Summer Beach Reads. Natalie Anderson

the subject it was their idea all along.’

      And then he was gone, back across the hall to his own room, leaving her half sagging against the cold steel wall of the cabin.

       Damn you, Hayden Tennant.

      It was minutes before she had the strength to lever herself upright away from the wall long enough to sag down onto the little bed.

      Had she ever before wanted something as badly and resented it so thoroughly as that kiss? She hated the fact that she was no more a match for his seduction than any of the other women he’d targeted and overpowered. And she really hated the fact that he’d been so supremely confident of her capitulation. Was he that sure of his own prowess or did he think her so lacking in resolve and character?

      Quite accurately, as it turned out. On all fronts.

      Should she cut herself some slack that it was—without question—the best kiss she’d ever received? That it jammed electrodes into parts of her that usually slumbered happily and forced them into sparking, buzzing animation until they lurched to life like the Frankenstein of body organs. It was as surreal and unforgettable—and futile—as being snogged by some handsome movie star who kissed for a living. What hope did she have?

      Yeah, that was satisfactory. No personal responsibility required at all, then.

      ‘Ugh.’ She bounced her head a few times on the neat pillow in its faintly diesel-smelling coverslip.

      Of course she was responsible.

      She’d been on slow simmer since the day of Tim’s party, having filled her imagination and the weeks since with images of an oil-slicked, half-naked Hayden sprawled so comfortably on that lawn chair. Yet strangely, it had been his comfort—not his state of undress—that had particularly appealed to her that day. She’d stretched out alongside him, dripping and smiling, and felt such an astonishing sense of amity for the man she’d only sparred with until then. Fellowship made a nice change from the thin edge of conflict or the dangerous high-wire of attraction. The best parts of being with Hayden were just … being.

      But she knew which part got her pulse racing hardest.

      She lifted her fingers to her lips.

      So he’d kissed her. So what? He was just making a point. It just happened that he was as good a point-maker now as he had been when he was younger. Thorough and convincing. And she’d been well convinced by his kiss.

      Right up until the moment he’d taunted her that it was fake and walked out of the room.

      She rubbed the puffy skin of her bottom lip. Ridiculous. It was not still tingling. It was projection. It had just been a really spectacular kiss from someone self-proclaimed in the art of seduction. And she was generally hormone-deficient, so hitting a charisma bomb like Hayden was bound to have an impact.

      Not deficient; that was hardly fair to a body that was capable—more than capable, apparently—of simmering. Perhaps suppressed was a better word. If you denied something long enough, your body eventually stopped expecting it.

      Shirley blew air slowly out through still-pulsing lips.

      She needed fresh air. Perspective.

      She needed to get away from his lingering scent and the breath-stealing memory of him bending her back in his arms and plundering her mouth. Like the pirate he was. The stealer of kisses. And of dignity.

      Half an hour in the bracing air of the Tasman Sea would do her wonders.

      It might even help distract her from the all-encompassing desire to find Hayden and to pick a fight with him again, just to keep her arousal levels up. Up where he’d left them dangling so helplessly. So wasted.

      If she couldn’t kiss him, she could shout at him a little bit and release tension that way.

       CHAPTER SIX

      HE’D made his point but he didn’t feel particularly good about it. Hours later and far out to sea, Hayden was still rattled by that kiss. The kiss he’d initiated then rapidly lost control of.

      He’d lost control before, but it was always a carefully reined surrender. Even letting himself go came with some strict rules and recovery solutions. At all times.

      With Shirley he’d literally lost it. His body participated in direct defiance of his will. On its own agenda. Nice little karmic reward for being a bastard and bending her to his will.

       Just because you can …

      He released his fingers from the punishing fists he’d made standing there at the bow of the Paxos, resting his arms on the aperture in the high wall which protected the crew and cargo from potentially high seas. Other people clenched their teeth when they were stressed, he clenched his fingers. To the point of pain.

      It was unconscious but it made his dentist happy.

      ‘Hayden.’

      Shirley spoke, soft and tentative, behind him. Knowing he was the cause of her uncertainty only infuriated him more. He turned slowly and faced the music.

      She was in black from head to toe but it was just a T-shirt and leggings and she’d toned her make-up right back to a translucent foundation. Closer to what it had looked like the day she’d wiped Boudicca from her skin. Hayden stared at her and she shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny. When he wasn’t being distracted by dramatically highlighted eyes and burnished coffee lips it was possible to appreciate the fine texture of her skin. He’d attributed its smoothness to her make-up. But it looked as if it was all natural.

      He cleared his throat. ‘You honoured our bargain.’

      One elegantly plucked brow arched. ‘You thought I wouldn’t?’

      ‘I thought I might have voided it.’ By kissing you.

      She glanced away briefly. ‘I asked you a question and you answered it. It wouldn’t be reasonable to protest.’

      ‘Most people would.’

      ‘I’m not most people.’

      No. She wasn’t.

      ‘Anyway, I came to get you. There’s something you need to see.’

      ‘Where?’

      ‘Towards the back of the ship.’

      A mosaic of sea-containers? He could see those from here. But what else did he have to do with his time other than humour her? Even a half-hour in the stuffy little cabin had done his head in.

      ‘Lead on.’

      She led him down the length of the ship and then stopped as she slipped one shoe on from its resting place against a giant blue sea-container. It was only then he realised she’d come to him barefoot. It seemed so comfortable on her he hadn’t stopped to think how out of place it was on a working freighter.

      ‘I worried I might not find it again,’ she said, her face strangely alight, turning down a gap between the high-rise of stacked containers.

      ‘For someone who takes things so seriously you seem unnaturally delighted by shipping containers.’

      She laughed but didn’t turn, continuing into the man-made valley. ‘Just wait …’

      They turned at her next shoe and he began to understand why she’d needed markers. Without the horizon to keep you oriented, this was a maze. She marched onwards then peered to her right—straight into another container from where he stood—paused and turned back to him, looking for all the world like a delighted child.

      Was it a coincidence that he’d only been able to remember her after she’d shed the Shiloh mask?

      She grinned at him. ‘What’s the thing least