Lilly - Caught by the Tide

Caught by the Tide

by

Lily Evans

SMASHWORDS EDITION

* * * * *

PUBLISHED BY:

Lily Evans on Smashwords

Caught by the Tide

Copyright 2011 by Lily Evans

T he wonderful thing about wearing sunglasses is that people can't tell when you're watching them. Especially if, to all outward appearances, you seem to be doing something quite different. Like reading a book.

I adjusted the rolled-up sweater behind my neck and settled back down, my head supported by a beautifully rounded and conveniently located rock. The sun on my almost naked body was fierce, the soft sand beneath my burrowing toes warm. When I'd found this spot an hour ago, it'd felt pretty close to paradise, the beach deserted save for the couple with a toddler paddling at the water's edge and the occasional walker with accompanying sodden dog.

But that was the joy of a Cornish beach in early May. In August, it would be virtually impossible to move for sun-blotched bodies, the pervasive, sickly blend of more than a dozen varieties of sun tan lotion heavy in the air. So although a group of guys had arrived in the interim, immediately commencing a loud and boisterous game of football in the space between me and the ever-rolling waves, it hadn't mattered at first. In fact, it had provided a welcome distraction from my novel. God only knew what had possessed me to bring a work of sappy romantic fiction along on this trip.

There were six of them playing three against three, their bags and discarded clothing acting as makeshift goalposts. And though they clearly weren't teenagersat a guess, their average age was at least thirty-years-oldthey were behaving as though they were, their constant banter and ribbing of each other audible on the breeze. But then even I could deduce the tall, skinny bloke they called Tim wasn't exactly what you'd call a natural sportsman.

" Oh fucking hell, mate! " one of them cried as Tim fluffed yet another pass, sending the ball skimming down towards the water. " I hope to God you don't have this much trouble finding the goal on your wedding night. "

" Fuck off! " Tim retaliated, attempting yet failing, I thought with an inward smirk, to look unconcerned as he loped down to the shore to retrieve the ball. " When did you last have a shag, anyway? "

Another of the guys took up the call. " Yeah, Foster, when did you last have a shag? "

All eyes turned on the stocky, broad-chested male wearing bright red board-shorts. " Ah, well now, " he said, tapping his nose knowingly. " That's between me and the extremely satisfied woman I shagged. " He snatched the ball from Tim amidst groans of disbelief, kicking it straight back into play. " Game on, you losers. We're here to party, remember? Show our boy here what he's giving up to marry his girl. "

Wincing, I let my gaze drop back to my book. Just my luck. A group of blokes on a stag weekend. When exactly had it become de rigueur to have a stag weekend instead of a stag night? Though of course Daniel had felt it necessary to have a stag week in Corfu. In all probability, if he'd chosen merely to have a stag night, I wouldn't be sitting there. A sobering thought indeed.

I closed my eyes, filtering out the sound of their voices and focussing instead on the crashing waves, wriggling downwards until my head was on the towel beneath me. Those who'd doubted the wisdom of my venturing to Cornwall at this time of year had made grim predictions of wind and rain but it was hot. Gloriously hot. So some kind of justice had been handed me, if only in the poetic sense. I knew I'd been right to pack my bikini.

This had been a good idea.

And lulled by the sound of the sea and the warmth of the mid-afternoon sun, I finally allowed my thoughts to drift away. I hadn't slept in days.

So when something hard, wet and cold thudded down on to my tummy, minutes maybe even hours later, it came as a particularly nasty surprise.

" Jesus! " I screamed, my sunglasses sliding off my face as I scrambled upright. " What the hell? "

By the time I'd found the offending weapon, a soggy brown football coated in sand, the stocky guy in the red shorts was looming over me, blocking the sun. " Whoops, " he said with what he obviously hoped was a winning smile. " Sorry about that. "

I glared at him, my midriff still stinging from the impact. " Well that's okay then, isn't it? "

" Whoa. " Fixing me with a stare from astonishingly blue eyes, he tucked the ball under his arm and held up a hand. " I said I was sorry. There's no need to get your knickers in a twist. "

" Oh great, " I muttered, hearing the jeers of his mates as he jogged back to join them. " Brilliantly handled, Rebecca. " I gazed down in dismay at my sand-covered belly, realising nothing short of a shower or a dip in the sea was going to get rid of all of it. But I already knew the sea wasn't warm enough for that and it was much too early to go back to the hotel. With a sigh, I brushed off the worst, retrieved and re-donned my sunglasses and lay down again.

But it wasn't so easy to phase out the guys' voices now. They seemed louder somehow. Nearer. And after a few moments, I lifted myself up on my elbows to see exactly where they were. Big mistake.

This time I was too stunned to swear.

" Oh shit! " I heard one of them shout as the rest of them dissolved into raucous laughter. " Whoops! "

I couldn't speak. My nose was throbbing, my mouth full of sand. It felt as though my sunglasses had been rammed into my skull.

" Hey, are you okay? " It was the bloke in red shorts again, crouching at my side. " I'm really sorry. Bloody Tim. He can't kick a ball for "

" Just leave me alone, " I gulped, gingerly wiping sand away from my face with the back of my hand. God, it hurt. So much so I wanted to cry, and that really wasn't an option with him sitting just there. " Please! "

" I promise we didn't do it on purpose, " he said with what sounded like a genuine note of apology in his tone though the others were still laughing. " Look, we'll move further down the beach. Somewhere where we can't "

" Don't bother, " I murmured, longing to spit out the sandto spit it all over him. " I'm going. " With all the dignity I could manage, I shoved my book in my beach bag and snatched up my towel, sweater and flip-flops. And knowing he was watching me, knowing they were all watching me, I padded away, horribly conscious of the fact I was wearing only a skimpy red bikini, the matching sarong tucked out of reach in my bag.

There was a narrow strip of sand between the sea and the rocks at the furthermost edge of the beach. Sensing a chance to escape without having to face the humiliation of passing them again, I headed towards it and rounded the bottom of the cliff. To my relief, there was another sandy cove, albeit a much smaller oneless than fifty feet across. Even better, it was completely deserted.

Dumping my things on a patch of dry sand, I went down to the shore and knelt in the surf, washing my face and tummy, the cold water making me shudder. Bastards. So much for thinking my luck had changed.

But then again, why shouldn't those guys have fun? As I trudged back up the beach, the wind further chilling my dripping body, I had to concede getting married ought to be cause for celebration. Just because it hadn't exactly turned out to be a celebration for me was no reason to resent the joy of others.

I dried off the worst and shook out the towel so I could sit on it. Then reaching for my beach bag, I dug around inside for my mobile phone and checked the display. No messages. But then I hadn't seriously expected there would be.