The Marriage Merger

If her mother was busy, they’d practise on her.

Just to keep their hand in.

Most of them had meant no harm. They might even have thought they were being kind. Clearly she’d been desperate for attention.

They had been right. She had. Until she’d learned that not all attention was good. Too late. But she’d learned.

Bram Gifford must wonder what he had to do to get some response from her. She hadn’t even squealed entertainingly at the thought of bugs in her sleeping bag. She was no fun at all, she told herself sternly, and caught herself grinning.

And on that cheering note she decided it was time for a shower and something to eat.

Twenty minutes later, wrapped in a towelling robe and with her hair in a turban, she padded back into the bedroom to look for something to wear. She picked up her wristwatch. It was gone three in the afternoon. No wonder she was hungry.

She crossed to the louvre doors and opened them. They were on the east of the island and the veranda was pleasantly shaded—something that Bram Gifford, stretched out on a cane lounger in a pair of shorts and T-shirt, was taking full advantage of.

He had terrific legs, she thought, before she could stop herself from looking. Sportsman’s legs—but more tennis pro than footballer, she thought. She’d become good at spotting the differences. Her mother loved sportsmen.

‘Feeling better?’ he asked, peeling off a pair of dark glasses and looking up from the latest bestselling legal thriller. Well, he was a lawyer. Maybe he was hoping to pick up some useful tips.

She fought down the urge to beat an immediate retreat to the safety of her bedroom, instead pulling the towel from her hair and shaking it out to dry naturally in the warmth. ‘Yes, thanks,’ she said, taking a wide-toothed comb from her pocket. Sleeping with her hair lose had its downside, she decided, easing it through the knots. ‘Hungry, though.’

‘There’s an all-day restaurant over by the pool. I checked it out when I had a look around earlier. The food’s good. There’s a shop, too.’ He indicated the book. ‘It has all the latest bestsellers. Including yours.’

‘They knew I was coming,’ she replied, unimpressed. ‘You didn’t take a nap?’

‘I made do with a swim. It’s better to tough it out if you can, keep local hours.’

‘Yes, well, not all of us are superhuman.’ She winced as the comb caught a tangle.

‘I’m not criticising, Flora. I got more sleep than you did on the plane, that’s all.’ He got up. ‘Here, let me do that.’ He took the comb from her, lifted a hank of wet hair and began to carefully tease through a difficult knot.

She kept very still. He was just combing through her hair, she told herself. It didn’t mean a thing. But her body wasn’t listening. It hadn’t been this close, this intimate with a man in a long time, and every cell seemed to swivel in his direction, attracted by the warm scent of his skin, the small, careful movements of his hand as he worked at the knot. His hair, gleaming in the bright air, slid forward as he bent to his task; the space between his eyes creased in concentration.