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getting trodden on.
    â€˜One, two – ow! No. Just go with me.’
    â€˜Sorry. Was it forward or … Do I move at the same time …?’ We were like two flailing jellyfish.
    â€˜One, two, cha-cha – no! Three, four, cha-cha – no!’
    Soon we were laughing too much to continue. When I laughed my ribs hurt. ‘Oh, I have to stop. It hurts.’ I was giggling and groaning at the same time, almost bent double with mirth.
    â€˜Careful,’ he said with a chuckle, and helped me stand upright. He held my arm and I was lost in the blue of his eyes again, even in the dim moonlight. He was still holding me, and ran a hand along my good arm. His other hand rested on the small of my back.
    Paul smiled gently and said, low and steady, ‘I can’t dance the cha-cha, but I can do this.’ He started to move me, slowly, like the last slow dance at the school disco. And I was as thrilled as I had been at the Lower Sixth Ball when the rugby captain had yanked me onto the dance floor and pulled me into him.
    Those muscles I’d seen flexing and shifting earlier were hard and hot under my fingers. He leaned into me and, instead of stepping back, I stayed put, overbalanced, and lost my footing. I stumbled and fell backwards into the sand. He fell with me, trying to slow my descent.
    I landed in the sand with a laugh. It hurt but I was too exhilarated to care. Paul was right there, inches away, his strong, sturdy body right over the length of mine. Rupert was forgotten. Reality was forgotten.
    He didn’t move, but remained there staring down at me then murmured, deeper than ever, ‘One, two, cha, cha –’
    â€˜Yes.’
    Slowly, he bent his head and kissed me. His kiss was immediately certain and searching, as if we had been building to this for years, not hours. He held my head tenderly, guiding it for perfect attention, and kissed me with growing need. I responded. My insides churned relentlessly, my sex was screaming for more, wet and hot for his touch. I arched up into him and he groaned, that low, throaty moan I’d heard and fallen for as soon as he slumped down into his seat on the plane. I could feel his erection pushing through the denim of his jeans.
    After what seemed like hours of kissing, kisses of discovery, deep and devouring, he broke away. My hands skittered over his shirt but moved instinctively down to his belt and jeans buttons.
    â€˜I didn’t think you wanted it,’ he murmured. ‘Didn’t think you’d want me.’
    â€˜I wanted you as soon as I saw you. I just … didn’t think I should, didn’t think you wanted someone like me.’
    â€˜How could I not want you?’ His eyes narrowed. Paul fiddled with his belt some more, but then paused and said, low and heady, ‘Are you sure? I don’t want to hurt you.’
    â€˜Yes, so sure. Please. I want this so much. Want you so much.’
    He took my head and kissed me again, his tongue dancing with mine, his mouth open and hungry. He moved one hand to help me undo his jeans, then pulled back with a hiss of annoyance. ‘Shit. I haven’t got any condoms.’
    â€˜Oh, don’t stop. I’m on the pill. They’re in my pocket. I’ve still got two weeks’ worth. I’ve been taking them, I promise. I haven’t had sex with anyone for nearly a year, anyway.’
    He grinned but added seriously, ‘Look, I had a medical three weeks ago when I came out for the job – hotel owners insisted on it – and I haven’t been with anyone since. It was clean. The paperwork was in my bag, but … my bag’s at the bottom of the ocean. I can get a copy and show you when we’re gone from here.’
    He lifted himself off, trying to stem his burning passion.
    â€˜Yes, yes, that’s fine, please, Paul.’ My hands were now scrabbling frantically at any part of him I could get hold of. Still he held back, not