Chapter 5
Elle
Josh was right. It’s spectacular down here.
He organised everything: he met me in the lobby of the Martinez at seven-thirty this morning with a brute of a security detail called Matthieu, a beach bag of towels and a rucksack apparently containing a non-inflammatory picnic.
He’d raised his eyebrows last night when I shot down his suggestion of croissants and asked for my breakfast to be non-dairy, grain free and gluten free.
‘Are you sure you’re not from Santa Monica?’ he said, but he let it drop when I said I had a sensitive stomach (he doesn’t need to know the rest of it).
We’re both in hoodies, baseball caps and no-nonsense trainers.
Josh has his swim trunks on, and looks like a walking People magazine cover, and I’m wearing denim cutoffs over my bikini.
This is by far the most dressed-down I’ve been since arriving on the Cote d’Azur.
Matthieu got us here pretty speedily in a blacked-out Range Rover and is now following us at a discreet distance.
I feel bad that he’s loaded up like a camel with our stuff, but we’ve decided to do the full walk, the whole way around to the eastern side of the cape, so we’ll need rations.
As we descend, more of the sea comes into view.
It’s one of those clear, South-of-France mornings that makes you wonder why you choose to live anywhere else.
The Mediterranean is sparkling azure, and the air is fresh and clean.
The sun hasn’t come around the cape yet, but its rays dance on the sea in the distance.
Josh wasn’t lying about it being deserted down here: the only company we have is some seriously perky seagulls.
We reach the bottom. We haven’t spoken much—the steps are uneven and narrow, so most of our focus has gone on watching our footing and drinking in the scenery when we get a glimpse of the sea.
It strikes me that Josh is enjoying the meditative quality of this morning as much as I am, which makes me relieved.
But God, it’s glorious down here, and he shoots me a huge grin when he catches what must be sheer rapture on my face.
I swing my arms like a child. ‘This is heaven.’ The vast expanse of blue beyond us. The isolation. The calm. I’m almost high on the novelty of having Josh Lander to myself in this beautiful place during one of the biggest industry festivals on the calendar.
That grin again. ‘Isn’t it? It’s like therapy after the rest of Cannes.’ He puts his hands on his hips. ‘So what’s it gonna be, Madame? Swim or breakfast?’
He’s looking at me as if that’s not all he’s asking me, and I rise to the challenge. I keep my eyes on him and unzip my hoodie. ‘Swim.’
He laughs, delighted. ‘Badass.’
‘I’m assuming it makes sense to swim now, and then dry off while we walk?’
‘Exactly. And we can eat on the way, or at the other end.’
As we shrug off our clothes, we watch each other. He has a T-shirt under his hoodie and he strips it off in that sexy male way of grabbing the back of the collar and yanking it over his head.
Oh.
My.
God.
I feel like I’m getting a private, live viewing of Magic Mike.
He’s huge and golden and perfect. Broad shoulders tapering down to the narrowest hips and a hard stomach.
A dusting of hair on his chest that I want to run my nose through.
He’s close enough that I can see the goosebumps on his arms, and his nipples are tight buds.
His swimming trunks lie low on his hips, and he has a magic V of muscle just above them that makes me lick my lips.
I’m clearly not being remotely discreet in my ogling, because he throws his T-shirt at me. ‘What you looking at?’
‘Nothing at all.’ I smirk. He knows I’m lying.
‘I’m not looking at anything, either.’ He stands and watches me shamelessly as I slide my hoodie off my shoulders, tug my vest over my head and shimmy out of my cutoffs to reveal a plain black string bikini.
‘Holy fuck.’ His voice is hoarse, and he takes a step towards me as I stare at him. ‘Come on.’ He holds out his hand. ‘Let’s get this over with—it’s gonna be cold.’
We jump off the low concrete platform into the shallow water, and he holds my hand as we run into the waves to find some depth. Oh my God. He was right. It’s bloody freezing. I gasp and he laughs at me.
‘You okay, Princess? Keep moving. You’ll warm up quicker.’
He’s right. Once we’re almost out of our depth, I tread water hard, and an invigorating sense of warmth floods my veins. It feels incredible. I feel alive. I dip my head backwards so I can look up at this glorious, cloudless sky, and the cold makes my scalp tingle and gives me a head rush.
When I right myself, Josh is closer to me. Or else I’ve moved closer to him. He’s staring at me wordlessly, and I gawp at the view of this man, his huge shoulders still visible above the water, at one with sky and sea. It’s just me and him and the seagulls, and anything feels possible.
‘Come here,’ he whispers. He slides his hand around my waist and pulls me in towards him.
I’ve been thinking about kissing him incessantly since he introduced himself last night.
My brain keeps ricocheting between how ridiculous it is to even imagine that kissing someone like Josh Lander is possible, and remembering his words and looks and innuendos.
He’s definitely been linked with his fair share of gorgeous starlets over the years, but to give credit where it’s due, he’s been nothing but attentive and sweet and complimentary with me.
Still.
It’s so odd to think I could have a shot with him. Even though he stuck by my side till dinner last night. Even though he’s sharing his secret hideaway with me this morning.
It’s odd until his other hand slides over my bum, which I take as a sign that I should wrap my legs around his waist and drape my arms over those hulking shoulders, which are coolly slick to the touch.
It’s odd until I find myself practically nose to nose with him, the coldness of the water forcing my blood to pump through my veins at a rate that makes me feel spectacularly alive.
It’s odd until he nudges forward and puts his mouth to mine, and I find myself in sensory paradise.
The welcome heat of Josh’s body against me.
The decisive grip of his hand on my bum, pressing me flush against his hard stomach.
The firmness of his lips as he kisses me, tentatively at first, and then more forcefully.
That first taste as our wet, salty mouths collide and I open for him.
The warmth of his tongue as it finds mine and strokes. Probes.
The delicious pressure of his chest against my cold, pinched nipples as he pulls me in closer and takes his liberties.
His hands are everywhere: fisting in my wet hair, toying with the tie on my bikini top, thumbs dragging along my jawline, fingers sliding over the curves of my bum and down my thighs.
For my part, I cling to him like a creepy koala and take my fill.
I am groping Josh Lander.
Josh Lander’s tongue is in my mouth.
Josh Lander is sucking on my lower lip.
Oh my goodness.
I wriggle in closer towards him and observe with delight that his washboard stomach isn’t the only thing that’s hard against me.
I have given Josh Lander an erection.
I’m going to die.
We do actually kiss like we’re dying, like this is our first and last kiss of all time.
He’s really going for it, which makes me feel far better about the fact that I’m seriously going for it, too.
I can’t get enough of him, can’t get enough of his mouth and his body and the way he looks at me like I’m a pain au chocolat fresh out of the oven.
I dip my head and slurp at the salty wet of his shoulder, and rub my nose along the curve of where his neck meets his shoulder. And when I lift my head and draw back enough to see his face properly, he gives me a panty-melting grin.
‘I have wanted to do that since you appeared on that screen with a bucket of chicken-feed.’
My face breaks out in a thrilled and embarrassed smile.
‘Oh, yeah.’ His hand cups my bum and squeezes, and his eyes darken.
‘I’ve been torturing myself with lust and remorse since I saw you lie back and let that dick fuck you on-screen.
Because it was so fucked-up, but you were still the hottest thing I’d ever seen.
So freaking beautiful. And I’m totally ashamed to say that when you said yes, sir to him, I nearly shot my load. Right there in the auditorium.’
I swallow. The weight of my desire hits me deep and low inside.
Those scenes were seriously tough to film, but we talked about this so much on set: the conflict those sex scenes created.
That they were simultaneously morally repellent and erotic.
The discomfort the viewer would likely face in attempting to sit with that conflict.
To square it off in his or her own mind.
What Tina produced was true art, and this revelation that my on-screen self turned Josh Lander on in a dark auditorium is a heady gift.
I stroke my hands over the gorgeous caps of his delts and down his pecs. The intensity in his voice and in his eyes: it’s too much. It’s too alluring. And dangerous. I’m far from experienced in these matters, but I want him. Really, really badly.
He looks down at my breasts and strokes his index finger down between them.
I dip my head and watch him move over the swell of my right breast and chafe my nipple through the fabric of my bikini.
A bolt of heat flashes through me and I can’t help it: I grind myself further against his erection.
I’m not sure what’s happening to my brain and my body, but I could do something seriously rash here, in this moment, with this man, surrounded by a blanket of sparkling water that hides all indiscretions.
He must be feeling the same, for he removes his fingers from my breast and cups my face with his hand. His eyes are shining with desire and fascination. He exhales slowly and lowers his forehead to mine.
‘Whew. Goddammit, Elle. If we don’t slow down, I won’t have any self-control left.’
‘Me neither,’ I mumble. I rub my nose against his.
‘We should swim this off and get on our way. But first, answer me this. It’s been driving me crazy since I danced with you the other night.’
‘What’s that?’ I lift my head and gaze at him.
His lips turn up into a tortured smile. ‘Tell me, do you fuck like you dance? Because if you do, I may not survive this.’