Deep Diving (4 page)

‘Sure. When?’ I can talk about competing until the sun comes up and with a fellow athlete, it’ll be interesting to compare notes.

‘On our way home, unless you have plans.’

‘I don’t have plans. All I plan are my dives, the rest of the holiday is how it comes.’ I get to my feet and grab my gear.

‘So, where’s the best place to eat?’ We walk across the sand, heading for the road.

‘Aunty Sue’s.’ It’s an easy answer, my favourite place to eat, with fresh, fabulous food. ‘I’m covered in salt, I’d like a shower first.’

Cooper grins. ‘You have to be quick. I’m not waiting hours for my food.’

‘I won’t keep you from your food. Promise.’ My fingers brush against his forearm as it swings with his stride. My fingertips are scorched, my palm tingles, and cells dance. Heat suffuses. I need to keep away from his body.

‘So where’s the restaurant? The other side of the island?’ Cooper’s question makes me grin. More concerned with food than flirting, that makes a change.

‘No, it’s at the top of the hill. Along Anderson’s Road, almost opposite the Broken Banyan apartments. Do you know where I mean?’

‘No. I’m on the other side.’

While we walk my mind’s going a hundred miles an hour. I’m at those apartments and I could offer him the use of my shower but he has no clothes to change into. Surely he’ll be keen to rinse the salt away? And at this moment, he’s more interested in food than sex so he won’t misconstrue my invitation. Will he? I doubt it. Besides, I’ve handled much pushier men than him. ‘I’m at the Broken Banyan apartments. If you don’t want to walk down and back up, you can use my shower.’

It takes a few seconds for him to examine my invitation. ‘Are my shorts and T-shirt okay for the restaurant?’ No sexual overtones.

‘Sure. It’s relaxed, casual. You’ll be fine.’

His thanks is delivered with a low-wattage smile.

We turn into the apartment complex and make our way to mine. It’s small and isolated, which is why I stay here, but with Cooper beside me it goes from small to tiny.

The key slips into the lock and turns with a growl. It hadn’t growled this morning.

Cooper chuckles behind me. ‘Sorry. I told you I was starving.’

‘That’s your stomach, not my door? Phew.’ I open the door and invite him in. The apartment has a kitchen-lounge room taking up the majority of the area, and a large bedroom and bathroom to the side.

‘We’d better make the showers quick, I don’t want you feeding on me for dinner.’ I grin what I hope is saucy, cheeky and fun. Before he can answer, I toss my snorkelling gear into the kitchen sink. ‘Leave your gear here. I’ll wash it and bring it down in the morning.’

‘You don’t have to do that.’

I shrug. ‘There’s not much point you lugging it to dinner. It won’t take long.’

Stepping into the bedroom, I grab the spare towel and toss it to Cooper. ‘You go first while I get some clothes out.’ I point him towards the ensuite. As I open the wardrobe, my hand falls on a light green sundress that goes well with my tan. Before I can take it off the hanger, the shower’s running. Seems hunger is the more important driver.

***

At the restaurant, after being greeted warmly by the waitress, a loaf of bread and a bottle of water are placed on the table as we’re seated. The bread is warm and flavoured with herbs. I can’t stop myself. I break off a thick chunk before passing the basket to Cooper. He grabs a piece and bites into it. His lips close over the crust and sink down. His eyes close. Crumbs nestle in the corner of his lips. I want to lean over and lick them up but as soon as I think it, his tongue flicks out and captures them. He swallows the bread, his neck bobbing as he does, and then he slides his tongue across his lips to capture other crumbs that cling.

I squirm on my seat. This is going to be a challenging meal. If I manage not to leave behind a puddle or have a heart attack trying to stop an orgasm, I’ll be surprised.

‘What’s wrong with your bread?’ Cooper nods to my hand.

I haven’t eaten the bread. After hastily tearing off a chunk it’s sitting between my fingers halfway to my mouth in suspended animation. I’m not hungry, at least not for food.

I pour water with my free hand and gulp half a glass before I eat my bread. I can do this. I can flirt and lure without fucking him, at least on the first night. He won’t expect resistance. I could make this fun, a competition.

The young waitress has eyes for Cooper. She comes to take our order and looks directly at him. ‘What can I offer you tonight?’ she asks. I almost choke. Cooper deflects by allowing me to order first. I choose the seafood chowder and Cooper orders blue swimmer crabs. If you’re on an island, might as well make use of the seafood.

The waitress completely ignores me. I hope she wrote down my order. Cooper is in her sights. ‘Oh, you’ll love the crabs. They’re fresh today and just to die for. I’ll make sure you get the best ones.’

Cooper continues eating his bread as if he hasn’t heard her. A brisk nod is all the acknowledgment he gives and I think that’s only from politeness.

‘Could I recommend a wine?’ she asks.

After we both decline wine, the waitress fills our water glasses, leaning over far too much to fill Cooper’s. He must have an uninterrupted view down her blouse at a no-doubt lacy bra and spilling breasts.

But he remains motionless, his attention still on me, and she leaves. I’d like to preen or whoop but I sit still until Cooper raises his glass. I do the same.

‘To a great dive buddy,’ he says, as if the interlude with the waitress had not occurred.

‘And great diving.’ We clink glasses. My gaze catches with his and the world stops for a few seconds. Scents of salt, yeasty bread and Cooper fill me, magnified in the stillness. The earthy scent of the surrounding rainforest drifts in, mingling with the rich smells of cooking. Our locked gazes snap apart and the world resumes.

‘You don’t drink wine?’ Cooper asks.

‘After a misspent youth, I avoid alcohol. You?’

He shakes his head. ‘The same.’ There’s a pause before he says, ‘How often do you come here?’ And I know he means the restaurant.

‘Oh, gosh, I hate to think. Maybe every second night or so.’

‘Aren’t the other places any good?’

‘Oh they are. But I keep coming back here. It lures me every night, which is why I stay so close.’

‘I can’t believe you’re such a foodie.’

‘Why not?’

My body flutters beneath the look he skims over me. My sundress no longer covers enough flesh. Breasts swell and press out of my bodice. My arms are too bare, the straps too thin. I’m glad we’re seated because the dress would surely be too short even though it skims my knees.

‘You must work hard.’

I laugh. ‘Are you politely implying I eat too much?’ I’m not offended, just teasing.

He flushes a delicate shade of pink that shouldn’t suit a man but does him. ‘Most women I know don’t eat much. I like that you do.’

‘I work hard and burn up food. I’m lucky that way. Do you have a strict diet?’

‘When I’m training I do. Not so much on holidays but I love fresh food so it’s pretty easy.’ He lifts his eyes as an older waitress lowers a huge bowl before me. ‘Wow. That’s the chowder?’

I nod, eyes gleaming. I love the chowder.

Cooper’s crabs and salad are on a plate the size of a platter. The young waitress brings them over and fusses around placing them before him. She bends extra low, no doubt luring him with another view of her ample cleavage. Not that I’m jealous or anything.

When he again pays her no attention, it’s pretty hard not to inwardly gloat.

He whistles softly when we’re alone again. ‘You aren’t wrong about the size of the meals. There has to be three crabs in this pile.’

‘Lucky you’re hungry.’ I grin, thinking that it would need at least three crabs to fill him up. There’s so much of him and not much in a crab.

We tuck into our meals and the conversation drops to minimal. A few moans of pleasure escape me as I hoe into the steaming bowl of chowder. Cooper makes a couple of comments about the fresh, salty taste of his meal. There’s not a lot of talking when the food’s this good.

About halfway through my chowder, I stop to see how his meal is going. He’s the picture of enjoyment as he lifts a forkful of crab flesh, rocket, cherry tomato and cucumber to his mouth. His lips open, a stray rocket leaf snags at the corner and his tongue whisks it inside. Low down my stomach clenches and I clamp my legs tight together. He chews. His eyes widen as he sees my glance and his lips lift at the corners. When he finishes his mouthful, he grins. ‘Bloody fantastic.’

I laugh and dig into my chowder. I have to eat and not watch.

The next time I look, his hand is curved around a front nipper and he’s trying to snap it open, watching the claw as he pushes his hands towards each other and down. He stares with avid concentration. He seems intent on judging the exact pressure needed to snap it. The tip of his tongue presses against the corner of his mouth, bright pink against his darker lips. His attention is solely focussed on his task, making me wonder if he’s like that with his sport. With a resounding snap, the shell breaks and he becomes aware of my gaze. He grins triumphantly. ‘This is spectacular.’ Then he closes his mouth around one half of the crab claw and sucks.

It’s a wicked sight.

His lips hold tightly to the red and white claw. His cheeks dip as he sucks the flesh. Eyes downcast, his lashes lie decadently against high cheekbones. His expressions show at least three of the seven deadly sins — gluttony, greed and lust. Heat races through me and moisture pools between my thighs. God, what would those lips feel like sucking my flesh like that?

Turning his attention to the second half, it slips between his lips and he draws the meat out. As his lips tighten around the crab claw, various body parts within me contract as if his lips were sucking on them. My nipples squeeze tight, throbbing, but nowhere near as hard as my clit. My toes curl into the floor. I shift in my seat, searching for my discarded shoes as if wearing them will halt my reactions.

His eyes widen, his gaze lifts, the empty claw is laid on the plate. He chews on the morsel of flesh. He looks at me and in about two seconds has read my mind. ‘I should be glad you aren’t the one sucking these claws.’ He winks and I choke on air. The rest of the crab legs are devoured while my gaze remains on my chowder.
God, how can I resist him?

He’s interested and why shouldn’t he be? I’m still a good catch. Tanned, tall, fit, active. So what if I’m a decade or more older? Although, those added years should give me far more sense. I know sports stars have women falling off them. If they aren’t hot for their muscles, then they’re hot for the fame that comes from being seen with them. It’s not only women affected. I had my share of men after me until I realised it wasn’t me they were competing for. I was interchangeable with any other successful female athlete.

Dinner finishes and I manage not to orgasm while Cooper sucks every last crab claw and leg. There must have been hundreds of them. I almost scraped through the china of the chowder bowl trying not to watch. I regaled him with every Olympic tale I could think of to keep my mind off jumping him.

After he’s licked each finger clean, the young waitress appears, late and flustered, with a finger bowl. No doubt she’s been enjoying the show as much as I have. ‘Can I offer you dessert?’ she asks breathlessly, her gaze only for Cooper. I try not to cough as I breathe in the innuendo-soaked air.

‘No thanks. I don’t do dessert.’ His comment is light and delivered with no care. I choke on a sip of water. My mind is doing the ‘crash and burn’ scene from
Top Gun
. I’m glad it wasn’t me on the receiving end of his coldness.

When she leaves, I can’t help but ask. ‘You don’t do dessert?’

He shakes his head in a ‘not now’ kind of way, and asks if I’m finished and ready to go. We argue over the bill before I pay half.

On the way back to my apartment, he says, ‘Sorry about the dessert thing.’

‘Hey, don’t worry. I guess that happens to you a lot.’

He flicks his head around to stare at me, a puzzled look on his face. ‘Why do you say that?’

Laughing, shaking my head, and trying not to trip over my feet while I stare at him, I realise he’s not being funny. ‘Cooper, watching you eat is sinful. Every waitress no doubt wishes you’d eat them for dessert.’

He looks genuinely surprised. ‘Sinful? Eating?’ He shakes his head and walks on a bit before stopping and turning back to me. ‘Feel like a walk?’

‘Yes. I often do after a big meal.’

‘Where do you walk?’

‘Anywhere at all. You pick.’

We walk back to Neds Beach in silence. It’s not uncomfortable but I wish I hadn’t made that crack about him being sinful.

‘Why do you think I’m sinful?’ He asks the question as if he can read my thoughts.

‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.’

‘Because it’s not true, or because you don’t want to explain yourself?’ He smiles to take the edge off his words but I still feel the sting.

‘I don’t want to explain myself.’ To lighten the solemn mood I add with a chuckle, ‘For fear of incriminating myself.’

It works; he laughs out loud. ‘You’re incriminated enough. Your face speaks louder than words.’

‘Sorry. I remember what it’s like to never be anything more than meat and muscle. I don’t want to do that to you.’

‘You remember…as in it doesn’t happen anymore? I find that hard to believe.’

I smile at his compliment but I answer his question. ‘I know that it happens, why it happens and I avoid it. The ice queen thing works well. Plus, now I work with kids and that’s easier.’

‘What do you do?’

‘I train kids, talented kids regardless of socio-economic standing.’

‘Does that mean you train kids for free?’

‘Some, yes. Others pay. Some are on scholarship-type programs.’

We walk and talk about athletics, funding, and life. Deep conversations for a ‘first date’. However, the longer I’m with Cooper, the less it feels like a date. It’s friends, talking and enjoying it. We aren’t touching, we’re walking together in synchronous movements and I’m happy. His company is fun, sexy and I’m more alive than I’ve felt for a long time.