Alphabet Weekends - Elizabeth Noble [51]
‘Ridiculous!’
Natalie closely examined his face. ‘Looking good.’
‘Apparently I need to exfoliate more.’
‘We’ll pick something up in the boutique, shall we?’
‘Right. What torture next?’
‘The therapeutic water jets.’
‘Oh, goodie.’
‘Then dinner.’
‘And what delights await there? Carrot juice and celery sticks?’
‘Don’t be daft. Health farms aren’t what they used to be, you know. I bet you can even have a glass of wine.’
‘I’ll count the minutes.’
Their therapist came in, followed by a group of chattering housewives. She gave them an explanation of the beneficial effects of the imminent treatment, which Tom was not sure would stand up to serious scientific examination, then ushered them into the room and told them to take off their gowns. Tom was momentarily horrified. These women weren’t going to be naked, were they?! Fortunately, they were all wearing costumes.
Tom was aware of seven pairs of middle-aged eyes appraising him frankly, and was quite glad he’d started going to the gym again in earnest, in the New Year. This must be how the Chippendales felt. He couldn’t take his eyes off Natalie. She was fantastic. When had that happened? Her chest was fuller than he remembered, round and firm. Her skin was creamy, perfect and smooth. He wanted to touch it. And her bum, when she turned round to hang up her dressing-gown…
Tom was glad when they were told to get into the water. He was only human.
That wasn’t any safer. Natalie climbed on to a sort of grilled lounger under the water, and lay there as the bubbles rose around her. Her head was thrown back and her eyes were closed. The bubbles made her chest bob. Bloody hell. No wonder blokes didn’t spend time in places like this. He closed his eyes, stuck his head under a powerful jet and tried to think of something else.
They were allowed a glass of wine at dinner, but the menu ‘recommended’ no more than two a day, and the waitress removed their empty glasses with alacrity, which cramped their style a little. Tom felt strangely tired.
‘That’ll be all the detoxing, and the lavender oil and stuff.’
‘Of course.’
‘Do you fancy a last swim?’
He didn’t, but she did, and ten minutes later she reappeared in that swimsuit and headed for the pool.
‘Have you left a full hour since eating?’ He spoke in his health-farm voice.
‘Forty minutes. But we didn’t eat much. Why don’t you have your coffee facing the pool so you can see if I need rescuing?’
So he watched her. The pool was empty, and Natalie stood on the edge for a moment, then executed a perfect dive into the water. The ripples caught the moonlight flooding in through the skylights, and she seemed almost ethereal, gliding evenly up and down. Beautiful.
Tom was in trouble. He’d thought he knew what he felt. He hadn’t expected waves of lust to break over him. He tried to tell himself that it was biological, that it wasn’t because of Natalie. But, of course, it was. She had taken his breath away this afternoon, and it was gone again now.
The other times – on Dartmoor, and at the pool in a wetsuit – had been different. She had been making him laugh, making him care, maybe. More than he had thought he did, even. But she hadn’t been making him want her.
Back in their room, Natalie changed into mumsy flannel pyjamas, which ought to have done the trick, but they didn’t. He could see her breasts moving under the material, and when she put her arms above her head, the top rose and he could see her navel, the curve of her hip, which tantalised him.
‘Why are you still looking so grumpy?’ she asked.
‘It’s only ten o’clock. There’s nothing good on TV, and there’s no bloody bar in this place.’
‘They have DVDs in Reception. We could go and check them out. And there may not be a bar but I’ve come prepared.’ She opened the top drawer and produced a bottle of Jack Daniel’s with some miniature cans of Coke. ‘Contraband!’
Tom leapt up. ‘You beauty!’
Back-to-back episodes of The Simpsons on TV became miraculously more entertaining after a couple of stiff Jack Daniel’s, and an hour later,