You Turn by Marion Croslydon

Author:Marion Croslydon [Croslydon, Marion]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Literature & Fiction, romance, contemporary
Amazon: B00MW7O7B2
Barnesnoble: B00MW7O7B2
Goodreads: 19493963
Publisher: Marion Croslydon
Published: 2014-10-05T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 19

Goddammit, this is painful. The sharp stones prick the soles of my feet and torture my toes.

“Ouch!” I squeak, while trying to find my balance, my arms forming a cross with my upper-body. “This is when I wish we were on a sandy beach in The Bahamas.”

Zach is already half-immersed in the sea. The upside of wobbling along the cobbled beach is that I can’t pay too much attention to his lean body, to the way his sinewy shoulder muscles gently bulge underneath his tanned skin or how his khaki swimming shorts molds his butt. Details, details…

“I offered to carry you, Duchess.”

“I can make it on my own. No biggie.” If he touches me, I’ll spontaneously combust.

I have to make it to the water sooner rather than later, as the midday sun has just discovered that I only have a tiny bikini on for protection. Another minute of exposure and I’ll start sizzling. Of course, if I had gone straight into the sea instead of taking a prolonged morning nap in the hammock after eating my weight of croissants for breakfast, the transition may be less traumatic.

Zach has a lot of fun watching me make my way over those damned pebbles. “I can go and get the plastic shoes Jean-Claude was talking about if you like.”

My eyes shoot in his direction. “No need to. Really.” Under no circumstances, will I wear those ugly rubbery sandals. I will rather the sharp stones puncture my feet.

“Whatever suits you.” He shrugs and dives smoothly into the water without so much as a splash.

When his head pops out of the sea again, he’s a good ten yards farther away. In the meantime, I’ve managed to stumble into the water up to my knees. I lean forward and plunge in my fingers, drawing invisible circles and all sorts of shapes in the surface of the sea. I cup my hands and fill them with water. I splash it on my face, repeat the movement over other parts of my body, my neck, chest and stomach. A bit over-the-top—I concede—since it’s the Mediterranean Sea not the St. Lawrence River.

“Get over yourself, Carrington,” I order to myself in a low-pitched groan. I plunge and slide under the water for as long as I can keep the oxygen trapped inside my lungs. I make it back to the surface with a noisy exhalation of air and swim towards Zach.

“Finally, you made it,” he jokes and I grimace back at him. “Should we race?”

The question takes me back to our swims in the Hamptons, to that summer so many moons ago. I welcome the memory, which surprises me.

“You’re going to lose. Again,” I warn him.

“I wouldn’t be so confident if I were you.” He points at the large rock that marks the end of la calanque, about thirty yards away. “Last one there’s a rotten egg. Any style’s allowed.”

“You’re on.”

He waits for me to join his side and breaks into an “On your marks, get set, GO!”

I stretch out and start kicking and pulling like an extra in a Jaws remake.

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