We come to a slightly tricky bit, where the rocks shelve steeply into the sea and he holds out a hand to help me climb up and over them. His hand feels cool and wet, and a little shiver runs through me at the connection. When I hop down finally onto the sand of Harmony Cove, I misjudge the jump and bump into him, and he puts his hands round my waist to steady me.
My dress has ridden up and my bare thighs are pressed against him, and when I look up, my laughing apology dies on my lips. He’s staring down at me, a look of such intensity in his eyes, that my legs turn to cotton wool.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
His hands tighten on my waist and I turn my face up to his as the gap between us closes…
The shock - as a great wave slaps against us - breaks the spell, and we both start laughing and can’t stop. He takes my hand and leads me, still giggling, away from the rocks and the water’s edge, and we collapse onto the softer sand of the beach to catch our breath.
I lie back, supported on my elbows, stretching out my bare legs, sighing happily, and Gabe does the same.
‘What a gorgeous day.’ I glance across at his handsome, tanned profile. Strong nose. Full mouth. Sun-kissed hair. He looks relaxed, shielding his eyes to stare out to sea at the handful of guys in wetsuits making the most of the surf.
He nods. ‘Great waves. There’s an off-shore breeze today – perfect for surfing.’
‘Really? Do you surf yourself?’
‘I used to when I was a kid and we lived down here. But then we moved away, to landlocked Manchester, when I was fifteen. We kept the house down here, though, for holidays, and now Mum and Dad have moved back here permanently. He grins and tweaks a lock of my hair. ‘I like it.’
I laugh, remembering I must look a sight. ‘No, you don’t.’
‘I do, actually. I mean, you’ve obviously cut it yourself, but I think it’s cute.’
‘Thank you.’ I feel myself blushing. ‘Maybe I’ll not bother with the cap, then.’
‘You shouldn’t.’
Aware of his eyes on me, I gaze at the view and say, a little self-consciously, ‘It’s lovely here, isn’t it?’
‘Beautiful,’ he murmurs, and when I turn, he’s looking directly at me.
The breath catches in my throat. Suddenly overwhelmed by his very masculine presence, all I can do is smile shyly and look away. The nearness of him is intoxicating – his scent, his smile, his tumbled caramel hair, wet with sea-spray, the lovely masculine hardness of his body beside me. The blood is leaping in my veins. I feel fully alive, for the first time in a very long time.
He lies back on the sand, settling his head in his hands. ‘I might try a bit of surfing while I’m here.’
‘How long are you here for?’
He looks across at me, squinting a little in the sun. ‘Just the week. I’m going back on Monday to face my exams.’
‘Oh.’ I nod and smile to cover up the hollow feeling of disappointment that he’s leaving so soon.
‘Are you free tomorrow?’ He sits up, his forearms on his raised knees. A lock of wet hair flops down over his forehead, making me want to reach up and push it back. ‘I could do with more distractions like this. Can’t study for more than four hours at a time.’
I nod. ‘I’ve no idea when the factory job will be, so I’ll just be painting.’
‘Could I prise you away from your watercolours to go for the occasional walk? Or maybe dinner?’
‘Dinner?’ I find myself staring at him, like a rabbit caught in the headlights.
He chuckles. ‘I’m not that scary, am I?’
I laugh. ‘No! You’re not scary in the slightest.’ Actually, that’s not true. I’m finding it absolutely terrifying how much I’m attracted to this man.
‘Good.’
I glance down at the sand. ‘Dinner would be lovely. But…’
‘Hey, don’t worry about the bill. It’s on me, okay?’
I manage a smile. ‘Okay. Thank you.’ I hate not being able to offer to go Dutch.
‘Do you like seafood?’
‘Love it.’
‘Great. There’s an amazing little restaurant by the harbour where you can eat the freshest fish I’ve ever tasted. If you like seafood, you’ll love it.’
‘I do.’
‘What about Saturday night?’
I nod happily.
‘I promise not to bore about engineering.’
‘And I promise not to bore about painting.’
He shakes his head. ‘That wouldn’t bore me at all. I’d like to hear about it. I’m always so envious of artistic people.’
‘You’re just being polite.’
‘No, I’m not. I know nothing about art except the obvious. The Impressionists and Van Gough are about the extent of my knowledge.’
Laughing, I say, ‘Right, you asked for it! The history of watercolours coming up, possibly starting with – ooh, let me see - the Egyptians, who created the very first man-made blue pigment from chemicals and metal filings around the year 4500 BC.’
He grins lazily at me. ‘Is that a fact?’
I nod. ‘A fascinating fact. But the recipe was lost until archaeologists unearthed the ruins of Pompeii centuries later and samples of “Egyptian Blue”, as it was later named, were found to have been used by artists there. And scientists were able to work out the formula.’
‘That is fascinating.’
I grin. ‘Don’t lie.’
‘I’m not. And funnily enough, I’ve got a fascinating engineering fact for you that also involves Egypt.’
‘Go on, then,’ I say, already grinning in anticipation.
‘Okay. The very first engineer in the history of engineering was the man who built the first Pyramid of Egypt for the Pharaoh Djoser. The engineer guy was called Imhotep, if you’re interested.’
‘Oh. The Pyramid of Djoser. I’ve actually heard of that.’
‘Really? No-one else has.’ He runs a hand through his hair and smiles ruefully.
‘Mum and Dad went to Egypt and I remember Dad going on about what you’ve just told me.’
‘Going on, eh? Sorry if I was boring you.’
‘You weren’t!’
He laughs. ‘Speaking of engineering, I’d better get back to do some studying.’
I nod. Our time is over. ‘Of course.’
We exchange a smile, his eyes lingering on mine, and I’m expecting him to get up but he doesn’t move. He transfers his gaze to the blue horizon, and we sit there in silence for a moment.
At last, he says, ‘I’d suggest an ice-cream at that little café up there, but I think the tide is turning so we’d better head back.’
‘Okay.’
He leaps to his feet and holds out his hand, pulling me to my feet with ease, and I brush sand off my legs.
‘We could go for a drink in one of the harbour cafes, if you like?’ he suggests. ‘Not that I’m trying to put off the revision or anything.’
‘No, of course not. Perish the thought.’ I laugh, my heart dancing at the thought of spending a little longer in his company.
We walk over to the water’s edge and start picking our way back over the rocks to Pengully Sands beach. It seems easier this time for some reason. In fact, I feel different. Emotion is bubbling up inside me, making my heart expand as if it’s getting ready for me to burst into song.