Free Lyre by Helen Harper Page A

respond.  ‘Ozzy!’
    She pulled him a little further up the beach and knelt down by his chest and head, then tilting his head back with her fingertips, she took a deep breath and covered his mouth with hers, breathing out to fill his lungs.  Nothing happened.    Was she supposed to pump his chest now or breathe again?  Yuri had no idea.  She took another breath into her own burning chest and tried the kiss of life again first, before switching her attention to his wetsuit covered torso.  Using the base of her hands, and with no clue as to whether she was doing more harm than good, she pressed sharply down five times.   Her wet straggly hair was getting in the way so she flipped it over her shoulder, annoyed, and moved back to his mouth.  His skin was cold and was she was starting to think that she was too late and too inept.  She breathed in again, pinching his nose so she could breathe into his mouth once more, and then he was coughing and spluttering, water gurgling up. He turned on his side and Yuri rocked back on her heels in relief.  She closed her eyes briefly, sending up a small prayer to whoever might be listening, while he sat up, coughing still further, and gave her a weak smile.
    ‘Hey,’ Ozzy said.  ‘I might need that again.’  His voice was croaky, but discernible.
    She blinked at him in worry.  ‘What?  What do you need?’
    He choked and spat out water, his long spiky eyelashes fluttering rapidly.  ‘That kiss.  I might need that kiss again.’

CHAPTER SIX
LONDON, 2014
     
     
    Yuri was finding it increasingly difficult to look Oz in the eye.  She fixed her gaze instead on a loose strand of his hair falling artlessly across his forehead.  She kept telling herself that the reason he looked so good was because he had a veritable army of stylists to cater to his every whim and desire.  It didn’t stop her from feeling tired, grubby and very, very small in his presence, however.  His nut-brown, blemish-free skin told of hours spent worshipping the sun and his hair, once sandy-coloured and streaked with gold, now shimmered, even under the harsh lighting of the conference room. Had his eyes always been that vivid shade of green? 
    ‘Our readers will be interested to know what beauty regime you undergo,’ she found herself saying.
    He raised an amused eyebrow in her direction.  ‘Beauty regime?’
    Don’t you dare blush, she told herself firmly.  ‘Doesn’t every girl want a man as impeccably turned out as you?’
    Oz’s eyes danced.  ‘You say that as if you think looking good is a sin.’  He leaned across the table.  ‘But you do think I look good, right?’
    Yuri swallowed.  The gall of the man.  Clearly, spending his time preening amongst legions of fans had swelled his head to gargantuan proportions.  ‘Well,’ she responded coolly, ‘we do live in a society where looks are promoted above talent.’
    Alicia choked.  ‘I’m sure we can allow a question of that nature.’  She sounded like a strangled cat.  Oz, irritatingly, just looked amused.
    Making a meaningless notation in the notepad open in front of her, Yuri nodded.  She knew she was treading in dangerous waters, but she seemed unable to stop herself.  ‘And on the question of talent,’ she continued, ‘something along the lines of how you deal with your detractors will be of interest.  You know, those people who say you’ve sold out your music to make as much money as possible?’
    The corners of his mouth curved up.  ‘Oh, money doesn’t interest me.’
    ‘Then what does?’
    ‘I like having women faint at my feet.’
    Yuri was starting to get the distinct impression that he was laughing at her.
    ‘We’ve already decided that your love life is off the table,’ Alicia interjected, obviously starting to feel that proceedings were getting away from her.
    Oz didn’t look at her.  ‘I have no objections to answering questions about my romantic