I laughed with relief. “I did warn you.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He paused. “Are you sure we couldn’t…?”
I groaned again. “Stop trying to tempt me. When you talk like that… I feel like there should be a booming voice coming down from the sky pointing a fiery finger at me saying, ‘The devil is at your elbow, my child’.”
“Oh, come on, Caro! Four months, I mean… four months!”
He had a point. But so did I, and the thought made me miserable.
“Let’s eat something,” I said brusquely. “Could you pass me my bra, please?”
He didn’t reply.
“Sebastian?”
“No,” he said.
“Excuse me?”
“I don’t want to give you your bra.”
“Oh for goodness sake. Fine!”
I sat up and brushed sand off my breasts, stomach and arms, aware that his gaze was pinned to me.
My bra was still damp and my nipples hardened automatically as I slipped it on. I glanced across to see Sebastian’s eyes wide and wanting. It made me feel like a goddess.
“You might want to put your eyes back in before they roll down the beach,” I said sarcastically.
“It would be worth it,” he said, his tone matching mine.
I shook my head to hide a smile; he really was incorrigible.
We ate our subs which, by this time, were rather warm and limp. The sweet soda set my teeth on edge. A bottle of chilled Blanc de Lynch-Bages would have been perfect. Then it occurred to me that Sebastian wasn’t even allowed to drink alcohol for another three years.
His youth and our age difference kept booby-trapping my happy thoughts. Everything had a price: every glance, every kiss, every stolen touch. It seemed desperately unfair: I didn’t want to live without love. Why should I?
“Hey, where did you go just now?” he said softly.
“Nowhere as nice as here and now,” I said honestly, and sighed.
“It’ll be okay, Caro, I promise,” he said.
Don’t make promises you can’t keep.
“I think it’s time to leave,” I said sadly. “I have to buy some groceries and…” my words trailed off.
I didn’t want to taint him with the dreary trivia of my life with David.
“Okay,” he said, trying hard to keep his voice neutral.
He stood up and offered me his hand. But he took me by surprise when he crushed me to his chest and kissed me fiercely, an edge of desperation in the way his hands tightened around my waist. I kissed him back, matching his urgency, the specter of separation hanging over us, our own invisible sword of Damocles.
When he released me, when I could bring myself to let him go, there were no words. Solemnly I reached for my wrinkled clothes and Sebastian pulled his T-shirt over his head, then collected up the abandoned food wrappers to deposit in the nearest trashcan.
It was a strangely domestic scene, at odds with the sudden tension we both felt.
We walked back to my car, each wrapped in the emptiness of our thoughts.
“So, I’ll see the guy about that job with Ches?” he said at last.
“Yes, good idea,” I murmured, trying to dispel the image of large tips from older women.
“Do you still want me to read your ideas for some more articles?” he said hesitantly.
“Oh, yes, please. I’ll email them to you.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“Maybe that’s not a good idea. What if your parents saw that I’d been emailing you?”
He shook his head. Mom doesn’t know how to program the washing machine, let alone check my email. And dad,” he glowered, “he doesn’t know my password.”
“Well, okay, then,” I said, reassured.
“What about David?” he said. “Does he read your email?”
I had a horrible thought that he probably did and Sebastian saw the doubt reflected on my face.
“Bastard!” he said viciously. “Set up a hotmail account, Caro, and email me from there.”
“Okay,” I said faintly.