Beyond the Horizon

by Bea Paige

  “Down boy. Stay!” I chastise. He sits on his arse by Lola’s bedroom door, looking up at me with his cute brown eyes. “Maybe if you’re good, I’ll take you out for a walk later?” I suggest. He seems to understand me because his jaw drops open and his tongue flops out in an almost human expression of thanks.

  When I enter the room, Dr Fuller is taking Lola’s temperature and talking to her in low tones. She’s awake but looks like death. Her gaze catches mine and she manages a grimace.

  “I’m fine, tonsillitis,” she explains with a croak.

  Relief floods through me. Tonsillitis, okay we can deal with that. Once my immediate worry dissipates, I become very aware of Connie standing in the corner of the room, staring at me. The heat of her gaze batters against my resolve to stay well away from her, to not even look at her, and yet despite that, I can’t help but do exactly that. She was right about the attraction between us. It’s so potent, so strong, that I can’t seem to stop myself from moving towards her. For the past couple of days I’ve been going over and over the conversation we had that morning in the harbour. I’ve never been as candid with anyone and I’ve no idea why she, of all people, would make me feel comfortable enough to admit how I feel. It’s thrown me off-kilter, the honesty I was able to share, and yet it seemed right somehow. I’d hoped that by acknowledging these feelings and telling her that nothing between us could ever happen would put an end to the ache in my chest and the fire in my loins, but it hasn’t. God fucking help me, it hasn’t.

  Just like the sirens in mythical tales, her voice had infiltrated my dreams that morning and I had to go and see where it was coming from, if only to make sure I wasn’t going crazy and hearing things that weren’t real. When I spotted Connie on the dock, with her eyes pressed shut and swaying to the sweet sound of her own music as she strummed her guitar, I’d been entranced. Fucking lost, actually, in her ethereal beauty, her calm serenity as she sung. For the few moments when she hadn’t realised I was close by, I’d basked in the peace she elicited in me. A feeling of calm, of wholeness, had washed over me and it scared the shit out of me.

  I’m still fucking terrified.

  Which is why, as soon as Princess is fixed, I’m leaving.

  “Lola will be okay. Dr Fuller has prescribed antibiotics and rest. She’ll be back to herself in no time,” Connie rambles on, misinterpreting the expression I must be wearing.

  I nod tightly. “You should’ve called me earlier. I would’ve come straight away,” I grumble, unable to stop myself from sounding like an ungrateful arsehole. She shoots me a look that cuts right through me. She’s pissed at my snippiness, as she well should be, but there’s something else in the gleam of her pretty eyes, something that has me wanting to fall to my knees and beg for her forgiveness.

  “Whoa, Lola, you look like crap.” Rob enters her bedroom, a grin plastering his face. He winks at me and Connie then settles on the edge of Lola’s bed. I’m not sure I like the familiarity he’s showing. I scowl. Next to me Connie sighs.

  “Sod off, Rob,” Lola grumbles, but I see the smile in her eyes before her gaze flicks to us both. “You should get on home, Connie. Malakai will walk you back,” Lola says, her voice a mere croak.

  “I’m fine. I don’t need a chaperone.”

  “Even so, it would make me feel better.”

  Dr Fuller starts to pack away his equipment. “You really should have someone stay with you. Tonsillitis isn’t going to kill you, but you will feel shaky on your legs for a few days until the antibiotics start to kick in…”

  “A few days? No, I need to get back to work tomorrow,” Lola protests weakly, trying and failing to push herself upright in bed.

  “The hell you are, Lola,” Rob states. “You’re done in and you need to rest. We’ll sort something out between us.” He looks over at me and I understand what he’s getting at.

  “I’ll stay and watch over you. Connie can run The Shack until you’re on your feet,” I offer. Beside me Connie stiffens.

  “Wait, no. I meant I could stay…” Rob’s voice trails off when he glances at me and the fixed scowl on my face. I’m pretty sure Lola’s cheeks flush a darker shade of pink, or perhaps that’s just her fever.

  “No, you have a business to run, Rob. You don’t have to do that.” She gives him a weak smile, flicking her gaze between us both. Hmm, I think I’m losing my touch. I can normally tell when two people are hot for each other. Looks like Connie has been a bigger distraction than I thought. Wait, who am I kidding? She’s all I’ve been thinking about.

  “But I can’t ask Connie to manage all on her own,” Lola continues. “It’s a lot of work. I’ll be fine after a good night’s rest.”

  “Bed rest, three days at least. Doctor’s orders,” Dr Fuller states, brooking no arguments.

  “But…” Lola begins, then winces at the pain in her throat.

  “What about Ma Silva, I’m pretty sure she’d be happy to watch over you for a few days? Then Malakai can help out Connie at the Shack,” Rob suggests, avoiding eye-contact with me. Looks like he’s disliking the idea of me staying here with Lola as much as Connie is.

  “Sure,” Connie says.

  “No,” I disagree.

  Lola chews on her lip, raising her hand to her forehead. Her fingers shake as she rubs at her temple. “That could work, if you think your Gran wouldn’t mind. I don’t want to put her out. I’m sure she has better things to do with her time than look after me,” Lola says, looking equal measures hopeful and uncomfortable.

  Dr Fuller pulls out his mobile phone and hits dial. “Ma Silva wouldn’t mind at all. I know her and she wouldn’t want you to be laid up here on your own, unwell, with no one looking out for you. The woman’s a saint, and I’m pretty sure she’s looked after us all at one point over the years.” He walks out of the room to make that call.

  “I agree. Grandma won’t mind at all,” Connie says softly. “I can work with Malakai…” Her voice falters as she regards me. “If he’s willing, that is.”

  “Yeah, it’s not as if you’ve got anything better to do, Malakai. Your boat is in the yard after all,” Rob says, raising his eyebrows and daring me to object. This is definitely more about me not looking after Lola, than it is about me helping out at the Shack. I wouldn’t have put Lola and Rob together, but there’s definitely something there.

  “You’d be doing me a huge favour,” Lola says, giving me a weak smile.

  Fuck.

  If I insist on saying no, I’m going to look like the jerk they all think I am, but if I agree, I’m going to need superhuman restraint around Connie.

  “Well?” Rob insists.

  Lola looks at me hopefully, but it isn’t her stare that has sweat sliding down my back, it’s Connie’s. The idea of being in close confines with her, even if that is only for a few days, is doing all kinds of unwelcome things to me. Jesus fucking Christ.

  “Fine,” I hear myself saying, just as Dr Fuller returns to the room.

  “All sorted. Ma Silva is on her way. She’ll stay for a couple nights until you’re feeling better.”

  “Perfect,” Rob grins, winking at me. If I didn’t like him so much I might have to wipe that grin off his face.

  “Perfect,” I echo, though the grumble in my voice tells everyone in the room that I’m less than happy about it.

  Connie flinches but she doesn’t say a word, she simply heads over to Lola and grasps her hand. “We’ll take care of things until you feel better, okay?”

  “Okay,” Lola acquiesces.

  Ten minutes later, Ma Silva arrives with a small holdall and a basket full of fresh food. She hustles us all out of Lola’s bedroom with a stern look that lingers on me far longer than feels comfortable.

  “I want to speak with you before you leave, Malakai,” she says as she stands at Lola’s door.

  “Sure.” I grit my teeth. I know what this is about. Ma Silva isn’t stupid.

  She glances at Connie and Rob. “I’d appreciate it, Robert, if you tak
e Connie home for me.”

  Connie opens her mouth to protest but Ma Silva doesn’t give her a chance to. “Off home, now.”

  “Fine,” Connie mutters, trailing after Rob.

  I see everyone out then put the kettle on, making myself a coffee and waiting for the lecture I know I’m going to get. I’m a thirty-six-year-old man who has seen a lot of shit in my life and dealt with a lot of mean-arse men, but the thought of Ma Silva giving me a telling off makes me feel like a kid again. She’s a good woman, with a kind heart, but she’s fierce when she needs to be.

  “Connie knows who you are,” Ma Silva says as she steps into the kitchen and sits down in the chair opposite me. Her face is neutral, but I see the warning in her eyes.

  “Right,” I manage to respond. Great, is all I can think. Do I want her knowing about the kind of family I come from… hell, no. It’s why I took my mother’s maiden name for fuck’s sake. I might have been part of that family once, not anymore. Never again.

  “I’ve warned her off you too, though I know my granddaughter. Once she sets her mind on something she wants, she won’t back down…” Ma Silva clasps her hands together on the table in front of her.

  “I understand.”

  “Do you? Because I cannot lose her to the world you’re embroiled in. I won’t see her hurt, by you or by any of the Bennett men, if I can help it.”

  “I’m not embroiled in that world anymore. I left that part of me behind a long time ago.”

  She clucks her tongue. “You and I both know it isn’t that easy.”

  “I’ve made a good job of it for some time now,” I protest, even though I know she’s right. Trouble’s brewing with my cousin, the King, and whilst I stay well out of it, that doesn’t mean to say I don’t keep my ear to the ground. If I keep tabs on the family’s business, I can stay well away from trouble. I take a sip of the bitter coffee, relishing the kick it gives me as I peer at Ma Silva over the rim of my cup.

  “She’s enamoured with you. I’d go as far as saying that she believes you’re the man she’s meant to be with. I recognise the look in her eyes when she watches you. I may be old, but I’m no fool. You’re the only one who can put a stop to this.”

  “Believe me, I’m trying…” I say, before I can stop myself.

  “Try harder.”

  “That’s going to be a little difficult now that I’ve agreed to help her at The Shack whilst Lola’s recuperating for the next few days.”

  Ma Silva frowns. “Then use the time to make sure she understands that she and you can never be anything.”

  “Is that an order?” I ask, biting down on the need to tell her to mind her own damn business. I’m well aware Connie and I can never be anything, ever. My cock, however, is having a hard time agreeing with that, and a small voice in the back of my head seems to be protesting too. I shut it down before it can take hold.

  “I can’t make you do anything, Malakai, but I am asking you to do this for Connie. She is young, impressionable, pure of heart. She sees something wounded and wants to care for it.”

  “You think she wants to fix me?”

  “Yes.”

  “I can’t be fixed,” I grumble.

  “Then do we agree that it’s a pointless endeavour?”

  Now I’m a pointless endeavour? That burns a little more than expected.

  Ma Silva sighs. “I’m doing this to protect her. She’s not as strong as she thinks, and she wouldn’t survive your world, Malakai… or you. Do you understand?”

  “I understand perfectly,” I respond, gritting my teeth.

  “Then you’ll do what’s right?”

  “Yeah, I’ll do what’s right,” I promise, pushing to my feet.

  Fifteen

  Connie

  When I get to Lola’s Shack the following morning the air is humid, oppressive. Overnight it barely dropped below twenty-five degrees Celsius, and according to the barometer that’s fixed to the harbour wall, the temperature is steadily rising even though it’s only a few minutes past six am.

  A drop of sweat slides down my spine, sticking my strappy, cotton dress to my back. It’s the lightest item in my wardrobe, the material thin enough to be see-through when the light is shining behind me. If I’m being honest, it’s not particularly practical for working in the Shack. Then again, I’m not wearing it for practical reasons.

  This dress is for him. Malakai.

  Biting my lip, I smooth my sticky palms against the skirt that skims over my curves in a gentle caress. Across the surface are tiny pink rosebuds that bloom the closer they are to the bodice. White, heart-shaped buttons run from the sweetheart collar to the waistband, cinching in my waist and pushing my breasts together in a way I hope Malakai notices. Beneath the dress I’m wearing purple lacy underwear, the straps in stark contrast to the white dress. I’m fully aware that my underwear is noticeable beneath the cotton. When I looked in the mirror this morning, I’d considered changing into a plain white bra and knickers combo, knowing that not only would Malakai see the contrast of my bra beneath my dress but also the fishermen. I don’t want their attention, just his.

  Then I remembered how he reacted the other night. How other men’s attention had sparked a possessiveness in him, turning his apathy into jealousy.

  Rightly or wrongly, I want to provoke that part of him.

  I want him to see me.

  I want him to want me.

  The way he held me the other evening had set fire to something inside of me. I’d felt both vulnerable and powerful simultaneously. He’d towered over me, all corded muscles and paper-thin restraint as his hand gripped the back of my neck, his fingers curling into my hair. I’d felt his breath on my skin, his cock straining against his jeans as he pressed against my hip and that flame within had roared. It consumes me now. I’m pretty sure one gust of wind will turn me to ash.

  I burn… for him. Only him.

  Tendrils of hair flutter against my shoulder in a warm breeze, reminding me that I need to get inside and begin the day. I have the spare key Lola gave me yesterday, and gripping it in my hand I place it in the lock and turn, stepping into the Shack.

  Sun streams into the café from behind me, a column of golden light that highlights the entire centre of the space and the end of a bright red sleeping bag. My heart leaps into my throat and I immediately think we have a trespasser, only to see the familiar black tribal tattoo that winds up an even more familiar arm.

  I hear a low groan, followed by a gentle snore.

  “Malakai?” I whisper, instantly feeling the rush of excitement mixed with trepidation when he’s near. Treading lightly, I creep closer. He’s lying on his back, his arm wrapped around the thin sleeping bag, his leg kicked out at an angle, that doesn’t look particularly comfortable, but must be given he’s still sleeping peacefully. The top half of his body is uncovered as he breathes deeply. When I drag my gaze down from his face to his broad chest and the edge of the sleeping big that covers his groin area, I realise that he’s not wearing any clothes. That he’s completely and utterly naked. Every muscle is defined, a deep groove separating each one, grooves I want to run my finger against. The v-muscle leading to his groin stands stark beneath his taut skin. My first reaction is one of flushed heat, followed by a burning fire, then a smouldering warmth that pools between my legs, enough for me to squeeze my thighs tight to ease the throb between them. I have an almost unbearable urge to touch Malakai, to press my palm over the smattering of chest hair, to push aside the sleeping bag and cup his dick in my hands. I wish I were brave enough to lean over and press a kiss against his skin, to slide my tongue along his bare chest, to scrape my teeth against his jaw. I’m not.

  But I do crouch down. I do lean in close enough to see if I can spot the scars Lola spoke of, and the ones I saw covered by the black ink of his tattoo that morning when he cut his finger. Peering closely, I scan my eyes over his skin, able to make out a thick scar tissue that runs down the length of his bicep from his shoulder to his elbow.
The closer I look the more I see. Tiny scars, no more than nicks are scattered across his chest as though he’s had a battle with a particularly nasty thorn bush. There are other scars too, circular ones that are puckered in the middle, all cleverly covered up by his tattoo. The artist did an amazing job of hiding them.

  “Who did this to you?” I whisper, my voice tight and my heart thundering with the thought of what he’s been through. With no other thought but to soothe some of the pain, however far in the past it might be, I reach out and press the flat of my hand against his chest. The instant our skin touches, my palm tingles intensely, the same electric current that I’ve felt whenever we’ve touched before, running through his flesh into mine.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Malakai’s hand flies upwards, gripping me on the wrist as the air crackles with danger.

  My head whips around as I look down at him. His face is shadowed, his heavy brows casting shade across his eyes.

  “I-I’m sorry,” I stutter.

  “Don’t touch me,” he says, yanking my hand back from his chest. My fingers curl and release beneath the tightness of his grip.

  “I didn’t mean to…” My chest heaves as I scan my eyes over his skin. All I wanted to do was soothe him. I’m an idiot. I’ve no right to touch him. None. Guilt tightens my features as I wince with shame. For a moment I’m locked in his angry glare, but as the seconds tick by my guilt falls away. How can he deny this feeling between us? He’s mine and I’m his. I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life. It doesn’t matter that we’ve not acted upon it, or that we barely know each other. The heart wants what the heart wants.

  “Stop looking at me like that,” he growls. He’s angry. So angry but it doesn’t change my thoughts or my feelings.

  “Like what, Malakai?” I gently ask, swallowing the tremor in my voice.