by Chloe Carpenter
Early one morning in May, Luke jogged along the stretch of golden sand close to the sea shore. He never tired of this part of the bay. The sun shone brightly, gold rays illuminating the sweep of sand and glinting on fossil-filled pools, bringing the promise of a glorious day. It was low tide, and at this hour the beach was deserted save for an old man and his dog, and a few noisy gulls comically bobbing up and down on the eddying waves.
Had any woman been watching, she would have found him a striking figure: tall - 6ft 4 - darkly handsome with the first flecks of silver grey gracing his temples, expressive chocolate-brown eyes with a deeply sensuous glint, and a physique that belied his forty years. His body was taut and muscular, with broad shoulders, powerful arms and steel thighs bronzed by the sun. He upped his pace, breaking into a run, moving effortlessly at speed with the grace of a jaguar. It was a good way to start the day. Invigorating. He loved it.
He ran for half a mile, his running shoes leaving indentations in the wet sand, slowing down slightly as he approached the curve of the bay. There was a little girl up ahead, splashing in the shallows, her dark hair worn in two short pig tails tied with pink ribbon. Her white shorts were stained with sand and sea water, and she wore a pink top the same shade as her hair ribbons. She appeared to be digging in the wet sand with a bright yellow spade, a matching yellow plastic bucket by her side.
Molly was having a wonderful time, even though the sea water was so cold it made her teeth chatter. She was digging for pretty shells, and had filled half her bucket with them. She added another cockle shell to her collection and shivered again. Turning round, she reached for her sweater - but it wasn't there, and neither were her sandals. Frowning, she got to her feet, looking to the left and the right, but there was no sign of them anywhere. She shivered again, glanced out to sea, and saw one pink sandal floating on the waves maybe eight metres away.
"Oh crap!" she muttered. They were her very best pair of designer sandals and she didn't want to lose them. Maybe the other one was out there too. She waded into the water, which soon covered her knees, then her thighs, and then reached her waist, little waves sloshing at her belly. Gasping with cold as the icy water bit into her bones, she struggled onwards, but it seemed the further she waded out, the further away the sandal became.
Molly could barely swim but she was determined to get that sandal. Submerging herself up to her chin, she launched forward in a parody of a dog paddle, sending sprays of water high into the air, most of which returned to land on her face. Spluttering and cursing she continued, but a sudden swell took her by surprise and she went under, then panicked because her feet could no longer touch the sandy floor.
"Ohhh!" she wailed as she surfaced, choking and coughing, her arms flailing wildly like the rotating blades of a helicopter. Another wave broke and down she went again, down and down into the murky water. Terrified, she kicked with both feet, her fear intensifying as she felt a dank coil of sea weed wrap itself around her ankle. Foolishly she opened her mouth to scream and swallowed a mouthful of salty seawater. There was little breath left in her lungs and her heart was pounding so loudly in her chest she thought it would surely burst. Her spine snaked with terror as she found herself sinking lower and lower.
Then a hand grabbed her shoulder and up she went ... up and up until her head broke the surface and she sucked in a precious mouthful of air, then immediately choked. She would have sunk beneath the waves again had it not been for her saviour. He was talking to her, but she was so scared and shocked she didn't hear what he was saying, yet his tone was so reassuring, and as he held her in his arms, she began to calm down a little.
"It's OK. You'll be fine. I've got you. You're safe now, honey."
Molly responded with a cough and a whimper, clinging to the man's chest like a barnacle. He held her tightly in his arms as he waded out of the water and deposited his soggy bundle on the beach. As soon as her feet touched the sand, she began to retch and shiver, her limbs trembling and blue with cold. The stranger held her, tenderly brushing the stray hair away from her eyes and mouth as she puked up sea water, watching with concern as she burst into tears. Then strong arms lifted her bodily and carried her up the beach.
"I'm Luke. You've had a fright but you're going to be OK. My house is only a few minutes away so I'm taking you home. We'll get you dry and get a hot drink down you, then you can call your mom. OK, honey?"
"Y-yes," whispered Molly. Her whole body was shaking with cold and she could no longer feel her fingers or toes. She closed her eyes and buried her face into the comfort of his damp chest as he carried her.
Luke strode over the sand, up the steps past the sea-defences, then turned left and headed up a slope that led to an isolated house painted white. Kicking open the front gate, he carried his trembling bundle along the path that bordered a pretty garden. Clutching her tightly with one hand, he felt in the pocket of his running shorts for his key and opened the door. Moving through the hallway, his shoes squelching as he walked, he took her into the kitchen and sat her down gently on a chair.
"Here we go. You'll soon be feeling better. I'm just going to get some towels and a robe. I'll be back in a minute."
He returned with a bundle of white fluffy towels and a towelling robe. Placing one large towel around her trembling shoulders, he used another one to dry her face and hair, then her arms. After that he held each of her hands in turn, massaging her frozen fingers, and repeated the process with her feet. This elicited a little smile from his unexpected guest.
"My feet are ticklish," she said, and smiled again.
Luke looked at her. He had first taken her to be a little girl, given the way she was dressed and the fact that she wasn't much taller than 5 feet, but on closer inspection he could see that he had been mistaken as she was obviously older. She was darned cute even with her dark hair in soggy pigtails. A pair of huge dark brown eyes fringed with sweeping lashes looked up at him with gratitude. A sweet button nose and cute little mouth combined to create the impression of a girlish, cheeky face. Though clearly not a young girl, she still managed to retain an almost childlike air of innocence.
"Ticklish, huh? I'd best watch out you don't kick me on the nose. What's your name?"
"Molly. Molly Morgan."
"Well Molly Morgan, I'm Luke King. We'll have further discussion in a few minutes, but first you need to get out of those wet clothes before you catch your death." He gestured towards a door that led off the kitchen. "There's a small cloakroom through there. Take this and when you're changed, bring me your wet clothes and I'll put them in the tumble dryer." He handed her the robe.
She nodded. "OK. And thanks."
He watched her pad over to the cloakroom. She was small, but shapely, with a trim waist that flared into curvy hips. It was obvious she wasn't wearing a bra as her damp top was plastered to her chest and the nipples of her pert little breasts were straining against the thin fabric. A flare of interest rose within him. Molly Morgan, he thought to himself, I'm looking forward to getting to know you.
She emerged from the cloakroom clad in the towelling robe. It was voluminous, far too big for her petite figure and trailed behind her on the floor. She had rolled the sleeves over several times and wrapped the belt twice around her waist. In her hands she carried a little bundle of wet clothes which she handed over, suddenly feeling rather shy in the presence of this man... this very handsome man. His gaze met hers as he took her clothes and the corners of his mouth curved into a smile that did she but know it, she would grow to love as time passed.
"We'll have these dry in no time. Sit down. I've made a pot of coffee. Do you fancy bacon and eggs for breakfast?"
"Oh, that sounds lovely... but I feel like I'm being far too much trouble."
"Nonsense. I don't know about you, but after that early morning swim, I'm famished." He darted her a look that for some reason made her blush.
"Me too," she murmured, watching as he heated a frying pan on the stove and placed several rashers of bacon in it.
Leaving the pan he stepped forward and took hold of Molly's feet. "Your feet are still like blocks of ice. But I have a solution." Opening a cupboard door he rifled through a hamper of clean laundry and pulled out a pair of socks. "What size shoe do you take?"
"Size three."
"I'm a size twelve. So these will be a tad too big for you." He grinned as he eased one onto her right foot. "But what the hell, they'll keep you warm. I've turned on the heating so you should soon start to feel better. Let's have the other foot."
Molly obediently stuck out her left foot and waggled her toes. "I can actually feel my toes now, and they're pink not blue. That's a good sign, isn't it?"
"A very good sign." He put the sock on. "If I hadn't come along when I did, you'd have either drowned or died of hypothermia." He looked at her intently. "What were you thinking of, when you clearly can't swim?"
"I can swim." She pouted. "Well, I can a teensy bit. I have my own stroke, a kind of hybrid of front crawl and dog paddle."
Luke snorted dismissively. "Little lady, you can't swim and you were very stupid to even try." He regarded her through narrowed eyes. "If you were mine, I'd give you six hard strokes across your naughty bottom for acting so foolishly and putting your life in danger."
His words hung in the air, and Molly swallowed, feeling a blush rise to her cheeks as, caught in that intense gaze, she processed what he'd just said.
"You sound quite the disciplinarian, Mr King," she said primly, though for some reason her heart was racing.
"Ah, Molly Morgan, if you only knew," he said casually. And again, that little smile curled the corners of his mouth.
In that one brief moment, Molly found herself wondering what that mouth would feel like, were it pressed against her own. She gazed at him, phased by the way he was looking at her, almost as though he knew what she was thinking. Pulling herself together, she began speak, the words tumbling as she rambled on. "Well, you see ... I'd forgotten the tide was going out. It washed my sweater and sandals away. One minute they were right there next to me. The next - they were gone! I don't mind too much about the sweater, even though it had a pretty appliqué fish on the front with orange and blue stripes. That fish was so cute - but those sandals, they were my very best sandals, the nicest, prettiest and most expensive sandals I've ever had. And now they're gone," she said glumly.
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