‘And?’ he teased.
I waved my hand as if I were shooing away a fly. ‘You know the answer to that.’ Then I changed the subject. ‘So, what’s every man’s idea of a woman’s fantasy job?’
‘Well, personally speaking, I go a bit crazy for someone trekking up a mountain or taking photos in a double barrel wave.’
‘I’ve trekked through a jungle in the Amazon. Does that count?’ I asked coyly.
‘It sure does.’ He leaned in, putting his hand lightly on the small of my back. My stomach did a small flip as he asked, ‘Can I get you another whisky? Water?’
I couldn’t breathe for a second because he’d got too close, and now I could only smell the wonderful scent of his aftershave. Up close, I noticed he hadn’t shaved in a day or two and I wondered what his stubble would feel like. His perfect jaw line, his full lips.
‘I … I’ll just have a water,’ I stammered. ‘Actually, no, I’ll have a whisky.’
‘Both?’ He dug around in the bag in front of him. ‘I don’t want to get in trouble for looking like I’m trying to get you drunk.’
‘Are you?’ I teased, still thinking about his lips.
‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘Yes? But more no. I mean – how can I answer that?’
He handed me the bottle of whisky. I took a sip and let the warmth flush around my body. He pointed at the stars.
‘That’s Sirius there; look closely, can you see it flashing? It’s one of the nearest stars to us, but if you are patient you’ll see it has flashes of green and blue.’
‘Now, Mr Penguin Trainer, you’re just showing off,’ I said, my head tilted to the sky, trying not to look at him.
‘Am I?’ He was staring at me, instead of the stars.
He took a deep breath and looked back at the stars. ‘Where are you headed next?’
‘Who knows?’ I shrugged, trying not to think about kissing him. ‘Alaska,’ I said dreamily, thinking about my list of places to travel next. ‘Or the Galapagos Islands.’
‘I hear Alaska’s beautiful, but expensive.’
‘Kinda like Antarctica.’
‘Will you be volunteering with penguins?’
‘Maybe wolves.’ I smiled. ‘But they’re not as high on the totem pole as dolphin trainers or penguin volunteers.’
‘I’ve heard. Sadly, wolves are down near otter trainers or snake collectors.’
‘Well, I’m going there determined to bring the sexy back to wolves. Correction, sexy wolves back.’
He chuckled. ‘You’re bringing sexy wolves back. Where? In your suitcase?’
I laughed. ‘No, I meant … it was … a Justin Timberlake reference.’
‘Yes, I got that. I’m not that much older than you.’
‘Really?’ I teased. ‘Could have fooled me. Since you’ve got a lot more grey hairs than I do.’
‘Hey!’ He leaned away from me and covered his hair. ‘The truth doesn’t always need to be pointed out.’
I giggled and reached to point them out, but he ducked away. ‘And what do you have planned next, Mr Penguin Trainer?’
‘Well, me and my grey hairs may decide to step up on the career ladder, and earn lots and lots of money. Or just quit and travel. Or live somewhere near the beach. Or the country.’
‘That sounds wonderful,’ I said, thinking of my perfect place. ‘A little white country cottage?’
‘With a veggie garden,’ he added.
‘An apple orchard and a bunch of chickens.’
‘Definitely chickens. Some dogs too.’
‘A chocolate Labrador!’
He laughed. ‘How good would that life be?’
I sighed and took another sip of whisky. ‘I’d give up anything for some space and wildness out of the city. But how would I make money?’
‘How do you make it now?’
‘Oh, you know, bits and pieces.’ I thought back to my Mexican burrito days. Do not talk about them, they’re as sexy as mentioning that you wear granny panties three days in a row. ‘But I really like to paint and draw.’
I couldn’t believe I’d just said that. I’d always wanted to be an artist. But I’d never actually sold a painting; in fact, showing my paintings to people made me feel awkward and unsure, like I was handing them my baby, and asking was it ugly? For that reason, I hardly showed anyone my paintings Right now, in my backpack was a rolled-up wad of landscapes – the turquoise seas of Cyprus, a piece of Dubrovnik coastline, an old door I couldn’t stop looking at in Venice. They’d probably end up shoved to the back of my wardrobe. I hadn’t divulged my secret passion to anyone.
So, I couldn’t believe I was telling Nick this fact about me. I was used to meeting travellers, and going out with them for the night, sharing silly stuff, but this felt different, it felt much more personal.
‘I’d like to see one.’
‘Maybe one day.’ I smiled at him, and was surprised to realise I meant it.
Nick took the whisky bottle, which was dug in the sand, and took a swig. ‘I’ve been focused a lot on work these last few years. Working really long nights. It’s the same thing day in and day out. Deadlines. And appointments. And bills to pay. Being single, sometimes I’m not sure when to leave the office. Nothing to go home to, you know?’
I nodded. I did know that feeling.
‘Maybe you don’t, because you’re always travelling, being a free spirit, you probably have no idea what it’s like for us nine to fivers.’
I was about to let him know that I knew all too well, when he leaned in closer to me, and I could feel the warmth of his body. The smell of whisky and ocean salt on his lips. I forgot all my words. He paused for a second. ‘Do you ever get lonely, travelling by yourself?’
I swallowed as he leaned in closer, inches from my face.
‘Maybe,’ I said, then admitted, ‘sometimes I think that’s part of the reason I keep moving around the world so much.’
He looked into my eyes, and traced his finger along my cheek. The sound of the waves against the sand was a soft lull, like someone whispering. He leaned towards me and brushed a piece of hair back from my face. My stomach flipped. I could smell sea salt on him, and mint aftershave; his lips were close. He kissed me softly and I melted slightly. His lips were soft on mine as he held my face in one hand. I lost all track of time and the night. An hour could have passed. Or a second.
Finally, he broke away. ‘Wow.’
‘A lot, wow.’ I felt light-headed and dizzy.
‘Do you want to go home and warm up?’ he said, looking into my eyes, then he held up his hand. ‘And before you ask, this is not how I get girls back to my villa. This is how I hopefully get you back to my villa.’
I nodded quickly. He put out the fire, grabbed towels and my hand and led me across the soft white sand. His villa was about fifty metres further down the beach. A white stucco town house, with white tiles inside, an open-plan kitchen, a long, carpeted corridor, and a small plunge pool at the back in a green-grass courtyard.
‘You own this?’ I think my mouth was hanging open.
‘Part own it. It’s