It was about mid morning when she first saw him, just a glimpse as he passed through a gap in the trees not even 50 yards away.

It was a shock. This was her space. To see him on the first day like that when she had looked forward so much to the solitude, upset her. It was unlikely that he knew she was there, the forest understory was dense and it was only by chance that she had seen his bare back and trailing hair.

Was he a hermit? Was she safe? She turned abruptly and retreated to the hut, her spirits low. She remained inside for the rest of the day, wary of venturing out again.

By the next morning she decided that she had to be more assertive. She'd come to relax, not to hide and some vagrant passing through wasn't going to stop her. She left once the sun was well above the trees and enjoyed the strange calls of the birds echoing across the valley in the still, warm air. It was just as she had hoped. Back at the hut she'd glanced at the roughly drawn directions to the pool and found the side track without even taking the paper out of her pocket.

She could hear the waterfall well before she saw it. The pool itself was in the sunlight but hidden from the track until she was almost at the edge. It was just as they'd described, crystal water, calm and deep. She put her glasses down on a rock, began to remove her sweatshirt, looked up, and there he was, emerging from behind the rock island in the centre. He smiled. She was furious.

‘Go away! You're trespassing.’

He put his hand to his ear and swam towards her. He was naked. She was still furious. ‘You are trespassing. Go away.’

‘It's public land.’ He was American! Unmistakably. ‘Anyone can come here.’

‘It's part of the McAdam lease.’ She slipped the sweatshirt back on hurriedly. ‘You're trespassing.’

He wasn't rising to her anger. ‘No it's conservation land. The McAdam lease ends at the ridge. Anyway there's room for two.’ His teeth were white and the grin radiated goodwill. It didn't suppress her disappointment and rage.

‘Get lost. And stay off the ridge. I came here for privacy.’ She was in tears when she reached the main track. Still, at least she had told him.

She spent the next couple of days around the hut, enjoying the wisps of morning mist against the forest and almost 200 pages of Jane Eyre (for the third time) under the shade of an ancient tree. Naturally, she did think about the way everything had fallen apart with David, but she sensed that at last she was feeling less humiliated, less crushed. She even began to think that perhaps it was not her fault.

She'd come to accept that her territory ended at the ridge, just as the American had claimed. Her privacy was not likely to be invaded if she stayed that side of it.

By Thursday night, smoke from the other valley confirmed what she'd suspected: that the man in the pool had a hut of his own. She began to wonder whether she might have soured a valued relationship between neighbours. She worried about it over dinner, dismissed it an hour later on the grounds that he hadn't seemed the slightest bit upset, then worried about it in bed and woke up annoyed that her friends hadn't mentioned the boundary or the neighbour. By mid-morning she was following her old pattern, the one she'd been trying to break. She felt a heavy burden of guilt and began to imagine how, what she now saw as her unjustified ill-temper, might be reported to her friends. She owed him an apology, she was certain of it.

She waited at the pool but he didn't come. After an hour she set off for the main track, then after several changes of mind, turned right - towards where she'd seen the smoke, aware of the irony that she was the one about to invade his privacy. She reminded herself over and over again that he hadn't been upset and wouldn't be if she apologised right away.

He was outside cutting firewood. She saw him first through the undergrowth, this time, only naked to the waist. She found that she'd stopped, absorbed by the sight of his lightly tanned muscular frame. His arms, shoulders and back flexed as he brought the axe head up, then drove it cleanly through the wood. She heard the echo around the valley and moved forward silently. For some reason he looked up and walked towards her.

That grin again. Oh the relief.

‘I wondered if you would like some sweet potato’, she said quickly, offering the small bag.

‘Why thanks. How do I cook it?’

‘Like ordinary potato...And I've come to say sorry about the other day. I got things all wrong. Sorry.’

‘Lady, where I come from we don't bottle things up. If you feel mad, you let 'em know it. The name's Randall. Like a beer?’

‘I'm Carol.’ She offered her hand and he shook it warmly. He collected two cans of beer from the stream next to the hut and took her inside. They sat at a table strewn with books and notes.

She was there for four hours. Randall was not a private person, certainly no hermit and the laptop computer was for his doctoral thesis. He'd been there three weeks, making very good progress and was clearly pleased to discover a neighbour. Their appreciation of the beauty of the bush and mountains established common ground; enough to get them past politeness and into other shared passions, especially Shakespeare.

As she sat alone outside her own hut in the setting sun, she had what she liked to refer to as one of her wild thoughts. It involved Randall. She had plenty of wild thoughts. She often imagined herself to be slightly outrageous, acting on impulse and saying 'stuff you' out loud far more often than she did, and feeling good about it. Few wild thoughts ever came to anything and she was becoming conscious of how little control she really had over her life. The break-up had been the most damaging example and here she was, retreating from the world to lick her wounds.

By bedtime her wild thought was well established. She lay there imagining him lying next to her. She pictured him chopping the wood, naked in the pool and them making love in a clearing in the forest.

By morning, she had a plan to seduce him. She would take the lead. Yes, for once she would be in charge. She stood in front of the flaking mirror as she dressed, reassuring herself. She pushed her breasts out and turned to check her butt. She felt a tingle of excitement. And anxiety.

They hadn't agreed to meet at the pool, but he was there. He looked up, grinned again and called out, ‘You gonna get wet this time?’ She nodded. He was staring as she slid out of her cotton top. She stood there in her bra, holding his gaze and smiling as she reached back to unhook it. But the flourish as she removed her bra was wasted because he suddenly turned, swam back and into in the waterfall, apparently enjoying the weight of the water on his shoulders. Should she wait before removing anything else, or would that seem too calculated? He didn't look back and she lost her nerve (just a little), stepped behind a log and slipped everything off. She had never entered cool water so quickly. As she surfaced he was swimming towards her.

‘We're skinny dipping!’ she shouted at him, treading water.

He smiled. ‘It's beautiful isn't it?’

‘Mmm’

‘I'm naked half the time around my hut. It's the way I do the gardening. Don't be offended when you come over.’

‘Doesn't it worry you that the locals might turn up?’

‘No, I've never seen them up this far. They're mighty relaxed about nudity anyway.’

They swam towards a sandy patch and sat against rocks, almost side by side. She made sure her breasts were clearly visible but he seemed determined to see only her eyes. They chatted happily enough but for a while her mood was flat. Then about the time he was describing his life in New York, it dawned on her just how different this relationship was. Even better, one of her wild thoughts was actually coming true.

His conversation suggested a real interest with probing, but not intrusive, questions. She mentioned the break-up and her plans to make some changes in her life. He listened, asked another question, then another, not letting her away with vagueness. No judgments, no advice and not a word about how well he understood her because something similar once happened to him. She became desperate to hug him but held back. In the end he turned, took both her hands and they swam together, their bodies occasionally touching in the clear water.

‘Come to lunch’, she said when they stopped.

‘Thanks, but I'm a little behind schedule with the writing today.’

‘Dinner then. I'll cook sweet potato for you.’

‘Okay, but need to go now.’ He leapt out of the water. The first time she'd seen all of him.

‘I'll come too - walk to the main track with you.’ They stood shyly taking each other in. She glanced around for his clothes and looked quizzical. ‘I usually don't bring any. And I just dry off on the way back.’

‘Then I'll walk with you like this.’ She insisted on drying him with her towel first, wiped carefully over his back and shoulders, around to his chest and left him to do the rest. He returned the favour and dried her breasts with gentle pats of the driest corner of the towel. It was delightfully intimate.

She gathered up her clothes in the wet towel and they set off, naked, most of the time side-by-side. ‘I thought you weren't very confident.’

‘I'm getting better every day.’ She reached over to squeeze his arm and they held hands along the track through the giant palms and ferns and into the first sunlit clearing. The grass was bright green and warm on their feet. Their bodies were bathed in dappled light. He stopped her. There was a slight pause; her heart was pounding. They turned and were in each other's arms in a second.

‘You look absolutely beautiful’, he whispered and kissed her neck.

‘And you are getting hard.’

‘I'm a man. I did say you were beautiful’

His whole body was firm. She wanted to lie with him there on the grass, but thought better of it. She broke away and took his hand again. They walked on saying nothing until she looked down and exclaimed, ‘It is very hard.’ For once he looked almost embarrassed. ‘I think it fancies you. It'll settle down before we get to the main track.’ It did, and they parted with a short hug. As he disappeared around the corner she called, ‘Come around six’. He waved an arm without turning.

He was only a few minutes late: this time wearing a new tee-shirt and blue jeans. They sat outside on the veranda for about an hour, sipping the wine he'd brought, talking about anything that drifted into their minds. It turned out that the thesis was about business leadership and he was on leave from a university-tutoring job to write it. He had chosen the island because he'd been there before and the opportunity to write undisturbed had appealed to him.

The meal was modest but he seemed especially pleased with the sweet potato and some small bananas she had picked a few yards from the house. She lit the candles, then the fire. As she sat with him on the old couch, the familiar doubt set in. What if the embrace in the clearing was simply an impulse he now regretted. What if he was in a relationship or just wanted to be friends? Would she end the evening feeling hurt? Her conversation was suddenly just polite. He read her the extract he had promised from Romeo and Juliet. She wanted to reward him with good humour or perhaps a gentle hug, but she kept her distance. He reached for her but she just gave him her hand. Her mind was racing. She was going to make the moves. Or was it too risky? She wanted to slump into his arms. Suddenly she did. He held her close and still as the fire warmed them. He kissed her cheek and she stroked his arm and they lay there in silence until the flames disappeared.

She realised that the time had come, stacked more wood on the embers and when it burst into flame, turned and removed her blouse. She did it slowly, trying to look brazen again but also searching for anything in his eyes that might suggest reproach. He sat up. She removed her bra. He kissed her breasts as she removed his shirt. They were both standing now. She took the candle into the bedroom and placed it on the bedside table, then came back to help him remove the rest of his clothing. She was in charge. One of her wild ideas was actually coming true. She reached down to encourage his hardness. He began to undo her skirt but she moved away towards the bedroom. ‘Come and get me.’

They heard the first sounds of rain on the iron roof. ‘Now you've got to stay’, she laughed.

‘Damn and I was so desperate to get home tonight too.’

She slipped off her skirt and tossed it aside. She pulled back the sheet. ‘Come into my bed sexy man.’ He reached to remove her knickers on the way past but she stepped aside.

‘Taking control huh?’ he smiled.

‘You bet.’

‘Okay by me. Make sure you get what you want.’

‘Cuddle me first’, she said sliding in next to him. The rain was steady now. They could see the light of the fire dancing on the walls. She felt a special glow as he held her from behind, his hand on her breast. She snuggled into him and he kissed her shoulders, then her neck. She felt his hardness against her knickers. They lay there in silence for several minutes until she heard him whisper, ‘Do you want to sleep like this?’

She was taken aback and turned to him. ‘Is that what you want?’

‘No, but you're in charge tonight.’

‘Good.’ She added with a laugh, ‘Just so long as that's clear’. They heard thunder in the distance. She pulled back the covers and kissed his chest and belly, enjoying the effect of brushing her nipples against him.

‘Your breasts....’

‘Uh huh?’

‘They're perfect.’

She began to stroke his erection with both hands. His pleasure was obvious and she was enjoying the opportunity to play, to take her time, even the control it gave her.

‘Take your panties off’, he protested.

‘No.’

A few minutes later. ‘Take them off.’ It was playful pleading.

‘No.’ Then a pause, and she added, ‘You take them off.’ He rose up immediately, eased her onto her back and took the waistband in his teeth. She raised her hips to help. He cast them aside and came back to kiss her feet, then her ankles, below her knees, lingering, tender kisses. It was tantalising at first, then frustrating. She felt some relief as his lips met the inside of her thighs. She put her hand on his hair, encouraging him, holding him there, though he seemed in no mood to escape. His tongue touched her mound, then her lips, slowly working up and down. He looked up for a moment and she felt his finger enter her, and stroke her gently. His tongue came back, just touching at first, then back and forth. She found herself pressing hard on his head as his tongue worked excitedly on her special place. She was surprised by his stamina. She was close to coming, when he gasped and sat up. ‘Sorry, my tongue's worn out.’ He took her hand and guided her there to take over. She looked awkward and her first efforts were token.

‘I've never done this with anyone watching.’

‘Tell me what you want.’

‘Stroke yourself while I do it.’

‘Sure.’

That was a new experience too. She'd seen David stroking himself once, but it wasn't something he would have considered doing openly. She found the uninhibited sharing with Randall exhilarating. He stroked himself with such intensity, yet his eyes were on her, holding her gaze in silence, roving over her face, her shoulders, her