Page 87 of The House Swap

Anger now mixed with her fear and she started swimming again, this time with frantic determination. Her hands clawing at the water as she desperately tried to reach the boat.

‘That’s it,’ Martin encouraged as she eventually neared, though his tone was infuriatingly smug. ‘I told you that you could do it.’

Poppy reached for the ladder, but a swell lifted her, smacking her against the hull instead. Pain jolted through her shoulder and she gasped.

‘Careful now.’

‘Shut up!’ she spat.

Her hand found one of the metal rungs and she clamped her fingers around it so tightly, her knuckles hurt. She clung there for a moment, her cheek almost pressed to the side of the boat, as she sucked in ragged breaths.

Martin appeared at the edge, looking down.

She glared up at him. ‘Why didn’t you help me?’ she demanded.

‘You didn’t need my help. You had it under control.’

Poppy stared at him, too breathless to respond.

Her hands trembled as she tried to lift one foot onto the bottom rung. Her body was like a dead weight as she pulled herself up the ladder, the metal slippery beneath her toes once she was out of the water.

She almost lost her grip, but immediately Martin reached down, catching hold of her forearm.

‘Careful,’ he warned.

Poppy flinched at the contact, even though his grip was firm and steadying. ‘Let go of me!’

‘Then climb.’

Humiliation burned through her, hot and bitter. He stood back and watched while she hauled herself the rest of the way up, one shaky step at a time. As she eventually swung her leg over the side, her whole body quivered with exertion.

For a second, she just stood there, dripping seawater, her chest heaving and her heart banging against her ribs. Relief flooded through her so violently, it made her dizzy.

Martin picked up her towel from where it had fallen on the deck and held it out to her, and she didn’t miss the way his gaze slid down the length of her body, lingering for a moment too long on her breasts, then back up to her face.

She snatched the towel from him, quickly covering herself. Her skin prickled in the light breeze, despite the warmth from the sun.

‘You let yourself get worked up.’ He smirked.

‘Worked up?’ She stared at him in disbelief. ‘You think I was just worked up?’

‘You were never in any danger.’

He sounded so pragmatic, as though he believed he was being reasonable.

‘You moved the boat!’

‘What?’ Now he stared at her, looking shocked, as if he didn’t quite believe her accusation.

‘You moved it,’ Poppy snapped. ‘You did it on purpose.’

He continued to stare at her for a moment, but then he had the audacity to start laughing.

‘If I’d have started the boat, you would have heard the engine.’

‘But—’ she began, then stopped, realising he was right.

‘It drifted. That’s what happens when the anchor isn’t down.’