Free A Seaside Affair by Fern Britton Page A

Do
you
perform to hundreds of thousands of people screaming your name every night? Do you give your entire soul to the world, every second of every day?’ He didn’t wait for Ollie to answer. ‘No! Yet you whine about being tired. You don’t know the meaning of the word, Actor Boy.’
    Ollie’s headache suddenly got a whole lot worse.
    *
    Ryan reached for Jess’s hand across the armrest of their first-class seats. She was sleeping. The elastic on the left-hand side of her eye mask had forced her hair into a loop, exposing a freckled ear. She was making little pppfff noises through her slack lips. He forced down a desire to pinch them shut.
    The Thai holiday had, to all intents and purposes, been a great success. Ryan had spoiled Jess rotten. He’d sunbathed on the beach or sweated in the gym while she indulged herself in the spa and availed herself of Rick, the resort’s not unattractive, and infuriatingly straight, personal trainer. Between Rick and the crack team of beauty therapists, Jess had dropped ten pounds and fifteen years.
    Ryan had enjoyed the best sex with her that he could remember. The old Jess was back.
    He tweaked her hand three times, the shared code meaning ‘I Love You’, one word per squeeze. She stirred and gave a snorey snort before lifting her eye mask and wiping a dribble of saliva from the corner of her mouth.
    ‘Hello.’ He leaned forward and kissed her.
    She smiled sleepily at him. ‘What time is it?’
    ‘We’re about an hour to landing.’
    ‘Great.’ She stretched extravagantly, extending her hands above her head, and marvelled at her tanned and streamlined arms. She hadn’t felt this good in a long time. The lines across her forehead had vanished. The crevasses either side of her eyes had softened to mere culverts – and attractive culverts at that. Her hip bones had fought their way out of her flesh and her legs were showing signs of muscle definition. Ryan couldn’t keep his hands off her and had actually shown signs of jealousy when Rick, the trainer, had paid her a few compliments in front of him.
    ‘That bloody man fancies you,’ he’d huffed, having had the uncomfortable experience of watching Rick put his hands all over Jess as she lifted some very heavy weights.
    ‘Who? Rick?’ Jess had asked, genuinely astonished.
    The next day, during their gym session, Jess had flirted gently with Rick and, to her amazement, he had definitely flirted back.
    A few days into their holiday, the
Venini
press office had arranged for a photo agency to grab some ‘caught unawares’ photos of Ryan looking hunky on the beach. Jess and Rick happened to jog past at the moment the shots were taken, and the magazines back home had been full of photos showing ‘Ryan Hearst’s long-term lover working hard to keep her man’. To Ryan’s annoyance, those photos had appeared in a considerably larger format than the ones showing his toned body.
    The camp elocution of the purser came over the intercom: ‘Ladies and gentlemen, we are due to land at London Heathrow in approximately forty minutes. Can we ask you now to adjust your seats to the upright position, put your tray tables away and fold any blankets or pillows ready for the cabin crew to collect. Thanking you.’
    Ryan handed his blanket to Jess and stood up. ‘I think I’ll just stretch my legs.’ He stepped over her, leaving his newspapers and his leather gladiator sandals in a heap on the floor, and set off down the aisle towards the bathroom in his flight socks.
    Jess started clearing up the detritus of several hours in the air. She suspected that Ryan didn’t really need to stretch his legs; what he needed was some public love.
    Sure enough he had made his way down the aisle and pushed aside the coarse and scratchy pleated curtain that separated the wealthy from the hoi polloi. Giving it a count of twenty, he stood there gazing deeply into as many eyes as he could lock onto, waiting patiently until the signs of recognition