t de Plaisance de Saint-Claude-du-Var, Nice airport nestling
in the distance, built into the Mediterranean, or so it seems. I’ve heard the
odd plane landing since we arrived last night. I decide we need to take a
closer look.
We shoot toward it, skipping rapidly over the wa一ves. I love this, and I’m
thrilled Christian’s letting me drive. All the worry I’ve felt over the past two
days melts away as we skim toward the airport.
“Next time we do this we’ll ha一ve two Jet Skis,” Christian shouts. I grin—the
thought of racing him is thrilling.
thought of racing him is thrilling.
As we zoom over the cool blue sea toward what looks like the end of the
runway, the thundering roar of a jet overhead suddenly startles me as it
comes in to land. It’s so loud I panic, swerving and hitting the throttle at the
same time, mistaking it for a brake.
“Ana!” Christian shouts, but it’s too late. I’m catapulted off the side of the Jet
Ski, arms and legs flailing, taking Christian with me in a spectacular splash.
Screaming, I plunge into the crystal blue sea and swallow a nasty mouthful of
the Mediterranean. The water is cold this far from the shore, but I surface
within a split second, courtesy of my life jacket. Coughing and spluttering, I
wipe the seawater from my eyes and look around for Christian. He’s already
swimming toward me. The Jet Ski floats inoffensively a few feet away from
us, its engine silent.
“You okay?” His eyes are full of panic, as he reaches me.
“Yes,” I croak, but I cannot contain my elation. See, Christian?
That’s the worst that can happen on a Jet Ski! He pulls me into his embrace,
then grabs my head between his hands, examining my face closely.
“See, that wasn’t so bad!” I grin as we tread water. Eventually he smirks at
me, obviously relieved. “No, I guess it wasn’t. Except I’m wet,” he grumbles,
but his tone is playful.
78 | P a g e
E L JAMES
“I’m wet, too.”
“I like you wet.” He leers.
“Christian!” I scold, trying for faux righteous indignation. He grins, looking
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