He's My Husband! - Lindsay Armstrong [29]
Her smile, which was more a baring of her teeth, caused him to laugh softly, and he stood up and hooked his jacket off the chair. ‘My, my, we are having a rather mindless domestic, aren’t we, Nicola?’
She watched him shrug into it and was amazed to feel a tremor run through her, because if the attraction of his body had been a torment to her over the last two years, the events of last night had heightened it unbelievably.
She could feel, suddenly, through her pores, the imprint of his hard strength on her slightness. She remembered, as if she could still feel him through the palms of her hands, the lean lines of his back and the powerful muscles of his shoulders, his taut diaphragm. But most all she could feel in herself how it had all stirred her senses, her own body.
But the unbelievable part of it was, as she clenched her teeth and her hands, that she could be so angry with him and yet still be so affected by him.
She could have kissed Sasha and Chris for arriving at the table, breathless and laughing, their clothing somewhat askew, full of assurances that they were ready!
‘Here, I’ll just...straighten you up a bit.’ And she went about it without looking at Brett once.
But she couldn’t evade his gaze when it was done.
‘See you tonight, then,’ he said.
‘All right,’ she replied, and started to stack plates.
But he pointedly didn’t move.
Her hands hovered, then she straightened and said impatiently, ‘What now?’
Their gazes clashed. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked quietly.
No, I’m not! What do you expect? But she didn’t say it. She shrugged, and forced herself to smile. ‘Fine. Hold thumbs it doesn’t rain!’
‘That almost sounds as if you’re praying for it,’ he said, and walked out.
It didn’t rain. It was a clear, beautiful afternoon as she packed the picnic basket.
‘Can we swim?’ Sasha asked.
‘I should think so. They’ve taken the stinger net in. Put your togs on under your clothes, but we’d better take jumpers for later.’
Brett arrived home at five-thirty and they drove down to Yorkeys Knob beach, a long stretch of sand facing Cape Grafton with a park behind it. They chose a spot and the children and Brett started scouting for firewood before it got dark. Then they all had a swim, Nicola in a one-piece sapphire-blue costume with white flowers on it.
‘Brrr...’ She ran up the beach, leaving Brett and the children frolicking, dried herself, threw on a tracksuit top and lit the fire.
She’d brought a portable grid and long forks, and simple fare. Sausages and bread, some sandwiches to keep the hunger pangs at bay while the sausages cooked, and homemade toffee apples for dessert. She’d also brought a flask of coffee, and juice for the children, but she discovered a chilled bottle of wine in a slide-on thermo-pack, and two glasses that she hadn’t put into the picnic hamper.
She was staring down at the bottle in her hands when Brett and the children ran up.
‘Why not?’ he said lightly as she looked up at him. ‘I even remembered a corkscrew.’ He took the bottle from her.
She didn’t have to answer. Sasha and Chris were turning blue with cold and shivering exaggeratedly, showering droplets of water everywhere. She jumped up and began to towel them vigorously, then made them change into dry clothes and sit by the fire.
When they were warm again it was almost dark, and they started racing up and down the beach, playing leapfrog then hopscotch.
‘Such energy,’ Brett murmured ruefully as he arranged the sausages on the grid. ‘Here.’ He handed her a glass of wine.
He’d pulled on an old football jersey over his costume, and with his damp hair hanging in his eyes he couldn’t have looked less like the super-executive of the morning. But nonetheless attractive, she thought with a pang. And why do I get the feeling I’m about to be exposed to that rare charm no one can exert like Brett?
She was right, she discovered. He went out of his way to make the barbecue a success. He insisted she relax on the tartan rug while he took care of the cooking,