An Honorable Surprise (10 page)

He took off his sun glasses. “You were right, this morning. This ship is an island. In fact, it’s claustrophobic. We need to get off it and explore. Apparently you only have to drive a few miles into the hills away from the coast and you get away from everybody. So that’s what we’re going to do. Let’s have dinner in the town tonight, and then maybe tomorrow hire a car and disappear into the mountains.”

“On our own? Seriously? What about Charlie’s Angels?” she teased, getting off her sun lounger and walking over to him.

“Now, now. I’ll feel safer if we take Gina tonight in case you attract any more unwanted attention. But, no, we’ll fend for ourselves later when we explore. Besides, you’ve already persuaded me that I’m neurotic about security! Hey - stop, get off me!”

Tamara bent down and kissed his shoulder, tasting his sweat and suddenly feeling strangely aroused.
 

It’s as though I’m losing all my fears. But it’s crazy to think anything can seriously happen between us.

“It’s a great idea,” she said lightly, sliding her hands down his chest. “ Let’s go ashore in good time so we can wander around before eating.”

****

“So what do I give to the man who has everything?” Tamara teased.

Her arm was in Simon’s as they sauntered past the shops in Positano. It was early evening, and still warm. “I could answer that question in several ways, most of them highly questionable,” Simon quipped, squeezing her hand. “But let’s play a game. We’ll choose a shop, give ourselves ten minutes, and each choose a present. But the rule is this. The present has to be cheap, tawdry and ridiculous!”

“You’re on,” Tamara laughed, amazed to see him so relaxed and buoyant. “But no peeking at what we’re each looking at. And we’ll give each other’s present after dinner. Deal?”

“Done,” he laughed. “And unless I’m mistaken, we’ve reached our treasure trove. Tourist kitsch. I love it!” Holding her hand, he pushed through a bead curtain and led Tamara into Il Emporio, a treasure trove of souvenirs, trinkets, postcards and china ornaments.
 

****
 

Tamara kicked off her heels and sank back into the pale cushioned couch in Simon’s stateroom. “What an amazing meal. I mean - it was just simple, everyday ingredients, local caught fish. But it was more than delicious.”

“It’s the Mediterranean diet, I guess,” Simon sighed. “You’re right - we were spoiled. But then, Italians always strive for la bella figura, and you’ve got that, in spades.”

“Bella figura?’ What’s that?” she asked, lifting her legs and resting them across his knees.

“Difficult to translate. Translated in black and white it means ‘beautiful figure’ but in Italy it stands for style, and beauty, and class, and - sexiness!“ Simon stopped speaking and leaned towards her, bending down and kissing her leg, moving slowly towards her knee and thigh.
 

“Stop it!” Tamara shouted, pulling her knees up. “Don’t be greedy!”

He looked crestfallen before he realised she was teasing. “And I never even had the restaurant’s famed desert! It looked delicious too! The trouble is, you put a man off his food.”

Am I dreaming? I want him. I want him so badly.

“Hey - we haven’t given each other our presents,” she cried, suddenly grateful for the chance to somehow give themselves some space. She got up and found her purse. “You said we had to choose cheap and cheerful, so, well, here you are,” she ended shyly, passing Simon a tiny parcel tied with purple gift wrap.

He looked at it carefully, held it up to the light, and then shook it, listening carefully. “Hmm - I can’t guess what it is. And you know how I hate surprises. Can I open it?”

She rolled her eyes. “No, you can just throw it overboard. Don’t be silly!”

A moment later Simon gazed entranced. “You are so clever,” he breathed. “A tiny model guitar! It’s beautiful!”

“No, it’s cheap!” Tamara laughed. “But those were the rules we agreed. As soon as I saw it I knew it was the perfect present for you. It reminded me of that evening at the palazzo when I first listened to you playing your guitar.”

“I can’t match that,” he laughed. “But maybe my present cost less than yours?” He reached into his chino pocket. “Here you are. Be careful. It’s very fragile!”

Tamara unwrapped his gift slowly. “I feel like it’s Christmas,” she said, before finally removing the last piece of wrapping paper. “Wow - I don’t believe it? It’s a fish? No, it’s a
 
tiny silver lobster!” She turned it over carefully, “With amazingly lifelike claws as well?”

“It’s an evening of firsts, I guess. Your gift is to do with the first time you heard me playing, and this reminded me of
 
our first meal together at the Club when I ranted on about saving the lobster! You were so polite but I could tell you were bored stiff!”

“Simon, it’s lovely! It’s going to join my other charms!” She stood up and carefully fastened the small trinket on to her bracelet. Simon flushed with pleasure, and ran his hand through his wavy hair.
 

“I’d say he’s a very happy lobster. No one’s going to eat him anymore!” He got up and stood beside her for a moment, and then gently pulled her towards him, kissing her cheek and neck. Tamara felt overpowered by his potent masculinity as Simon held her wrists behind her back so that she arched upwards and pressed herself against him. Her breathing altered and her heart raced as he released her wrists carefully. Still kissing her, he slowly unbuttoned her white blouse and pulled it free before reaching behind her and unclipping her skirt, allowing it to fall to the carpet, so that she stood naked before him save for her black bra and panties.

“You have the most beautiful skin,” he breathed, reaching down and stroking her slowly. Tamara felt wanton as her body quivered with life.
 

 
“Keep doing that to me,” she said huskily.
 

“Can I make you come like this?” he whispered, his eyes never leaving hers, his hand never ceasing its insistent, arousing, caress.

She didn’t answer but her desire was screaming at him in her head as the delicious slow build of pleasure began to thrum throughout her body.

His eyes were molten as he stroked her harder and deeper, before sliding his hand under her panties.

She squirmed with slippery delight, holding him tight as he entered her wetness.

“Don’t stop,” she gasped. “Please, don’t ever stop!” With a groan of abandonment Tamara thrust herself
 
against Simon’s fingers, willing him to take her utterly as she lost all restraint and then cried out in utter release, all calm of mind, all passion spent.
 

Her breathing was ragged and her body shook as wave after wave of delight flooded through her defences and fears until, slowly, her heart slowed and her heat cooled.

“Don’t say anything, my darling, don’t move,” Simon whispered, holding her tightly, before withdrawing from her slowly. “Here, let me carry you.”
 

He reached down and scooped her up effortlessly. Tamara allowed herself to sink dreamily into his arms as he carried her to their bed and laid her gently on the cotton sheets.
 

“Simon? Don’t you want to -“

“Shhh,” he whispered. “We have all the time in the world!” He undressed quickly, throwing his clothes on the cabin floor so that his lean, solid body was framed by the window, silhouetted against the moon.
 

Before she drifted into the sleep of satisfied fulfilment, Tamara felt
 
Simon stroking her back and nuzzling her hair, and pressed herself against the protection of his hard body.
 

Chapter 11

“Ah - the walk of shame,” Simon teased as Tamara joined him for breakfast. “I seem to recall you didn’t even take off your underwear before you fell asleep!”

“SIMON!” she grimaced. “Don’t be unkind! It was your fault anyway,” she added coyly, grabbing the coffee.
 

“I won’t ask if you slept well, then,” he answered, smiling at her.
 

God, he looks divine. I can’t bear to think it’s going to come to an end in a few days.

“Now - slight change of plan. I’ve got a video conference call in an hour or so, but I’ve emailed your office to sort out a car for us so we can get off before lunch. I’ve done some research on the web and printed out where we might go.” He got up and walked round to Tamara with a sheet of paper. “Here,” he said, bending over her shoulder, “It looks as though we leave the town this way, and then take that road to head up into the hills. After that, we’re on our own!”

Tamara’s stomach fluttered. Even in the cool of the morning she sensed his body heat. “That sounds amazing,” she just managed to say calmly. “Who’s going to do the map-reading?”

He looked at her in surprise. “Who said anything about maps? Haven’t you heard of sat-nav? We’re guided automatically to wherever we want to go. Just like this.” And he trailed his finger across her shoulder and along her collar-bone. “Wherever
 
we want to go.”

She slapped his hand in mock anger. “You’re so predictable. Like all men!”

No - that’s not true. He’s not like any other man I’ve known. Simon Henty is one in a million.

****

Tamara spotted the blood red Ferrari convertible beside the harbour before their launch had even moored. She turned to Simon. “I thought you wanted to be incognito when you travelled? You’ve already got petrol heads gawping at it .”

He smiled, but then frowned. “I hope they don’t put fingermarks
 
over it! Listen, Tamara - when in Italy, do as the Italians do. I believe in buying local produce, as you know, and Ferrari is, well -“

“One of the most show-off cars ever invented,” she finished. “Not to mention its gas guzzling quotient. I thought you wanted to save the planet?”

“Hey - hey,” Simon joshed. “A show-off car that’s exactly right to show off the woman standing next to me!”

Did he really mean that?

“I take it you can remember which side of the road to drive on?” she answered half-crossly. “I’m not going to feel safe.”

“You’re in safe hands - as I believe you already know?” he joked, sliding his hand down her back.

Tamara couldn’t reply: the launch was tethered quickly and they walked ashore. One of Simon’s security team walked towards them and handed over the keys. “She’s a beauty, Mr. Henty. Drives like a dream.”

“Thanks, Frank. I’ll let you know when we need you to collect. Is everything I asked for packed OK?”

Frank nodded and smiled at Tamara as he opened the passenger door for her. “Have a great day, Tamara.”

She slid into the charcoal dark leather luxury seats and watched as Simon checked the console before revving the engines.
 

“Ready for take-off?” he grinned.

A moment later she was pressed back into her seat as their car shot forward, scattering seagulls that wheeled around them angrily. “Stop it!” she shouted. “Let me out!”

Simon immediately braked and pulled over to the kerb. He reached across and put his hand on Tamara’s thigh.

“That’s enough showing off for today,” he said penitently. “I’ll put my boy racer kit away. Promise.”

She looked at him to see if he was joking, but his turquoise blue eyes looked at her seriously. “Let’s hit the road,” she said, laying her hand on his, her heart racing, noticing the short, golden hairs on his forearm as he changed gear.
 

“We’ll take the coast road for a couple of miles. It’s dramatically beautiful, and then we’ll turn off. Enjoy!”
 

It didn’t take long to clear the outskirts of Positano
,
and then the curving road clung to the contours of the steep hillsides as they swept along the Amalfi coastline, the Mediterranean glittering below them, every road bend offering a dramatic vista of azure water shimmering in the heat below a sheer precipice. With the roof open, Tamara enjoyed the scent of pines mingled with the clean breeze from the sea below.
 

Simon glanced at the sat-nav screen and slowed. “We should be approaching the exit in a couple of miles. Then we start climbing into the hills. Somewhere - I hope - we’ll find an entrancing spot to stop and eat!”

Before long they had left the coast road and their road twisted and turned through narrow ravines dappled with sunshine; the smooth tarmac changed to rougher road surfaces, and the dense pine trees gave way to small olive groves, rising on narrow tiers up the slopes on either side of them.
 

“There’s something mysterious about olive groves,” Simon said, pulling to one side of the road and switching off the engine. “Many of these trees are hundreds of years old. Heaven knows when people first carved out the hillside to plant them.”

“I love the way the sun filters through the branches giving everything that shady, greeny, coolness.”

“That’s the secret, you see. You prune an olive tree until it is open enough for a bird to fly through it. Letting light into the trees improves the quality of the olive.”

Tamara turned and looked at him. “How do you know all this stuff? When did you learn to prune an olive tree?”

Simon paused for a second. “My folks had a tiny olive grove. My great grandmother was Italian, you see. Pruning and harvesting was passed down. We had a small press and even managed to make enough oil to see us through each season.”
 

In spite of the heat, Tamara felt an icy prickle of anxiety when Simon talked about his parents, but she didn’t have to answer because he started the engine and pulled out onto the road.
 
“OK, let’s get going,” he said cheerfully. “We level out soon, and then you can choose where we stop.”

Simon was right. The steep climb levelled out and they soon found themselves among olive groves dotted with dark green cypress trees. The hills stretched away in the shimmering heat and when Simon drove slowly to avoid ruts in the track Tamara was certain she could hear larks singing high above them.

“This is wonderful,” she breathed, “The countryside is so beautiful. It’s like we’re in a different world. It’s so peaceful.”