Page 39 of Hot Greek Summer

‘That’s good. Twist your hair like that again?’ He made the motion he wanted with his own hand.

‘Like this?’ she said.

He shook his head and came over. ‘Like this.’ He slid his hand beneath the weight of her hair over her shoulder and spiralled it around his hand, laying it down like a twisted rope as he moved his hand down. His fingers were centimetres from her breast, and although he was careful not to touch her, Winnie felt her nipple tighten in response.

‘Perfect,’ he said, without smiling to lighten the moment. ‘It’s normal for your body to react to being touched, even in a non-sensual way.’

Because it seemed to be his preferred method of communication, she answered him honestly.

‘Itissensual, Jesse. Being naked with you here, like this. Having your fingers almost touch my breast.’

He watched her face. ‘Being turned on is OK too. This is exactly what we talked about up at the lookout point,’ he said. ‘Pleasure for pleasure’s sake. Enjoying a connection with someone. Enjoying someone looking at you, and touching you, and acknowledging that sex and love don’t have to be connected.’

‘Are you enjoying looking at me now?’ She shouldn’t have asked, but she needed to know.

‘Very much,’ he said quietly, retreating to his spot beneath the olive tree.

For a while, she turned her face in the direction he’d asked and looked away into the distance. She ought to feel embarrassed, she told herself so. She should feel weird, she was sure of it. But she didn’t feel either of those things. She felt … liberated, and brave, and, damn it, she felt sexy. Being naked had gone from terrifying to one hell of an aphrodisiac.

‘Light’s gone,’ he said eventually, placing his pencil down.

Winnie slowly came back from where she’d mentally wandered away to and realised he was right. The sun had dipped below the horizon, throwing the shadows of the trees long and spindly on the ground. ‘Can I see?’

‘It’s not finished.’ He flipped the sketchpad shut, brooking no argument as he came to her on the rock and held out his hand to help her up. Much as she wanted to, she didn’t push the point. He’d show her when he was ready.

‘My legs have gone numb,’ she said, unfurling them from beneath her and stretching them out. She was all at sea, a conflicting mix of lingering shyness and insistent boldness churning in her chest as he led her back to the picnic blanket.

‘How do you feel now you did that?’ he asked.

‘Ready to ask you to do something in return.’

Wary surprise flashed through his eyes. ‘Go on,’ he said.

‘I’d like to stay naked for a little while, and I want you to look at me as a man, not an artist, and tell me what you see.’

‘I’m not a machine, Winnie. I’ve been looking at you as a man for the last half an hour.’

She sat down, and when he dropped beside her, she lay back, feeling the stretch of her body against the woollen rug.

‘You really want me to look at you,’ he said, soft and low, and when she nodded, he lifted her arm above her head and laid it on the blanket.

‘OK,’ he whispered, lying on his side beside her, propped up on one elbow. ‘Your eyes tell me that you’re anxious, despite the fact that you’re in complete control of the situation.’

‘I know I am,’ she acknowledged.

‘Your shoulders are tense and your fingers are curled into your palms, Winnie. I’d love to see you untense. Let your body relax.’

She tried. Frankie had said something similar to her yesterday when she’d joined her for a little early-morning yoga, but it was a whole lot more difficult now with Jesse watching her unflinchingly.

‘Stop thinking so much,’ he said. ‘It’s getting in the way of your pleasure.’

She nodded and closed her eyes, because his eyes had slipped lower. She’d invited him to look at her body, but she hadn’t counted on the fact that his gaze would feel like stars on her skin, or that she’d hear his breath hitch in his throat, or that she’d ache for him to touch her.

‘What do you want me to say, Winnie?’ he said. ‘I could tell you that the slopes and curves of your body are pretty damn perfect to me, or that the sweep of your hip makes me want to press my body against yours. I could tell you that I’d die to feel the weight of your breasts in my hands, to run my tongue over your nipples, or to slide my hand down your body because your skin is fucking luminous. Is that what you need from me?’

She didn’t speak, because in truth she didn’t know what she needed.

‘But I think what youreallyneed to hear is that I want you. That the fact that Needledick screwed someone else doesn’t mean you weren’t good enough as a woman, or special enough, or beautiful enough. You’re plenty beautiful enough.’

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