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.