Balnakeil Beach, Scottish Highlands

It's been a long time since I've sunbathed on a Scottish beach. Even during the good old Portpatrick days, we rarely ventured down to the sea. I have a vague memory, crumpled around the edges due to its age, of being in a tiny ruffled swimsuit and waving a bucket and spade around, maybe in Troon or Ayr. I must have been about five at the time. I spotted a massive dead jellyfish, and for months afterwards I had a recurring nightmare about it coming back to life ten times the size and stalking me.

Oh crap, I really wish I hadn't remembered that. I guess I know what I'll be dreaming about tonight.

Anyway, Balnakeil Beach is absolutely beautiful, and it's a pleasure to make it my sunbathing spot for a few hours. The sand is wonderfully pale, an amazing contrast to the way the water glints turquoise in the bright sunshine. I imagine it would even look pretty on a dull day, but I'm glad for the amazing weather all the same . . . It has definitely made this trip infinitely more palatable.

As have other distractions, of course . . .

From my position on my beach towel, I watch my other distraction as he stands in the shallows of the bay, playing frisbee with Debbie and Michelle. He's wearing nothing but dark coloured shorts, and my eyes trace down his lean torso, wondering what it would feel like to have it on top of me. Along with the rest of his body, obviously!

My gaze then drifts towards the aforementioned shorts, considering what's contained within. Imagining him pressing against me, possessing me. Thinking about his lips on mine, brushing light kisses down my neck. Would he whisper dirty thoughts in my ear? Slide down my body, hands all over me, mischief gleaming sexily in his dilated pupils as he moves towards my . . .

"Mirren? Are you alive in there?" Nessa clicks her fingers loudly and repeatedly in front of my face and interrupts my temporary fantasy. I'd actually forgotten she was next to me. We might have even been mid-conversation. I'm really not sure. I'm really struggling to focus on much more than Owen at the moment.

"I was asking if anything happened with you and Owen last night?" She prompts me, one perfectly laminated eyebrow arched in query.

"It did not," I say grumpily, huffing and looking away from the water. "And I've still not forgiven you for your oh-so-obvious set-up, by the way."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she says haughtily, tossing her hair. "We told you, all three of us came down with a terrible dose of food poisoning just before dinner. We were all too ill to even pick up the phone to let you know, and it was just a lucky coincidence that the hotel messed up the restaurant booking."

"You're the world's worst liar, Vanessa Robertson," I tut, attempting to grab a handful of sand to chuck at her. It mostly ends up on me, of course. Sand is fickle like that, and one of the reasons why I'm more of a "pool girl" when I'm on holiday. "I don't believe your fairytales for a minute."

"And I don't buy yours either," Nessa counters, eyes gleaming. "Maybe nothing physical happened, but I can sense that chemistry more than ever between you."

Hmm, she might not be wrong there. Because I've felt it too, on countless occasions now. We're two elements that react favourably with each other when mixed. We've been simmering gently, but with further exposure, the reaction is becoming more pronounced, the elements melting together. If I'm not careful, we might end up a mixed element - Mirrowenium, perhaps? Oh wait . . . Am I thinking of compounds? God knows, I actually failed Chemistry at school, so I'm in no way an expert!

Regardless, taking Chemistry By Dummies out of the equation, the fizz is gaining further effervescence by the minute and, even though the most we've said so far to each other today is "good morning", there's been many moments for me to brood over already. For example, our gazes constantly tangling in the mirror, like on that first day, any time there was a brief pause in driving. Except this time, my shades and his glasses weren't in the way. The eye contact was there, plain and simple. As were the tentative smiles on both of our faces.

And the need for more.

He's left it up to me to decide whether I want to pursue something, and I'm so conflicted in so many ways. We live too far apart for a start. And his job would take him away too much. So I can't see us being able to maintain anything long-term; it would just be too difficult, and I run away from anything complicated.

I could give in and just look on it as a holiday fling, though? Finally get the Owen fix I craved so many years ago, then hopefully just . . . move on with my life? It's a possibility, for sure. It's not like I haven't had flings since Donnie. In fact, I've specialised exclusively in them.

But something is telling me that Owen isn't the "fling" type. And, when it comes to him, I'm not sure I can be either.

So, do I just avoid getting involved altogether? It certainly seems the easiest option . . . But also somehow the saddest.

The man himself drops down onto the towel beside me at this point. He's slightly out-of-breath, and his tanned legs glisten with seawater. I try not to look at him, but the sight of him is as addictive as always. "What are we talking about?" He asks us casually, running a hand through his hair and digging through his bag to produce a pair of aviator shades.

"I was just asking Mirren about dinner last night," Nessa, the absolute arsehole that she is, says teasingly. "Did you enjoy her company?"

He looks over at her, completely straight-faced, but I somehow know his eyes will be full of mirth behind the dark lenses. "Nah, it was pretty shite to be honest."

"Ooft!" Nessa states on an exhale. "Mirren, you really need to up your game." I'm fairly sure she knows he's kidding, too, though.

But my scheming friend is not finished. "Are you wearing any SPF?" She asks me, frowning. Disguising her meddling under that mother hen personna I know so well.

"Yep!" I brandish my bottle of Nivea at her. Ha!

"And you've put it on your back?" She prods. Knowing full well it's difficult to do that yourself. Not impossible, but it involves a lot of flexibility that I don't exactly possess. If you'd witnessed my performance in the one yoga class I ever attended, you'd understand.

"Not yet," I hedge. Nessa's motivation is quite clear. I need to get one-up on her quickly so I hold the bottle out towards her. "Maybe you can . . .?"

"Oh, Debbie is calling me over!" Nessa announces, jumping to her feet. Debbie isn't looking in our direction and hasn't even made a sound. This is all a massive ruse . . . Once again. "Owen, could you be a hero and put lotion on Mirren's back?" She grabs it from my hand and pushes it into Owen's before running off.

I hate and love her at the same time.

"You don't have to," I tell him. He grins as he uncaps the bottle.

"I doubt either of us want to face the wrath of Nessa."

"Fair enough." We both know that's just an excuse, though. I turn, presenting my back to him. Sitting up seems less intimate than lying down.

His hands are feather-light at first as he starts to massage the lotion into my back. Tentative, unsure, but the gentle strokes are thrilling. Despite the noise of the waves crashing against the shore, the shrieks of other beach-goers in the background, I can hear his breathing quicken as he touches me, can hear my heart drumming heavy metal in my chest. This is the first time we've been alone since last night, and I reluctantly realise I've been craving it.

"So how did you sleep last night?" His voice is so low it cracks mid-question, and he nervously clears his throat. His thumbs press into the small of my back, lingering there briefly, and we both freeze for a moment.

"Not great," I admit. I feel my spine arching into his hands as his palms start to move again. "I had . . . A lot to think about."

"I see," he murmurs. His hands drift away from my skin, and I have to swallow a groan of frustration before it escapes and gives me completely away. Turns out he's just getting more lotion, though. Thank goodness!

If he can make me feel like this just by touching my back, what else could he do to me? My mind tries not to go there, but my libido? It's already thrusting its way back into my fantasy of earlier.

"And how was . . . Your sleep?" I manage to ask, my breathing laboured.

"It could have been better," he says eventually.

We could have been together. Those unspoken words shyly waft in the air between us.

"Oh?" My eyes are closed and my head tilted back. Conversation is failing me now, dialogue apparently unnecessary. I'm focused completely on his skin on mine. In that point in time, the two of us have slipped into our own little world and it feels pretty perfect. I could stay here forev . . .

"A-hem!"

My eyes snapping open, I realise my three friends are now standing in front of us, satisfied grins painting their faces all kinds of smug. I stiffen, and I feel Owen move away.

"I'm pretty sure you've put enough lotion on Mirren to keep her protected for several days," Michelle tells him with a wink.

"We stan a safe king though." Laughing, Vanessa sinks back onto her towel. "I know Mirren's in good hands with you, Owen."

I glare at her, then chance a glance at Owen, noting the blush on his cheeks, knowing mine will be just as pink.

And as I force myself to look away from him, I can't deny to myself just how very good his hands are . . .

Things are starting to ramp up a bit between Mirren and Owen now . . . Hope you enjoyed this chapter and are liking the chemistry between them! I actually really enjoyed writing it, since the last couple of chapters were a bit heavier in drama.