Read Online Mango Kisses by Elisabeth Rose - Free Book Online Page B

startled a shriek from Rosemary. Andrew jerked away in surprise. Tiffany straightened her blouse and ran a hand over her hair to tidy the disarray. Her lips felt puffy and her mouth must be all red. She knew her eyes were glazed. But everyone had the same puffy, glazed look, as far as she could tell in the dim light.
    She shivered. The temperature had dropped dramatically. Wind suddenly howled around the roof. Trees in the garden thrashed violently.
    ‘I have to leave,’ said Andrew. ‘I haven’t secured my tent against a storm.’ He was already rolling up his sleeping bag. ‘I’m sorry Marianne. Thanks. It was a great experience. Bye, everyone,’ he called and fled with Fiorella hurrying after him.
    Tiffany began folding her quilt. No point staying now, she’d learned everything she was going to learn from this course, the main lesson being that all the expert kissing techniques are negated if the wrong person is doing the kissing.
    She stood up clutching her blanket and pillow. The other couples had resumed their practice session. Boris and Wanda were lip-locked, moaning at her feet on the tartan blanket.
    Thunder rumbled and grumbled again but the intense violence had moved on. The wind eased. If Fiorella had a spare umbrella she could walk to the motel.
    ‘Goodbye everyone,’ she said. A few voices called, ‘See you, Marianne,’ but Boris’s wasn’t one of them. Tiffany clamped her lips together firmly and walked out.
    She met Fiorella in the reception area.
    ‘Please stay, Tiffany,’ she said.
    ‘No, thanks. It’s been...interesting. Could I borrow an umbrella, please? I’ll return it tomorrow.’
    Fiorella darted into a side room. She returned with a large blue and white striped umbrella and big plastic carry bag for the nesting materials.
    Tiffany stepped out into the rain-washed garden. The brief storm had passed leaving in its wake a steady downpour, overflowing gutters and puddles metres wide. She walked down the centre of the road. Houses with lush green gardens nestled on either side. The moist air was heavy with the scent of eucalyptus. She reached the deserted sea front and turned left for the motel, passing the last of the shops, all closed this late on a Sunday.
    The sun was already breaking through the storm clouds on the horizon. The rain eased to a light sprinkle. Her feet were wet but that didn’t matter. She’d have a hot shower then drive the thirty kilometres to Kandala for dinner.
    A flock of seagulls wheeled and soared over the pounding grey waves. Tiffany stopped to watch as they circled overhead and came to rest on the wet sand.
    ‘Marianne!’ A man’s voice. Distant.
    Marianne? Did he mean her? She turned in surprise, more at the call than the name, jerked from her seagull dream by earthbound reality. Boris was hurrying towards her. Running. He had no umbrella and no coat. His clothes were wet, shirt plastered to his chest, jeans darker at the ankles. Hair fell damply across his brow.
    ‘Marianne,’ he said as he reached her, panting and staring into her eyes with an expression she’d never seen there before. Anxiety. Tiffany stood transfixed.
    ‘I...’ He stopped. ‘I wanted to...’
    He stepped nearer, ducking under the rim of the umbrella so they were both enclosed. Tiffany smelled his hot, damp maleness. His eyes held hers. She couldn’t look away, couldn’t speak, couldn’t move, could barely draw breath.
    ‘I wanted...’ He placed a tentative hand on her cheek and stroked a strand of hair from her face with the other, lightly, tenderly. ‘...to say goodbye.’
    Water dripped from his hair and landed on his cheek. He leaned forward. Rain drops hung from wet eyelashes, perfect miniature universes of shining silver. His lips met hers gently as a snowflake. Tiffany sighed. A lifetime of longing, desire and fantasy swirled into that one tiny sound. The umbrella slipped from her fingers and swayed sideways, landing with a dull clunk on the road. Her plastic bag