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She turned her head to the side and, sure enough, found his eyes on the tender sweep of her neck, exposed in all its delicate vulnerability by her pixie haircut. ‘Why, Luke, do you harbour erotic fantasies about being a vampire?’
His colour had darkened, although it could have been the heat of the sun on his bare head that was making him look flushed. ‘I was thinking of strangling rather than biting!’ he growled, reluctantly picking up the tube of suns
creen that was poking out of the top of her beach bag.
‘Pity. Vampires are much sexier than common-or-garden stranglers!’
His subsequent wordless application of the sunscreen was far more brisk than sensuous but Rosalind didn’t take him to task because she discovered the sensation of those firm hands massaging across her sun-warmed skin too disturbing for comfort. This time there was nothing to blame for the faint buzz that vibrated through her nerve-ends but her own bio-electrical system. Wherever Luke touched her it was as if a static discharge occurred—one that seemed to grow rather than to fade with continued contact. Rosalind was literally live to his touch!
Her amusement was mixed with chagrin at the unexpected physical attraction, especially as Luke gave no sign of being similarly affected. He was supposed to be an entertaining holiday distraction, not an added complication to her life. Still, as long as she kept that firmly in the forefront of her mind there could be no danger of her behaving like a real-life Pygmalion and falling in love with her own creation. She had made a promise to Luke, and she couldn’t let him down. She would shake him up and turn him loose and in the meantime rely on her strong self-discipline to control any inconvenient pangs of lust!
So from then on Rosalind threw herself wholeheartedly into the task of making Luke seem irresistible to members of the opposite sex while quietly maintaining a discreet physical distance herself. She deliberately gave him no rest, filling every moment with activities which she hoped would so focus his concentration that he would forget the awkward self-consciousness that seemed to afflict him around other people.
Following their jet-skiing success, Rosalind took him snorkelling later the same afternoon and was relieved to find that he was as sleek as a seal in the water, though he regrettably seemed more interested in the teeming marine life on the reef than in the occasional eligible human female who drifted in his direction. They joined a dozen or so others in one of Tioman’s distinctive, long wooden bumboats which plied for hire around the coast, to travel to a tiny, rocky off-shore island a scant few minutes from the hotel jetty.
Rosalind marvelled at the vivid fans of waving coral, and the iridescent colours of some of the fish that darted in and out of the rocks. There were gliding mantas and creeping crustaceans, flowing sea anemones and rocking sea urchins with jewel-like blue spots glowing between their long spines.
As they floated face down in the shallows around the island Rosalind was tempted by the idea of booking a scuba-dive and exploring the deeper riches of the sea, until Luke drew closer to her side and motioned towards the seabed, pointing out a young shark sleeking between the rocks. She decided then that perhaps she wasn’t ready yet for another close encounter with any denizens of the deep!
The next day they took a three-hour guided walk through the forested valleys to the village of Juara, on the other side of the island. It was hot and still in the depths of the interior, the trunks of massive trees bearing such evocative names as sandalwood and camphor soaring skywards from the forest floor, their distant green canopy almost obscured by the lacy foliage of the palms and shrubs of the undergrowth through which they walked, and Rosalind was grateful to their guide for his frequent pauses on the banks of cool, boulder-strewn streams.
The steamy heat seemed to have little effect on Luke, who chafed at Rosalind’s tendency to fall back amongst the stragglers and linger over every new orchid spite, every small lizard or exotic butterfly she spied.
In the afternoon they caught a bumboat back around the south coast, stopping off at Mukut village, from which they trekked up to the famous waterfall. Luke had never seen South Pacific and had been slightly contemptuous of the reason for Rosalind’s eager pilgrimage, but he couldn’t deny that the scenery itself was spectacular and Rosalind had her revenge for his sarcastic remarks about cultural imperialism in general and the silliness of musicals in particular by singing him every song from the show that she could remember, much to the amusement of others they passed on the walk.
Washing men out of her hair seemed particularly appealing, and she sang that one several times with special emphasis on their way back down to the boat, accompanying it with jaunty dance steps that criss-crossed in front of Luke’s stride until he was goaded into begging her to stop.
Lake got his own back the next day, however, when Rosalind offered to teach him to windsurf. When he appeared ready to protest she overrode him with her usual bossy enthusiasm, stressing that everyone was clumsy at first but it was just a matter of persistence. She very kindly didn’t say that she expected him to be a more clumsy beginner than most, but the message was subtly delivered by her condescending grin. And so it proved.
She made Luke walk parallel to her on the sand while she sailed the board along to the secluded end of the long beach to show him how it was done. The breeze was gentle but steady and the sea glass-like in its smoothness, so the conditions were as perfect as they could be for a beginner.
Given Luke’s seal-like grace in the water, Rosalind was confident that once he got over his nervous fear of making a fool of himself he would soon pick up the basics, but to her frustration he proved so fumblingly inept that it took her ages merely to get him standing upright on the board. In the process she became his waterlogged sea anchor, her arms and hands aching from holding the board steady while he tried to find his elusive sense of balance.
When, finally, after more than an hour of careful coaching, he progressed to actually pulling the sail upright, he would invariably lose his stability before the wind had time to fill it and topple off again, usually in her direction, smacking down in a tangle of splayed limbs, sending yet another shock blast of salt water shooting up into her eyes, nose and mouth.
She couldn’t lose her temper because each time it happened Luke was so very apologetic, so desperate to master the simple skill, so insistent that if she would just bear with him he would eventually succeed. She didn’t have the heart to tell him that he might as well give it up as a lost cause, not after she had stressed the importance of persistence.
Even worse, his body seemed to be constantly bumping and rubbing up against hers as they struggled with the board and the wet sail. She had to help boost him up onto the deck and guide his legs into position and reach around him to show him the handholds. Every time she moved, his cool flesh somehow got in her way. Her hands slipped and slid against his smooth, wet skin, sometimes skidding off into dangerous territory, and the water proved a wonderful conductor for the zinging electrical awareness that intensified each time their bodies made contact.
Oh, for the temperate waters of New Zealand where most windsurfers wore demure wetsuits! Rosalind inwardly wailed as Luke took another tumble, one slick thigh fleetingly thrust between hers, its slight roughness rasping the highly sensitive skin and catching on the silky fabric of her bikini, giving it an intimate little nudge that, for Rosalind, was the last straw.
She faked, very professionally, standing on something sharp and painful. Just painful enough to necessitate her limping ashore to check the wound, not painful enough to require his assistance.
‘It’s not as if there’s any blood. I’ll be fine...you carry on with what you’re doing,’ she said, hastily wading beyond his long reach. ‘Maybe you just need a bit of time fooling about on your own to get the hang of it, anyway...’
She limped up the beach to their towels in a masterful piece of underplaying, conscious of Luke’s eyes boring into her back. She sat down and made a show of inspecting the sole of her foot before giving him a reassuring wave and relaxing back on her elbows with a grateful sigh. She watched him broodingly. This was ridiculous. Why was she running away? He was a perfectly nice man. Why on earth shouldn’t she conduct this phony flirtation for real?
Her eyes drifted closed as she contemplated the idea. Although Luke might be inexperienced with women he was intellectually mature, a full-grown, well-educated adult holding down a highly responsible job. It wouldn’t be as if she were seducing an innocent boy for h
er own amusement. And there would be no question of exploring the attraction if it didn’t prove to be mutual...
She must have dozed off because when next she opened her eyes Luke was nowhere in sight. She sat up in alarm, her anxious gaze sweeping the bay, visions of finding him floating face down in the water dancing in her head. And it would be all her fault for pushing him beyond his physical capabilities!
Her jaw dropped when she finally spotted the distinctive green sail emblazoned with the hotel’s palm logo breezing out towards the open sea. As she watched, Luke shifted his weight, swinging the sail around and moving back towards the shore, tacking to take best advantage of the light off-shore wind.
Hmm!
By the time he beached the board and strolled up the sand her suspicions were simmering.
