All the men either played tennis or watched the game, amusing themselves with a lively commentary on the play, then cooling off in the pool before lunch. Daisy was the only one who didn’t go into the water, escaping to the kitchen on the pretext of last-minute preparations for the barbecue.
The vision of Ethan Cartwright in a brief black swimming costume had made her so hotly conscious of her own body, no way was she about to don the bikini she had brought with her. It was far more comfortable sticking her head into the refrigerator, staring at the contents which were largely dead meat with no sex appeal whatsoever. She was still blankly looking at the tray loaded with steak and sausages when his voice assaulted her ears with a tone of extreme annoyance.
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‘This is totally absurd! You have no reason whatsoever to act as though I’m Lynda Twiggley, demanding that you toe some tyrannical line of duty every second of the day. I will not have it!’
It jerked her around to face a dripping-wet splendid male physique emanating a savage energy that sent wild quivers through her entire system. He’d slid open one of the glass doors that led onto the back verandah and stood just outside the dining area, glowering at her with fierce green eyes.
‘I told you to bring a swimming costume,’ he ranted on. ‘You know I wanted you to join in the fun. There is no need for you to be up here fussing over food. Since you must be perfectly aware of that I find it distinctly offensive that you choose to turn your back on the rest of us…’
The accusation flustered Daisy into rushing out an apology. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to give offence. I was just…’
‘Just nothing!’ He pointed to her beach bag which she’d dropped at the end of the island bench. ‘If that contains what it should contain, get changed and be down at the pool within five minutes. This is play time, Daisy. I expect my staff to follow the agenda I set.’
Having delivered this blistering ultimatum, Ethan strode off to return to his guests. The shock of his anger and the implied threat to her job had Daisy scuttling for her beach bag the moment his back was turned. She raced into the powder room under the staircase, threw off her clothes, dragged on her bikini bottom and fastened the bra top as fast as her fingers could work.
A glimpse in the mirror made her feel dreadfully naked and hopelessly vulnerable. She was too accessible to Ethan’s touch and if he did touch her, she was frightened of showing him some uncontrollable response, and he’d know he could get to her physically, know and probably take advantage of it.
Any confidence in maintaining a proper distance between them was shot to pieces. Never had she felt so gut-wrenchingly nervous about wearing a bikini. Never. Ever. She wasn’t ashamed of her body. It was slim enough and curvy enough to wear a bikini reasonably well, but how could she hide the effect Ethan had on her with only a few scraps of material for cover? It was no shield at all. It left her terribly, terribly defenceless.
Her frantic mind screamed there was no time to worry about this. About three minutes had already gone and her job was at stake. Snatching up the towel from her bag, she ran to the door Ethan had left open and kept running, heading straight for the pool, not looking at anything but the water ahead of her, desperately blanking her mind to the fear of revealing far more than her almost-naked body.
A cheer went up from some of the men at the sight of her flying figure stripped of its usual cover-up clothes. Daisy didn’t let herself think or care what they thought. She dropped her towel on the slate patio and dived in, staying under the surface of the water until she reached the other side of the pool and had to come up for air. Having taken a few deep breaths to calm her pounding heart, she swam slowly to the steps at the shallow end where the other women were sitting, paddling their feet.
‘Love your red bikini,’ one of them said, smiling at her.
‘Can’t wear one any more,’ another remarked ruefully. ‘Having babies gave me an awful jelly belly.’
‘Why not consider cosmetic surgery if you feel bad about it?’ the third woman suggested.
This topic was instantly bandied around. Daisy sat on the middle step in waist-deep water, letting the conversation float around her, trying very hard to appear calm and at home with the party scene. It gradually dawned on her that it hadn’t worried the women that she’d gone missing. They were older than she was, comfortable in each other’s company with the many experiences of motherhood to share. They seemed to view their men as children, too, happy to sit apart and relax on the sidelines while indulgently watching their husbands at play.