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'Of course not, I've seen better.' A valiant lie. 'You've got a bit of weight settling in, haven't you?'
To her delight he scowled. 'I'm working on it.'
He got his revenge that evening as she sat by the fire, reading one of his awful paperbacks with a frown on her face and a certain guilty fascination with the machinations of the rich and promiscuous characters. Ross usually took a long, relaxing spa after dinner, and tonight he wandered through with only a towel hitched around his hips, apparently to fetch a magazine.
As he bent to flick through the stack on the coffee table, Fran couldn't help seeing the towel part where the edges were rolled over at the hip, revealing the solid thigh flowing into his flank, the pale flesh there smooth and hairless in contrast to the thick dark coating on the strong legs and wide chest. He straightened and turned so that she was now staring at the front of his body, at the dangerous dip across his belly which showed the triangle of hair which faded to his navel, thickening out again below it. He sauntered casually over to stand boldly in front of her, magazines tucked under his arm.
'You don't seem very interested in that book. Want to come and join me?'
'No, thank you,' she said quickly, too quickly, mind tensing from the impact of all that bare male flesh.
'Come on, Frankie,' he wheedled. 'Don't be shy. You
told me that nurses were blasé about nakedness. Or is
it your body that embarrasses you?' His voice became
infuriatingly earnest. 'I know you're pretty skinny at the
moment, but from the glimpse I got the other night you
still have lovely breasts. Not as big as they used to be,
but still nicely shaped. That's one of the things I remem-
bered best about you, your—'
'Will you shut up?' Francesca threw the book aside, her face red with embarrassment and temper. 'We both know that I was fat. Fat and plain. I admit it, OK? You've got back at me for this morning, so let's just forget it now, shall we?'
The tormenting mockery left his face, but Fran was too busy staring hard at her feet to notice. 'You weren't fat, you were plump and the plumpness was in all the right places. I know that thinness is fashionable, but it flies in the face of human physiology. Women are supposed to carry extra pads of fat, their bodies are designed to have curves. I personally prefer a woman to look as nature intended her to, rather than to force herself into a fashionable strait-jacket of skin by excessive dieting or the offices of some quack plastic surgeon.'
Fran's eyes flew to his face, and away again, a warmth spreading through her body as she realised he was utterly sincere. It was all the more believable because he hadn't disputed her claim to have been plain. They both knew that she had been.
'Who are you to call plastic surgeons quacks?' she said teasingly, to hide the embarrassed pleasure she felt. 'Or am I mistaken that you've had your nose fixed?'
To her amusement Ross's hand flew to his nose and he actually flushed, forgetting he was supposed to be menacing her with his gorgeousness. 'Well, yes, but it wasn't my idea. The guy who did it got me to sign the form while I was still bleary with drugs after my first operation. He did the nose job before I realised what was going on.'
Fran was horrified. 'That sounds like a serious breach of ethics. Who was it?'
'Er...a personal friend,' Ross seemed uncomfortable. 'He'd been nagging me for years to get it done.'
'He should have left it the way it was,' said Fran tartly, when it seemed he wasn't going to enlarge on the statement.
He raised his eyebrow with a return of humour. 'To stop me from being stuck with the 'pretty boy' label? Do you think I'm too handsome, Princess? I assure you, I may be pretty, but I'm all man...'
The low, masculine purr made the hairs on the back of Francesca's neck rise as she watched, dry-mouthed, as he ran a caressing hand across the rippling muscles of his chest, down over the hard, slightly concave belly to the tuck of his towel. She jerked out of her chair and backed away from that awesome body.
'Oh, go and have your damned spa!' The warmth of his laughter followed her into the bedroom where she slammed the door and stood trying to control her breathing. Involuntarily her hand moved to cup her breast, and she flushed as she remembered his admiration. At fifteen she had been shocked as well as excited to discover how sensitive she was there. Her next sexual encounter, several years later, had reinforced that discovery, disappointing as the affair had been in almost all other respects, including her ultimate satisfaction. In fact, that short flirtation with modern sexual mores had persuaded her that she was one of those women who didn't have a particularly strong sex drive... or so she had thought until now! But then, she had never met a man who exuded blatant sexuality the way that Ross did.
She must try and conquer this silly habit of getting hot and flustered by his suggestive teasing, that was what he wanted...
The next morning she ignored his insufferable good humour at the breakfast table and took herself off for a leisurely walk, hunting for interesting pebbles on the beach. Idly she thought how nice it would be to spend a little time every now and then in such peaceful surroundings. Was there some way that she could perhaps keep the cabin and...
She stopped short, dropping all her carefully collected pebbles with a faint sound of dismay. Perhaps there was a way, but it would mean even more juggling of finances, and negotiating with the bank and perhaps trimming back on her capital investment. No, better to sell. A holiday home was hardly on the
list of her priorities ... it might be years before she had the time, or the spare cash, to take enough holidays to warrant one. Besides, a naughty voice whispered, without Ross around, the peaceful life would pall pretty quickly...
'What are you doing? Put that down!' she ordered tightly when she got back to the cabin and found Ross had taken it upon himself to shift around some of her plants. It seemed symptomatic of their relationship, Ross acting and she reacting.
