Chapter Three

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Ugh! Mac had sweaty armpits. In fact, she had sweaty everything.

Every, single, thing.

Sat in the passenger seat of Felix's enormous monster-like white truck, or ute as they were called here, she fiddled with the vents in the dashboard hoping to find some breath of relief from the air conditioning before the beads of perspiration that were rolling down her back collected in her knickers and left a wet patch on the seat that she'd need to explain.

"It doesn't work," Felix barked his first words since they'd set off from the hotel half an hour ago, "Wind your window down if you can't take the heat."

"How can anyone take this heat?" Mac glared at him. He of course didn't look bothered that there were little dots of sweat forming in the fine layer of pale hair covering his forearms. How was it that men could make the ‘sweaty look’ so much more appealing?

Tearing her eyes away from the line of glistening muscle between his elbow and his wrist she fought with the handle to lower the window, realising immediately that she was no better off. Now, instead of the hot air hanging lifelessly around her, it rushed in lifting her hair wildly, and stinging her face as they sped along the road. Silently she took back her words of last night, of how she thought she liked the warmth, and comfort that it brought her. That opinion had been formed from a couple of hours beside the beach at sunset and the air conditioned comfort of a five star hotel, not from the confinement of a small steel box in full view of the sun and it's incredibly angry rays.

"How long will the drive take us?" Mac shifted in the seat hoping her dress would mop up the wet slick on her back. In hindsight, skipping breakfast for the sake of clean skin and smooth glossy hair had been a foolish choice as her stomach let out a loud and indignant growl.

"The drive? Only another half an hour, why?” Felix glanced sideways and frowned at her.

"I'm hungry that’s all.”

“Didn’t you eat breakfast?”

“No… I was running late,” Mac didn’t dare add that she had shaved and exfoliated her legs, as well as conditioned her hair twice instead. The moon had both waxed and waned, and probably even waxed again, since the last time her body had seen this much action.

Slamming his foot on the brake, Felix yanked the steering wheel left and pulled the ute over to the side of the road with a dusty skid. Shocked by the emergency stop Mac looked around her to see what had necessitated it but couldn't see anything obvious, they'd not hit any wildlife and she hadn't heard a tyre pop. Beside her, he flung the door open and, jumping out of his seat, stomped around to the back of the vehicle where he did something with one of the several large blue and white boxes that were lined up neatly in the open top tray. She was about to lean out her window and ask what was wrong when he reappeared on the driver's side and climbed back in, slamming the door shut.

"You should have made time for breakfast, you're not in London now, there's no café on every corner," he snapped scornfully and thrust a plastic bag at her with one hand while pulling the ute back out onto the road with the other.

"I know that," Mac snatched the bag from his hand and glowered at him.

Taking his eyes off the tarmac he turned his head and looked slowly from her shiny yet windswept hair all the way down her body and over her silky legs to her sparkly sandals, before returning his attention straight ahead, “Do you really?”

Indignant, Mac wanted to put him straight, to tell him how until just days ago her armpits had taken on an extreme feminist life of their own and her favourite outfit of choice had been of the flannelette variety. Yet she didn't. It was embarrassing enough that she'd let herself go as far as she had without the additional shame of admitting it to someone like Felix. He probably looked beautiful in anything, or nothing.

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