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A few preliminaries later and Pedro smiled again. ‘Right. Time to choose your board and get you wetsuited up.’
Exhilaration still rushed through Gabby’s whole body as she listened to him, still hardly able to believe that she had swum in the sea and was about to go back in.
Pedro was speaking. ‘Before we go into the water, there are various techniques you need to practise on the sand. Paddling out. Popping up. Then we will move into the water, and I hope by the end of the afternoon you’ll have caught your first wave!’
All her worries seemed to have dissipated—even the idea of catching a wave didn’t faze her.
Her jubilation continued throughout the lesson, enhanced by watching Zander, his lithe movements and natural affinity for the surfboard. Something warmed inside her as she saw how carefree he looked, saw the look of concentration on his face, the smile that heated her skin with an intensity equal to the afternoon sun’s rays, his deft, impatient movements as he pushed his hand through his sea-sprayed hair.
All of it gave her a funny little thrill of happiness, a sense of freedom—as if just for the day she was a different Gabby, one who had shed worry and caution.
The finale came when Pedro took them further out into the waves to put everything they had learnt into action. Zander lay on his board, his dark eyes intent and focused on the waves in assessment as he paddled. He bobbed, and then Pedro gave a small grunt of appreciation as Zander spotted the white-water wave, rode it and popped up.
‘Like a pro, Zander! Way to go!’ Pedro fist-pumped the air as Zander rode the wave in and then he turned to Gabby. ‘Are you ready?’
‘Yes!’ Whether she was able was a different matter.
Zander grinned at her, reached out and took her hand in his. ‘You’ve got this. I know you have.’
His voice was deep and genuine and his touch imbued her with confidence. The glint of appreciation in his blue eyes pumped her veins with a belief that she could do anything.
Grabbing her board, she headed out into the water, the sea swirling around her calves and then her thighs. She stood and let some white-water roll by, then closed her eyes as she tried to do as Pedro had instructed—get a feel for the rhythm and power of the waves. She held her surfboard in position, nose towards the waves.
OK. Now do this thing.
She identified a suitable incoming block of white water, took a deep breath and turned to face the shore. She lay on her board and paddled, focused. As the wave took the board and surged forward she stopped padd
ling, put her hands on the board, pushed up and popped her feet beneath her and did her best to stand and balance her weight.
As the surfboard washed on to shore she half fell, half leapt off, her muscle ache defeated by sheer exhilaration. ‘I did it. I did it. I did it! Again!’
Pedro high-fived her and Gabby made no attempt to disguise her happiness, turning to Zander.
‘At the risk of repeating myself—I did it! I did it! I did it! I did it! I caught a wave!’
‘You did. You were amazing. Utterly incredible. How about we celebrate with a picnic on the beach?’
She looked around her. The rays of the setting sun cast a miasma of orange on the sand, their glow in direct contrast to the darkening dusky blue of the sea. Music emitted from the restaurants that lined the promenade above them, and the hum of conversation and laughter vibrated in the air. Lights twinkled into being, more than sufficient to combat the incoming dusk and cast an ambient illumination.
The whole idea of a picnic was impossibly romantic. With the emphasis on impossibly. The day might have had a dreamlike quality, but Zander was not the man of her dreams—not her Mr Right. Her Mr Right was a nice, ordinary bloke, not a drop-dead gorgeous, immensely successful multimillionaire.
Zander had been unattainable when she was a teenager and he was even more unattainable now. He was too good-looking, too rich...too much. His world was not hers. His goal in life was to achieve even more wealth and boardroom triumph. His aura, his presence, would overwhelm her.
But today he had proved himself a friend—so, whilst romance wasn’t on the cards, surely there was no danger in the enjoyment of each other’s company.
‘A picnic sounds awesome.’
‘Leave it with me. Once we’ve changed, I’ll sort it.’
CHAPTER NINE
ZANDER LOOKED AROUND the small but excellently stocked supermarket Pedro had recommended, chose his items carefully, then added a bottle of full-bodied red and two plastic wine glasses to his basket. He wondered why he had suggested a picnic at all.
He tried to tell himself it was simply a ploy to put off their return to the villa, where he might be tempted to check in with the office. But deep down he knew that he was only kidding himself. Standing there on the beach, seeing Gabby’s joy in her achievements, still buzzing himself from the thrill of riding the waves, he had wanted to prolong the moment for as long as he could.
Friends had picnics all the time. One picnic—what could be the harm in that?
The answer arrived all too soon. As he made his way back to the beach, down the rickety wooden stairs towards where Gabby sat in the dusk, he stopped and caught his breath. Right now he wished with a deep gut-wrenching twist of desire that this was a fun fling for real, that the charade could be true.
