Clara Meets The Parents (Clara Andrews #2) Read Online Free PDF Page A

attention. Taking a few steps forward, I notice that we are surrounded by stunning, metallic fish.
    Lifting my sunnies to get a closer look, I am shocked to see that there are hundreds of them. Not knowing quite how I feel about being mad dogged by a shoal of tropical fish, I decide to go back to the safety of my lounger when the world biggest wave knocks me off my feet. Flailing around trying to regain my balance, my heart almost stops when I feel a flapping between my legs. I attempt to scream, but succeed only in swallowing a mouthful of salty sea water. Just as I am convinced that I am going to die, I am lifted out of the water and dropped down in a heap on the sand.
    ‘What the hell just happened? Why didn’t you tell me you couldn’t swim?’ Oliver moves my hair off my face and smiles sympathetically.
    Coughing and spluttering, I try to find my voice. ‘Of course I can swim! It was the fish!’
    ‘What about the fish?’ He stares at me incredulously.
    ‘I just didn’t know they would be there.’ I push myself to my feet and readjust my swimsuit to avoid an embarrassing wardrobe malfunction.
    ‘Wait a minute. You didn’t know there are fish in the sea?’ He laughs loudly and I try not to be offended.
    Suddenly feeling rather stupid, I brush myself down and slip on my sunglasses. Spotting the beach waiter carrying a tray of yummy looking cocktails, I decide there is only one thing for it.
    ‘Another margarita?’ 
                 

Chapter 8
     
    By the time the sun goes down, we have drank our weight in tequila, got acquainted with the fish (sort of) and booked dinner reservations for Gee Gee’s, a dainty restaurant on the sea front. After a tour of the many, many beach bars, we tumble back into our room and collapse onto the bed in a ball of laughter. Pulling off his shirt, Oliver flicks on the TV and stretches out onto the soft sheets.
    ‘How about we forget the reservation and call for room service?’ He sinks down into the feather pillows and lets out a big yawn.
    ‘No chance, Mr!’ I peel off my damp swimsuit and toss it on the floor. ‘You’ve got one hour.’
    Fuelled by alcohol, I make my way into the bathroom and jump into the ridiculous double shower, marvelling at the many mini toiletries. As the water pummels into my back, I wince at the sting. Ouch. Maybe I have caught the sun a little. Once I have washed the sand and seaweed out of my hair and gave my face a good steam, I wrap myself in a teeny towel and wipe the condensation from the mirror.
    ‘Um, Oliver?’ I shout, peering at my red or rather purple reflection.
    ‘What is it?’ His voice sounds sleepy and I pray to God that he hasn’t fallen asleep.
    ‘Could you please bring me the aloe vera?’ Convincing myself that it is just the bad lighting, I grab a hand mirror and shuffle out onto the balcony.
    OK, so it definitely is not the lighting. Not wanting to get a big ‘I told you so’ from Oliver, I try sneaking back into the bedroom without him noticing.
    ‘Jesus Christ, Clara!’ Oliver stops me dead in my tracks and I spin around to face him.
    ‘It’s not that bad.’ I insist, trying to play it down. ‘And anyway, I always go red before I go brown.’ Taking the aloe vera from him, I stomp into the bedroom and slam the door.
    ‘That’s gonna hurt in the morning.’ Oliver’s voice comes through the wall and I choose to ignore him.
    After using almost the entire tub, I whack up the air conditioning in the hope that the cold air will reduce the redness. Slipping on a simple, royal blue maxi dress, I apply the teeniest amount of mascara and lip gloss, before finishing with a quick spray of DKNY. Not having to wear a full face of make-up is one of the best things about a beach holiday. Foundation and eye liner do not mix well with thirty degree heat. I first discovered this on a girls break to Ibiza with Lianna, when three hours worth of make-up melted in less than five minutes, leaving us more Freddie