Honeymoon with the Boss

CHAPTER EIGHT

A SUDDEN jagged flash of lightning severed the dark and thunder crashed so terrifyingly close to the house that they both flinched apart in the blinding light. The next moment it was gone and they were plunged into utter darkness.

Imogen stiffened, the old fear clutching at her throat.

‘The generator’s gone,’ Tom yelled in her ear. ‘Don’t worry. There’s a flashlight inside.’

He took his arm from round her and she grabbed him in panic, frantic at the thought of waiting alone in the dark with the storm screaming around her. ‘Don’t leave me!’

‘I’m not going to leave you.’ He took firm hold of her hand. ‘Come with me. It’ll be fine once we get some light.’

Without even a glimmer of starlight, the depth of the darkness was disorientating. Hand in hand, they groped their way to the door and then inside. Tom remembered Ali showing them the flashlight and how to light the gas lamps-for just such an eventuality, he supposed-but it still took some time to find it and, when his hand did finally close on it, he exclaimed with relief.

‘At last!’

He clicked it on and they both blinked at the brightness of the beam. To Imogen’s relief, the blackness that had been pressing so heavily around them shrank back instantly.

‘That’s better,’ said Tom, and it was, until he looked down to see that he was still holding Imogen’s hand. ‘Are you OK?’ he asked carefully.

She followed his gaze to their linked fingers and a flush crept up her cheeks. ‘Yes, I’m fine,’ she said, awkwardly disentangling her hand.

Funny, thought Tom. That didn’t feel better any more.

He had been so close to kissing her. If that lightning hadn’t taken out the electricity just then, he wouldn’t have been able to stop himself. And where would that have ended?

Tom knew where. In that bed, and in the very situation he had just managed to convince himself that he should avoid.

Imogen was clearly thinking better of things as well. He had noticed how quickly she had withdrawn her hand from his, and now she was hugging her arms about her nervously. She might still be spooked by the storm, but he thought it was more likely that she was unnerved by the fact that her boss had almost kissed her.

Best to pretend that nothing had happened, he decided.

‘Well,’ he said, a little too heartily, ‘let’s light the gas lamps and then we may as well have something to eat. There are plenty of salads in the fridge.’

Imogen never forgot that meal in the hissing light of a gas lamp while the rain crashed onto the roof and her fingers twitched and tingled where they had been curled around Tom’s. She couldn’t keep her eyes off his lean, solid body, massive and reassuring in the wildness of the dark night.

She tried not to stare, but her eyes kept skittering back to him, only to skitter away again the moment they collided with his pale grey gaze. Not that it mattered where she looked; all she could see were the hard angles of his face, his hands, his mouth. His mouth…Had he always had that mouth?

It was just the shadows cast by the lamp, Imogen tried to tell herself. Just the power of the downpour, the energy of the lightning, that was making her feverish. Just the storm that was raging outside and deep inside her, fizzing like lightning in her blood and making her heart thunder so loudly that if it hadn’t been for the rain, Tom must surely have heard it.

It was almost a shock when the rain stopped as abruptly as it had begun. One moment it was pounding down, the next there was an uncanny silence, broken only by the steady drip, drip from the huge tropical leaves outside, before the insects erupted into frenzy and the whole island steamed in the aftermath.

Imogen knew just how it felt. Leaping up, she made a big show of clearing away the plates and putting the food away. Tom hadn’t said anything but it was obvious that he had changed his mind about kissing her.

It had been too easy to get carried away by the darkness and the drama of the storm, she reminded herself. And put herself in Tom’s position. He was only a man, after all. She had been young, female and alone with him in the dark. Who could have blamed him for being tempted to forget Julia’s rejection with someone who was clinging to him like a limpet?

Or for thinking better of it when the lights came on again?

It was just as well nothing had happened, Imogen decided. It would have made it very awkward. Tom was still her boss, and they were going to have to go back to working together in a couple of weeks.

And even if he had kissed her, it wouldn’t have meant anything. She didn’t want to be just a poor substitute for Julia, did she?

Did she?

No, Imogen told herself firmly. Absolutely not. She had narrowly escaped making the most enormous fool of herself, and it wasn’t going to happen again. From now on, there would be no holding hands, no pressing herself against him, no fantasising about kissing him. They had agreed to be friends and a friend was all she would be.

Imogen woke the next morning to a bright blue sky. The air was rinsed and sparkling and when they set off for the reef as usual, the water was so still and so clear that it was hard to believe in the ferocity of the storm the night before. If it hadn’t been for the intensity of the island scents, heady and lush after the rain, Imogen might have thought it had all been a dream.

She was hoping that excruciating awareness of Tom would turn out to have been a dream too, but if anything it was worse in the diamond-bright light, when every line around his eyes, every crease in his cheek, seemed extraordinarily clear, and when the severe planes and angles of his face were etched against the blue sky.

Remembering her vow, though, Imogen chattered brightly all the way to the reef, and gave what she thought was an excellent impression of a girl too inane to harbour lustful thoughts about her boss.

It was a relief to put on the mask and snorkel, to hide her face in the water and lose herself in the absorbing world beneath the surface. The silence was soothing. There was just the coolness of the water and the sound of her breathing and the fish drifting below in a spectacle of colour, and by the time Tom indicated that they should go back, she was feeling much more herself. She was able to be really normal as the little boat skimmed over the water, and her spirits lifted.

See, she could do this, she congratulated herself as she settled onto the lounger in the sun a little later and opened her book. Last night had been an aberration. She would blame it all on the storm. All she had to do was carry on treating Tom as a friend and enjoy the holiday. She would have to worry about how they got back to a working relationship when they got home.

One thing was sure, she couldn’t see them being friends in London. Their lives were just too different. Tom wouldn’t be happy slobbing out on the sofa while she and Amanda gossiped, dissected the latest celebrity mags and tested each other on developments in the latest soaps. He wouldn’t offer to ring for a takeaway when it turned out there was nothing in the fridge, or want to lie in bed until lunchtime on a Sunday.

And he would never be able to cope with their messy flat, Imogen realised, remembering his need for order and control. He needed someone like Julia-gorgeous, glamorous Julia, who probably drifted around art galleries looking intelligent on Sundays and no doubt lived in an immaculately tidy apartment.

No, they might be friends on Coconut Island, but there was no point in thinking that it could be the same in London.

When Tom appeared with a glass of fresh lime juice a little later, she put her book down with a cheerful smile.

‘You make a great barman,’ she told him. ‘I’ll owe you lots of coffees at your desk when we get back to the office.’

No harm in reminding him that she hadn’t forgotten reality, no matter how much it must have seemed it the night before when she had clung to him and her eyes had been crawling all over him.

‘Actually, it’s Ali you should be making the coffee for,’ said Tom, sitting sideways on the lounger next to hers. ‘He made these. He was just finishing tidying up after the storm when I was checking my email.’ He swirled lime juice around his glass with a faint frown. ‘Does tonight mean anything to you?’

‘No. Should it?’

‘He was trying to tell me about something that had been arranged for tonight, but I couldn’t get what he was talking about.’

Imogen pulled a face. ‘No idea. Perhaps there’s a party or something at the resort? He could have been asking if we wanted to go.’

‘God, I hope not,’ said Tom in dismay. ‘I said yes, OK, just because it seemed easier than trying to understand. But maybe you’d like to go and meet other people?’ he added belatedly.

Normally she would have loved the idea of a party, but there was nothing Imogen wanted to do less right then. There were only two weeks left, she had remembered earlier, and she didn’t want to share Tom for even a minute of it with anyone else. But she couldn’t tell him that in case he thought she was needy and reading too much into what had-or hadn’t-happened last night.

‘It might be fun,’ she said as casually as she could. ‘Let’s see what happens tonight.’

‘Are you dressed?’ Imogen heard Tom call from the veranda that evening as she put on her lipstick. ‘Ali’s here with the boat.’

Just in case it turned out that they were going to a party, Imogen had put on her only smart dress. It was a pale creamy yellow and made of a gorgeous silky material that slithered coolly over her skin and was perfect for putting on after a day in the sun. She had tried to be sensible and sit in the shade as much as possible, but even so the sun had turned her skin to a warm gold and her hair was streaked with blonde. The dress set her new sun-drenched colouring to perfection.

‘I wonder what’s going on,’ she said to Tom, fixing in her earrings as she joined him on the veranda.

‘Let’s go and see.’

Barefoot like Imogen, Tom led the way down to the jetty. He was browner too, and his silver eyes made an even more startling contrast than usual with his tanned skin. Following him along the jetty, Imogen found her eyes resting hungrily on his back, and she squirmed at the guilty desire that swirled deep inside her like liquid gold.

Stop it, she told herself sternly. Don’t look at him. Don’t even think about it.

Ali was waiting for them in a dinghy at the end of the jetty. All smiles, he gestured out to a beautiful wooden boat waiting beyond a reef.

‘For you,’ he said.

‘It doesn’t look like a party anyway,’ said Tom in relief.

Imogen was watching the boat. ‘Isn’t it lovely? It’s called a dhoni, I think. I remember reading about them when I was booking the island. Apparently they’re fabulous for a sunset cruise. I wonder if that’s what this is?’

‘You didn’t book it?’

‘No, but it’s possible Julia did,’ she said slowly. ‘She asked me for all the details of the resort at one point. Maybe she was planning a surprise for you?’

‘Well, we may as well find out.’ Tom pointed at himself and Imogen, and then at the boat with a questioning look at Ali, who nodded vigorously.

‘Yes. Come, come.’ He waved them towards him.

‘He seems to be expecting us,’ said Tom. ‘What do you want to do? I can tell him there’s been a mistake, or we can go along and see what happens.’

‘Let’s go,’ she said. ‘It’ll be fun.’

The dhoni rocked gently as they climbed on board. Tom and Imogen were shown to the prow, which had been laid with luxurious cushions, and they settled down, feeling self-conscious as the crew pulled up the anchor and hoisted the square sail.

Once the sails were up and filled, the engine was cut and there was just the slap and rustle of the waves against the wooden hull. The sea breeze lifted their hair and filled their nostrils with an ocean tang, while the water deepened to a dark, beautiful blue and the setting sun turned the light to gold.

‘I don’t know whose idea this was, but it was a great one,’ said Imogen, thrilled by the lift and fall of the boat.

Tom watched her smiling with pleasure, and his throat ached. She was all warmth and light in the sunset. Her skin was honey-coloured, her hair bleached with sunshine, and the pale yellow dress clung enticingly to her curves and fell in soft folds around her bare legs.

The urge to reach for her, to slide his palm up over her smooth knee, beneath her skirt to explore her thigh, was so strong that he got abruptly to his feet to lean on the side of the boat.

‘Dolphins,’ he said, pointing, relieved at the distraction.

‘Where?’ Imogen jumped to her feet to join him. ‘Oh, yes! Oh, aren’t they wonderful?’

Face alight, she leant beside him, her arm only inches from his. She wasn’t looking at him. She was watching the dolphins with delight as they played in the frothy wake from the prow, leaping and rolling with effortless grace through the water. A warm breeze blew her hair around her face and she held it back as best she could with one hand.

‘This is all perfect.’ She sighed, turning to him with a smile.

‘Yes,’ he said, but he was looking at her rather than the dolphins. ‘It is.’

That was when Imogen made the mistake of looking into his eyes, and her smile faltered. It was just like the night before, when at least there had been the excuse of darkness for gazing back at him. Now she had dolphins to watch, the boat to discover, the thrill of the deep, dark ocean and the beauty of the sunset to distract her, and yet she still couldn’t wrench her eyes from Tom’s silvery-grey ones. They held an expression she had never seen before, one that she couldn’t identify but which made her heart kick into a new, slower, reverberating rhythm that sent the blood humming along her veins and lit a tremble of heat deep inside her.

Held together by an invisible skein, neither of them noticed that the sails were being lowered. They were oblivious to the boat turning or Ali readying the dinghy once more, and only a shout from the captain to a member of the crew jerked them back to awareness of where they were.

They both looked quickly away.

Tom cleared his throat. ‘What’s happening now?’

‘I’m not sure. We’re stopping for some reason. It’s just a sandbar, but there’s someone there…’ Imogen peered over the beautifully carved wooden rail, not sure whether she was relieved or sorry at the distraction.

So much for all her stern resolutions this morning about putting last night behind her. All it took was one look in Tom’s eyes and she was lost. Her pulse was thumping and she felt ridiculously shaky.

‘It looks as if we’re going ashore,’ she said, forcing a smile, but avoiding his gaze. ‘I’ve always wanted to go on a magical mystery tour, haven’t you?’

‘No,’ said Tom, who was way out of his comfort zone. ‘I like to know where I’m going.’

But he went readily enough when they were gestured to the dinghy, and then ferried across the translucent shallows to the sandbar. Once there, it seemed obvious that they should get out, so Tom helped Imogen jump onto the sand and looked enquiringly at Ali.

‘For you,’ he said, pointing them towards a frail elderly man dressed in immaculate white who seemed to be waiting for them.

‘What’s going on?’ Tom muttered out of the corner of his mouth as they headed obediently towards the old man.

‘I’ve got no idea,’ confessed Imogen, baffled, but when they got a bit closer she saw that a circle had been drawn in the sand and she stopped and tugged at Tom’s sleeve.

‘What is it?’

‘I’m getting a bad feeling about this,’ she whispered.

Tom glanced at the elderly man and then back at Imogen. He was just an old man, surely? What was so threatening about that?

‘I think it might be set up for a wedding ceremony,’ she told him.

‘What?’

Tom’s voice rose and she shushed him quickly. ‘I read about it when I was finding out about honeymoons here for you. You can’t actually get married here because it’s a Muslim country, but you can have a special ceremony to bless your marriage or renew your vows.’

‘And you booked one?’ he asked, aghast.

‘Of course not,’ hissed Imogen, ‘but what if Julia did? She might have thought it would be romantic. There’s so much organisation that goes into a wedding, it sometimes seems hard for the bride and groom to really enjoy it and think about what they’re promising in the ceremony. This way you’d have had time to relax after the wedding and say your vows again when you could really concentrate on each other.

‘I think it’s a nice idea,’ she finished defiantly, reading the scepticism in Tom’s expression without difficulty.

Now Tom thought about it, Julia had dropped some cryptic comments about their vows but he hadn’t been listening properly. If he had, he would have told her that he couldn’t imagine anything worse.

But it was too late for that now. ‘If all this was booked in advance, why didn’t they tell us anything about it when we arrived?’

‘Perhaps they did,’ said Imogen, remembering how distracted they had both been at the resort. ‘Neither of us were really paying much attention to what the manager was saying.’

‘I suppose not. God, what a mess!’

Tom cast a glance at the old man, who smiled encouragingly and beckoned them closer.

‘What are we going to do?’ asked Imogen in an urgent undertone.

‘We’d better bluff it out,’ Tom decided. ‘It’s too difficult to try and explain now. You’re sure it’s not a legal ceremony?’

‘It’s just symbolic.’

‘There you are,’ he said, taking her arm. ‘It won’t mean anything. Better five minutes of mumbo-jumbo than half an hour of awkward explanations.’

‘I don’t know…’ Imogen hung back, not at all convinced, but Tom was urging her forwards and suddenly she was looking into the old man’s face. It was very calm, and his eyes were wise.

‘Your name?’ he asked her, gesturing her into the circle.

‘Imogen.’

‘And Tom,’ Tom supplied quickly before he was asked and stepped into the circle facing Imogen.

The celebrant nodded. ‘You have come to celebrate your love for each other?’

‘Er…yes.’

If he was surprised at their hesitation, he didn’t show it. ‘There are just the two of you. That is good,’ he said. ‘This is about you and no one else. This is your circle. Stand inside it, share it. It binds you together. It represents oneness-your oneness with each other and with the earth. It represents your love.’

Imogen bit her lip. It felt all wrong to be deceiving him, but it was too late to go back now. It didn’t mean anything, she tried to remind herself, but as the old man’s gentle words of blessing fell, an invisible net seemed to drop over the circle where she and Tom stood in the sand, drawing the two of them tighter and tighter together and cutting off the rest of the world.

The sun was setting fire to the sea that stretched all around the sandbar. It was an extraordinary, dream-like feeling to stand there in that blazing golden light, to be astonishingly aware of the soft white sand beneath her feet, and of Tom’s hands holding hers in a warm, strong clasp.

Imogen didn’t want to look at Tom, but she couldn’t tear her eyes from his and she found herself hanging on to his hands as if he was all that could keep her anchored in reality.

The ceremony was very simple, and very moving. Held by the silver of Tom’s eyes, Imogen heard the old man talking about love, about commitment, about finding completeness together, and every word seemed right.

‘Imogen,’ he finished at last, ‘is this man, Tom, the man you love?’

She swallowed. ‘Yes,’ she said huskily, and her heart rang with the knowledge that it was true.

‘Tom, is this woman, Imogen, the woman you love?’

Tom’s voice was steadier than hers. ‘Yes.’

‘Imogen, take Tom’s heart, hold it safe. And, Tom, take the heart Imogen gives you and cherish it. Love each other, be true to each other, find peace in each other. Find joy in each other always.’

Ridiculously, Imogen felt her eyes sting with tears. ‘I will.’

‘I will,’ said Tom after the barest of pauses.

‘Promise this with a kiss.’

Imogen’s eyes locked with Tom’s. She saw something flare in the silver depths, and her breath caught.

He was going to kiss her. Of course he was going to kiss her. He had no choice but to kiss her.

At last-at last!-he was going to kiss her.

The corners of Tom’s mouth turned up very slightly as he let go of Imogen’s hands to cup her face between his palms.

‘I promise,’ he said softly, so softly that she wondered if she was even supposed to hear it, and then his mouth touched hers.

His lips weren’t cool at all. They were warm and firm and sure and so wickedly exciting that Imogen gave a tiny gasp, taken unawares by the intensity of the response that rocketed through her.

Tom’s hands drifted down to slide beneath her hair so that he could cup her head and deepen his kiss, and Imogen’s world dissolved into giddy delight as she let herself kiss him back the way she had so longed to do. Leaning into him, she slipped her arms around his waist and held tight to the sweetness of the moment.

It might turn out to be a mistake, she knew, but right then it felt utterly right and she murmured an inarticulate protest when Tom reluctantly broke the kiss and lifted his head.

Both of them had forgotten the old man, who was still standing there, watching them with a faint smile. Still reeling from the kiss they had shared, they barely noticed as he deftly looped their wrists together with a knotted twine made from shredded leaves.

He made a beautiful gesture with his hands. ‘It is done,’ he said simply and stepped back. ‘You are bound together, and now you are one.’

‘What have we done?’

All smiles, Ali had escorted them back to the dhoni, where Imogen had been greeted with a garland made of frangipani flowers. The heady fragrance was making her feel slightly sick as she and Tom were left alone in the prow at last. Or perhaps it was the way her senses were still spinning from the realisation of how much she loved him?

How much, and how hopelessly.

Now, as the sails unfurled and the boat dipped gently into the swell, Imogen held onto the rail, afraid that her trembling legs wouldn’t hold her up any longer.

‘We haven’t done anything,’ said Tom, unfastening the twine around their wrists. He hesitated, just for a moment, and then dropped it into the sea. ‘It was a ritual,’ he said. ‘It didn’t mean anything.’

Imogen watched the loop disappear and wanted to cry. It hadn’t felt meaningless. ‘We made promises,’ she said with difficulty.

Tom looked away. She was right. And wasn’t he the one who prided himself on always keeping his promises?

It had been the strangest of experiences, standing in that circle with Imogen. He had been feeling exasperated at the whole muddle, Tom remembered, but the moment he’d taken her hands and looked into those blue, blue eyes an inexplicable sense of relief had swept over him, as if, without knowing quite how it had happened, he’d found himself at exactly the right place at exactly the right time, doing just what he’d needed to do.

And then he had kissed her, and her sweetness had made him reel. The taste of her, the feel of her, the softness of her lips and the silkiness of her hair around his hands was still thrumming through him, beating insistently along his veins and making him feel…what? Edgy? Apprehensive? Excited?

Surely not.

‘It wasn’t real,’ he said, wishing he didn’t sound so much as if he were trying to convince himself. ‘We’re not really married.’

They couldn’t be married. Neither of them wanted to be married. It was ridiculous to think anything had happened on that sandbar.

‘No, of course not.’ Imogen mustered a smile. ‘I can hardly believe it actually happened, to tell you the truth. It was like a dream.’

‘This whole week has been like a dream,’ said Tom, coming to join her at the rail. ‘It’s as if we’re in a kind of bubble with no connection to life at home.’

She nodded. ‘Yes, that’s exactly what it feels like.’ She managed another smile, a better one this time. ‘It’s going to be a shock to wake up when we go home!’

‘We don’t have to wake up just yet.’ Succumbing to temptation, Tom took Imogen’s hands and turned her gently to face him. ‘We could keep the dream going a little bit longer.’

His fingers were warm and persuasive around hers, and Imogen felt dizzy at his nearness again. ‘The dream?’ she croaked.

‘That we’re here because we want to be together,’ he said. ‘We both know it’s not true, and that it couldn’t last even if it were. As soon as we get back to London, everything will be different. The dream will be over. We won’t be able to get it back, and we won’t want to.’

Was he making any sense? Tom wondered. He wasn’t sure if he understood himself what he was trying to say to Imogen, and part of him was already wondering if he was making the most terrible mistake. But another, stronger part was urging him on.

‘We’re not the same people here that we are in London,’ he said. ‘We want different things at home but here…maybe here we want the same. I know what I want. I want to kiss you again. I want to touch you again. I don’t want to spend another night on that damned couch thinking about you alone in the bed and wishing that I could be with you.’

Imogen was looking pole-axed, the blue eyes wide with astonishment. She opened her mouth to speak, but Tom was afraid to hear what she was going to say and he rushed on before she could start.

‘I know you’re still hung up on Andrew. I know you’re hanging out for something perfect that I can’t give you, but I was just thinking that while we’re here, maybe it could be perfect. We both know this isn’t real, but we’ve still got two weeks. Why not make the most of it?’

‘You mean as if this really was a honeymoon?’ Imogen found her voice at last. ‘As if we meant those vows we’ve just taken?’

‘Yes,’ said Tom. ‘We’re not talking about forever,’ he added quickly. ‘As soon as we get back to London, we can forget about this time. We can pretend it never happened. But for now…now there’s just the two of us, and we can…we can love each other, just like we’ve just promised.’ He paused, looking down into her face, trying not to show how desperate he was for her to agree. ‘What do you think?’

Imogen’s fingers twined around Tom’s. It couldn’t last, he had said. We’re not talking about forever. She was going to hurt when it was over, when she had to go back to being his PA and greeting him coolly every morning.

But she was going to hurt anyway, Imogen realised. That was what happened when you fell in love with a man like Tom.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She had wanted the perfect relationship. She wasn’t supposed to fall in love with a man who didn’t do love, who would give her two weeks and no longer.

But she had done it anyway, and wasn’t two weeks better than nothing? At least when they said goodbye, as they would in two weeks’ time, she would have some memories to treasure. That would be all she would have, Imogen knew. There was no point in hoping that the dream would last.

Find joy in each other, the celebrant had told them. She could choose that, or she could choose to be sensible.

Imogen chose joy. It would be temporary, like everything else she did, but it would still be joy.

And how else was she to resist him for the next two weeks?

Smiling, she tugged her hands from Tom’s to rest them flat against his chest and looked up at him. ‘I think it’s a very good idea,’ she said.

Tom stared at her for a moment, as if hardly daring to believe what she had said, and then his eyes blazed and an answering smile illuminated his face. Sweeping her into his arms, he kissed her fiercely, hungrily, and Imogen melted into him, warm and willing, her fingers clutching at his shirt to stop herself from dissolving with sheer pleasure as the heat washed through her.

Giddy with the glorious relief of being able to kiss each other, touch each other, the way they had wanted to all week, they sank down onto the cushions under the darkening sky, crushing the frangipani garland between them. The fragrance of the creamy yellow flowers enveloped them, while the boat rose and fell, and there was only the shush of water against the hull, the creak of wood and the occasional flap of the sail.

The crew talked quietly at the back, giving Tom and Imogen complete privacy, but they were aware only of each other in any case. Tom’s body was hard and heavy as he pressed her into the soft cushions, his hands sliding possessively under the yellow dress.

Imogen wrapped her arms around him and forgot everything else. She was sinking under a tide of heat. Every now and then she would surface, gasping, almost frightened by the need to touch him everywhere, feel him everywhere, and a tiny part of her would wonder if she was making a terrible mistake. But how could it be a mistake when his lips felt this good, when his mouth was this exciting, when his hands were moving over her, tracing wicked patterns of desire, and she was unravelling with the need for more, more, more…?

The stars were out above Coconut Island when they made their way back along the little jetty. Afterwards, Imogen could never remember exactly how they had got there. Ali must have taken them in the dinghy, she supposed, but all she remembered was the feel of the smooth bleached wood beneath her bare feet and the gentle slap of water against the posts. She was preternaturally aware of everything: of the silky dress whispering against her legs, of Tom’s warm grip on her hand, of her mouth still tingling, her body still thumping with desire.

It all looked so familiar, she thought as they climbed the veranda steps. It all looked exactly the same when it should be different. Everything had changed since they had walked down these same steps to see Ali waiting for them at the end of the jetty.

Then they had been boss and PA; now they were husband and wife.