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“We picked up a major news supply network for the app. They’ll cover Africa. It’s a real coup.”
He nodded. “That’s good.” And it was. But it only frayed the outside edges of his concentration. “I like this dress.” His eyes were drawn to the William Morris print – though he didn’t know it was William Morris, of course. He saw only a pale blue background with collections of mysterious little swallows warbling their way across it. It was dainty and feminine, and very Carrie Beauchamp 1.0. The Carrie he’d known briefly, in the last flourish of her teenage years.
“Thank you.” She ran her hands down the silky fabric. “Liberty dresses are my weakness.”
“Liberty dresses?”
She waved a hand through the air. “A department store with the most beautiful fabrics in the world.” She sighed. “They cost a fortune but I have no will-power where they’re concerned.”
He could completely understand a lack of will-power. He’d been grappling with his own since they’d met again. He moved across to her, and put a hand on either side of the railing, bracing her against the boat. They looked out at the ocean together, the wind whipping through Carrie’s hair and plastering the dress to her body.
Gael held her, and breathed in her sweet softness. “Would you like a tour?”
She wanted a hell of a lot more than a tour. She swallowed and nodded wordlessly. Gael reached down and linked his fingers through hers.
The boat was, as Carrie had initially thought, enormous. Seven bedrooms, each with sleek timber furnishings and white bed linen, two entertaining areas, a fully fitted kitchen and several bathrooms. He led her to a glassed in observation deck last.
“Here we have the view without the wind.” He smiled, indicating for her to take a seat. “Coffee?”
“Yes, please. Coffee is a balm to my soul. Especially at this hour.”
He smiled to himself as he pressed the button on the machine. A single black shot poured out; he placed it aside then made his own coffee.
“You don’t take milk?” He asked as an afterthought.
Carrie pulled a face as she shook her head. Another interesting piece of information about this woman, Gael thought curiously. Did she avoid milk as he did, because he preferred the robust strength of black coffee? Or was it another of her apparent vanity measures. There was so much to her that he didn’t yet understand.
Or was he choosing not to understand? Was he choosing to ignore the truth because he was terrified of what it would mean? Of how he would be implicated in the woman she’d become? Out of nowhere, he saw her in the rose garden at Forrest View. He heard her voice. He felt a throb in his gut.
“Do I have something on my face?” She asked self-consciously, lifting her fingers to her lips, and running them across the pale pink pout.
Gael stared at her face; so beautiful but so hidden. Beneath so much make-up and careful censoring of emotion. He itched to wipe the foundation away – to free her of the obfuscating mask she seemed to wear constantly.
“Gael? What are you looking at?” She leaned forward, intending to reach for a mirror in her handbag.
Gael caught her wrist and shook his head. “I’m looking for you,” he murmured, and he stood easily, his dark eyes heavy on her face.
It was on the tip of Carrie’s tongue to correct him – he had surely meant that he was looking at her – when he came to sit beside her. He ran a hand along the back of the white leather lounge, and the other he put on her upper thigh. He melded his mouth to hers slowly, curiously, as though it was their first kiss.
Their first kiss. She shifted a little, mortification spreading over her like a hot flash of misery. She pushed it away. That was a lifetime ago; a different girl. She kissed him back now as an equal, her hands clutching his shirtfront as though her whole life depended on it.
His tongue was probing her, exploring the recesses of her mouth, whispering secrets without saying a word. She sighed against his mouth, and her hands lifted higher until they tangled in his hair. Her body sagged with need. When had they last slept together? Only two nights ago? It might as well have been a lifetime. She pushed up on the sofa and straddled him, needing more. Closer contact, touch, skin. She pushed at his shirt, grunting when it resisted.
He laughed, but it was an uneven laugh, rich with his own eagerness. His fingers pushed her dress up easily, finding the soft skin of her back. He ran his hands over it, and she moved her hips, pressing lower, craving contact.
Gael’s laugh was throaty. “Dios Mio, I could take you here. You make me feel like an out of control teenager, and not a thirty five year old man.”
Carrie finally succeeded in pulling his shirt from his waistband. She felt his abdominals with awe, her eyes heavy with sensual greed. “Take me then.”
He closed his eyes on a wave of passion. “We are almost there.”
She didn’t ask where. “Take me quickly then.”
He tilted his head back and she chased his neck, running her tongue along the stubbled length. Her fingers fumbled with his belt, and the buckle of his jeans. She pushed them aside, and Gael shifted his weight a little, so that his arousal could be freed from his clothing. Carrie moaned as her hands wrapped around his length. She knelt up, and Gael used his hands to push aside her underwear. She took him hungrily and desperately, arching her back as she felt him fill her. She moaned against his ear as they moved in time with the rocking waves beneath the boat.
The boat slowed and their speed increased. Carrie exploded as the boat came in to dock against a simple timber pier. Gael’s face was pale from the exertion of holding his own release. He watched his beautiful lover, her young face pink beneath the make up, her eyes fluttered shut, and he felt as though strings were being tied in neat little lines around his heart, banding him together in a way he hadn’t known he needed.
“Gael?” She asked breathlessly, when she realised he was holding back. Her fingers were tight in his shirt.
