LITMIR.BIZ

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the last ten years hadn’t thoroughly ruined him, then.

      Only partly.

      When he returned he was more appropriately clothed in a T-shirt, sports cap, board shorts and sockless runners. The covered-up chest was a loss but at least she could concentrate on the road with him fully clothed. The T-shirt sleeves half covered a tattoo on his biceps, but she’d been able to read it briefly as he stretched his arm up the doorframe earlier.

      MΩΛΩN ΛABE. Classical Greek.

      She turned for the street.

      ‘I’m not getting in that.’ His arms crossed and his expression was implacable.

      ‘Why not?’

      He eyed her car. ‘This looks like the floor might fall out of it if you put a second person in it. We’ll take my Porsche.’

      Nope. ‘Wouldn’t be seen dead in it. This is a ‘59 Karmann Ghia. Your Porsche’s ancestor.’

      ‘It’s purple.’

      ‘Well spotted. Get in.’

      ‘And it has Shiloh plates.’

      ‘And here I thought your mind was more lint-trap than steel-trap these days.’

      He glared at her. ‘I’m not driving this.’

      She snorted. ‘You’re not driving at all.’

      ‘Well, you’re sure as hell not.’

      She swallowed the umbrage. ‘Because …?’

      ‘Because I drive me.’

      ‘You had a chauffeur.’ She’d seen him in enough Internet photos falling out of limos or back into them.

      ‘That’s different.’

      ‘You’re welcome to ride in the back seat if it will make you feel more at home.’ And if you can dislocate your hips to squeeze in there.

      He glared at the tiny back seat and came to much the same conclusion. ‘I don’t think so.’

      He folded himself into her low passenger seat and turned to stare as she tucked the folds of her voluminous skirt in under the steering wheel.

      ‘Not the most practical choice for swimming, I would have thought,’ he challenged.

      ‘It won’t be getting wet.’

      His eyes narrowed. ‘Because we won’t or because you have something else?’

      She glanced at him, then away. ‘I have something else.’ A something else she never would have worn in a million years if she’d had more than a few hours’ notice that he was coming along. In fact, she would have chosen a totally different box on her mother’s list if she’d thought for a moment that Hayden would actually join her. Something that didn’t involve taking anything off. She’d only asked him along to shake him out of the unhappy place she’d found him. And to get him started on the list.

      But parading around in swimwear in the presence of the man who’d made such a crack about her curves—yet who was apparently fixated by them—was not high on her list of most desirable things.

      The thirty-minute drive would have been a whole heap more enjoyable if she’d been able to sing to the music pumping out of the phone docked to her stereo. It did prevent much in the way of conversation—a bonus—though it contributed to Hayden’s general surliness—a minus—even after she’d pulled into a coffee drive-through for him. He’d leaned across her to take the coffee from the drive-through window and the brush of his shoulder, the heat of his body and the scent of early-morning man had stayed with her for the rest of the drive. She left her window wound down in the vain hope that the strong salty breeze would blow the distracting masculine fog away.

      When they arrived at the beach, Hayden found himself a comfortable spot in the shade to resume napping and she wandered off to change in the public changing rooms.

      She peeled off her dark red skirt, top and sandals, stored them carefully in her temporary locker and glanced critically in the mirror at what remained. Black one-piece, sheer wraparound skirt—also black—purple and black striped stockings to her mid thighs.

      Swimwear for the undead. If the undead ever went to the beach.

      She piled her hair high, smoothed thirty-plus-plus-plus foundation where her neck was suddenly exposed and turned to the mirror.

      Pretty good. Nothing she could do about the Boadicean body. She’d had it since she was sixteen and had learned by necessity to love it, even if it wasn’t apparently to the taste of a man more used to size zero. But she still looked like Shiloh. And Shiloh could definitely walk out onto that beach and spend a morning in the water with Hayden Tennant.

      Even if Shirley wasn’t certain she could.

      Today wasn’t about how good or otherwise she looked in a swimsuit, and it wasn’t even about the man waiting outside the changing rooms. Today was about living another experience that her mother had never had the chance to.

      Making good on her promise to her fourteen-year-old self.

      She swung away from the mirror and stepped through the door into the light.

      ‘What were you doing, sewing the—’ His impatient words dried up when he saw her, his mouth frozen half-open. The fascination in his gaze should have annoyed her, not made her pulse jog.

      Not everyone appreciated her fashion sense. She understood that. And she got that look a dozen times a day. But somehow on Hayden it rankled extra much.

      She walked towards him and retrieved her towel. ‘Ready to go?’

      ‘You can’t … Can you swim in that?’ he muddled.

      ‘I’m not expecting to swim, just wade. The dolphins will come to us.’ A blessing, because waist-high water would disguise her worst assets and highlight her best. And the dolphins below the water wouldn’t care about her sporting thighs.

      It didn’t take Hayden long to recover his composure and he followed her down to the water’s edge, glancing sideways at her and smiling enigmatically. She kept her chin high the entire way, ready for another crack about her body.

      None came.

      She smiled at the girl working at the edge of the water and breezed, ‘Hi, I’m—’

      ‘I know who you are,’ the teenager gushed, ticking off her name on her register. ‘I couldn’t believe it when I saw who was in today.’

      Hayden glanced from her to the young girl and back again. Confused. Small revenge for how off-kilter he’d tried to keep her yesterday.

      ‘I’m looking forward to it.’ Shirley smiled. ‘What do we do?’

      The girl stammered less when she was in official mode and so their instructions were quick. Head right out into the low tide, where a distant volunteer was waiting for them, and then stand still when the dolphins come.

      Simple.

      But not for Hayden. He stood rooted to the spot as she waded ahead of him into the surf, stockings and all.

      She turned and looked back at him, the slight waves buffeting her. ‘Coming?’

      Or was he going to bail?

      His eyes narrowed and he slid his sunglasses down against the glare of the water, then followed her out.

      His longer strides meant they reached the volunteer at the same time. The man launched straight into a security drill, although the only emergency they really ever had was if the dolphins got too boisterous and knocked someone down. Then he opened a pouch on his side and retrieved a defrosted treat.

      ‘Bait fish,’ he announced as he held it under the surface and shook the morsel.

      Shirley glanced sideways at Hayden,

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