the boards under her feet 'I—I can't.' Her voice trembled. 'I—I just remembered something. Someone.'
Her words seemed to fall into a long and terrible silence. When at last she ventured to look up at him, she saw his face cold as a stone mask.
'Ash,' she said. And again, 'Ash—I'm sorry.'
She wanted to explain to him, but thoughts were churning in her head and she couldn't form a coherent sentence.
'No,' he said. 'Don't be sorry.' The words were curt and clipped. His smile glittered without warmth. 'I also have things I need to remember.'
He paused. 'I suppose I should thank you for reminding me. But I don't feel particularly grateful right now. So let's agree we've both been saved from a really bad mistake and leave it there.' He gave a slight shrug. 'After all, nothing really happened.'
From some far distance she heard herself say huskily, 'Didn't it?'
'It was a kiss, songbird.' His voice was quiet, but it bit. 'And you've been kissed before, and far more than that, so don't treat me to any virginal vapours. Just forget it ever took place. As I shall.'
He stood aside, pushing sweat-dampened hair back from his forehead. 'And now, please don't let me keep you from your real duties any longer.'
She had to reach down to retrieve her shirt and bikini top. When she straightened, her face was burning. She hoped without much conviction that he would think it was down to the exertion of bending, rather than the confusion of embarrassment and frustration that was consuming her entire body.
She put on the shirt, dragging its edges together to conceal her exposed skin as she eased her way past him.
Once clear, she risked a swift glance over her shoulder to see if he was still there—if he was watching her go with any kind of regret But he'd disappeared, presumably to his cabin, and she realised she could make her escape in relative peace.
She went quickly up the companionway, only to find when she reached the galley that she was panting as if she'd just taken part in a marathon.
Her first action was to fumble her way back into her bikini top and fasten the shirt over it. She was only sorry the buttons didn't reach to her throat.
The rasp of the cloth against her awakened flesh was a torment she could do without.
She ran cold water from the tap over the tumultuous pulses in her wrists, and splashed cool droplets on to her face in an attempt to calm her hectic flush.
He'd said forget it, she thought with a kind of desperation, but how could she? Especially when all she wanted was to hide away somewhere in a dark corner where she would never have to set eyes on him again.
But there was small chance of that in the confines of
La Belle Rêve
. And in practical terms she was going to have to face him pretty soon, anyway, because she had lunch to prepare and serve.
Oh, God, she groaned inwardly, scanning the cupboards for tinned soup. How much worse can it all get?
It made her squirm to remember how easily she'd melted into his embrace, as if it had been invented for her alone, when what she should really have done was fight him off at once.
In fact, she should never have allowed the situation to develop in the first place, she thought gloomily. She should have remembered why she was there and kept her dealings with him on a strictly businesslike basis.
Even when he mentioned St Hilaire you never asked him for your passport, although it was the perfect opportunity, she castigated herself bitterly. Even if you'd made him mad, at least it would have kept him at arm's length.
She heard footsteps crossing the saloon and tensed. Had Ash noticed that she'd been in his cabin? she thought frantically. Had she moved something, or left a drawer open? And what excuse could she offer if he accused her of prying?
Except I don't need an excuse, she told herself swiftly. He has my property. I want it back. End of story.
But when she turned, prepared to give battle, she saw with relief that it was Laurent.
'May I offer any
Her words seemed to fall into a long and terrible silence. When at last she ventured to look up at him, she saw his face cold as a stone mask.
'Ash,' she said. And again, 'Ash—I'm sorry.'
She wanted to explain to him, but thoughts were churning in her head and she couldn't form a coherent sentence.
'No,' he said. 'Don't be sorry.' The words were curt and clipped. His smile glittered without warmth. 'I also have things I need to remember.'
He paused. 'I suppose I should thank you for reminding me. But I don't feel particularly grateful right now. So let's agree we've both been saved from a really bad mistake and leave it there.' He gave a slight shrug. 'After all, nothing really happened.'
From some far distance she heard herself say huskily, 'Didn't it?'
'It was a kiss, songbird.' His voice was quiet, but it bit. 'And you've been kissed before, and far more than that, so don't treat me to any virginal vapours. Just forget it ever took place. As I shall.'
He stood aside, pushing sweat-dampened hair back from his forehead. 'And now, please don't let me keep you from your real duties any longer.'
She had to reach down to retrieve her shirt and bikini top. When she straightened, her face was burning. She hoped without much conviction that he would think it was down to the exertion of bending, rather than the confusion of embarrassment and frustration that was consuming her entire body.
She put on the shirt, dragging its edges together to conceal her exposed skin as she eased her way past him.
Once clear, she risked a swift glance over her shoulder to see if he was still there—if he was watching her go with any kind of regret But he'd disappeared, presumably to his cabin, and she realised she could make her escape in relative peace.
She went quickly up the companionway, only to find when she reached the galley that she was panting as if she'd just taken part in a marathon.
Her first action was to fumble her way back into her bikini top and fasten the shirt over it. She was only sorry the buttons didn't reach to her throat.
The rasp of the cloth against her awakened flesh was a torment she could do without.
She ran cold water from the tap over the tumultuous pulses in her wrists, and splashed cool droplets on to her face in an attempt to calm her hectic flush.
He'd said forget it, she thought with a kind of desperation, but how could she? Especially when all she wanted was to hide away somewhere in a dark corner where she would never have to set eyes on him again.
But there was small chance of that in the confines of
La Belle Rêve
. And in practical terms she was going to have to face him pretty soon, anyway, because she had lunch to prepare and serve.
Oh, God, she groaned inwardly, scanning the cupboards for tinned soup. How much worse can it all get?
It made her squirm to remember how easily she'd melted into his embrace, as if it had been invented for her alone, when what she should really have done was fight him off at once.
In fact, she should never have allowed the situation to develop in the first place, she thought gloomily. She should have remembered why she was there and kept her dealings with him on a strictly businesslike basis.
Even when he mentioned St Hilaire you never asked him for your passport, although it was the perfect opportunity, she castigated herself bitterly. Even if you'd made him mad, at least it would have kept him at arm's length.
She heard footsteps crossing the saloon and tensed. Had Ash noticed that she'd been in his cabin? she thought frantically. Had she moved something, or left a drawer open? And what excuse could she offer if he accused her of prying?
Except I don't need an excuse, she told herself swiftly. He has my property. I want it back. End of story.
But when she turned, prepared to give battle, she saw with relief that it was Laurent.
'May I offer any
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