Maisie’s legs threatened to buckle. The jolt of lust was like a lightning strike straight through her, then she was flung back to the morning she’d made a pass at him at the pub. The humiliation, the shame …
‘After I’d come back from the hospital, you weren’t interested.’
‘Of course I was interested. It was agony to turn you down, but you were exhausted and emotional.’
‘Don’t you dare tell me I was vulnerable and you did it for my own sake. I couldn’t bear that.’
‘Not vulnerable. You’re the least vulnerable woman I’ve ever met.’
Patrick took a step towards her. She flinched, and wasn’t sure his comment was a compliment or not. ‘Really? Do I come across as that …’ She groped for a word. ‘That hard?’
He clutched her arm. ‘No. No … please listen to me.’
Realising that he was holding her forearm, Patrick backed off, although she was desperate to hear what he meant. The least vulnerable woman I’ve ever met. His words echoed Keegan’s parting excuses: You don’t need me, Maisie. You’re a survivor. You’ll get through this and be better off without me. He was right, she had been better off without him, but only time had shown her that. In that moment, raw and lost after losing the baby, she had needed him and shown him she needed him. Unlike the Driftwood, she wasn’t made of granite but the months of working hard and pretending she was fine and could just breeze on night after night in the pub, smiling, laughing, when inside sometimes she’d felt like crying and screaming, they had taken their toll.
‘I’m listening,’ she said softly. ‘I want to hear what you have to say. I am trying to understand.’
He let out a breath of relief. ‘Then understand this. That morning after your dad had been taken to hospital, I didn’t know what would happen if I had … done what you expected. What we both wanted. I had no idea if you and I … had sex … if you’d have regretted it and I’d be out on my ear the next morning.’
‘Are you saying you refused me because you were afraid of losing your job?’ she asked, in agony at having to ask yet desperate to hear the truth, however awkward. ‘Please be honest with me. I don’t want lies or soft soap.’
‘No. I was afraid of losing a relationship that could turn into something more than a quick and regretted shag. And before you say another word, yes, it was hardly the ideal timing, was it? Admit it.’
She groaned. She hated to agree with him but he was right. ‘Yes …’ she murmured.
‘It’s no shame to be hurt and upset. No shame to feel you need someone, Maisie,’ he said. ‘Is it?’
She couldn’t answer him in words but her hand reached out for his. Her fingers closed round his rough ones and his eyes lit up with pleasure and desire for her.
He turned to her. ‘I won’t make the same bloody stupid mistake twice. I don’t know how I get a bloody thing done in that bar or a wink of sleep, dreaming about you.’
He picked up her hand and did something no one had ever done before. He touched his lips to her knuckles and kissed them. It was so old-fashioned and so innocent but the touch of his warm lips on her skin stoked her need for him.
‘You taste of salt,’ he said.
‘What did you expect? Wine and roses?’
‘Come here.’
He pulled her into his arms and kissed her as the wind strengthened from the sea. Waves crashed into the pool but they were a rock buffeted by the gale. She let herself relax into his arms, and tipped back her head while he kissed her throat and then her lips again. He cupped her bottom in his hands, lifting her onto her tiptoes.
‘Not out here,’ she whispered.
‘I’m not that daft. “The hills have eyes”, remember.’
She giggled at the thought of Una and Phyllis finding them naked, making love by the pool.
‘Where, then?’
‘At the Driftwood. Mum and Dad are on the main island. No one will think anything of seeing us together there.’
Patrick groaned. ‘I’m not sure I can wait that long. What if you change your mind on the way back?’
‘You’ll have to, and I won’t.’ Maisie got up, grabbed her rucksack and Patrick did the same. She’d never got back to the Driftwood so fast from the pool. She longed to hold his hand and drag him back there but was terrified of being seen by someone she knew. Even now, it was possible that someone might have spotted them kissing by the pool.
By the time they reached the inn, she was almost faint with lust. She was worried there was something wrong with her, the feeling was so intense.
‘My place or yours?’ he asked.
‘Yours. No, mine. Oh stuff it, I don’t care.’
‘Mine then.’ He grabbed her hand and they ran into the Piggery. Patrick closed and locked the door, while Maisie drew the curtains. He was behind her before she’d even closed them properly, holding her around the waist and kissing the back of her neck. His breath was warm and each tiny kiss made her skin tingle deliciously. He put his hand on her breast. He moaned in pleasure and her nipples stiffened under his fingers.
‘It’s almost killed me to keep my hands off you …’ he said.
‘Not as much as it’s almost killed me … oh my God …’
She let her head rest against his sweater and closed her eyes. Could this be happening? Could she feel this amazing?
He took her hand and sat down on his single bed. She stood facing him, fitting perfectly between his open legs. He reached up and lifted the hem of her sweater. With a delicious lack of haste, he slipped her sweater and top up and over her head. She wasn’t wearing a bra after the swim but she didn’t feel embarrassed at his seeing her bare breasts, she felt proud and joyful. Being undressed by Patrick and naked in front of him seemed the most natural thing in the world. All her doubts and troubles had evaporated as if they’d never been.
‘Maisie …’
She helped him off with his own shirt and sweater. He threw them on the floor and drew her to him again. He lowered his head and she stood on tiptoe to meet his mouth. As they kissed, she tangled her fingers in his hair, breathing the scent of him, the tang of cold clean water. His skin was warm under her hands as she explored the muscles in his back and the smooth skin stretched taut over them. She tasted the sea on his lips as he kissed her, and felt the salt thickening his hair.
Maisie flicked open the metal buttons of his jeans and pulled the fly apart. He tried to shove them down his thighs himself but overbalanced. Hobbled by his jeans, Patrick tumbled onto the bed, taking her with him. She ended up on top of him, half on and off the little bed. It was too small for him, let alone the two of them.
She giggled. ‘Who’d have thought a single bed could be so much fun?’
‘Right now, the middle of a field would do.’
They were a tangle of bare limbs, clothes and laughter as he tried to extricate himself. Still with his trousers round his ankles, he fumbled with her skinny jeans, cursing softly as he tried to pull down the zip.
‘Bugger it. Sorry.’
She smiled. ‘Here. Let me.’ She tugged at the zip and it freed but she’d have cut off her jeans if she had to.
Patrick sighed in relief. ‘Great. Can’t wait much longer. I need you.’
She knew how he felt. She was almost bursting for him. She arched her back so he could pull the tight jeans over her bottom, dragging her knickers with them. Finally she was naked … on Patrick’s bed in the middle of the afternoon. If her parents – anyone – walked into the garden now, saw the drawn curtains and heard the heavy breathing, the moans and laughter …
It didn’t matter. She still wouldn’t be able to stop. She’d still carry on and they could batter down the door. When did she ever get this wanton? When Patrick walked into the Driftwood, that’s when …
And he was above her. She bunched the quilt in her hands. There was no going back and she didn’t want to go back. It would kill her to stop now. By the looks of him it would kill Patrick too. He climbed back onto the bed and lay by her side, clasping her against him on the narrow quilt. Their legs tangled, limb over limb, almost rolling off the bed at times but greedy to explore and devour each other all at once. She was as greedy as him, hungrier even, clutching at his bottom and back, entwining herself with him and wanting the grey autumn afternoon to go on forever.