Deep Diving (3 page)

He grins that sexy smile he’s given me before, where one side of his mouth lifts and his cheek plumps and creases. His eyes get a half-closed look, which reminds me of a post-coital satiated gaze and my stomach takes a rollercoaster ride.

I suck in two breaths of salty air before I turn in his direction. He’s peeling his wetsuit down his legs. Thighs better than I remembered emerge. Well-defined, deliciously huge thighs streaked with sinew. His knees are overshadowed by quads swelling with tight ripples. He turns his back as he peels the wetsuit lower. His back flexes as he tries to pull the wetsuit from his ankles. But it’s the rounded globes of his butt that hold my gaze.
Oh, dear heaven. What a butt
.

He needs help. Reluctantly I move in front of him, grab the wetsuit and help to pull it over his feet. Wide feet, with broad toes. Feet I’d like to…

Whoa!

This public dive boat is no place for these thoughts to be taken further.

Swathed in a towel, I have my defences up before he returns from taking both wetsuits to the bucket on board. He pulls on shorts and a T-shirt before leaning against the boat rail beside me. I can’t decide if I’m glad he’s covered up or not. Everyone’s on board now, so we head back in.

Continuing flirting would be fun but instead I speak about the dive. ‘There were so many fish down there.’

‘And so friendly. I don’t think I’ve had fish come up to my face like that.’

‘I’ve been to lots of dive spots but they’re much friendlier here. That’s why I keep coming back.’

‘Do you come here often?’ he asks.

‘Every year for the past six or so years. I can’t stop coming.’

‘Why? There are lots of diving holidays.’

I look from the lagoon to the island, the twin peaks to the east, the scooping dip of land in the middle of the island, and to the western hills. My lips twist as I list the reasons. ‘The diving here is as good as anywhere else, and the snorkelling is as good as the diving. There are walks if you feel like climbing a hill. And it’s safe. I can roam around after dinner and never worry about my safety.’ I pause and tip my head to the side. ‘And the food’s great.’

‘Do you always travel alone?’

‘I prefer to. I’ve travelled with friends but it usually ruins the friendship. I’ve travelled a lot for work, in groups, so holidays alone are important for my sanity.’

He nods in a way that makes me think he understands. ‘How long are you here for?’

‘Ten more days. You?’

‘Two weeks. Each year I do a dive holiday somewhere and I’ve not been here before. I usually go overseas.’

‘Why overseas when there are so many great sites in Australia?’

He shifts as if uncomfortable before shrugging and avoiding my question. ‘Would you mind…’ He pauses before beginning again. ‘Are you doing more dives?’

‘Yes, every day, at least one. A night dive tomorrow if they have enough people. You?’

‘I haven’t booked ahead. I wasn’t sure what it’d be like.’

As the boat pulls into the shore, the gangway lowers, and Cooper leans close. His breath drifts over the edge of my ear, down my neck, and skims across my collarbone. Goosebumps cover me. It’s delicious.

‘Would you mind if I buddied with you for your dives? Or is that too pushy?’ He leans back and a cross between a smirk and a smile flits across his face.

A thousand thoughts scramble through my head. I’d like to be cool and say no, but it’s game playing and I’m no longer playing those games. He’s a great buddy, I can’t deny I enjoy his company. My hesitation stems from my attraction. Can I handle myself without falling over him? I pause, running the tip of my tongue along the seam of my lips. Surely I can control myself. ‘I’d like that.’

Together we unload and rinse our gear. We work together and chat about the dive while my mind muses. His muscles are huge, he must play footy. He’s from Melbourne so it must be AFL, since Victoria is virtually governed by Aussie Rules. But he’s kind of short, although what else would he play in Melbourne? We head to the office to book the rest of the dives.

‘Do you play AFL?’ I ask Cooper the question as we walk out of the dive shack. It’s probably a little impertinent or maybe I should have led into it so it isn’t so abrupt but he just chuckles when I ask, as if he expects my directness.

‘Not that brand, but football, yes.’

‘Hence the muscles.’
Another brand of football, in Melbourne, who would have guessed?

He laughs. ‘Yeah, they’re a bit hard to miss, aren’t they?’ His self-deprecating response makes me smile.

‘They kind of hide under a wetsuit.’

He grins and a knowing look appears in his eyes. ‘I did notice the effect of removing it.’ He lifts his eyebrows quickly and I can only laugh.

I mock-punch his shoulder and immediately regret my action. It’s like punching a cement wall. I pull away and rub my knuckles.

‘Big mistake, Sammy.’ He slides his hand over mine, his fingertips brushing across my knuckles. My gaze locks on the contrast between my small hand and his huge paw. A sensation of warmth floods me again and that’s before he leans over and presses his lips to my knuckles. ‘That should make it all better.’

Lust tears right through me. My knuckles tingle but my body buzzes. I meet his gaze and the air between us grows hotter. I can hardly draw a breath. In a split second I know I can walk towards him and be lost in him, or I can step back and cool things down.

He’s a footballer. Women fall over him all the time.

I step back, dragging my hand away from his grasp. ‘Thanks for the dive. I might get going and get some snorkelling in.’

‘Where’s the best spot to snorkel?’

So much for cooling things down. It doesn’t look like I’m going to lose him. We head to town, his steps matching mine. It’s a comfortable togetherness even after the heat.

‘If you want big fish, Neds Beach is my favourite spot. One of the locals feeds the fish in the afternoon and it’s brilliant to snorkel as the fish mill around waiting for him. Big kingfish, tailor, mullet, wrasse, garfish, silver drummer, and spangled emperors are all there. Reef sharks come in too. It’s awesome. But hang out the back, you don’t want to get into the feeding frenzy because there are people everywhere and it’s crazy.’

He’s grinning as if it’s Christmas and I can’t help but offer an invitation. I can imagine his face when he sees it and I want to be there, with him. ‘Do you want to grab something to eat and come with me?’

His gaze locks with mine and the heat of a few moments ago returns, making me almost regret my invitation. ‘I’d like that. Thanks.’ But he doesn’t step any closer, he doesn’t touch me and we keep to our companionable walk.

I should be pleased but damn it, I want lust swamping me again. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt like that. Cursing myself silently, we make our way to the town centre and food. I hope I don’t end up eating him…well, not today anyway.

After grabbing sandwiches and drinks, we walk across the island to Neds Beach, munching along the way. There’s not a lot of chatter as we fill up but I learn he plays rugby league in Melbourne and travels a lot. When we arrive at Neds, I point to the area in front of the shed. ‘That’s where the fish feeding happens.’ I lead him further up the beach. ‘I usually snorkel from here, away from the feeding. It’s easy to swim into the back of the channel and get amongst the big fish without the hassle of the crowd.’

‘How would you know about the fish feeding…if you don’t pick up a ready-made tour guide?’ He gives me a quarter-wattage of that knee-wobbling sexy grin and my legs are only a little jelly-like.

‘See the yellow sign in front of the shed? It tells you what time’s feeding and warns about the fish eating you.’

‘What?’

‘People get shocked if fish nibble them, even if they do stand in the water while the fish are being fed. You know, people need warning signs.’

He chuckles, hopefully agreeing with me and not thinking I’m a cynical bitch. We shed our outer clothes, grab snorkels and masks and head for the sea. I try to keep my eyes on the water, the beach, anywhere but his body, in Speedos, beside me. As he walks, muscles ripple across his stomach, shoulders, thighs, calves. Not that they capture my attention in any way. I’ve seen them before, now I’m immune.

I wish!

‘No fins?’ He asks as we wade in.

‘I don’t need them snorkelling. You?’

‘Same. But I don’t have little feet.’

‘My feet aren’t little.’ I look down and then across at his. Mine are tiny. I’ve never considered myself small, but standing near him I have to concede to his point. ‘My feet don’t kick, my legs do.’ And since I run, they are fairly powerful. Although, next to his, they could be considered toothpicks.

His gaze lands on the tips of my unpainted toenails, slides slowly along my legs and pauses for too long at the juncture of my thighs, before slipping up over my breasts. His stare could be lasers, it burns. Every thought in my brain is fried, except there’s a surge of pride. My legs, delineated by long muscles, have been deliberately accentuated by high cut swimmers. I have a waist that pulls in snug beneath my ribs. My breasts, not large, are enhanced by a brightly-coloured bikini top. There’s a part of me that preens beneath his gaze, knowing I’ve worked hard to achieve a body that still looks good in a bikini.

‘Do they have a nude beach here?’

His question throws me. ‘Ah…no…I don’t think so. Why?’

‘Just thought you’d look better without the bikini.’

Laughing, I wade out quickly until I can dive into the water, hoping it’ll cool me down. The mask and snorkel are in my hand, not on my face, but I don’t care. I swim until it’s deep and then I deal with the gear.

He’s definitely trouble. Athletic, cute, flirtatious and funny.

Cooper comes up beside me, his warmth moving along me like a caress. Splashes break the surface as kingfish, some a metre or more in length, circle us. It doesn’t take long for Cooper to be attracted to the fish.

A nude beach. That would be great for my ‘keeping distance’ plan. It’s worse knowing the physical attraction is mutual.

The snorkelling is as incredible as I promised. Cooper is like a child ogling presents; eyes round, grin so wide his snorkel can only be held in by his teeth. I never get tired of snorkelling here. After we’ve snorkelled for ages and swum around the milling fish waiting for their feed, we wade out.

It’s his stretch that does my mind in. He drops his snorkelling gear and, before grabbing a towel, stretches his arms up and then folds his hands behind his head. My tongue glues itself to the roof of my mouth. My gaze is gummed to his huge expanse of chest and upper arms.
Frigging hell. He looked big before but now he’s freaking humungous
. Tiny tight dark nipples punctuate the wide sweeping pectorals. Knots formed by the thickest rope bulge from his arms. A dark smudge inhabits each armpit, which only enhances the paler surrounding muscles and makes my mouth water. A few stray hairs nestle into the cleft of his chest between pecs.
Oh, to lie against that. To run my tongue across…

His stomach flexes as he arches backwards. Muscles bulge and press through taut flesh like cobblestones. The tiniest hint of dark hair lies on the navel to cock trail. I refuse to allow my gaze to follow the line. Water droplets sparkle on him.

‘Sammy, that was incredible. I don’t think I’d have come here without you. Thanks.’ His voice is a slightly higher pitch than his usual deep tone, and a little thready as if he’s out of breath, but it’s more likely a result of the excitement or the stretch. He’s so fit I can’t ever imagine him panting.

‘It’s incredible, isn’t it? It’s my favourite snorkelling spot in the world.’ I’m proud that I sound normal.

‘No wonder. Fish that size make me drool. Imagine eating them. I’m starving.’

‘You must be permanently starving to feed those muscles.’ Laughing, I wave my hand up and down in the air, indicating his physique. My fingers tingle, wishing I could be actually touching, not wittily commenting on it.

‘I’m only starving when I’m over-active and not well-fed. And you make me active.’

‘But you had lunch.’ I go to mock-punch him but pull back before I can hurt my hand again.

‘Two sandwiches? Not enough in that for me. I need something like that big kingfish.’ He pats his stomach and my mouth dries. ‘You don’t seem to have any trouble keeping up with me.’ His comment drips with suggestion, or maybe it’s the way his naked gaze flicks over me and every cell in my body feels it and responds. My lips part, gasping for breath.

‘I keep pretty active still. To me retirement didn’t mean giving up sport and fitness.’

‘You’re retired?’ His words are said with a mixture of confusion, disbelief and maybe a touch of embarrassment, although I could be misreading him. I don’t expect everyone to know who I am but I did think a fellow athlete may have recognised me.

‘I’m not in my 60s. I retired from international competition. I still do local comps.’

‘International competition? What do you do?’ At least he sounds impressed.

I try not to react to his lack of knowledge or recognition but my arms fold across my chest. ‘Triathlete.’

‘Holy shit. No wonder you can keep up with me. I’m impressed.’

I smile, unable to think of a response, witty or otherwise.

I change the subject. ‘So, diving tomorrow?’ I rub myself briskly with a towel before dragging on a shield of clothes. I lean forward and gather my hair up, twisting it to tie in a loose bun.

Cooper’s voice is low as he says my name, before his finger brushes against my nape. The hair along my neck and spine stands on end. My body’s caught in suspended time. ‘You’re sunburned.’ His hand curls below my hair. The heel beneath one ear, fingertips under the other. ‘And blushing.’

With my lips twisting into a grin, I manage to say, ‘You’re flirting.’ I straighten and look right at him.

‘Why wouldn’t I? You’re reacting.’

‘So if I stop reacting, you’ll stop flirting?’ A lazy grin punctuates my question.

He chuckles. ‘Not likely.’ He grins and nudges me with his elbow. ‘How about dinner?’ When I hesitate, he clarifies the invitation. ‘I’m starving. It’s a no-strings-attached meal. I want to hear about triathlons.’