Page 76 of Washed Up

Dylan raised his eyebrows, his dark blue eyes flashing. ‘How is it, then?’

‘He’s a friend, that’s all.’

And then he said the words that would later haunt her dreams. ‘You don’t have to explain yourself to me.’ His tone was cold and it sent chills down her spine.

‘I’m not. You asked. I’m just telling you the truth. He’s a friend. We were just having lunch.’

‘You were holding hands when I arrived.’

‘I thought I didn’t have to explain myself to you.’

Dylan rubbed at the back of his neck. Was he flustered? He was never flustered. ‘No, you’re right. It’s none of my business.’

‘What are you really doing here, Dylan?’ said Frankie for the third time.

Something flashed in his eyes for a split second of, what was that? Hesitation? Disquiet, perhaps. Then it was gone.

‘I told you. I needed a rest. Work has been intense. I thought this would be a good place. Quiet. Private.’

‘This is a good place,’ said Frankie quietly, even as her mind was racing.

‘Plus, I needed to see Shell Beach, didn’t I?’ He gestured to the sand around him. ‘It’s stunning.’

Frankie shook her head. ‘It is beautiful but this isn’t Shell Beach.’

‘It’s not?’

‘Nope. This is Belvoir Bay. Shell Beach is, well, just along a bit.’

‘Care to show me?’

Frankie sighed. She had three cottages to clean, but the pull to be near this man was so strong, it was almost chemical.

It practically caused her physical pain to say it, but somehow, she got the words out. ‘I do need to get to work, unfortunately. But meet me back here tonight. 6pm? I’ll take you to Shell Beach then.’

He smirked. ‘You’ll take me to paradise at 6pm. Gotcha.’

Frankie blushed. ‘I really didn’t mean that to sound in any way suggestive.’

‘I did.’

She giggled. It was the nerves. It had to be. ‘Just don’t be late or we’ll lose the light.’

Dylan held her gaze. ‘Wouldn’t dream of it.’

As coolly as she could, Frankie picked her way over the beach towards the pathway, feeling his eyes on her all the way.

Oh my God oh my God oh my God went her mind. Dylan Wright was back on the island and that could only mean one thing.

Trouble with a capital T.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Frankie had never cleaned three cottages so fast in her life. Or with quite so much swearing.

‘Bugger, bugger, bugger,’ was the soundtrack to the afternoon, as Frankie tried to complete all her tasks in double quick time while simultaneously planning an outfit for an evening with Dylan Wright of all people, wondering when she was going to manage to eat, or how she was ever going to eat any food ever again for that matter and all the while feeling terribly guilty about sending Jake away and also cursing him for holding her hand, as if it was remotely his fault.

At 5pm, in a state of near apoplexy, Frankie messaged Sally for an emergency conflab.