincts warning her to be wary.

Leaning over her he stared down into her face. 'Relax,' he advised. 'Get rid of that tension.'

She returned his gaze wordlessly, suspecting she was about to be kissed and wondering what she should do about it.

He guessed at her thoughts. 'Well—have you decided?'

'Decided about what?'

'Whether you'll scramble to your feet and race back to the beach cottages where you can yell for help, or be kissed like a sensible girl. Which is it to be?'

She continued to stare up into his face while turning the question over in her mind. 'Something tells me a sensible girl would flee for her life.'

'Are you always completely sensible?' The words were murmured in her ear while he nuzzled her ear-lobe.

She gave a shaky laugh. 'At the moment common sense seems to have been swept out to sea.'

'Good. I hope it stays there.' He lowered his head and found her lips with his own, brushing them backwards and forwards with a gentle seduction that sent her pulses racing.

She told herself that this was merely a momentary madness that must not be allowed to send her up into the clouds. She must keep control of her senses, and in a few moments the blood would cease to hammer in her temples.

His voice murmured against her mouth. 'Are your arms paralysed? Why aren't they round my neck?'

A sudden shyness engulfed her. 'Is that where you want them?'

'Do you have to be told?' The question came quietly.

Hesitantly she obeyed, her arms creeping up to enfold his shoulders until her fingers found the hair at the nape of his neck. As they entwined in it gently, she felt his quick intake of breath and the deepening of his kiss. Her lips parted, and, as his arms tightened about her, the urge to respond washed over her with the force of an ocean wave.

Vaguely, a voice whispered to watch her step, but it was hushed to oblivion by the flood of sensations surging through her body to lift her into the clouds. But as his hands kneaded their way down her spine to grip her buttocks and press her even closer, a small cry of protest escaped her. 'Please, Blair, no more... we must stop.'

'Please means more,' he teased. 'I can hear your heart beating. It seems to have gone wild.'

'It has not,' she denied breathlessly. 'That thump-thump is the sound of your own heart ‑'

'Then let me listen to make sure,' he laughed, making a rapid change of position which enabled him to lay his head against her breast. 'There, now—I told you so. I can hear every word it says.'

A tremor passed through her body, making it impossible to sound prosaic as she scoffed lightly, 'Nonsense ‑'

'It's being quite frank,' he assured her. 'It's crying out for us to make love.'

'Then it's telling lies because I have no intention ‑-'

'Not just at the moment, perhaps.'

'Not ever,' she exclaimed vehemently.

'You'd better believe the time will come,' he assured her while regarding her through eyes that were unsmiling, then a swift movement of his hand unzipped the front of her top, exposing the soft full roundness of her breast. His head bent quickly, his mouth finding the taut nipple.

She gasped at the unexpectedness of it, and despite the thrilling sensations that swept through her she struggled to pull up the zip. Pleasure weakened her indignation, but she managed to say, 'If you imagine that I'm your plaything to be picked up and then dropped— you can think again.'

'I'm not interested in playthings,' he told her seriously.

Her eyes held questions as she asked in a derisive tone, 'Then what are you interested in? An affair that gets nowhere?'

He turned and stared towards the sea. 'At the moment my main interest lies in the tide. If we don't move smartly we'll be unable to get past Muddy Point without a good soaking.' He stood up, then held out his hand to pull her to her feet, his arms again enfolding her and drawing her closely against his body.

Gazing at him mutely, she realised that his arousal had not subsided, and this became very evident as he kissed her once more, the fierceness of his mouth almost taking her breath away. But when he released her abruptly, then snatched at her hand to almost drag her along the upper reaches of the sand, she was unsure whether she was gripped by relief or disappointment.

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