But Maggie was more than happy to pitch in and help him prune and clear away the worst of the tangled overgrowth.
He had a book on the local flora and she also took it upon herself to identify as many of the shrubs as she could. To her delight, she found, amongst the native elms and Burdekin plums, some small trees she identified as Guettarda Speciosa that produced sweet- smelling night flowers.
‘Listen to this,’ she said to him one evening. They were relaxing on the veranda after a divine swim in the high-tide waters only a stone’s throw away. The sun had set and he’d lit a candle in a glass and poured them each a gin and tonic in long frosted glasses garnished with slices of bush lemon harvested from a tree in his garden.
‘‘‘In India Guettarda Speciosa is used for perfume,’’’ she read from the book.
‘How so?’
‘Amazingly simply! You throw a muslin cloth over the bush at night so it comes into contact with the flowers. The dew dampens the cloth and it absorbs the perfume from the flowers, then it’s wrung out of the muslin in the morning and bingo! You’ve captured the essence of the perfume.’
‘Bingo,’ he repeated and watched her idly. She wore a pink bikini beneath a gauzy sarong tied between her breasts. Her golden skin was glowing and her green eyes were sparkling with enthusiasm. ‘Let’s see if I can anticipate your next question—no, I don’t have any muslin cloths.’
Maggie dissolved into laughter. ‘How did you know?’
‘You’re that kind of girl. You like to get out and do things and, the more exotic they are, the better you like it. But despite the absence of muslin…’ he leant over the veranda railing and plucked a creamy flower just starting to open ‘… you could wear a Guettarda Speciosa in your hair.’ He leant forward and handed her the flower.
Maggie smelt it. ‘Lovely,’ she pronounced. ‘Thank you.’ And she threaded the stem into the damp mass of her hair. ‘They do also use it for garlands and hair ornaments in India.’
He smiled and sipped his drink.
‘You’ve read this book, haven’t you?’ she accused. ‘I wasn’t telling you anything you didn’t know!’
‘No. But I’ve never had a girl to do the honours for before. You look very fetching,’ he added.
She studied him. He was sprawled out in a canvas director’s chair wearing only a pair of colourful board shorts, and his body was brown, sleek and strong. Coupled with how he was watching her, lazily yet in a curiously heavy-lidded way, the impact on her was one she was becoming very familiar with.
It was as if he could light a spark in her that caused her heart to race, her skin to break out in goose-bumps and a sensual flame to flicker within her just by looking at her. It was also a prelude, she knew, to an intimate moment between them.
Trying to fight it was useless, she’d discovered, although she didn’t really understand why she would want to. He’d been as good as his word. He’d taken her to the brink several times, then brought her back, as if he knew she wasn’t quite ready to cross that Rubicon. So it had been five days of loving every minute of his company and the things they did, five days of growing intimacy between them—and now this, she thought.
The sudden knowledge that the time was right?
She took a sip of her drink and saw that her hand wasn’t quite steady as it hit her. He hadn’t moved at all. How, though, to transmit that knowledge to him?
‘I know you think I’m impetuous,’ she said huskily, ‘and maybe I am, but not over this. I also take full responsibility for my actions. There won’t ever be any recriminations.’
He stirred, but said nothing as his gaze played over her.
‘Only if you want it, of course,’ she added, and stumbled up suddenly in a fever of embarrassment— what if he had no idea what she was talking about?
‘Maggie…’ he got up swiftly and caught her in his arms ‘…of course I want it,’ he said roughly, ‘but—’
‘Oh, thank heavens,’ she breathed. ‘I’ve never propositioned a man before—do you mind?’ she asked anxiously.