Miranda's Big Mistake by Jill Mansell

dislodging the dozens of little foil packets and wrecking her hair.
    Besides, if Miranda didn’t eat soon they were going to need earplugs.
    The kitchen door, leading out on to the sun terrace, was open. As Miranda crouched in front of the fridge, drooling at the sight of Parma ham, marinated mushrooms and punnets of strawberries, she could hear the sounds of shouts and splashing outside in the pool.
    She was carrying a ciabatta loaf and the Charentais melon over to the table when a wolf-whistle behind her made her jump. Twisting around, she lost her grip on the melon, which slid out of her hand and went bowling across the floor.
    â€˜Hey, great idea!’ It was the paler of the two men she had seen from the window earlier. Scooping it up, he grinned at her. ‘Water polo!’
    â€˜You can’t take that melon,’ Miranda protested. ‘Tabitha just asked me to cut it up—’
    â€˜I am a representative of the Melon Liberation Front,’ the intruder declaimed, spinning it basketball-style on the tip of his index finger. ‘This melon’—dripping water all over the tiled floor, he began to back away—‘shall Be Free!’
    He was out of the door in a flash. Miranda, who had spent the last hour daydreaming about melon, skidded across the wet floor after him.
    Racing on to the terrace, she was just in time to see the melon sailing through the air. It landed with a splash in the pool and was promptly leapt on by the other man. Shaking his blond hair out of his eyes, he held the melon triumphantly aloft.
    â€˜Don’t let her have it,’ yelled his friend. ‘She’s a murderer.’
    â€˜Look,’ Miranda tried to sound reasonable, ‘you can’t play water polo with a melon.’
    â€˜We aren’t playing water polo,’ said the blond one, ‘we’re playing watermelon.’
    Grinning broadly, he lobbed it over Miranda’s head, where it was neatly caught by his friend. Miranda, beginning to feel stupid, moved towards him.
    The melon flew over her head once more.
    â€˜Look, you can play too if you like,’ the blond one offered. ‘You can be on my team.’
    He was by far the better-looking of Tabitha’s two toyboys. What was more, he was still tantalizingly familiar. If his hair wasn’t plastered to his head and he had clothes on, Miranda thought, she was sure she’d recognize him.
    â€˜Do I know you?’
    â€˜Of course you do. I’m the other half of your watermelon team. Come on,’ he said persuasively, ‘jump in. The water’s fantastic.’
    â€˜Look, I’d love to play watermelon with you’—she was still trying to humor him—‘but I just can’t.’
    Big mistake.
    â€˜No such thing as can’t!’ The one in the multicolored trunks, having loomed up behind her, lobbed the melon back into the water. Grabbing Miranda around the waist, he lifted her into his arms and raced to the edge of the pool.
    Right up to the last second, she was convinced he’d stop.
    He didn’t.
    With a monumental splash, they landed together in the deep end. Miranda shuddered as the icy water caused every cell in her body to contract with shock.
    By the time she had swum back to the surface, the better-looking toyboy was treading water next to her.
    â€˜Well, that’s a relief. For a minute there I thought you couldn’t swim.’ His green eyes were alight with laughter, his tone conversational. ‘Thought I was going to have to rescue you.’
    He was still clutching the melon. Miranda made a grab for it.
    â€˜Oh dear, I can see I need to explain the rules of watermelon to you.’ Effortlessly, he whisked it out of her reach. ‘You see, we’re on the same side. You’re meant to tackle the opposition, not me.’
    Miranda’s teeth began to chatter. Keeping afloat fully clothed was no picnic either.
    â€˜This p-pool isn’t