Page 75 of Washed Up

Frankie took a deep breath and raised her face to his, smiling into those all-too-familiar navy-blue eyes. It was him. In real life. Her heart was doing actual somersaults.

Dylan’s black hair was loose around his face, eyes twinkling as he took her in. He was dressed in blue denim jeans and a pale green shirt, buttoned only halfway up to emphasise his tanned chest. God how she’d missed that chest. He had his sleeves rolled up in the warmth of the day, his hand over his eyes to shield them from the sun.

Frankie wanted to throw up. Bloody Jake. Why had he suggested a picnic today of all days? In the very next moment, she scolded herself for being such a cow. Poor Jake was only trying to do something nice. She had bloody kissed him, after all. Lord, what a mess.

But all she said was, ‘Hi, Dylan,’ biting her lip, willing herself to stay calm. ‘How amazing to see you again. And also, what the heck are you doing here?’

Dylan’s mouth twisted into a smile, and his eyes flickered for the first time to where Jake was sitting. At the look, Jake sighed and hauled himself to his feet, sticking out his hand to shake the newcomer’s.

‘Good to see you again, mate,’ he said in a tone that suggested it was anything but. Frankie’s palms prickled with sweat.

‘Didn’t mean to interrupt anything,’ drawled Dylan. He looked more amused than annoyed, which made it more irritating. At the very least he could be a little bit jealous.

‘You weren’t,’ said Frankie quickly, just as Jake mumbled, ‘It’s okay’ in a voice that suggested it really wasn’t.

‘What are you doing here, Dylan?’ she said again.

Dylan looked at her for a long moment. ‘I got in on the noon ferry. Came straight across the island for a sandwich. Betty’s are the best or so I’ve been told.’

Frankie stared at him, then shook her head, trying to clear the haze. ‘No but, yes I mean, they are, but that’s not what I meant.’

‘It’s not?’ he said, his eyes wide in mock innocence.

‘Of course it’s not. What I meant was, what the heck are you doing back on Herm?’

Dylan smiled at her, and her knees went a little weak. ‘I’m staying at the hotel. Decided I could use a break.’

What on earth was going on? ‘You did, did you?’ She smiled back.

Dylan put on that surprisingly good and rather sexy American accent. ‘I did, ma’am, yes,’ he said, with a wink.

‘And you didn’t think to tell me you were coming?’ Frankie’s voice caught in her throat and she swallowed.

‘I thought it would be a fun surprise.’

‘That’s one way to put it,’ said Jake, clearing his throat. He reached down to pick up the picnic basket and held his hand out to Frankie. She ignored it, her body frozen in a state of abject panic.

‘Anyway,’ Jake went on, ‘we’d better be getting back, some of us have work today. Great to have you back on the island, Declan. We’ll see you around, I’m sure.’

Frankie shook her hand from his. ‘Dylan, you mean.’

‘Oh yes. My mistake,’ said Jake a little coldly.

‘Have a good afternoon, Jake,’ she said, willing him to leave without her. ‘Thanks for the picnic.’

Jake stared at her, waited one, two, three seconds, then sighed. ‘Have a good afternoon,’ he said, clearly deflated.

Frankie and Dylan watched side by side as Jake made his way back up the slope with his basket in hand, shoulders hunched. Guilt bloomed in her belly as she watched him go, but it couldn’t compete with the high-pitched thrumming in her soul. Dylan was back. What did this mean? What was going to happen now? For the first time in weeks, months, years maybe, she had no idea. She just knew it wasn’t going to be boring.

When Jake had vanished over the hill, Frankie turned slowly back to Dylan, who was standing in the sand with, she noticed now, his shoes off, abandoned at the foot of the slipway. He had his arms crossed and was watching her with a kind of bemusement on his face. That faint line of worry between his eyes was back. Was it her imagination or was it deeper than it had been before? And were those traces of dark circles under those eyes of his? Somehow, they only made him seem more mysterious. Broody, even.

She tucked her hair behind her ears, wishing she had a mirror, had some clue what her face was doing. He looked so damn good.

Her blood was pounding in her ear drums, making it hard to think.

‘So,’ he said, ‘you’re dating the fisherman.’ It wasn’t a question.

Frankie shook her head violently. ‘I’m not, no, it’s not like that.’