It was not only Nicky who’d studied Max with a tinge of awe as he’d effortlessly managed to get the kite soaring; she herself had, although for very different reasons.
Nicky had made his sentiments plain when he’d asked Max if he would one day be big and strong and able to fly kites.
‘Sure,’ Max had replied easily and ruffled the little boy’s hair. ‘But you’ll be able to fly kites sooner than that. Here, have a go.’
Whereas she’d had to acknowledge that the sight of his tall, athletic body had sent a shiver down her spine, not of cold or fe
ar, but desire …
When they got home from their spin in the boat, a glowing Nicky was to find another treat in store: an early barbecue dinner for them all.
Stan had lit the barbecue on the lawn and Mrs Mills had set all the ingredients out. There were comfortable, cushioned basket chairs around a wooden table, and two more braziers, identical to the ones that lit the steps down to the jetty, had been lit.
‘Steak, sausages, seafood—take your pick,’ Max said.
‘Sausages!’ Nicky chose immediately. ‘On bread with tomato sauce. Yippee!’
‘You’re easy to please,’ Max said and grinned. ‘Alex?’
She chose steak and some fish and they talked desultorily as he cooked the food with Nicky playing happily around them as the stars came out and the wind dropped.
Mrs Mills might have thoughtfully provided a typical small boy’s favourite fare, but she’d also provided a green salad and new potatoes drizzled with garlic butter for the adults as well as warm, crusty rolls.
And when Nicky showed signs of flagging, a bit earlier than usual and before Alex and Max had finished their meals, she came to take him to bed.
‘Thanks, that was nice,’ he said to Max.
‘My pleasure, Nicky. Goodnight.’
‘Goodnight …’ Nicky hesitated and Alex held her breath as she got the feeling he was toying with what to call Max, but in the end he just said goodnight again.
Alex watched him go off with Mrs Mills, then turned to Max. ‘I don’t think calling you Dad is far off,’ she said quietly.
He raised his eyebrows. ‘It hasn’t been that long.’
No, Alex found herself thinking, but then it doesn’t take long—less than a week in my case.
She moved a little restlessly in her chair. ‘No, but I get the feeling he’s impressed.’ She helped herself to some more of Mrs Mills’ delicious green bean salad. ‘How’s it going?’
‘Back at the ranch, as they say?’ He smiled a shade grimly. ‘Some tough wheeling and dealing is taking place, all couched in impeccably polite terms. But tomorrow should be relaxing. It’s the golf day here on the Coast at Sanctuary Cove.’
Alex wondered why he sounded sceptical about the beneficial aspects of a day’s golf, but she said nothing.
‘Do you play golf?’ he queried.
‘Yes. My father was quite a—well, a mad keen golfer. Not that I’ve played for ages.’ She looked at him warily all of a sudden. ‘I’m not expected to actually play tomorrow?’
‘No. You can drive the buggy. It’s only men—playing, that is.’ He pushed his plate away and stretched. ‘I can’t think of anything worse.’
‘Don’t you play golf?’ Alex enquired with a frown. ‘If not, why—?’
‘I play off a three handicap; like your father I can be quite mad and quite keen on my golf, but for some reason I’m not looking forward to tomorrow. What I really like is to be able to concentrate exclusively on my game.’
Alex studied him. He was dressed casually again and his hair was ruffled. He looked anything but a highflying executive at the moment, but she could picture him on a golf course, driving the ball with flair and putting with precision.
Her lips quirked as she said, ‘How did it get onto the agenda, then?’
‘It was requested, that’s how. And it didn’t seem a bad idea at the time.’