To Love, Honour and Disobey Page 5

  ‘No.’ He looked a little dazed. ‘I think it could work. It really could.’

  She knew it could. Because she was sure there were women out there like her who wanted but couldn’t afford, and wasn’t it better to hire than buy something you weren’t going to be using daily—these were not things anyone really needed. But it was about being able to have some fun. She wanted the fun.

  ‘The shoes you were wearing in the crater—’

  ‘Yeah. They’re some.’

  He laughed.

  She laughed too. ‘I know it’s mad.’

  ‘What made you wear them yesterday?’

  She shrugged. Not wanting to admit it had been because of him.

  ‘You should wear them more.’

  She couldn’t stop her smile then. ‘I’ve got some with even higher heels.’

  ‘No way.’

  She nodded and told him of some of her other insane purchases. Loved his grin, loved his questions and his belief in the idea. They talked for hours, halfway through the night. Until everyone around them was asleep except poor Bundy driving in the cab in the front.

  And then they didn’t talk any more. There was just that slow burning awareness as the truck drove on, the noise of the engine rough and loud in the wide, still night. Eventually she moved—forced herself to get away. Lay on the bagged tents that had been stacked in the aisle and stretched out—the most comfortable spot on the truck. The tarpaulin roof was still pulled back and she had the most incredible view of the stars, watching the lights that were moving—satellites or space junk or something. It was so dark she could barely make out the shadow of the other passengers. But of one thing she was certain. He was watching her.

  Man, it was hot—since the second the sun had started to rise its power had been extreme. It didn’t help that Seb was now sitting in the seat next to the aisle and Ana’s long tanned legs were swinging down beside him from where she was perched back up on the crossbars that supported the tarpaulin covering. The drive through the night had nearly been the death of him. While he’d enjoyed how they’d talked, he wished like hell they’d been alone—or were alone now. Then he’d tug on that delectably fine-boned ankle and pull her down, kiss her as he’d been dreaming of kissing her for days. Watching her rest on the bagged tents in the wee small hours, he’d fantasised about the kind of mattress they’d make if only they were alone. If only she’d say yes. If only they weren’t bloody married and had enough mess between them already.

  The frustration was driving him crazy. There had been no one since her. And now he realised he wanted no one but her. But it would be beyond stupid. They’d muddied their lives enough with what they’d done the last time they’d given into temptation. They wanted different things—she wanted the whole happy-ever-after commitment bit and he just wanted fun and carefree. Problem was he only wanted to do fun with her.

  Dar es Salaam came into view. Finally. Big and busy and when would the damn boat arrive to take them to Zanzibar? Seb was over the whole budget tourist thing. Of course he could stop here—ditch the truck and its passengers and go on his own road. But he couldn’t bring himself to. Not now the fire had been lit in him once more. He’d remain a slave to temptation—bitten by the bug. He was enjoying her company too much to walk away just yet. And there was that hint of hope, wasn’t there? He could see that look in her eye. So he couldn’t leave.

  It felt like for ever but finally Ana got off the boat and onto the island of Zanzibar. She needed to rest. The lack of sleep she’d had last night was messing with her reason and she was thinking things she really shouldn’t.

  Tempting things. Wicked things.

  Ever since he’d told her to stay away she’d felt the desire to do the exact opposite. So she climbed into the waiting Jeep, moved along so he could sit beside her and they were taken away from the bustling Stone Town to one of the beaches on the far side of Zanzibar.

  There were four bandas—huts—in a row and then another four behind those. The rest of the budget resort consisted of a large open-air bar/restaurant and an open-top toilet and shower facility. Basic at best. But so incredibly beautiful.

  She walked into the banda that had been assigned to her and Seb. An A-frame made of wood and palm, its only furniture four built-in cot-like beds—bare wooden frames with canvas stretching over them—hard and only a fraction wider than single beds. There was no floor, just soft sand underfoot. And a door made of the same mass of woven-together leaves.

  She turned and found he was standing in the doorway behind her. The weather gods had smiled upon her and he’d been in the mosquito net under the stars outside her tent every night since that first. But their tents and nets were back on the truck in Dar es Salaam and now there was just this dim, spacious hut.

  ‘I don’t think we should share,’ he said, arms folded across his chest. ‘I’ll see if there’s room in anoth—’

  ‘It’s OK.’ She avoided looking at him. They were adults. They could handle it.

  Besides, there was no way they could both squash up on those cots. Not without being on top of each other. But, oh, didn’t she want just that?

  No.

  She stepped back at the same time as he and they avoided each other all afternoon as if by tacit agreement. As the evening progressed they sat on opposite sides of the bar and joined in the conversation with the others. Ana didn’t drink. Nor, she noted, did he. Too dangerous. Any hint of intoxication would see her will sliding from her. Temptation would be impossible to resist.

  So she played it safer still, loitering in the bar until it was late, changed into her sleepwear in the bathroom facility. Left it long enough to be sure he’d be already tucked safely away.

  She didn’t look at him as she slid inside her thin silk sleeping bag.

  ‘Goodnight, Ana.’ He flicked the torch off.

  ‘Night, Seb.’

  The narrow cot creaked as she wriggled on it, bunching up her fleece jumper again, trying to push it into more of a comfy pillow. Seb muttered about the length of the hard little beds. Then silence.

  Minutes that felt like hours later she knew he was still awake. Could feel the awareness swirling between them in the room. She counted sheep, thought happy thoughts, closed her eyes and consciously tried to relax all her muscles.

  Failed.

  There was nothing else for it. They were just going to have to do more of what they’d been too busy to do before.

  Talk.

  ‘Seb?’

  ‘Mmm-hmm.’

  ‘Are you awake?’

  ‘Obviously.’

  She grinned in the darkness and rolled onto her side to face him. ‘Did you tell your parents you got married?’

  ‘Hell, no,’ he laughed.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Well, for one thing you walked out before I had the chance. And for another they have enough failed marriages between them not to need me adding to the tally.’

  ‘Your parents are divorced?’

  ‘Three times each. Mum is on her fourth marriage now. Dad’ll no doubt play catch-up soon.’

  Ana wished like hell she could see his face right now. ‘You’re kidding.’

  ‘Would I make that up?’ Wow.

  What an experience. ‘When did they divorce each other?’ He sighed. ‘Do you really want to know this?’

  ‘Yes.’ ‘They separated when I was twelve. Mum got married again that year. Dad the year after that. They both divorced again the year after that. To be honest, then I start to lose track.’

  ‘What happened to you?’

  ‘What do you mean what happened to me?’ Defensive as ever there was.

  ‘Who did you live with?’

  ‘I split my time between them.’

  Ana winced. She hadn’t had the greatest home life—but at least it had been stable. One house, one lot of guardians. ‘What were the step-parents like?’

  ‘They varied.’ ‘Did you have stepbrothers or sisters?’

  ‘Occasionally.
For a while.’ His answer was supposed to be a conversation closer.

  But she ignored it, because that must have been hard, because it explained just a little about him. ‘But you don’t have other siblings.’

  ‘No.’

  Utterly closed now and, as if to reinforce it, he pushed the questions onto her. ‘What about you? How did your aunt and uncle take it?’

  ‘I’ve never told them,’ she said baldly, still thinking over his revelations.

  ‘Really?’ He grunted. ‘When did you last see them?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. Over a year ago.’

  ‘Over a year ago? As in before it happened?’

  ‘Yeah.’ She shrugged off his incredulity in the darkness. ‘We’re not close.’

  ‘Obviously.’ She could hear his frown. ‘Things really were bad for you, weren’t they?’

  Oh, so he was thinking she had it worse than him now? Her heart lifted a notch. ‘Not that bad, Seb. I was fed, clothed. But I just didn’t fit in.’ She hadn’t been physically neglected, but she had been emotionally abandoned—and hurt. ‘I wasn’t what they wanted and I couldn’t figure out how to be what they wanted.’ She’d tried so hard for so long but it had never been enough. They hadn’t wanted her, or loved her. ‘We send the odd email.’ She sighed. ‘It wasn’t their fault—they didn’t ask to be landed with me. They did their best in a bad situation.’

  ‘You’re too generous. They should have loved to have you. They should have loved you.’ There was a long pause. ‘You were too generous with me, too.’

  Why, because she’d wanted to give him her heart? Because she’d believed in the happy ever after? At least now his attitude towards it made more sense. He must have thought she was so naïve.

  ‘I’m sorry I hurt you,’ he said quietly.

  She could actually smile and shake her head. ‘It wasn’t all your fault.’ And it wasn’t—some of what had happened could never have been predicted. ‘I said yes, didn’t I? If I hadn’t been so foolish it wouldn’t have happened at all.’ She’d wanted to believe so badly that someone could love her—that someone could fall completely in love with her like that. Oh, yes, totally fairy tale. Totally naïve. But she looked back on it with less of the total cringe factor now. Because while it hadn’t been love, there had been no denying the lust—there was still no denying the lust. ‘You were like this pirate—swooping in and taking what you wanted.’

  ‘Yeah, well, I’ve learned my lesson.’

  And maybe he had. He certainly wasn’t pushing for what he wanted now. Even though a tiny part of her wanted him to, the rest of her actually respected him for it.

  She pondered what he’d told her, couldn’t stop another question going into the personal. ‘Is that why you do divorce cases? Because of your parents?’

  ‘Partly. I’d always wanted to go into law, and dispute resolution seemed the natural specialty, seeing I had a lot of practice with it.’

  Practice in dispute resolution? It must have been ugly with his folks.

  He sighed. ‘People need saving from themselves.’

  ‘People like us, you mean,’ she chuckled.

  ‘Ugh.’ She heard movement and something landed with precision on her face. ‘Enough. Now go to sleep.’

  It was his shirt. She scrunched it up and stuffed it under her head together with the fleece. Told herself she was happier purely because of the comfort factor, not that she was getting giddy on the delicious pheromones.

  Chapter Five

  ANA walked across the stretch of sand and looked to the horizon. The colour of the water was hypnotic and she felt her limbs go supple. Her falling for him again was as inevitable as the autumnal leaf falling to the ground. But this time she’d choose her landing spot. This time she would float herself down and not be buffeted about by the compelling force that was Sebastian Rentoul. This time, if there was to be a this time, it had to be on her terms.

  She looked at the never-ending blue and knew what she wanted. And what she didn’t want. She was a different person from the naïve romantic she’d been back then. She had strength born of experience. And for once she wanted to have things her way.

  She turned back up the beach. Sebastian was already involved in his usual displacement activity—had rallied the lads for a game on the large expanse of sand that spread ahead of the littlest of dunes that sloped down to meet the water.

  It was truck-tour passengers versus locals. Ana sat in one of the old deckchairs in the shade and watched for a while. Until her thrumming body could no longer keep still. She stared at the net strung between a tree and a pole. Beach volleyball. Now there was a way of burning some of her energy—she couldn’t watch him play a moment longer, not when he was running barefoot, bare-chested, clad only in shorts, his bronzed body gleaming in the hot sun.

  She picked up a volleyball from behind the bar and went to the net, called to him as she went past the makeshift footy pitch. Instantly he walked from that game and came to her.

  He looked at the net. ‘You want to play?’

  Legs apart, she twirled the ball in her hands and grinned. ‘I should warn you—I’m quite good.’

  ‘I play to win, Ana.’ He met her challenge and then raised it. ‘The question is, what are we playing for?’

  She inhaled through parted lips. ‘Not that.’At least, not yet.

  ‘Then what?’ His smile said it all.

  ‘Well, it doesn’t really matter because I’m going to beat you.’ Ana pulled her tee shirt over her head, remaining only in bikini top and short shorts, relishing the freedom from the bulky cotton, amused by Seb’s change in expression—from teasing to burning. Two could play at the distraction game.

  She went under the net to the other side and served the ball over. His concentration was immediate—as was hers. Annoyingly they were evenly matched—was there no sport he couldn’t master? But the exertion of running to prevent the ball from landing on her side didn’t exhaust the pent-up energy in her body. Indeed her aggression manifested as their duel progressed. Frustration grew—and he became her target. She no longer aimed to get the ball on his ground; she wanted it on his head—hard. She wanted to provoke—to see if the pirate still lurked beneath the surface. She walloped the ball over the net with a strong spike. Her height had made volleyball a natural choice at school. She’d tried basketball but hadn’t liked the up-close confrontation and contact—having the net between her and her opponent was better.

  But now the net was in the way.

  Seb was no longer smiling. The volleys became longer, more intense. Ana had no idea what the score was. She didn’t just want to win. She wanted to conquer.

  There was some noise as another carload of people arrived and Seb turned his head to watch just as Ana was readying to serve the ball. She took advantage of his inattention and hit it over—hard.

  The ball landed with a satisfyingly loud smack on his chest. He took a step back and swore.

  Ana couldn’t help the giggle.

  But half a second later he was under the net and running for her.

  ‘Volleyball’s a non-contact sport,’ she shrieked. Instinct told her to run but the last word was knocked out of her along with all her breath as he tackled. He went in low, his shoulder hard in her stomach; she crumpled. He tossed her straight up and over in the classic fireman’s lift and kept running.

  His arm was a hard band around her thighs and it wasn’t comfortable as she bumped on his shoulder. ‘You need to cool down.’

  Within seconds he was splashing through the waves, tumbling her in. She went under. His arm slipped from her and she twisted, swimming underwater, stretching out her tension. The warm water washed the fight from her, seducing her with its deep blue saltiness. She opened her eyes and followed the way the light refracted, drawing lines on the golden sand beneath. She swam along their path for a while, deeper into the ocean. Until her lungs screamed for air and she could no longer deny the way the rest of her ached.

  She pulled
her feet under her and stood, looked around for him.

  He suddenly surfaced alongside her. Tall, fast, all muscle, all attention. They stood waist deep and stared at each other.

  His body gleamed as the droplets sheeted from his golden skin. His muscles were bunched from the exercise. His jaw was shadowed by the light stubble, even more chiselled by the way he was gritting his teeth. And while his eyes were hooded, his pupils were huge.

  And she knew. As crazy as it was there was no longer a choice, no reason to fight it. She knew what she wanted. She took a step towards him. And then another.

  He stood. Watching, not moving—except for his chest, which rose and fell fast. She heard him panting—more breathless than when he played football for hours in the midday heat. But he said nothing.

  She took another two steps, until only an inch or so separated them. As she relentlessly searched his expression his gaze dropped as if he didn’t want to see what it was she was thinking. She leant closer still. So she could feel his breath on her cheek, his heated body only a millimetre away. She dropped her head so her mouth hovered above his skin.

  ‘Doing this again is a bad idea,’ he muttered.

  ‘A very bad idea,’ she agreed, moving so her words were muffled against his shoulder. His salt was delicious, and so was his tiny groan. And her mouth parted wider, hungry for more.

  ‘Crazy.’ His lips brushed her forehead as he spoke.

  ‘Stupid.’ Her tongue touched his collarbone, tracing the ridge.

  His breath gusted out. ‘Foolish.’

  His head rested on hers for a moment; she nudged closer.

  ‘Mad.’ She lifted her hands, placing them, oh, so carefully on his chest, felt his heart thundering.

  ‘Absolutely insane.’ He dropped the whisper into her ear.