Blood in the Water Oliver Davies (ereader that reads to you TXT) 📖

why his brother and sisters would have wanted to look out for him. He must have attracted a lot of dubious attention himself, especially when he was younger. He nodded, pleased to have his conclusions about us confirmed.

“We’re heading up to Tórshavn in the morning ourselves. Have you ever visited the Faroe Islands?”

“No, I haven’t. I’m afraid they’re not even on my list of places I’d still like to see. I tend to head for a warmer climate, whenever I can take a holiday, except for the odd, winter sports break.”

“Yes, you do look like a sun lover. That cream colour sets off your skin tone beautifully, by the way.” He edged a little closer so he could finger my sleeve experimentally. “You must tell me where you got that shirt. I’d love to order a few myself.”

I tensed slightly, and he desisted immediately. I was feeling a little rattled, to be honest. My car usually behaved much better than this, but for some reason, it seemed to have taken a bit of a shine to him, and I was pretty sure I’d have known by then if Mads had slipped anything into the food or drink. I’d been careless enough about my wine consumption all by myself. In fact, I’d just nearly emptied my glass again. I hadn’t meant to do that either.

“I think we need another bottle,” he decided, watching me speculatively, “And some dessert perhaps?” He jumped up again.

I decided that it might be a good time to pop into the guest bathroom, and he pointed me in the right direction. I examined myself in the mirror as I washed my hands. My bloody pupils were a bit dilated, which meant that my autonomic nervous system was ramping up. But Mads? Seriously? I hardly even knew the guy, let alone trusted him. Besides, I couldn’t pretend there was anything in the least attractive about the way he’d chosen to spend his adult life, or the cavalier way he dealt with the few responsibilities he did have. Not that the bloody car seemed to care.

Well, it wasn’t as if I had to do anything about it. I knew a few ways I could shut this down before it went any further. We could eat our dessert and chat politely for a bit longer, and then I could head back to the hotel if I wanted to. Why was I feeling in the slightest bit ambivalent about that? Come to think of it, why had I even worn this shirt? I had a couple of other tops that would have done alright, and I’d dismissed them very illogically. Still, it had been a while, even by my standards. Had my sneaky subconscious and my usually compliantly inactive libido been plotting behind my back?

I took my seat again and noted the refilled glasses on the smart table as Mads came back bearing two plates.

“I used agar powder instead of gelatine,” he assured me as he handed me mine.

I’d been presented with a little work of art on a plate. He’d made us little oblong cheesecakes topped by a seed-loaded passion fruit puree, with a side of artfully arranged fruit slices, caramelised nuts and dark chocolate shavings. There was an extra, carefully shaped swirl of the creamy mascarpone mix too. Mads watched me expectantly as I lifted a first little forkful and deposited it on my tongue. A delicious citrus tang in the filling melted outwards to ally with the tartness of the passionfruit in subduing the sweetness of the baked base. The combined effect was a bone-melting combination of incredible flavours. I closed my eyes and held it there for a good long while before swallowing. He didn’t need to ask what I thought of it. I doubt he’d ever seen anyone react to his culinary offerings as enthusiastically as I did, or watched anyone eat one of his desserts so slowly.

“I gather you found that satisfactory,” he remarked, partly amused, partly something else entirely as he relieved me of my plate.

“That was the most amazing thing I’ve eaten for years. Would you mind?” I didn’t feel like sitting up again just yet. He helpfully passed me my glass, and I swished some wine around in my mouth to clean out the remaining crumbs, then took another couple of swallows for good measure.

“I’m delighted to have given you so much pleasure.” He moved a little closer again. “I know I may well be mistaken, because honestly, I don’t know what to make of you, Shay Keane, but I think it is possible that you have decided to like me after all.” A tentative, testing hand came to rest lightly on my thigh. “If I’m wrong about this, please tell me so immediately, and I will regretfully say goodnight to you. I am ashamed to admit that, much as I have enjoyed merely admiring you until now, that little performance has utterly ruined me. I can’t look at you any longer without attempting to do far more.”

His blazing blue eyes were burning holes in me, and I jumped a little as his hand moved up inquiringly. Maybe it was time to stop fighting the wheel and just let the damned car do as it pleased. I was too flooded with endorphins by then to worry about the advisability of doing so. Besides, Mads had been nothing but courteous and charming all evening. He snatched his hand away and froze as I flowed to my feet.

“When are the others coming back?” I asked him. I didn’t like to rush these things, but I wanted to be long gone before any of them turned up again.

He blinked, struggling to collect his thoughts and conceal his very real discomfort. Oh, right, he probably thought I’d just rejected his advances. Maybe he didn’t have a problem with the idea of messing around up here, but I certainly did. Anyone could just walk in.

“They know to be aboard before eight.” he managed to say after taking