“For what?”
What the hell did she think? Was she the sort who liked it said outright? Well, he could do that. “I want to fuck you,” he said. “And you want to be fucked. But not in here. In one of the beach huts.”
“Why?”
“Because…It’s obvious, isn’t it?”
“Is it?”
“Jesus. Yeah. This is Santo’s room, right? And anyway his dad might come in.” He couldn’t bring himself to say your husband. “And if that happens…” She could see it, couldn’t she? What was wrong with her?
“Santo’s dad,” she said.
“If he walks in on us…” This was ridiculous. He didn’t need to explain. He didn’t want to explain. He was ready and he thought she was ready and to have to talk about all of the whys and wherefores…Obviously, she wasn’t yet hot enough for him. He went for her again. Mouth on nipple this time, through the jersey, a gentle pull with his teeth, a flicking of the tongue. Back to her mouth and drawing her near and it was odd that she wasn’t doing much in turn but did that really matter? “Jesus. Get that key,” he murmured.
“Santo’s dad,” she said. “He won’t come here.”
“How can you be sure?” Cadan examined her more closely. She appeared to be marginally out of it, but even so it seemed to him that she ought to know they were in her son’s room and her husband’s house. On the other hand, she wasn’t exactly looking at him now and he didn’t know if she’d actually seen him?as in registering his presence?when she had looked at him.
“He won’t,” she said. “He might want to, but he can’t.”
“Babe, you’re not making sense.”
She murmured, “I knew what I ought to do, but he’s my rock, you see, and there was a chance. So I took it. Because I loved him. I knew what was important. I knew.”
Cadan was flummoxed. More, he was fast deflating, losing ground with her and with the moment. Still, he said, “Dell…Dellen…Babe,” to coax her. She’d spoken well of chances because if there was the slightest chance that he could still get her down to the beach huts, he was willing to go for it.
He took her hand. He lifted it to his mouth. He ran his tongue across her palm. He said huskily, “What d’you say, Dell? What about that key?”
Her reply was, “Who are you? What are you doing here?”
Chapter Twenty-six
WHEN KERRA AND HER FATHER WALKED INTO TOES ON THE Nose, the café was virtually empty. In part, this was due to the time of day, which was in between one meal and the next. In part, this was due to the conditions on the water. When the swells were good, no surfer in his right mind would be hanging about a café.
She’d invited Ben out for a cuppa. They could have more easily had one in the hotel, but she’d wanted to be away from Adventures Unlimited for their conversation. The hotel was redolent of Santo’s death and the recent row she’d had with her mother. For this chat with her father, she wanted to be in neutral territory, in a place that was fresh.
Not that Toes on the Nose was fresh in the true sense. It was instead an inadequate refashioning of what had once been the Green Table Café, a perfect example of if-you-can’t-beat-them-join-them, long ago taken over by surfers because of its proximity to St. Mevan Beach. The café had recent new owners who’d seen commercial possibilities in putting up posters of old surfing films and playing music by the Beach Boys and Jan and Dean. Their menu, however, remained what it had been when they’d bought the place: cheesy chips, lasagna with chips and garlic bread, jacket potatoes with a variety of fillings, chip butties…One’s arteries could clog just reading the menu.