Tycoon's Unexpected Caribbean Fling

by Ella Hayes

  * * *

  ‘Have you been working here long...?’ He’d have happily sat in silence, just watching her—the deft movement of her hands, firing up the blowtorch, adjusting the flame; the way the pristine sleeves of her chef’s jacket rode up the golden skin of her wrists as she worked—but having asked to be there, he didn’t want to make her to feel awkward by just gawping. Besides, he was curious about her.

  ‘No. I arrived three weeks ago—from England.’ Her eyes flicked up. ‘It’s just a short contract.’

  ‘It’s a long way to come for a short contract.’

  Her cheeks coloured.

  Skit! Somehow, he’d embarrassed her and he hadn’t even meant to say it out loud. Giving voice to his thoughts was a bad habit, a side effect of constantly pitting his wits against computer security systems. For him, work involved an incessant internal dialogue. Talking himself through traps, fathoming logic, asking questions, answering them in his head—supposedly answering them in his head—but sometimes internal became external without him noticing. He’d have to be more careful.

  She threw him a glance. ‘It was a long way to come, but it was...timely.’ She was moving the blowtorch back and forth, concentration furrowing her brow. ‘I happened to be available and who wouldn’t want a job on paradise island?’ She held the flame away and peered at the little white dish which held his crème brûlée. ‘The regular chef’s on leave for eight weeks—a family bereavement, I think—so it all worked out.’ She killed the flame and looked up. ‘For me, I mean...not so much for the person who died...’ Her lips twitched, then she was turning away, transporting the little dish to the fridge. He held in a smile.

  When she turned to face him again, she seemed to have regained her composure. ‘We’ll have to wait a while now, for it to cool.’ She shrugged. ‘I’m a bit behind—’

  ‘Which is my fault.’ He tipped some more wine into their glasses. ‘Come sit. You can tell me what you were doing before you arrived in paradise.’

  She came over, but she didn’t sit down. Instead she picked up her glass and leaned against the worktop. ‘I think it’s my turn to ask you a question...’ Her eyebrow quirked up. ‘Quid pro quo.’

  Saying ‘pro’ and ‘quo’ had made her lips pout enticingly. He drew a steadying breath, reaching for his glass, then thought better of it. He was jetlagged, already a little muzzy and he couldn’t allow himself to be muzzy. He leaned back, folding his arms. ‘That’s fair enough.’

  She took a tiny sip from her glass. ‘Why did your friend book this trip for you? And why didn’t you read the brochure?’

  ‘That’s two questions.’ And very direct questions at that, neither of which he wanted to answer. Her eyes were holding his, curious, expectant, but there was kindness in them too. He sighed. Nils was good at grand gestures and tequila shots, but he wasn’t a heart-to-heart kind of guy and as for his own family... A knot tightened in his belly. That wouldn’t be happening any time soon. Maybe telling Emilie, even just a little bit, would be a release. He unfolded his arms, sliding his glass over the counter so that it was out of easy reach, and then he met her gaze. ‘My friend, Nils, who booked this for me, was supposed to have been my best man...’

  Her eyes narrowed fractionally.

  ‘The wedding was called off.’ His throat went tight. ‘Not by me...’ He swallowed hard. That was enough; she didn’t need to hear the whole tragic story.

  Her eyes were glistening. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  Such ready empathy. Undeserved! He took a breath. ‘That was eight weeks ago. These three weeks were supposed to have been our honeymoon...’ Astrid had booked a honeymoon suite on Bora Bora, a luxurious overwater bungalow at the end of a long, curved jetty. He’d thought it looked romantic, but now the thought of it only led him into the same numb maze as always. He sighed, refocusing on Emilie’s lovely face. ‘Nils said that since I’d cleared my schedule anyway, I should take off, but I wasn’t fit to organise anything, so he booked this for me, called it a “cancelled wedding” present. He drove me to the airport, gave me the brochure—’

  ‘But you didn’t have the heart to look at it.’ Her eyes were lustrous, full of kindness.

  ‘Something like that.’ He looked down, suddenly unable to hold her gaze. There was too much honesty in it and for some reason it was making him feel like a fraud.

  And then a little ping broke the moment into pieces.

  Emilie shot him an apologetic look. ‘That’ll be Melinda...’ She pulled a phone from her trouser pocket. ‘I asked her to text me about Kesney’s baby...’ She tapped the screen, nibbling at her lip, scrolling, and when she looked up again her eyes were gleaming with tears. ‘It’s a boy! Seven pounds, twelve ounces. They’re calling him Ben.’

  His breath caught on an unexpected spike of emotion. What was wrong with him? Getting emotional about a baby wasn’t his style at all. It had to be fatigue catching up with him. He needed to sleep. He slid himself off the stool. ‘That’s wonderful news! Please send Melinda and her family my congratulations.’

  ‘I will!’ She seemed to register that he was on his feet. ‘Are you going? What about dessert?’

  ‘You have it...’ He smiled. ‘I’m sorry, but I need to crash.’

  ‘Oh! Yes! Of course. You must be exhausted.’ Her eyes held his for a long moment. ‘Goodnight, Joel. Sleep well.’

  He nodded and turned towards the door. Maybe he would sleep well. If he did, it would be the first time in eight weeks.

  CHAPTER THREE

  ‘WHAT BIG EYES you’ve got, Grandma!’ Emilie couldn’t help giggling. ‘You need to hold the phone further away from your face...’

  ‘Wait a minute...’ The picture wobbled, was briefly obscured by a pink splodge—a finger—and then Grandma’s face came properly into view. Silver hair, silver-rimmed glasses, bright blue turtleneck sweater. She was peering at the screen, then she broke into a lovely smile. ‘Emilie! I can see you!’

  She smiled back. ‘Who says the older generation can’t grasp technology? You’re nailing it, Grandma!’

  ‘Isn’t it clever?’ More peering. ‘It’s like you’re on television!’

  ‘Smartphones are clever. That’s why I was nagging you to get one, so we can see each other when we talk.’ She stood up. ‘It also means that I can give you a tour...’ She tapped the screen, holding in a smile.

  ‘Oh! What’s that?’

  ‘It’s my lovely little sitting room... I’ve flipped the camera so you can see.’ She panned the phone slowly, showing off the cream linen sofa and the gleaming wooden floor, and the full-length windows with their slatted blinds, then she walked through to the bedroom, showing off the bright sea views through the open French windows, and then, smiling because there was a lot of oohing and ahhing coming from the phone speaker, she entered her favourite space—the bathroom—tracking along the huge slipper bath, turning to take in the wide shower, and the square porcelain sink with its chunky chrome taps, and then it was time for the compact kitchen, panning over the wooden counters—

  Grandma was laughing. ‘I see Ruby in the fruit bowl!’

  She grinned. Ruby was her treasured Rubik’s cube. Grandma had given it her when she was little and she couldn’t go anywhere without it. Crazy really since she’d never managed to solve it. She turned the camera back on herself. ‘Of course I brought Ruby! She reminds me of you...colourful and chaotic!’

  ‘Very funny!’

  ‘So, what do you think of my pad in paradise?’

  ‘It’s lovely, darling! You must be thrilled with it.’ Grandma’s head was bobbing up and down. ‘Now, tell me, are you getting any time off yet?’

  She nodded. ‘Yes! There’s only one person staying now.’

  ‘One!’

  ‘Yeah...’ She felt her pulse speeding up. ‘A Swedish guy. He got jilted by his fiancée, so obviously he’s completely broken-hearted.
’

  ‘Oh, my word, poor man...but at least you’ve got something in common.’ That was the thing about Grandma—no filter! ‘Is he nice looking?’

  ‘Yeah...quite...but he keeps to himself, more or less.’ A splinter of hurt started aching in her chest. ‘He gets his own breakfast, then he’s out sailing all day, so there’s no lunch for me to make. I’m only doing dinner... And Melinda’s on Tortola with her daughter, who’s just had a baby, so it’s kind of quiet.’

  Grandma’s eyebrows arched over the rim of her glasses. ‘And you don’t like that, do you, Em?’

  Grandma knew her all too well. She smiled. ‘I’m fine, really. I’ve got lots to think about.’ She pressed her teeth into her lower lip.

  ‘Don’t do that. You’ll get lines around your mouth!’

  She untucked her lip and smiled, widely.

  ‘You know, peace and quiet is a scarce commodity these days. Have I told you about the little tea shop in Calderburgh?’

  ‘No. You mean your favourite?’

  Grandma scowled. ‘It’s not my favourite any more. They’ve modernised it! It’s all laminate flooring and hard chairs, which are no use for stiff old bottoms like mine. They’ve stripped every bit of comfort out of it and the coffee machine screeches to high heaven so you can’t hear yourself think, never mind speaking or hearing. I was in there with Audrey three days ago and we vowed never to go back.

  ‘What the world needs is a bit of hush so if that’s what you’ve got on that lovely island then you should make the most of it!’ Her head turned sharply, and then the picture canted wildly before her face reappeared, bobbing in and out of frame because she was on the move. ‘I’ve got to go, dear. That’ll be Audrey at the door. She’s dropping off a romance novel. One of those sexy ones. They’re terrific!’

  ‘Grandma!’

  ‘Don’t Grandma me! I may be old, but I’m still warm and breathing.’

  She shook her head, smiling. ‘Bye, Grandma. I love you—’

  ‘Bye, dear.’ And then the screen went black.

  Grandma! What would she have done without her? When everything had fallen apart with Tom, she’d instinctively fled to Calderburgh. Flying out to Abu Dhabi to stay with her parents hadn’t even occurred to her. Their pristine condo suited them perfectly, but it wasn’t home, whereas Grandma’s house had always felt like a haven, a place where she’d felt at the centre of things, even more so after her grandfather had died. She’d always felt closer to Grandma than she had to her mum and dad.

  She parked her phone and poured herself a cup of coffee, taking it out on to the little veranda that ran along the front of the cottage. There was a padded swing seat not far from the door—another favourite spot. She kicked off her flip flops and sat down, swinging her legs up. The seat stirred gently. Through the frangipani trees, she could see a turquoise ribbon of sea, could hear waves tumbling on to the beach. Paradise!

  She closed her eyes, listening to the buzz of insects foraging in the nearby hibiscus and to the shrill chirrups of the yellow-breasted Bananaquits in the trees. Suddenly she noticed how springy the cushion felt beneath her and how utterly comfortable she felt. She sipped her coffee, savouring its rich praline notes. Good coffee, a comfy seat, tranquillity. If only she could bottle the feeling, take some back for Grandma.

  ‘Is he nice looking?’

  Joel on the beach...his eyes on hers...that dizzy, swoony feeling stirring her head around. Nice looking didn’t come close, but she hadn’t wanted to give Grandma any fuel for a fire. Melinda’s teasing had been quite enough and it was all wide of the mark anyway. She needed a man like a hole in the head, and as for Joel...

  She blew out a sigh. Four nights ago, when he’d come into the kitchen dangling the wine bottle, she’d been surprised, then she’d been surprised all over again when she’d heard what he had to say. Jilted at the altar, near enough! Sadness drained through her. That kind of hurt was bottomless. It was the hurt that kept on giving, the same kind of hurt she’d felt when Tom had told her about Rachel and about the baby they were expecting...

  She shuddered, felt the familiar lump growing in her throat, but for once there were no tears to swallow, only snapshots flashing in front of her eyes. Tom and Rachel. Those little looks in the bistro kitchen, the way they’d squeezed past one another with trays as they’d gone back and forth through the doors.

  She hadn’t noticed it then, but she could see it now, the way Tom’s face had seemed to brighten when Rachel came in; the way that Rachel had always come to work immaculately made-up: lip gloss, sweeping lashes, expensive scent. She could hear Tom’s voice animating, Rachel’s laughter tinkling. Only now, from a swing seat on the opposite side of the world, was she seeing what must have been going on under her nose for months and months. How could she have been so blind?

  ‘The wedding was called off. Not by me...’

  Grandma was right; she and Joel had a lot in common. They’d both had the rug snatched from beneath their feet. She knew Joel’s pain, had felt its scratch tearing at her own skin, especially that first night in the kitchen when he’d been too upset to hold her gaze, but before that he’d been making her laugh with his bad French accent, and before that he’d made her laugh on the beach, and she’d felt that in spite of everything there was something nice happening between them...

  The splinter in her chest twisted. But she must have been mistaken because although Joel had been perfectly polite since then, he’d also been distant, not lingering over dinner, not talking much. It had made her tense, made the atmosphere in the kitchen sticky and outside the kitchen...

  She blew out a long sigh. Joel had been away from the house so much that if she hadn’t known how much he loved sailing she might have thought he was avoiding her... She chewed her lip then stopped. She was doing it again, falling into the same old traps, finding new ways to make herself insecure! Of course Joel wasn’t avoiding her. This wasn’t about her! He was a broken man. If he was thinking about anyone, it was his ex...

  Hadn’t she been the same, over Tom? Shutting the world out, going over and over things...? That was Joel too, undoubtedly, wondering why his fiancée had called things off, or maybe he knew already and was trying to process it. Or maybe he was simply enjoying himself on the water, enjoying his surroundings and his solitude. It was exactly what Grandma had told her to do.

  She sipped her coffee, watching a butterfly dancing a jig around the hibiscus flowers. Mindfulness! That was the thing. Living in the moment. Focusing on what was in front of you. Peace, quiet, comfort and coffee...

  ‘They’ve stripped every bit of comfort out of it and the coffee machine screeches to high heaven so you can’t hear yourself thinking, never mind speaking or hearing.’

  She stared at her cup, realising suddenly that she was holding her breath. Grandma was spot on. Cafés had become noisy places and it was because of the hard floors and the hard seats, the wailing coffee machines. Surely there had to be a gap in the market for a different kind of café... A quiet café...

  Café Hush—no, Hygge.

  That was it! Café Hygge! A place which put good old-fashioned comfort first. Floors softened with rugs, seats with cushions comfy enough for stiff old bottoms. And the food... She swung her legs off the seat and stood up. Chocolate cake with thick ganache, gingerbread men, rich scones and—patisserie! Comfort food.

  She felt her heart lifting. This could be her new business. Tom was going to buy her out of the bistro...that was what he’d said. There’d be enough seed money there to start something small, not in London, but maybe in Calderburgh! She smiled. That would give Grandma and Audrey somewhere nice to go.

  She slid her feet into her flip flops. With Joel seemingly set on spending his days elsewhere, there was time to work on the idea. She could hone her patisserie skills and perfect some recipes for her old favourites. And if Joel did decide to show his face, then he’d
be the perfect guinea pig, because if anyone needed comfort food, it was broken-hearted Joel.

  * * *

  Joel turned off the main road and jolted the open-top Jeep along the rough track that led to the car park—happily, deserted. He parked and jumped out, leaning in to grab his daysack. For a moment he paused, taking in the view. Blue sea and blue sky stretching away and, in between, the myriad humps of the twenty or so forested islands that made up the southern archipelago. This lookout point was the highest on Tortola. Ironic, seeing as at that moment he was feeling lower than he’d ever felt in his life.

  He adjusted his sunglasses, shouldered his backpack, then set off along the path signposted to Apple Bay. It wasn’t that he particularly wanted to see Apple Bay. What mattered was that it was a ten-kilometre hike. Walking there and back would make his muscles ache and feeling an ache in his muscles was preferable to feeling the different, equally insistent, ache that he was trying to ignore.

  How had it come to this? Nils’s gift should have been the perfect island escape, but for the past four days he’d been on the run, hell-bent on escaping from his island escape, fleeing from sparkling eyes, lips that lifted so readily into the sweetest smile and cheekbones that begged to be touched with a slow thumb. Emilie! He stopped to swipe at the perspiration breaking over his brow. Kristus! What was happening to him? Why were these feelings hounding him when, if things had gone to plan, he’d have already been three days into his honeymoon with Astrid?

  He gritted his teeth. Bora Bora! He conjured the straw-roofed bungalow, the jetty, the turquoise water, but for some reason he couldn’t conjure any anguish. He pushed harder, deeper. They’d have been snorkelling maybe...and then afterwards Astrid would have stretched out with her book and he’d have opened his laptop...and they’d have been peacefully absorbed until it was time for cocktails. He frowned, walking on. Aside from location, their honeymoon would have been an echo of their life in Stockholm. Steady. Comfortable. Peaceful!