by Ella Hayes
He picked up his glass, swirling the ice around. If only she’d let him defuse the bomb afterwards, allowed him to smooth things over with some banal conversation, maybe everything would be feeling different today, but while he ate her mouth-watering Caribbean Crab Cakes Benedict, she’d been bustling about with garnishes, only catching his eye and smiling now and again, so that in the end he’d decided to give her some space and try again in the morning. But she’d given him the slip.
‘Goat stew!’ The waitress was setting down his plate, laying down the three sizzling side dishes. ‘Can I get you a beer?’
‘No, I’m fine, thanks.’ Drinking wasn’t the answer! Besides, he’d hired the Jeep again. Driving around Tortola had seemed like a good idea since there was no one on Buck Island to keep him company. Ironic! When he’d first arrived on the island all he’d wanted was to be alone and now...
‘Okay. Enjoy!’ The girl turned away and his heart bounced. Emilie was gliding past, stunning in a silky dress the colour of café au lait. She was heading for the exit, bag in hand.
He shot to his feet, catching his head on the edge of umbrella. ‘Emilie!’
She jerked as if a string had pulled tight. ‘Joel!’
‘What a nice surprise!’ He fought off the umbrella, nearly knocking his glass over.
She stepped nearer, a smile hiding at the corners of her mouth. ‘You should probably sit down before you do some real damage.’
He grinned, knew that it was a goofy kind of grin because his lips couldn’t contain it. ‘I was trying to get your attention.’
Her eyes filled with sparkles. ‘You did.’
She looked lovely, perfectly dressed for a date. He swallowed, looking into the space over her shoulder for any sign of a male companion. ‘So, are you leaving...?’
‘No.’ She gave her bag a jiggle. ‘I was just going to freshen up before my lunch arrives.’
She’d said ‘my lunch’. He felt a flicker of hope. ‘Are you alone?’
She blinked quickly and then her gaze settled. ‘Yes.’
There was that same scrawl of pain in her eyes he’d seen before and it got him right in the chest. He felt his jealousy withering, his lust sliding into the shadows. Something was hurting her and he wanted to know what it was. She had no real reason to trust him. She hadn’t even trusted him enough to explain why she’d made six versions of the same cake. He’d have to do better, work harder, be the friend he’d promised to be. He smiled. ‘Would you like to join me, or... I could join you, if you’d like...?’
‘That’s...’ her tongue hovered for half a beat ‘...that would be lovely, thank you. I’ve got a nice corner table. Maybe the waitress could help you move your—’ She threw a glance at his food.
‘It’s goat stew.’
‘Right.’ She smiled, clutching her bag. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’
* * *
‘Joel, can I ask you something?’
His stomach dipped. They’d been chatting while they ate. She was in Road Town on a whim, she said—sightseeing—because she hadn’t had the opportunity before, but although she’d been smiling, telling him about an art gallery with a creaky floor, he’d had the feeling that something was bothering her.
She’d kept glancing at his disappearing stew and he’d noticed how her knife and fork had stilled every time he’d spooned another potato or fried plantain on to his plate. Maybe he’d been attacking his lunch with too much gusto, but he couldn’t help that! He hadn’t had any breakfast and, from the moment he’d discovered that Emilie was not on a date, his hunger had returned with a vengeance. He set his knife and fork down. ‘Of course.’
A little notch appeared between her eyes. ‘At the house, at dinner, am I...am I giving you enough to eat?’
His stomach flopped. The way she’d been watching him, vulnerability flickering behind her eyes. Damn! He should have twigged. Making his own breakfasts, having hearty lunches at The Roost, then topping up with some street food in the late afternoons before going back to Buck Island had meant he’d been able to pace himself over her delicious dinner morsels and appear satisfied. Maybe he should have ʼfessed up before now, told her that her portions were too small, but he hadn’t had the heart. He’d seen that first night how much she needed his delight, his approval, and even if he didn’t quite understand it, he respected it, respected her. So he’d stuck to his workaround and kept his thoughts to himself.
But now he was in a jam. The restless spark of physical attraction he felt around her was a perpetual torment, but more than anything else he wanted to know who she was on the inside and that would never happen if he lied to her. If he wanted to get to know her properly, then he was going to have to push past some thorns, risk a few scratches. He took a careful breath. ‘The truth is...no.’
The light faded from her eyes.
‘But—’ he held up a finger ‘—that’s because I burn calories like crazy when I’m sailing.’ Which was true and, if he laid it on thick, would soften the blow. ‘Sailing a cat is super physical and I’m probably overdoing it, staying out too long because the sailing’s so good here... I need a lot of fuel!’
She frowned. ‘It’s why you’ve been getting your own breakfast, isn’t it?’
He nodded.
She was shaking her head. ‘God, Joel, I’m so sorry... You should have told me.’ She bit her lip. ‘Why didn’t you say anything?’
‘I didn’t want to hurt your feelings. You put so much of yourself into it and everything you make is perfect.’
Her eyes glazed, then she was looking down, staring into her lap.
He felt helpless. How could he make her see that it wasn’t worth crying over? It wasn’t as if he intended to leave a bad review. He wanted to wrap his arms around her, but this wasn’t the time or the place. He moved his plate aside and slid his hand across the table. ‘Hey, Em, really, it’s no big deal.’
‘But it is. It must be.’ She looked up, eyes glistening. ‘Don’t you see? I’m obviously so damned uptight that you didn’t even dare to bring it up, even though this is your holiday and it’s costing you a fortune to be here.’
‘You’re not uptight, you’re just a perfectionist.’ Something was happening in her eyes. Maybe he could turn things around if he could just keep going. He moistened his lips. ‘I mean, six versions of the same chocolate cake! That’s dedication...and remember, it’s not actually costing me anything to be here because—’
‘Your friend.’ She was biting her lip. ‘I remember, but still, he wouldn’t want you to be hungry.’
‘That’s true, but I won’t tell him if you don’t.’
The light was coming back into her eyes. ‘Joel...why are you being so nice?’
Was she kidding? He smiled. ‘Because I have no reason not to be and...’ deep breath ‘...because I’ve got a Jeep for the afternoon with an empty passenger seat and I was thinking that, if you’re free, we could take a ride, enjoy the sunshine. Normal stuff.’
Warmth filled her eyes, spilling over so that it was filling him too, then her hand was sliding over his. ‘Normal stuff sounds like catnip right now.’
CHAPTER SIX
JOEL WAS TILTING his head in her direction. ‘Not much further!’
He hadn’t told her where they were going and she didn’t care. It was just nice to be with someone—with him—winding into the hills in an open-top Jeep, birling along under a blue sky with the sun in her eyes and her hair blowing. What a turnaround! She’d been feeling lower than low, then suddenly, somehow, there he’d been, in the same restaurant, tangling himself in the parasol, looking ridiculously pleased to see her.
Catnip!
She eyed him sideways. How different he was to the way he’d seemed on the beach that first day. Back then, he’d been cool, wary, pale lipped, but now he was all open smiles and chaotic breezy hair. She felt a little tingle of
happiness. He was gorgeous, but more importantly, he was big-hearted. He’d kept quiet about her portion sizes because he hadn’t wanted to hurt her feelings. He’d made light of it, but she felt bad all the same. He was a big guy. Athletic! If she’d stopped scrambling around on the ledge of her own insecurity for just one moment, if she’d summoned just one iota of emotional intelligence, she’d have understood why he’d always seemed a little underwhelmed with the plates she’d set in front of him.
She turned, watching trees blurring past, green slopes spinning by. When had she lost the ability to see past the tangled web of head and heart, and food and love? How easily Melinda had seen the reason behind that sudden impulse she’d had to make dinner rolls the day Joel arrived, a reason she was only seeing for herself now...
From the moment Joel had turned his cool gaze on her, she’d felt the tug of desire, but there’d been something else too. That lost look behind his eyes had stirred her heart, had made her want to reach out to him in the way she knew best—with heart food—warm, comforting dinner rolls. But when it came to dinner itself, she’d stuck doggedly to the Michel Lefevre script, serving Lefevre-sized portions because—she bit her lips together—because she was good at it; because it was what she was trained to do; because it was her safety net.
She closed her eyes. When she and Tom had opened Blythe’s Bistro, the plan was for relaxed fine dining, but then Tom had changed the script. He’d decided they should be doing gastro-pub food. She’d felt angry. She hadn’t left a Michelin-starred restaurant to spend her days making shepherd’s pie; Tom could have done that himself! Even so, she’d tried to create dishes that worked for both of them, but after Raoul Danson’s pathetic two-star write up in the London Time magazine, Tom had lost it, had started calling her dishes ‘second-rate Lefevre’.
She felt tears burning behind her eyes. If she’d blindly buckled herself back into her Lefevre straitjacket, then maybe it was understandable. She’d compromised her integrity to make Tom happy and had lost him anyway...
Joel was braking. ‘We’re here!’
She opened her eyes, saw a blue wooden sign.
PELICAN RUM DISTILLERY
500 YARDS
She pushed up her sunglasses. ‘A rum distillery?’
‘You can taste four different blends here.’ He was smiling, spinning the steering wheel smoothly in his hands as he turned off the main road and drove them through a pair of weathered wooden gates. ‘I was thinking that you could choose the best one for your chocolate rum cake...’
She felt a prickle starting at the back of her neck. On the beach, she’d congratulated herself for not telling him the reason why she was testing recipes. She’d thought she was being strong by not opening up at the first sign of friendly interest, but now she felt small and ungracious. Joel was trying to be her friend, trying to win her trust with a sweet gesture when he didn’t even know what he was trying to help her with.
She felt something inside herself breaking apart and warmth rushing in. Café Hygge was hardly a state secret. Even if talking about it led her into a painful place, then maybe that didn’t matter. She felt a smile brimming in her cheeks. ‘Joel, that’s so nice of you, so thoughtful.’
‘It’s normal!’ He grinned. ‘For the Caribbean anyway. If we were in Sweden, we’d be tasting lingonberry likör!’
‘If we were in Sweden...’
What was his life like there? It was hard to visualise Joel under grey Scandinavian skies when Caribbean sunshine was dancing across his face. She wound a finger into her hair. His eyes were hidden by his sunglasses, but his expression was lively, full of curiosity as he navigated the bumps in the track, his teeth snagging his lip every time he eased the Jeep through the potholes.
She bit her own lip. It was hard not to stare at his mouth; hard not to notice his broad shoulders shifting under his shirt as he steered. He was handsome and kind and funny, but all she knew about him was that his fiancée had ditched him—why?—and that his generous friend had bought him an island holiday... She felt a frown coming. That wasn’t nearly enough to know about a man who had gone hungry to spare her feelings. Joel was a special person and suddenly she wanted to know all about him—sorrows, joys, history, dreams—everything!
The rush of her own curiosity made her heart thump. She looked up into the canopy, slow breathing, watching the sun splashing through the deep greens and limey fronds. She saw a flash of bright feathers, tuned in to the chuckles and clicks and shrieks of the birds, calling and answering. Quid pro quo!
She lowered her gaze. Even birds had conversations. It was normal to be curious about someone, normal to talk. It didn’t have to mean anything. If she wanted to know more about Joel, all she had to do was ask him a question to get the ball rolling—something mundane—normal! She twisted in her seat. ‘Joel...? What is it you do?’
His sunglasses glinted. ‘For a living?’
She nodded.
‘I’m in internet security.’
‘Oh.’ Not her area of expertise. She smiled. ‘In what way, exactly?’
‘I design security systems.’ The track was opening into a roughly made car park, beyond which was a loose collection of old, stone buildings. Joel swung the Jeep into a space and turned off the engine. When he pushed up his sunglasses, his eyes were twinkling. ‘Or at least I used to... I’m more of a CEO these days. My company manufactures and supplies software for business and also for home computing.’ His eyebrows flickered. ‘If you have a computer, you’re probably familiar with my brand...’
She pictured her laptop, the red padlock icon in the taskbar, and suddenly felt her mouth falling open. ‘You’re Larlock?’
He nodded.
‘Larlock antivirus?’
He nodded again, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
‘Seriously?’ She unclipped her seatbelt so she could breathe. ‘You’re Larlock Internet Security?’
‘Yes.’ The cute dimple in his left cheek was getting deeper. ‘It doesn’t get any less true the more times you ask me.’
She closed her mouth. Joel was the Larlock billionaire! It was the last thing she’d expected. His shirt was Sea Island cotton, probably designer, and his watch looked expensive, but when he’d told her that his friend had booked an island escape for him, she’d assumed that it was because he couldn’t afford one and the state of his loafers hadn’t dissuaded her. But Larlock Internet Security was the leading antivirus software. Off the top of her head, she couldn’t even think of another brand.
He was smiling. ‘Why are you so surprised...?’
She touched her chest, trying to steady her heart, but his gaze was warm and twinkly which was making it race all the more. She glanced into the footwell. ‘I think it’s because of your shoes...’
A shadow crossed his face, then he squinted at his feet, laughing roundly. ‘I love my loafers. They’re nice and comfy.’
* * *
Joel sipped, tasting his own lips for a moment and then his eyes snapped up. ‘What do you think...?’
She felt the fiery liquid sliding down her throat, felt its slow burn spreading through her chest and then she fanned her face with her hands. ‘Strong!’ She stilled, holding his twinkling gaze as the buzz travelled all the way to her toes and to the tips of her fingers. Was it the rum that was making her senses swim, or was it the way he was looking at her? It was hard to tell, especially after four shots. She didn’t have much of a head for spirits and daytime drinking was a killer. Thank God for the big lunch! Even so—she planted her hands on the ancient wooden bar—the room was spinning.
‘Emilie, are you okay?’ Somehow, he was behind her, his heat radiating through the fabric of her dress, his hands scorching her shoulders.
Emilie! She liked the way her name sounded on his lips and she liked the way his hands felt, firm but gentle. Big hands! The kind of hands she wished would go a-roaming.
She felt a giggle vibrating in her belly. What would he do if she swayed backwards a little? He’d catch her, of course, because he’d caught her on the beach...his upside-down face, his lips parted, that tangle of fair hair falling into his eyes because it was long on top. He’d been wearing a different shirt, but the same cologne, and it had given her a little head rush then too—
‘Emilie...?’
A shelf came into focus, then a line of dark bottles with bright labels, then more shelves, more bottles, then grey stone walls and then, with a little twist of her head, a pair of concerned blue-grey eyes. ‘I’m here! I mean, I’m fine.’ She wanted to giggle because he looked so serious, but she bit it back, trying to sound like a rum aficionado. ‘I liked the spicy flavour of that last one. To my palate, it was the best!’
‘Right.’ His hands tightened on her shoulders, ever so slightly. ‘Are you okay, though? You’re not about to fall over?’
The giggle in her belly fizzled out. His concern was disarming and suddenly it wasn’t the rum that was making her light-headed. It was his eyes, his heat, his proximity. She swallowed hard. ‘I’m fine. Thank you.’
His grip slackened and then he was stepping back. A moment later he was leaning against the bar again. ‘I liked that last one too.’ He smiled, mischief flaring in his eyes. ‘I’ll get you a bottle, strictly for culinary purposes, if you tell me what the story is with those cakes you fed me on the beach...’
She felt her cheeks flushing, her veins prickling with residual static from her silly game. Did he have to have put it quite like that? She held in a smile. Of course he did! She’d teased him on the beach and now he was teasing her back, quid pro quo. It seemed to be their thing! She ran a finger around the rim of her glass, steadying herself. ‘I’ve got an idea for a café: a quiet café specialising in comfort. Comfort food and actual, physical comfort.’
A corner of his mouth twitched up. ‘Sounds like my kind of place!’