CHAPTER SEVEN
The following day, Greta asked that I visit one of their charities.
“We normally allow them to run themselves,” said Greta, showing me the spreadsheets. “But the RSHC has become too overdrawn to ignore.”
“I see,” I said, studying the procedure that I was expected to implement. Although not my strong point, I had adequate math skills. And it did seem straightforward enough.
“I’ll need you to drive out there in the morning and introduce yourself to Bryce. He’s the director and has been told that you’re coming. You’re to show him how to record his personal expenses.”
I nodded. How will I get there?
“You can take one of our cars,” said Greta, reading my mind as always. “I’ll need your license for insurance purposes. After lunch, I’ll get Linus to show you a car. The fleet is electric. You should familiarize yourself with the vehicle. Linus will help with that.” Greta hovered. I sensed she wanted to ask me something. “It will be your car, to do as you wish, during your time with us.”
My car to use as I wish?
“Can I use it on weekends, as well?”
She nodded. “You’ll have to charge it here. It does one hundred miles per charge.” Her face softened. “I take it your father enjoyed his time here last night.” Her tone had shifted from professional to familiar.
“Dad loved it. He was taken aback by your generosity, as I am, of course.”
She nodded. “Yes, Aidan is a kind soul, sometimes too kind for his own good.”
I couldn’t help but wonder what she meant by that.
The entire morning was spent arranging the entertainment for the ball. Just as I wrapped up for lunch, Greta asked, “Do you want to select your outfit for the ball, or would you prefer our personal stylist to do it? That being the case, she’ll require your measurements.”
Clueless on what to wear, I agreed to the stylist option. Butterflies flooded my tummy. Excitement had finally hit me. I’d never attended an event of such magnitude.
“I spoke to the agent. Both the string quartet and band have made themselves available,” I said, placing some paperwork in my tray.
Greta looked pleased. “Good. I like the idea of a string quartet as people are entering. And I’m sure Aidan will be delighted with the band. He’s got a thing for jazz classics.”
“I see,” I replied, increasingly intrigued by this mysterious boss. So far, I’d established that Aidan Thornhill was benevolent and had excellent taste in art and an interest in jazz. I couldn’t help but like the guy even if he did appear aloof and earnest in the pictures I’d seen online.
After work, I decided to go for a swim. I changed into my one-piece, which Tabitha referred to as a spinster swimsuit. This was often followed by me arguing that I couldn’t wear a bikini because it offered no support. Tabitha would then point a finger, calling me a prude.
Under the shade of trees, bright-pink bougainvillea hugged the weathered rock wall, making for a picturesque descent. The steep stairs leading down to the beach seemed interminable. They were carved in stone, transporting me back in time, and like everything else at the estate, the setting reminded me of Southern Europe. The closer I got, the saltier the air became. Having always loved the sea, I was excited by the thought of a swim.
A jetty came into view. I removed my sandals to indulge in the pleasant squelching sand which was warm and massaging. Impressive-looking speedboats came into view, no doubt my boss’s toys. Out in the distance, an impressive yacht sat alone, swaying gently. With its white sail fluttering and dark wood, the handsome vessel screamed of money.
I had never visited a private beach before. The pristine, tranquil bay was flat, ideal for swimming. I could have even skinny-dipped. Perhaps when Tabitha visited we would do that together. She’d be into it without a doubt. But for the moment, I’d stick to my one-piece.
I undid my sarong and went straight in. Despite the hot afternoon sun, a shiver ran through me as my white feet touched the chilly water. I acclimatized to the coolness and then dived under.
It was so exhilarating I cried out. The beauty of being alone was that I could do that. The sea always brought out the wild child in me.
My body cried out for a workout to atone for all the creamy cakes. At first, I swam breaststroke, then freestyle and backstroke, and then I floated on my back for respite. Once my breath regulated, I repeated it over again.
All puffed out I fell onto my towel, stretching out like a lazy cat, my skin puckered with delight as the sun dried my soaked flesh. The straps of my swimsuit dug in. I looked about to make sure no-one was around and then pulled my swim-suit down to my waist.
Ah… how delightful. The sun wove its magical warmth through my flesh.
I opened my book and drifted off to old France when I heard puffing. A dribble of fluid on my leg followed, and I looked up. There was Rocket. His tongue hung, and his large, friendly eyes filled with joy.
I sprang up and grabbed my sarong. Rocket, meanwhile, shook out his wet hair all over me. “You little shit!” I exclaimed, clutching the sarong around my breasts. Next minute, the sexy gardener was there by my side, inscrutable as usual in baseball cap and dark glasses. This time he was bare-chested, setting off a warm pulse below. He was so hot my breath hitched. Speechless, I clutched onto my sarong.
He appeared a giant compared to my five-foot-two frame. My eyes drank him like ambrosia. In the sun, the dusting of hair on his firm, rippling chest shimmered. Droplets of water, which I suddenly thirsted for, settled on the puckered flesh of his tanned, shapely biceps. His wet shorts hugged his muscular thighs. I nearly swooned when I noticed a considerable bulge clinging to his drenched shorts. Is that an erection?
Reminded I was topless beneath my slightly see-through sarong, I tightened my grip. The heat raging through me was intense. My nipples, with a mind of their own, pierced through the thin fabric.
I couldn’t see where his eyes were behind those dark glasses. But I felt his gaze burning into me anyway. With no idea how long I’d been staring, my senses scattered.
At last, the god spoke. “I’m sorry about that. He’s taken a shine to you, which is unusual for Rocket. He’s generally reserved, bordering on anti-social.” A deep, sexy voice accompanied his scrumptious physique, which was fortunate. A high-pitched voice would have been heart-breaking.
“That’s unusual. Most cattle dogs I’ve known are friendly and smart. That’s why I love them,” I said, bending down to pat Rocket with my one free hand.
“He likes you.” His sculpted, fleshy lips curled up at one end. It was the closest to a smile I’d seen. “He came from a shelter and had a rough start. Most of the time, he either ignores people or growls at them. I’ve never seen him like this before.”
He bent down to pick up my book, which had been disturbed by Rocket’s excitable greeting. Badly timed, I also went to pick it up, and to avert a collision, I fell backwards. Not only did I appear clumsy, but my sarong flew off, and I was topless.
Shit.
I grabbed my sarong, and an embarrassing squawk left my mouth. Before I could help myself, he had lifted me. For a moment, I was in his arms, rendered senseless by the smell of sea and male oozing off him. My gaze fell on him. I wanted to remove those glasses. I was desperate to see his face. He’d seen my breasts. It was an intimate moment.
Why wasn’t I confident and experienced?
A blaze had been set off between my thighs. I was soaking wet, and it was not from the sea.
Back to reality, I quickly covered myself and sat on my towel, biting my lip and lost for anything to say that could relieve the tension.
Meanwhile, he held my novel in his large hand, reading the cover. “Scarlet and Black,” he said with his killer husk. “I take it this is a classic?”
“Yes, nineteenth-century French. It’s my second reading. It’s one of my favorites,” I said, taking the book from him.
“I read Les Misérables last year,” he said.
“Victor Hugo. A masterpiece.”
He nodded slowly. “I thought so. It made me question morality and what makes a decent person and how redemption should be part of that equation, especially when poverty pushes one over the edge. He redeemed himself by becoming a model citizen, and then along came this twisted, unwavering cop. It should be made compulsory reading.”
“I couldn’t agree with you more,” I murmured, nodding longer than was natural.
My God, I was in love. I wished I had the courage to remove that damn cap and those glasses. I was suddenly imagining holding his longish hair in my fist as his full lips ate me alive.
By the way he lingered I could tell he was equally shy. “Well, I better leave you to it, then.”
Before I could respond, he’d vanished. All I had was a view of his perfect butt and a stride that was mouth-watering like the rest of him. Phew!
A dip was called for. I had to douse the fire somehow. When I sprang up from a dive, I saw him in the distance. He’d been watching me at play in the sea. The next time I looked, he was gone.
Flooded with hormones and drugged on pheromones I bounded up the stairs. My stomach rumbled. The beach always made me hungry. And with each famished step, I became increasingly grateful that Melanie had, earlier, placed a plateful of leftovers in my hand. God, I loved my job.