The finger is distracting but I keep my head. ‘You’ve got a cheese sandwich. Take it or leave it.’
‘You’re a hard woman, Billie.’
We break apart at the sound of the men coming back with the fish they have caught. It is funny to watch him hopping into his trousers. I sit on the table, reeking of sex and as naked as the day I was born, and laugh.
By the time he comes back into the house with the fish, I am wearing one of his T-shirts and have already cobbled together his sandwich. He puts the fish—the men have gutted and cleaned them—in the sink and goes to sit at the table.
I slap the plate with the sandwich in front of him.
He opens the richly buttered bread and looks at the filling: thick slices of cheese and tomato in layers. He raises his eyes up to me and grins. ‘Dude food?’
I grin back. ‘Exactly.’
He picks it up and takes a big bite. ‘The milled pepper is a nice touch.’
‘Thank you,’ I say graciously.
I sit next to him and watch him wolf it down and feel almost protective of him. Woe betide anybody who tries to hurt him. It’s an odd thought.
Fifteen
That afternoon we take it easy. Jaron shows me around the little villa. There is a room with a mirrored wall and exercise equipment, a spare bedroom, two bathrooms, a kitchen, a storeroom, a dining room, a porch and our room, the master bedroom. It is dominated by a huge cream bed. A mosquito net hangs over it like a cloud.
‘Very romantic,’ I say.
‘Mossies will eat you alive without the net. They are terrible, the only drawback to this place. Make sure you spray on a lot of bug repellent before the sun sets.
‘OK.’
We swim and go snorkeling. The water is super clear because it has been a calm day and he points out all kinds of fantastically colored fish and marine life.
When evening comes we stand on the beach and watch the sun setting. The sky is almost purple. It is unforgettably beautiful. Jaron twines his hands into mine.
‘What happens after sundown?’ I ask.
‘Nudity,’ he says with a smile.
I laugh. ‘How much nudity?’
‘Lots.’
Jaron barbecues the fish that the men caught and we eat them. They are succulent and wonderful the way food never is when you are not truly hungry. After the meal I have a shower. The water is brackish. Then we sit on the beach covered in bug repellent drinking rum and talking.
‘Listen,’ I say, suddenly catching what seems to me to be the sound of music.
‘It’s a party on the mainland,’ he replies.
‘Wow, the sound travels that far?’
‘Sometimes when the air is very still you can even hear a dog bark.’
‘Really?’
‘You want to go?’ he asks.
‘To the party?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Of course I want to go to a Bahamian party,’ I say enthusiastically.
‘OK,’ he agrees.
‘We’re going to crash their party?’
He smiles. ‘See you need to get into island mentality. This is not England where you need to let people know that you are going to come around. Here people just drop in. More or less everyone on the mainland knows me. I’m usually invited.’
‘Great. I love parties.’
‘Come on then. Let’s go.’
I change into an apple green top with spaghetti straps, tight red pants and the only pair of shoes I have left, now that my other pair is lying at the bottom of the ocean. But the gold sandals actually look glitzy and partyish. I layer on the mascara and slap on the gloss and I am ready.
‘Looking good, Billie,’ I tell my reflection.
‘You look amazing,’ Jaron says from our bedroom doorway.
I turn around and look at him. He is wearing all black again. In the dim light, he looks mysterious and positively unreachable. I walk up to him and touch him. A thrill of something potent but secret runs up my arm. The desire for him doesn’t abate but just becomes stronger and stronger.
‘I don’t know why I did that.’
He grins. ‘I don’t know either, but I like it.’ He runs his index finger down my cheek reflectively.
Suddenly I feel nervous. I smile weakly. ‘You’re staring.’
‘So are you.’
I pretend to grin. ‘I can’t stop. What’s your excuse?’
‘Same,’ he says very quietly, with no trace of humor in his voice.
He bends his head and claims my mouth and the kiss—I don’t even know if I can describe it as a kiss—is a mess of all things: it’s soft and yet hard, caring and yet fierce, liberating and yet possessive.
For a while I resist the conflicting demands of the kiss and then I give in, and I find myself in a slow dance. But it is not us who are dancing. It is our souls, entwined, swirling, merging like liquid. It is so beautiful and profound it hurts. When he breaks away, I touch my mouth and stare at him in awe. I feel almost drunk. My pulse is racing like mad.