Page 20 of The Caress

"No problem." She beams at me. "Now the question is… can you keep up with me? This is a young person’s game."

She gives me a mischievous look and splashes me with her paddle. I growl and dig my paddle into the water.

"Bring it on, young blood."

Getting older is a pain in the ass, but I’m not about to admit it out loud. Yeah, this probably wasn’t the best idea I’ve ever had, but I did invite myself, so I only have myself to blame.

At least my muscle memory is finally starting to kick in, and I’m remembering how to time my paddling so I’m not fighting against the current the entire time. I even feel confident enough to look around after the first few tense, shaky minutes have passed.

And of course the first thing I see is a fucking photographer. I feel a surge of anger rising up even as I try to give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he’s just a tourist. Maybe he’s taking pictures of the ocean, the seagulls, or the beach.

Except no, he isn’t.

His camera lens is trained on me and Ella. He’s even following us, walking along the shore parallel to our kayaks.

"Fucking bastard," I mutter, paddling faster so I can pull up next to Ella.

"Looks like we have some company," she says once I’ve moved closer. There’s irritation and a hint of fear in her tone as she looks from me to the photographer and back again. "How did they find us? I didn’t think there would be any paparazzi at all on this tiny island, of all places."

"There normally aren’t," I grumble. "That’s why I wanted to come here." I point to a rocky outcropping a few hundred yards ahead. "There’s a small cove on the other side of those rocks. We can hopefully lose him there, since he’ll have to climb over some rough terrain to catch up."

Her brow furrows. "How are we going to lose him there? Isn’t a cove sort of like a bay? Aren’t we going to be sitting ducks if we go there?"

"Trust me. We’ll get him to leave us alone one way or another."

It only takes a few minutes to make it past the outcropping. I exhale a relieved breath when the cove comes into view.

"There," I point, glad my memory hasn’t failed me and that not much has changed in the years since I’ve seen this secluded spot. "See that waterfall? There’s a cave behind it. That guy won’t know where we are as long as we get there before he shows up."

Ella doesn’t need any other prodding. She zips ahead of me and climbs out of her kayak as soon as we make it to the rocky beach. It isn’t until we’re starting to climb the short distance up to the base of the waterfall that I realize she’s wincing more and more with each step.

"Are you okay?" I ask, dropping my kayak so I can wrap an arm around her waist. "Just leave your kayak there with mine. We’ll get behind the waterfall faster that way."

"But he’ll be able to find us easier if we leave them there." Even as she argues, she follows my lead and drops her kayak next to mine. "Sorry, I didn’t think my leg would bother me today."

"You don’t need to apologize. Is it the same muscle you pulled when we were being chased at the airport?"

She nods and I can feel myself getting angry all over again. I'm angry with the guy who nearly ran her down and nearly shot both of us that day in Glasgow. Angry with the paparazzi who are forcing us to hide when we should be out there enjoying ourselves on the water. Angry with myself for allowing any of this to happen in the first place.

I promised Ella that she would be safe with me. I’ll be damned if I’m going to let her down again.

There’s a small, dry alcove behind the waterfall. Not quite as large as a cave, but more than enough space for the two of us to sit and rest without being seen.

"Sit here on this big rock," I say, easing her down and then crouching in front of her. "I’ll massage your leg if you want to prop it up on my lap."

She must really be in pain, because she doesn’t even offer a token argument this time. "Don’t press too hard, okay?" is the only thing she says as I start gingerly rubbing her calf muscles.

"I won’t. I’ll take it slowly and gently, just like this." I’m watching her expression for any signs of pain as I move my hands up to her lower thighs. "Doing okay so far? Is this helping at all?"

"A little," she says, nodding. "Thank you. I didn’t mean for this to happen, though. I wouldn’t have suggested kayaking if I’d known there would be paparazzi."

"I know. And it isn’t your fault." I’m still massaging, but now I’m also keenly aware of just how high on her leg I’m touching her. Can’t think about that now, though. This isn’t about how sexy she is or how badly I’d like to get her out of these clothes and feel her warm body next to mine, bare skin against bare skin. "It feels like no matter where we go, the paparazzi are one step ahead. That’s probably something you were looking forward to leaving behind in Glasgow."

"Can’t argue with you on that one," she sighs. "I’d like to say I’m getting used to all the non-stop attention that you have to deal with every day of your life, but… I’m not. I don’t know if I could ever get used to it."

Now it’s my turn to wince. I know she isn’t intentionally trying to hurt me, but her words are just one more reminder that we’re completely mismatched as a couple. We come from different backgrounds. We’re moving in different directions. Am I still clinging to her now out of stubbornness? Because I’m comfortable with her?

No.

---