He spotted her immediately and jogged down the rough steps to join her, his boots ringing out on the rock.
‘Are you going in there?’ he asked. ‘That’s brave.’
He grimaced but his eyes glittered with amusement. Their summer sea colours took on an intensity that made Maisie’s limbs feel almost liquid. A couple of days’ stubble shaded his jaw and without warning, she had an image – and a feeling – of it rasping against her cheek, her neck and her breasts.
Maisie dug her nails into her palm, willing the feelings swirling in her belly to go away. ‘It might be my last chance until spring so I thought I’d go for it.’
He nodded. ‘Seizing the day. I get that.’
‘Where are you going?’ she asked.
‘It’s where I’ve been, actually.’ He smiled. ‘The vicar’s cottage.’
So, Patrick had been round to the vicarage again. Maisie raised an eyebrow. ‘Prayer meeting, was it?’
‘Unlikely as I’m a fully paid-up heathen … but I suppose I could be open to conversion. With enough persuasion.’
‘Rev Bev’s made quite an impression on the community,’ said Maisie. ‘Vicar and first responder. I was glad she was around to help Dad.’ She felt she had to say something super nice about the vicar. She’d hate Patrick to think she was in any way jealous. Which she wasn’t, of course.
‘Just passing, were you?’ Maisie teased, hoping she didn’t sound sarcastic.
‘No, as a matter of fact I had an invitation.’
‘Oh,’ she said, picking up her trainers and putting them on a rock. She refused to give him the satisfaction of seeming interested.
‘Beverley wants to see my slides,’ said Patrick.
‘Does she now?’ Maisie rolled her eyes and sat down on a low rock ready to take off her socks, half wishing Patrick would leave but also dying to know what had gone on between him and the glamorous Bev.
‘She asked me if I’d give a talk on Australian wildlife at the community hall.’
Maisie laughed out loud. ‘Well, that’s what passes for entertainment on Gull.’
He feigned a hurt look. ‘Don’t knock it. I’ll probably be mobbed like Justin Bieber.’
‘You’d go down better if you were Tom Jones given the average age of the parish group. Will you?’
‘I don’t know.’ He wrinkled his nose. ‘Will people really want to see a few bored ’roos and a blurry shot of an echidna?’
‘They’d probably turn up to see a photo of the vicar’s pug. I hate to disillusion you, Patrick, but I don’t think the wildlife is the attraction.’
‘What are you trying to say? That I’m the attraction?’
‘No! The free tea and biscuits are. People will do anything for a free cuppa and a Hobnob.’
‘And here was I thinking I was an exotic species that the locals would flock to examine.’
You are. I would. Maisie kept her thoughts buttoned away. She’d abandoned any idea of taking off her socks or anything else while Patrick was in such close proximity. Keeping up the mindless banter was her way of trying to stop her simmering desires from boiling over completely. Boy, did she need a dip in that cold pool!
‘How was your meeting?’ he asked.
‘What meeting?’
‘With Phyllis and Una? I saw you walking along the beach to the cottage on my way to the vicarage.’
‘Oh. OK, I’ve been trying to persuade them not to accept Hugo’s offer.’
He paused before responding, as if he didn’t know how to answer. Maisie half wished she hadn’t told him about the purpose of her visit. After all, it wasn’t his problem, even though he seemed to be no big fan of Hugo.
‘And how did that go?’ he asked.
‘They’ve almost made up their minds to sell to Hugo, but they’re not totally sure. He’s charmed them and convinced them they’d be better off in a little bungalow on St Mary’s.’
‘Would they really move?’
Maisie glared at him. ‘I honestly don’t know. There’s a lot of maintenance on the cottages and they’re not getting any younger and the income is dwindling so … argh. Probably, yes, but that doesn’t mean they should sell the place to Hugo. They could find new owners willing to invest in the cottages, perhaps even expand them.’
‘I’m guessing that would take a lot of time and energy on their part, not to mention luck. It’s a massive decision to move somewhere as isolated as Gull.’
Maisie felt faintly annoyed with Patrick even if he was making reasonable observations. Reasonable wasn’t what she wanted now: she wanted his support. ‘I could help them. I know the agents from all the lettings companies and they’d do their best to find them a buyer or tenant.’
‘You have a lot on your plate with the Driftwood.’
‘Living here is a labour of love. It’s a lifestyle choice, you can’t dabble, you have to throw yourself heart and soul into making a go of life here, even when things get tough. You have to be committed to the isles. To Gull, especially, as it’s so tiny.’
‘And are you? Committed to it? With your heart and soul?’
‘What else am I going to do with the rest of my life?’ It was meant as a joke but it was true. She laughed. ‘Right at this moment, I’m only committed to getting in that water.’
She pulled off her fleece, enjoying the look of disbelief on Patrick’s face. There were salty tangles in his hair, which had darkened as he spent longer away from the blazing skies of his homeland.
‘Are you coming in?’ The invitation was out of her mouth before she could stop it.
‘I’m not sure I’d do myself any credit swimming in there. Besides, I haven’t brought my swimsuit.’
‘That’s your problem. Luckily I have.’
Patrick peered into the water and pulled a face. ‘I don’t know …’
Deciding not to wait any longer, she took off her socks and fleece, and laid them on a flat rock. Trying to act casual, she unzipped her skinny jeans and pulled them down her legs, making sure her bikini bottoms didn’t accidentally come with them. An undignified struggle to get her jeans over ankles followed and she almost overbalanced.
Finally, she pulled off her T-shirt. If Patrick was expecting a show, he was going to get less than he bargained for because she’d worn her tankini top under her T-shirt. Even so, he was seeing more of her than he’d seen before and she was glad that the cold air calmed down the heat that raced to her cheeks.
‘Good luck,’ he said, but made no move to leave.
‘Thanks.’ She wished he’d either go away or join her in shivering by the pool but he sat on the rock next to her clothes, and gave her a cheeky wave, as she walked down the rough steps that had been hewn into the rocks a century before. A fresh tide had refilled the pool with ocean water and waves still broke over the edge. She tried to focus on her senses, the sounds of waves crashing on the reef and the tang of wet seaweed in the air, but she was painfully aware of Patrick’s eyes on her.
She stepped down into the pool, onto the last step. Normally she’d have spent a few minutes dithering, dipping her toes in the pool and sitting on the edge, splashing herself while she plucked up the courage to go in. No way was she going to show any kind of hesitation with him watching, so she held out her hands and pushed off into the water.
Oh God. Oh fffff—
She’d expected it to be cold but arghhh.
She gasped, her heart pounded but she tried to strike out in a proper crawl straight away, instead of her usual frantic dog paddle. Salt stung her eyes but she swam as fast as she could to the far edge of the pool, blowing hard and praying she’d acclimatise before she had to turn back towards Patrick and he could see her agonised face.
Eyes stinging, she reached the far side. It was too cold to stop and rest so she pushed off from the rocks and did a breaststroke back towards him.
He was watching her. Not smiling, just looking. It unnerved her.
A few feet from where he was sitting, she stopped and trod water, managed a laugh. ‘Are you coming in or are you going to chicken out?’
‘Nothing wrong with being chicken,’ he said.
She clucked and squawked at him. It wasn’t difficult to make a strangled noise like that, she was so damn cold. Then she kicked and turned and swam as hard as she could for the side of the pool again. The waves had stopped breaking over the edge as the tide retreated so the water was calmer. On her next turn, Patrick had kicked off his boots. He tugged his sweatshirt and long-sleeved T-shirt over his head in one motion and dropped them next to her own clothes.
She stopped and kicked to stay afloat.
She’d seen him shirtless before, in the garden, but here she felt exposed, even though he was the one half naked. He was fit and lean, not in any fake cover-model way, but it was obvious he did physical work. His shoulders were broad and his arms muscular and long. His torso was tanned, of course, not the deep gold of his face and forearms but tawny, in a way no islander could hope to achieve. She thought of the day he’d first walked into the Driftwood and stood out like an exotic creature.
Her breath caught in her throat again and she turned away and swam back to the far side of the pool, her heart racing. When she reached him again, Patrick was down to his navy boxers, and shivering ankle deep on the rock steps. He bared his teeth in disgust.
‘Are you out of your mind? It’s glacial in here.’
Laughing, she trod water and flicked a stream of water into the air, soaking him.
‘Bloody hell!’ His shout echoed round the pool but she giggled. She scooped up more water with her hands and he cursed her.
‘Wimp!’
‘Just you wait …’ He pushed off from the steps, half diving into the pool. Popped up shaking his head. ‘You … r-really are b-arking mad!’
‘Hadn’t you worked that out yet?’ Maisie agreed. The pool, replenished twice a day by the rollers, chilled you to the bone. Her legs were numb and even swimming constantly, hypothermia was probably a real possibility. She would and should have brought her wetsuit, but she was damned if she was telling Patrick that.
Huffing with cold, he thrashed up and down while she wondered how much longer she could stand being in the pool. The water was clear, with weed and kelp swishing gently below her. There were fish, of course, and if you wore goggles you could spot them shimmering below you or weaving in and out of the seaweed. Orange crabs too, and ruby snakelock anemones. Sometimes seals popped their heads up over the edge of the pool, alarmingly close, to take a look at you, and once when she was swimming off the Driftwood one had nudged her from behind, scaring the life out of her. The only thing scaring her today was Patrick.
His hair was plastered to his head, his face ruddy as he swam towards her. ‘Call me a wimp but I’ve had enough,’ he said, his voice cracking with the cold.
‘You’re a wimp,’ she said, secretly relieved as she’d been about to give up herself. ‘Let’s get out.’
She let him clamber out first and not only because it gave her a view of his muscular bottom encased in soaking-wet cotton. He brushed droplets from his torso and jogged on the spot to keep warm.
She climbed out after him. ‘I’ve brought a towel in my backpack if you don’t mind sharing,’ she said.
‘You first. And I’ve no intention of going home in dripping wet underwear so you’d better turn away or point me in the direction of a private place to change. I’ll go commando on the way home.’
She tried not to look down at his boxers.
‘Not that I’m in any kind of condition to shock anyone after that cold water.’
You could have fooled me, she thought. ‘There’s a rock outcrop just over on the other side of the pool. I use that to get changed and it’s not overlooked. I’ll go first and be as quick as I can.’
Clutching her clothes and backpack, Maisie jogged to the outcrop and wormed her way between the rocks into the bathroom-sized space. She knew from experience that once within its ‘walls’ you couldn’t be seen from the pool or the path above the beach. Few folk knew the little chamber was even there. Mindful of Patrick shivering on the path, she wriggled out of her damp tankini and dried herself hastily. She was still damp and it was a challenge pulling on her dry clothes but she wanted to be as quick as possible and not soak the towel too much.
She called to Patrick even before she was fully dressed and was at the entrance in her bare feet when he jogged over. He was carrying his clothes.
Her toes curled on the gritty surface. His body was drying but water dripped from his hair in narrow rivulets over his shoulders and in tiny pathways through the tawny hair on his chest, minuscule glistening droplets. It ran down his stomach and thighs. His boxers clung to everything, not that there was much to see, as he’d joked after that immersion, but still. Maisie’s whole body tensed. She curled her hand into a fist as the jolt of desire hit her. It was like being knocked over by a wave. She wanted him so much. More than she’d ever wanted any man before. Way more than Keegan. This was real, grown-up lust and it didn’t matter that she was almost forty and sassy and cynical, she wanted him now.
He stopped rubbing his arms and frowned at her.
‘Any chance I could borrow the towel?’
‘Oh. Oh yes. Here you are.’ She held out the damp towel. ‘You look cold,’ she said. He’d rejected her after she had come back from the hospital. Why should things be any different now?
He looked down at her. ‘I wonder why?’
He took the towel, and disappeared into the ‘changing area’. While he dressed, Maisie removed a metal flask from her backpack and unscrewed the top.
‘Hot chocolate?’ she asked. ‘I guess it ought to be brandy, but you’d have to pass on that anyway.’
‘Great idea.’
She poured the chocolate into the flask lid and offered it to Patrick first.
‘Thanks.’
He sipped it and then handed it back. It was still hot and she blew steam off the top. Patrick stood by her in a chunky sweater and jeans – the most magnificent man she’d ever seen. He had that half-smile on his face and the glint in his eye that never seemed to fade, apart from on the night her father had been taken ill and once or twice at Scorrier Holdings, when she’d caught him watching Hugo with an ill-disguised contempt. She’d only known him a few weeks and her life was full of doubts – about the Driftwood and ‘saving’ Gull – but she knew what she wanted now, without a shadow of a doubt.
She finished the cup and refilled it, handing it back to him.
He took a few sips and then put the cup down on a rock.
‘Maisie?’
His smile had gone but the gleam in his eye had become a white-hot fire. She shivered with desire and her body was like a taut glowing wire.
‘Yes …’
‘You know. I’m going to take a huge gamble here and if it doesn’t come off, you’ll have every right to ask me to leave. We could dance around this all day. We could pretend there’s no elephant in the room, but I think we both know that if we don’t go to bed soon, I’m going to have to jump in that freezing cold ocean and keep on swimming until I reach Melbourne.’