One Summer At The Lake. Susan Carlisle
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Her cries tore at him; finally the mewling sounds as she burrowed in deeper snapped his resistance and his arms closed around her. He lifted her body into the warmth of his.
‘Madre di Dios, you’re an imbecile, a raving…You make me want, you make me feel—’ He stopped and thought, you make me feel…too much. Digging his fingers into her wet hair, he stroked her scalp and let her cry herself out.
He had stopped resisting the sexual desire he felt for her. Physical desire was normal, not complicated. It was something that he understood and accepted, not a weakness. It did not require that he surrender any control; it was not about trusting. He wanted her on his terms—he would have her on his terms. He would not fall into the trap of allowing emotions to cloud his judgement.
He was not his father.
Finally peeling herself away, Zoe straightened up, blinking like someone waking up.
‘I’m…’ She gulped and shook her head again as he removed his jacket and draped it around her shoulders.
‘It’s wet but better than nothing.’
The lining was still warm. ‘Sorry,’ she said, not meeting his eyes. She was too embarrassed by her total meltdown. Why did she always make a total fool of herself around him?
He kept one hand on her shoulder, the other on the tiller, guiding the boat towards the mooring.
‘Sorry…I…I thought…’ Her lips quivered as she struggled for composure. ‘I thought they’d gone on the river…’ She gave a frown, trying to remember the sequence of events as much for her own benefit as for his. ‘We’d been to the craft fair in the park. When we started back it was late and I thought they were with me. I was running—they were going to clamp the car…’ Wrong tense, she realised, they probably already had clamped the car. But having faced what she had thought was a real disaster, car clamping faded into insignificance.
She pushed the wet strands of hair from her eyes and pressed the heels of both hands to her temples before slowly turning her head to stare at him.
‘What the hell made you go out on the water? Are you suicidal?’
‘The twins—’
‘And what would have happened to the twins if you had drowned?’ Her horrified little gasp felt like a knife sliding between his ribs, but Isandro didn’t allow his expression to soften as Zoe went several shades whiter. The only colour in her face was her dramatic sapphire eyes and the blue discoloration around her lips.
‘I was not going to drown,’ she protested through chattering teeth.
Faced with this refusal to acknowledge, let alone show any remorse for, the total bloody selfishness of her reckless actions, Isandro was tempted to throw her back in the water.
‘My mistake,’ he gritted through clenched teeth. ‘I can see now that you had the situation totally under control.’
Unable to tear her eyes off the nerve that was throbbing in his lean cheek, she shook her head. ‘No, really, I’m a strong swimmer…obviously I’m grateful but…’
‘But really you didn’t need my help at all.’ He gave a shrug and, cutting the engine, steered the gliding boat expertly between the moored vessels.
Before Zoe could respond he leapt out of the boat, landing lithely on the wooden pier where he proceeded to tie off the boat.
‘I really am grateful, Isandro. It was really lucky you had a boat.’
‘I don’t have a boat.’ A faint smile flickered across his face. ‘Not here anyway.’
‘But this?’ The boat wobbled as she got to her feet. With a grimace Zoe sat down again abruptly. Her knees were still shaking and she had no desire to repeat her earlier immersion.
Considering the question, Isandro thought of Georgie’s defence and smiled to himself. ‘I borrowed it.’
‘You stole it!’ she cried, but then, not wanting to come across as ungrateful again, she added, ‘But I suppose it was an emergency.’
‘What made you think they were heading for the river?’
‘Georgie wanted to go out in a canoe and I said no. We really didn’t have time…’
‘You do not have to justify your decisions to me, Zoe.’
‘Georgie is…’
‘Determined?’
Zoe acknowledged the dry suggestion with a shrug. ‘She didn’t fight it, which isn’t like her. Saying no is like a red rag to her. I should have known.’ After a fractional pause that was not lost on Isandro, she accepted the hand he held out to her and rose unsteadily to her feet. The boat swayed again and she lurched, making an awkward leap as he tugged.
As she landed clumsily on the boarded walkway Zoe heard a splash. Letting go of Isandro’s hand, she twisted around and saw the jacket that had been draped over her shoulders floating on the water.
‘Oh, God!’ On an adrenaline high still, she moved quickly without thinking and almost reached it.
An arm like a steel band around her waist hauled her back from the edge.
‘What the hell are you doing, woman? Do you have some sort of death wish? I have to tell you once is my limit when it comes to fishing suicidal maniacs out of the drink.’
Zoe didn’t struggle against the arms banding her. She leaned back into his big, solid, hard body, allowing herself the luxury of feeling safe. She wasn’t going to drown and the twins were all right.
She was still shaking with the chill of the ice in her veins but in the shelter of his arms she was protected from the wind. The feeling of security was an illusion but as illusions went this one felt good.
‘Your lovely jacket.’
Isandro rested his chin on the top of her head, closed his eyes and shook his head…Jacket!
‘I have others.’ The woman was in need of professional help. He shifted his stance to ease the pressure on his groin and thought, Dios, she is not the only one!
HER LIPS TWITCHED faintly. ‘The man who has everything.’
‘You read the article.’
Two weeks earlier a Sunday paper had decided to dedicate half their glossy supplement to him. The Man with the Midas Touch was to his mind shockingly unoriginal and a perfect example of the dumbing-down of the press…ten pages that said nothing new.
He had everything? He supposed he did. But to Isandro his wealth represented not luxury or self-indulgence but the freedom to live his life just as he wanted. Did that make him selfish? Did it make him happy…? Was anyone happy?
He shook his head. Dios, this was not the time for a philosophical debate. This was definitely a time for action, decisive action, and the priority was warming up Zoe before she became hypothermic.
It did not take him long to weigh the options. Decision-making was, as the article author had suggested, Isandro’s area of expertise.
‘Chloe gave me her copy,’ she admitted between chattering teeth. ‘The entire village bought the paper. They were sold out. You’re a local hero…for real now…’
‘Even if you didn’t need my help.’
Her lips twisted into a grimace. ‘I really am grateful…Stop! You can’t—!’
Isandro took no notice of her protests as he began to stride up the path from the river.
‘I can walk! Put me down…please put me down.’
He