Mac turns and watches me walk towards him. I’d feel self-conscious if I couldn’t see the warmth in his eyes. Warmth and a funny sort of relief.
“There you are,” he says as I draw near.
I spread my hands. “Here I am. What are you going to do with me?”
A taut silence fills the air between us for a moment, and then he nods at the beach. “Fancy a walk?”
I nod eagerly, and he smiles, bending to open a gate and gesturing me through. “I’ve ordered a takeaway,” he says.
I step out onto soft sand, my feet sinking in. “Not cooking?”
“No, and you should be rather thankful for that.”
“I don’t know. You can’t be all things, Mac.”
“Well, I’m definitely not a chef. Luckily, the lady who cleans the cottage pops in before I come down here, stocks up the fridge and prepares me some meals to stick in the oven. I like my privacy here.”
“You like your privacy everywhere.”
His lip quirks. “Take your shoes off and throw them in the garden. You won’t need them on the beach.”
That’s when I notice he’s barefoot. I stare at his feet. It feels oddly intimate to see him so casual—like I’ve been given a window into his life that I can peep through.
I do as he says, making a pleased sound at the feel of the cool sand trickling between my toes.
He steps out onto the beach, and I fall into step next to him. At first, there’s a comfortable silence as we walk, both of us enjoying the clear air after the hot day and the peaceful, repetitive shush of the waves on the shore.
I sneak a look at him, and his face is serene, his expression thoughtful. “Penny for them,” I say lightly, squeaking as my foot catches in a hole, and I pitch forward.
My fall is stopped by Mac catching me against him, but my weight makes us stagger slightly, so we end up pressed together, his arms around my waist and my hands around his neck. I look up at him. “Hello,” I say, my voice husky.
His eyes are dark, and I thrill as I feel his hands tighten on my waist, his fingers digging into the skin where my hoodie has ridden up. It sends the old, sweet electric shock running through me, and before I know I’m going to do it, I surge up and press my mouth to his. The touch of his lips is a pleasure pain, and he groans as if he feels it, too. And then he’s kissing me—deep, hard kisses where our tongues tangle and our bodies struggle to get closer and closer.
It takes me a second to realise he’s pulling away. “What are you doing?” I mumble, opening my eyes blearily.
His face is set, and I flush hot with embarrassment as I realise he’s trying to get my hands off him. “Sorry,” I mutter, trying to step back.
I’m stopped by his hand on mine. “No, don’t go,” he says, his voice thick, and the plea in it makes me stop my struggles. “I dowant you,” he says desperately, cupping my face so it’s tilted to his. “Ialwayswant you, Wes.”
“So, why pull away?”
He licks his lips. “Because we started this so wrong, and I want…”
I cock my head. “What do you want?” It’s so rare for Mac to express a need for something. “I will try and get it for you. I know I don’t have your money, but I have a powerful determination, and I want you to have whatever you want… Why are you laughing?”
He shakes his head and hugs me tight, making me gasp. “You have no idea,” he says into my ear. “And that’s my fault too.”
“The whole world isn’t your responsibility,” I say crossly as he lets me go, his seeming reluctance to do so making me warm inside. “You need to remove your hair shirt and put on the odd T-shirt instead.”
He studies me, his mouth quirked, and then, rather than saying anything, he nods, and we resume our walk.
“The beach is beautiful,” I say, looking around with pleasure. It’s small and sheltered by woodland, and the sand is white-gold.
“Thank you.”
I pause. “Oh my god, is thisyourbeach?” I squeak.
He starts to laugh, and the sound is so merry that I can’t help but smile. I try to avoid staring at him and making him self-conscious, but I can’t stop myself sneaking little glances. Finally, he sobers. “Yes, it is mine. It’s why I bought the cottage.”
