Just A Little Sex...

“Something like that.”

He nodded sagely and Zoe realized he was older than she’d first thought. Late twenties, perhaps. Maybe even thirty. “I know exactly how you feel,” he said ruefully. “But a weekend away won’t be much of a cure. You need longer than that.”

“Well, I have to be back at work on Monday, so one weekend is all I’ve got. Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m terribly hot and tired and in desperate need of a shower. If you’d just drop those things next to Nigel’s back door, that would be great.”

“Okay,” he agreed, but Zoe thought he looked a bit disappointed. Maybe he’d been hoping she’d invite him in for a drink, or something.

Or something morphed in her mind to a scene from a recent movie where the leading man and leading lady—within a few minutes of meeting—pounced on each other like wild beasts. Clothes were ripped off in seconds and absolutely nothing was left to the imagination as the hero, for want of a better word, proceeded to ravish the heroine up against a wall.

At the time, Zoe had thought the whole thing quite incredible, as well as supremely tacky.

She still thought such behavior tacky, but not quite so incredible.

She tried to imagine, as she followed her far too sexy neighbor down to the back door, what would happen if she did invite him in. Would he make a pass? And if he did, what would she do?

He placed her bags by the step, then turned to face her, his own expression thoughtful.

“The name’s Aiden, by the way,” he said. “And yours?”

“Zoe.”

“Nice name. Well, Zoe, if you need anything over the next two days, just whistle. I’m always hereabouts. When I’m not off surfing somewhere, that is. I presume you know how to whistle?” he added, throwing a provocative little smile over his shoulder as he started to walk away. “Just put your very pretty lips together and blow.”

He didn’t look back again as his long legs carried him swiftly away. Which was just as well, because what Zoe’s sexually charged mind was doing to his parting words made her face go a brighter red than his porch.

5

WITHIN A MINUTE OF returning to his place, Aiden was stretched out in a chair on the front porch, drinking a beer and doing his best not to think about the girl in the house next door having a shower.

A futile exercise. He’d been thinking about her non-stop since she’d smiled at him in her rear-vision mirror and charged up every testosterone-based cell he owned.

Playing knight to the rescue just now had only confirmed what he already knew. That she was big trouble, both to his peace of mind and body.

Aiden gulped another mouthful of beer, then sighed.

Six months he’d lasted here at Hideaway Beach without so much as a single bad night’s sleep. Six months of wonderfully uncomplicated celibacy.

His life was blessedly simple. He surfed first thing in the morning, and again, late in the afternoon, spending the hours in between doing up the once-ramshackle beachhouse he’d bought a few months earlier. After dinner—which he usually cooked himself—his evenings were spent reading, or listening to music. He didn’t have a television and never bought newspapers. If he felt the need for human conversation, he chatted to other surfers, or the local fishermen, or to his mom over the phone. Occasionally, when Nigel was up for the weekend, he went over to his place for dinner and a bottle of good wine.

But he rarely stayed long. He didn’t want to be contaminated by listening to Nigel’s complaints about his clients and his lovers. He certainly never wanted to reminisce on the time he’d been a client.

Aiden was well aware his sabbatical from real life would come to an end one day, but only when he decided and not before. He wanted to keep the world outside at a distance for a while longer. He certainly didn’t want to be attracted to some mixed-up, auburn-haired city chick who was obviously in the middle of a personal crisis which had necessitated her coming up here to Hideaway Beach for a break.