Our next stop is Cap de Nice, where Noah’s house is. It is set high on the hill. He opens the tall door and we enter an elegant art deco villa full of natural light. We go through the living room with its impressive chandelier made of capiz shells. When he opens the sliding doors, the mother-of-pearl discs twinkle in the strong wind that rushes in.

I move closer to the doors and see that the house is built on rocky ground. It has a hundred-and-eighty-degree view of the sea front and boasts several terraces and balconies.

‘Wow, this is amazing,’ I say.

‘I know,’ he says softly. ‘It’s the reason I bought this house.’

I step out onto the terrace and see the steps cut into the jagged white rocks. One set diverts off towards a white stone platform where you can stand and look out at the breathtaking view of the ocean, and the other offshoot leads down to a small private beach.

He takes my hand and leads me out of the shade of the terrace towards the steps. The sun is beating down on them making them glare with heat and light.

I shade my eyes with my hand. ‘I can’t stay long in the sun. I don’t want to get a tan. It will be a dead giveaway that I’ve been out of the country.’

‘Don’t worry. I won’t keep you out here for long,’ he says, stripping off. Naked and staring into my eyes, he unzips my dress and lets it drop to the ground. Underneath I am wearing my green and blue bikini. He pulls me onto the burning tiles of the terrace.

‘Are we going to have sex on the beach?’ I ask with a grin.

‘Not on the beach. Think of all that sand in all the wrong places.’

‘Ouch.’

‘I want to take you at the water’s edge.’

I look around. We are not actually alone. In the distance there are figures. ‘People can see us,’ I protest.

‘I don’t care,’ he says, leading me to the water’s edge. ‘I want you right now.’ He pushes me so that I overbalance and we topple onto the damp sand. It feels lovely and cool against my bare skin. His stomach and legs are hot and smooth on my belly and thighs. The sand gives as I wriggle underneath him. He pins my wrists above my head.

‘Trapped,’ he growls.

‘And loving it,’ I whisper.

He unclasps my bikini top and flings it away. The sun beats down on my exposed breasts. The sensation is just delicious. My nipples harden with the look in his eyes. A wave comes up high enough to tickle my toes.

‘Surely there must be some law that makes this indecent exposure or illegal,’ I gasp.

‘We’re in Europe. On a private beach. No one gives a shit,’ he mutters, his eyes hot and dark with lust. He kisses my breasts and I close my eyes and enjoy the pleasurable sensation. He sucks my nipples until they harden almost painfully.

Another wave teaming with bubbles hits us, I barely feel it. All my attention is focused on him pushing aside my bikini bottom. Then he is suddenly inside me, big, hard and strong. He swallows the small startled cry that races out of my mouth in a fierce kiss, and only breaks it to stare deeply into my eyes. His black eyes are pits of shifting emotion as he moves steadily inside me.

The waves lap between and around our bodies, coming right up to my waist. He pulls out of me.

‘Turn around and show me your pussy,’ he orders.

‘What, here?’

‘Uh-huh.’

I turn my head. The figures are still on the beach, but they’re too far away to see my face and they probably can’t see what we’re up to, and if they can, so what, I’ll never see them again in my life.

I turn onto my elbows and knees, my breasts dangling and dragging in the wet sand. He pulls my bikini bottom down my thighs to expose my sex. Bracing his hands on my hips, he shoves his cock into me. My whole body spasms, my toes curl into the sand, my back arches, and a soft scream exits my mouth. A wave breaks and runs under me, washing my nipples with silky warm water. Sand slips underneath me. The surf swells up over my calves as he plunges again and again.

I look up and see the bright blue sky. What if one of the figures comes down the beach? Discovery is a thrilling thought. A bigger wave sweeps over my body, belly and breasts. I look down between my knees and at Noah’s sturdy masculine legs as he pumps steadily into me.

He reaches with his hand and circles my clit. My breathing becomes uneven. Soon my climax will be upon me. He thrusts harder and faster, pushing me deeper into the sand. I lift my head towards the sky and wait for it. It rushes in as a large wave crashes into me, soaking my body, soaking my sex, submerging my hands. I feel the suction of the water as the wave returns to the ocean. I feel my body float like a piece of driftwood, if not for Noah’s firm grip. I begin to tense, my whole body stiffening. I shiver. With a roar he withdraws, and I feel his hot cum shooting onto my back as I go over the edge.

He pulls my bikini bottom back up and splashes my back with seawater. Then we scramble further up the shore and collapse on the dry, hot sand. We watch the sunset filling the sky with russets and pinks, and when I turn to look at his face it is lit with the same colors. My heart trembles with love. I touch his cheek with my fingertips and he smiles.

‘You look beautiful in this light,’ he purrs.

‘Funny, I was thinking the same thing,’ I say, and his lips crash down on mine. I hear a soft moan escape my lips.

For dinner he takes me to La Merenda. It’s a quirky, tiny, crowded place where everybody sits on stools with their shoulders and elbows practically rubbing. Wine is effectively red or white out of juice glasses. Don’t even mention the word Coke! They don’t take credit cards and you can’t even call to reserve a table. Noah sent someone to go there physically the day before to book us a table.

You sit at the table and watch Dominic La Stanc, a world renowned chef, who used to work for the most expensive restaurant in Nice, perform a smooth ballet with his sous chef and the one waiter tasked with serving all twenty-four tables in the restaurant. They have a small, traditional menu written in chalk on a blackboard, but when the food arrives it is clear why people are willing to put up with the inconveniences and discomfort.

I have the fleur de courgette, (the yellow zucchini blossom) battered and deep-fried to make a sort of flower fritter. It is a dream of a dish. For my second course I have the beef with orange and it absolutely sings. After a lemon tart baked to perfection, it is time to go back to London.

I must admit I left a part of my heart in France.