'All done,' she managed evenly as she recapped the bottle, mirroring his movements as he stretched out, face down, on the towel.
Twenty minutes later she strode across the sand to the water's edge, took a few steps, then dived into the cool blue-green sea, emerging to the surface to cleave the waves with leisurely strokes parallel to the shore.
There was something infinitely tranquil about the unlimited expanse of an ocean and the sensation of being at one with nature. Quite different from using a swimming pool, she mused as she trod water and admired the exotic landscape with its many brightly painted, low-rise apartment buildings and houses dotting the foreshore.
It was-how long since she'd last holidayed in Noosa? Years, she perceived wryly. A midyear school break with her parents in the days before divorce had torn the family in two, introduced bitterness and a division of loyalties with the advent of step-parents and step-siblings.
Exclusive boarding schools had effectively ensured a safe haven when she no longer fitted easily into one family or the other. There had always been love and welcome whenever she visited. But there had also been an awareness she was a reminder of another life, another time. An awkwardness, she reflected, that had resulted from her own sensitivity. Something that could have had a detrimental effect.
Instead, she had learnt to be self-sufficient, to strive and succeed on her own merits. And she had, utilising her talent with speech and drama by channelling it into acting, initially in school plays. Part-time modelling with an agency resulted in her appearance in a television commercial, and the rest, as they say, became the substance of dreams when she was offered a character role in a long-running Australian television series.
A modelling assignment in New York during a seasonal filming hiatus had garnered an invitation to a party where Michel numbered one of several guests. Two linked events that had changed her life.
'Intent on solitude?'
Sandrine's eyes widened at the sound of that familiar drawl, and she turned to see Michel within touching distance. Wet hair and water streaking his face did nothing to detract from the chiselled perfection of his features or lessen the degree of power he managed to exude without any effort at all.
'No.'
'Care to try your hand at something more adventurous?'
She was unable to read anything from his expression, and his eyes were too intently watchful for her peace of mind. 'Such as?'
'Hang-gliding, parasailing, jet-skiing?'
'Surely you jest?'
'Hiring a boat and exploring the waterways?' Michel continued as if she hadn't spoken, and she scooped up a handful of water and splashed him with it. 'I could retaliate,' he warned.
'I'm trembling.'
His lips formed a musing smile. 'It can wait.'
It wasn't the words but the implication that sent a shivery sensation feathering the surface of her skin. His eyes held a warm, purposeful gleam that did much to melt through a layer of her resolve.
Her eyes remaining locked with his, she was aware of him to a degree that was vaguely frightening. Magnetic sensuality. She didn't want to be held in its thrall, for it clouded logic and decimated any rationale.
Michel divined her ambivalence, successfully attributed its cause and chose to cut her a little slack. 'Race you in to shore.'
He even held back, matching his strokes to meet hers, and they emerged from the water together. On reaching their shaded location, he caught up his towel, blotted off the excess moisture, then wound and secured the towel low on his hips.
'Feel like a drink?'
'After a shower and I've changed into something a little more respectable,' Sandrine parried as she copied his actions.
Michel pulled the beach umbrella from the sand and returned it to the hire stand en route to their hotel. 'Go on up,' he directed when they reached the entrance. 'I'll be there in ten minutes.'
She inclined her head, then crossed to Reception to collect their room card. Inside their suite, she made straight for the shower and emerged into the bedroom to discover Michel in the process of discarding several glossy signature carry bags onto the bed.
'You've been shopping.'
'Something to wear to dinner,' he declared as he divided and emptied the bags. 'Here.' He picked up a tissue-wrapped package and tossed it onto the pillow. 'This is for you.'
This, she discovered, was a pair of black silk evening trousers, together with a silk camisole in soft antique gold. There was also a pair of exquisite, lacy black briefs.
'Thanks,' she murmured appreciatively, watching as he shook free a pair of black slacks and a deep blue, short-sleeved silk shirt.
If only he'd relayed his intention to stay overnight, she could have packed a few clothes and he'd have saved some money. Although money was hardly an issue, she decided as she discarded the towel and quickly donned underwear.
The evening trousers and camisole were a perfect fit, and she was in the process of applying make-up when Michel re-entered the room.
Sandrine glanced away from the mirror and met his gleaming gaze. 'They're lovely,' she complimented.
'Merci,' he acknowledged with mocking amusement as he discarded the towel.
She returned her attention to applying eye shadow, willing her fingers to be steady as she brushed a soft gold to one upper lid.
The mirror proved her worst enemy, for it reflected heavily muscled thighs, smooth hips and buttocks and a fleeting glimpse of male genitalia as he stepped into briefs. The action involved in pulling on the pair of dark trousers emphasised an impressive display of honed muscle and sinew, and she was unable to glance away as he shrugged into his shirt and tended to the buttons.
Get over it, she derided in silent chastisement, and determinedly focused her attention on completing her make-up. It was something of a relief to enter the en suite minutes later, and she activated the hair dryer, opting to leave her hair to fall loose onto her shoulders.
'Beautiful,' Michel complimented when she reentered the bedroom. 'But there's something missing.'
She felt on edge, jittery in a way that could only be attributed to acute sensitivity to this particular man. All her fine body hairs seemed to stand on end, quivering like miniature antennae, and her stomach didn't belong to her at all.
This was madness. Why did she feel as if she were being stalked by a prowling predator waiting for the right moment to pounce?
'What is that?' she managed lightly, and felt her body tremble slightly as he moved towards her.
'These.' He took hold of her left hand and slid first her wedding ring, then the magnificent pear-shaped diamond onto the appropriate finger.
Sandrine looked down at her hand, saw the symbols of his possession and didn't know whether to laugh or cry. 'Michel-'
Anything further she might have uttered was stilled as he pressed a finger to her lips. 'Let's go have that drink, shall we?'
The hotel lounge held a mix of patrons, and Michel quirked an eyebrow when she insisted on orange juice.
'The need for a clear head?'
'Definitely!'
'Afraid, Sandrine?'
Of you? 'No,' she responded evenly. Her reaction to him was something different entirely.
His husky chuckle was almost her undoing, and she could have hit him when he raised his glass in a silent, mocking gesture.
'How is your grandmother?' A safe subject, surely, she considered as she took a sip of the refreshing juice.
Michel's eyes held hers as he settled back in his chair. 'She expressed regret that you were unable to join me.'
Not so safe, she mentally corrected. 'She's an incredible lady.'
'Who regards you with affection.'
What could she say to that? After a few seconds she settled with 'How kind.'
'I promised we'd visit her after our return to New York.'
She didn't want to think that far ahead. It was enough just to get through each day.
'Would you like another drink?'
Sandrine shook her head, then watched as he set his empty glass down on the table. 'Shall we go have dinner?'
They chose Italian, the best restaurant, they were assured, in town. Michel ordered a smooth vintage Lambrusco to accompany a gnocchi starter, and they both settled for veal scallopini as a main, with an exquisite lemon tart for dessert.
The ambience was definitely European, the waiters were Italian, and the food … perfetto. Sandrine expressed her pleasure as the waiter served them with a liqueur coffee.
'I don't think I'll eat a thing until at least midday tomorrow,' she declared as they walked out onto the street.
One shoestring strap slipped down over her shoulder and she absently slid it back in place. It had been a great few hours, reminding her far too vividly of previous evenings they'd shared over good food and fine wine.
'That was nice,' she said, offering him a warm smile. 'Thank you.'
His expression was equally warm, and those brilliant grey eyes bore a gleam she didn't care to define. 'My pleasure.'