Bad Business

by JC Harroway

  I grit my teeth. What can I say? That I don’t believe in the bullshit people call love? That I hate what people do in the name of something that’s supposed to be hearts and roses and for ever? People like my parents.

  ‘Did you get hurt...’ she asks ‘...by a woman?’ At her hesitant question, all the sparkle dims from her eyes, replaced by a pained expression as if she were said fictional woman witnessing the fallout of her heartbreaking actions.

  I hold in my skeptical snort. I don’t want to insult her; she clearly believes in all this happily ever after bullshit. But the truth is, I’ve never risked my heart in a romantic way, so I have no idea what she’s talking about.

  ‘Don’t look so sad,’ I say, swigging my beer and looking away from the compassion in her eyes, as if she truly cares that my heart might lie in tatters. ‘Nothing like that—I just don’t do feels or rings or romance. Never have.’ Spoken aloud to this woman, with her deep well of empathy and her optimistic outlook, the words seem small, beneath me, irrelevant. Perhaps simply because she’s under my skin in a way I’ve never experienced.

  I decide on a dollop of truth.

  ‘I didn’t have happily married parents as role models—my father cheated on his wife with my mother and then returned to his family when he discovered she was pregnant with me. I’m afraid I’m a cynical bastard.’

  The empathy in her eyes scrapes at my skin, exposing the root of my trust issues.

  Abandonment.

  No doubt the doc here knows all about ways to screw up the human psyche the way my mother deserting me to chase after my father screwed me up. Good thing she’s an anaesthetist, not a shrink, or I’d have to watch what I let slip.

  ‘I’m not sad... I thought you might be grieving and I guess I can’t help helping people—occupational overspill, I’m afraid. And something you said...you know, earlier...’ She flushes, her skin that pretty pink that tells me she’s remembering this morning. ‘I realised this must be quite a difficult place to work if your heart was broken.’ She tilts her head in the direction of the dance floor where several couples have joined the French in slow-dancing to some sappy love song.

  I swallow, breathe a little easier. ‘Well, thanks for your concern, but I guess I just don’t believe in love. Half of these couples won’t last. Hopefully it will be before they procreate and bring another life into their mess.’ I watch her eyes round, astonishment flickering in their depths telling me she very much does believe. I grit my teeth and ponder saying more. I’ve been as clear as possible about my expectations, but I know from experience that some women see my stance on commitment as some sort of personal challenge...

  I contemplate wrapping things up early, going back to London to spend time with Grandma. Most of my business with the experienced and competent team here can be conducted over video call. But...

  My body plunges back into that dark and cold place of uncertainty, chills chasing away the warmth of a tropical evening. It’s not just unfinished business with Grace holding me back. Going home may confirm things I can’t bear to be true.

  Incredulity hovers in Grace’s small smile. ‘You’ve never been in love?’

  I shake my head, the pain lurking under my ribs since I hung up the phone returning with a vengeance. I take another drag from my beer. ‘Nope, but don’t feel sorry for me—I do all right with the ladies.’ I wink, trying to steer us back to casual sexy banter. Back to numbness.

  Of course she sees through me, her eyebrows raised in question.

  I sigh. It seems Grace and I are going for absolute honesty. ‘I can’t imagine giving anyone that kind of power. It seems unnecessary in this day and age. Have you been in love?’ I say to divert the spotlight.

  Now why did I ask that? I don’t want to know. It’s irrelevant. And I can guess the answer. Her dreamy expression alone tells me she’s a romantic.

  My question dissolves her small frown, and she takes cover herself behind an elaborate swirl of her cocktail. ‘Just once.’ She pauses. ‘I’ve not long been through a break up. And...well...’ she swallows hard ‘...I was the one who ended it.’ The pallor returns to her cheeks, her eyes taking on a haunted look that speaks of her guilt and concern for her ex.

  Compassionate Grace, with her should and shouldn’t, likes to do the right thing. She cares, about people, their needs and wants. It’s who she is. Breaking someone’s heart must have taken some serious soul-searching. I grow restless in my seat. I want to drag her out of here and kiss her so hard, we forget everything but what happens when we’re together.

  ‘I’d hate to think that my ex would abandon relationships altogether because of my change of heart. I guess I was extrapolating.’ She looks up from her drink, her eyes shining.

  My heart thuds with foreboding. What kind of man would Grace throw away? What did her ex feel, loving this woman? Was the risk worth the heartbreak she’s worried she inflicted?

  The block in my chest twists and turns, the burn making me wince.

  This is why I prefer simple.

  ‘See, my way is easier,’ I say. ‘If you avoid all the feels and rings and romance, you avoid all that messy stuff.’ I’m trying to lighten the mood, predominantly for myself, because otherwise I’ll have to probe those tender places she’s exposed simply by looking hard enough, but then I catch her expression and sober. She’s devastated to be the cause of someone’s pain—she worried about my grazed ankle, for fuck’s sake.

  ‘Of course, you still care about him.’ It’s a statement, one that sees me sucking another swallow from my beer bottle to counter the acidic taste in my throat. What the hell? I haven’t even had sex with her and I’m...jealous. I’m never jealous. This all-consuming Grace obsession needs dealing with, before it grows out of control. Hopefully I’ll be less enslaved once we exhaust this chemistry we have brewing.

  She fiddles with the straw in her cocktail. ‘Yes, of course I care. He’s not a bad person—we just wanted different things in the end.’

  ‘I can’t imagine you with a bad person. You’re too smart for bullshitters.’ Which begs the question, what is she doing messing around with me, the ultimate playboy, as the press would have her believe?

  My stomach turns and I slide my unfinished beer onto the bar. She doesn’t know who I am. She doesn’t know my reputation or how I make my livelihood, because I’ve been evasive.

  She offers a small sad smile I want to kiss away. My fingers curl into my palm. I can’t believe I’m probing her past regrets instead of convincing her single really is the best medicine. ‘So why did you break things off with this good man? Wasn’t what you had with him real?’ I ask, a metallic taste in my mouth. I can’t imagine Grace leaving when the going got tough, not with her wide vein of determination...

  Not like some. Selfish people who only think about themselves. People who commit to having a child only to abandon them when it no longer suits.

  I try to relax. Now isn’t the time to dwell on my parents. And her answer, her reason, doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t care, but I’ve never met anyone like her before and I’ve no idea what to do with the relentless way she fills my head, my blood, makes me as unsettled as I am infatuated.

  She looks up, her expression earnest, reminding me of the way she looked at me last night in the shower. ‘I wanted more than he did.’ Truth blazes in her pretty eyes, stilling me, even my heartbeat.

  ‘More?’

  ‘Yes. We’d been together a long time, but we’d both lost our way somehow, as if both of us were no longer feeling it but still going through the motions. We prioritised work over our relationship, rarely making time to connect. It began to feel like a friendship. An obligation. And I realised I was more committed than him.’ She swallows hard and I want to hold her, but instead I force myself to listen.

  ‘Then one day I had an epiphany, and I knew that staying with Greg was the easy option, but I’d always wo
nder if I’d settled. I wanted to be braver than that, open to the possibility of finding more, not that I’m in any hurry.’ She takes a huge gulp of her drink while I stare.

  It’s the most fearless, honest thing I’ve ever heard, and I’m struck dumb for a few seconds. Then curiosity wins out.

  ‘More of what?’ If I wore a collar I’d be running my finger under it. On the beach earlier she said she only wanted sex—that I can do. And I quashed her idea that I’m a gent or chivalrous.

  Grace shrugs, drains the remnants of her drink. ‘I don’t know... Sparks. Passion. Something extraordinary. Something that makes me feel alive. Something my future partner and I prioritise as first in our life. Isn’t that the way love should be?’

  I shrug, dumbfounded. ‘I wouldn’t know.’

  ‘That’s right—well, that’s how I think it should be. Just like my sister’s romance novels.’ She laughs. ‘Don’t look so worried—you’re not in any danger.’

  The pounding in my head feels dangerous. I’ve never met anyone so fearless, not afraid to admit what she wants and to risk everything to find it. Is she scared of nothing?

  She leans closer, her stare dancing with mischief and sensuality. ‘You see, I want all the feels, and the ring, and the romance,’ she whispers, quoting me again, her hair brushing my neck. ‘So you are perfectly safe.’ She glances at the dance floor, swaying to the music.

  Panic courses through my veins—I knew the first time I saw her that she wasn’t my usual type, yet I wanted her anyway. But, reality check. Despite her recently leaving a relationship, we’re on the same page. And wanting what she wants isn’t a character flaw, no matter how much our core beliefs differ. We’re on holiday for all intents; by nature this is a fling. And then we’ll go back to our real lives...

  I ignore the way my skin seems to prickle, hollowness in my gut. ‘That’s good to know.’

  ‘And when I’m ready,’ she says, ‘I’m sure I’ll find it. But for now,’ she stage-whispers, ‘I have a condom hidden in my dress and I want to dance.’

  Her sexy smile sends my blood thrumming enough to distract me from the irrational and entirely selfish spikes of jealousy for some future guy lucky enough to be the answer to Grace’s dreams.

  But dreams are pointless; I know first hand. Hope, wanting something, relying on someone for your happiness, rips out whatever heart you had, over and over again until all you can do is patch the ragged hole left behind.

  Perhaps I should counsel her on her folly. Give her the benefit of my jaded wisdom...

  She stands, takes my hand and heads towards the tiny dance floor. Her hand feels small, but sure and steady. Reliable and competent. I can’t wait to see the doctor in action tomorrow.

  We attract a few looks as I pull her close—the staff know my identity and the mushy newly-weds probably think it’s cute that we, the island’s only singles, found each other.

  Another victory for true love.

  My ribs pinch again, despite her assurances. I swallow, strangely livid. Irrational, because all she’s done is accept my usual commitment-free spiel in her understanding, forthright way. I should be relieved. But, why do I feel I’m running but can’t get ahead of myself?

  After a few minutes of swaying together to the beat of the music, she looks up, hesitant. ‘I feel I should tell you something. You’ve been honest with me about what you want... So I want to be honest with you.’

  I wince; I’m a cagey, untrusting bastard who hasn’t yet confided my true identity...but now’s my chance. She’ll tell me her secret and I’ll confess mine. We’ll laugh and then fuck and I’ll shake off whatever spell Grace cast and be back to myself.

  ‘And if you want to, you know, stop carrying things around in your shorts, then I’ll totally understand.’

  ‘What are you talking about? I’m totally happy with the contents of my shorts.’ The foil packet may as well be radioactive; it’s burning a hole in my pocket. I’m so aroused, so blown away by this surprising woman and all her contradictions, I can’t think straight, let alone concentrate on the riddles coming from her kissable mouth.

  She lifts her chin. ‘Well, I’m sure you’re...used to casual sex.’ She whispers the last words in an adorable display of respect for our privacy. I want to tear her out of here right this minute and hide her in my bungalow until the end of the week.

  ‘I know how holiday resorts work,’ she says. ‘Fresh bodies delivered every two weeks... The hunky paddleboard instructor must see quite a lot of action.’

  I bristle. I have seen a lot of action; I’m thirty-six, for fuck’s sake. Yet for some reason I can’t get my head around, I want to shock her, to make her as unsettled and knocked sideways as I feel every time I’m with her. ‘It’s not Ibiza, Grace. It’s a honeymoon destination.’

  For now.

  ‘Oh, yes.’ She laughs. ‘Well, I’ve only had one sexual partner and that was my ex. So I just wanted to be upfront about it, like you’ve been with the “no relationship” thing, so that our expectations are aligned.’

  My face goes slack with shock. The fact she’s a serious relationship person and that for some reason she’s chosen me to test out a fling with should send me running. Instead, my mouth wants to twitch into a smile, while heat builds in my gut. She seems to think she’s somehow lacking because of her...lack of partners, rather than the sexiest woman I’ve met. No wonder I’m completely enchanted.

  I stoop lower, press the side of my face to hers, until the smell of frangipani fills my nose. My lips hover near her ear, but I don’t make contact the way I want. ‘You can orgasm from nipple stimulation alone,’ I murmur. ‘I’m not remotely worried about how good sex is going to be between us, so no need for the heads-up.’

  The air around us feels like a furnace. I’m inebriated on Grace, my head actually light with need to slake every impulse I’ve had since we met, free and unfettered. I’m lost in her eyes, the scent of her hair, the memory of her pleasure-racked body splayed out on the golden sand...

  ‘Neither am I,’ she whispers, her eyes heavy-lidded with desire and sexy determination, a baser version of the way she mastered the paddleboarding this morning...before she shattered in my arms and called my name. Her voice is husky, arousal a palpable force around her when she asks, ‘Wanna get out of here?’

  CHAPTER SIX

  Ryan

  ‘YES.’ I STEP BACK, my body protesting. My pulse throbs in my temples to race to the finish. But I want to make it memorable for her, so that she can put away her ‘should’ and never regret this choice.

  I look down, fierce need coiling in my stomach even as my shoulders tighten with the certainty that I’m not good enough for her. She’s dauntless, demanding more from life, and I’m the lucky bastard who gets to tag along for the ride. For a while.

  I want to reach for her hand, lace her fingers with mine, but a stronger urge to protect her from resort gossip keeps my voice low and my hands in my pockets. ‘You head back to the bungalows and I’ll follow in a few minutes—we don’t want to give people something to talk about.’

  She nods, tucks her hair behind her ear and makes her way out into the night, a saucy little glance over her shoulder the only sign that she’s even remotely as desperate for this as I am.

  Please let her be as desperate.

  We’ve skirted this since we first spoke on the beach, the craving hot and heavy and impossible to ignore. Thank goodness, because it’s keeping the other stuff in my head at bay.

  I head back to the bar, finish my beer and chat with Charlie for a few minutes. Every second feels like a loud clang in my brain, as if I’m hurtling towards the edge of a cliff. It’s my secret bearing down on me, that’s all. Guilt. I’ll tell her my true identity before this goes any further. I owe her that at least after her honesty and the open way she’s embracing our chemistry. It’s just a misunderstanding I’ve allowed to go on
for too long. Hopefully we can laugh it off, or, even better, kiss it away.

  After several torturous minutes, I cite needing to work and leave the bar. I’m nearing the lit path that winds around the resort’s pool when she steps from the shadows and whispers my name over the sound of frogs and the gentle lap of the waves.

  She’s literally hiding in the bushes.

  I duck from the path towards her, but before I can ask her what she’s doing, she reaches for my arm and tugs me into the foliage.

  ‘What took you so long?’ Her mouth finds mine in the darkness, soft and demanding, bold and sensual, her kisses driving me close to breaking point.

  I laugh, gripping her around her waist, and shuffle us deeper into her hiding place in an oasis of garden. ‘I was trying to be subtle. How much have you had to drink? I don’t want to take advantage.’

  ‘Only one cocktail. I’m fine. I want you. No more false starts.’ She tugs my T-shirt up, her grabby hands exploring my stomach and back while she kisses me until I want to peel her out of the denim dress right here.

  ‘Grace, are you sure?’ I can taste the hint of Charlie’s famous house cocktail on her lips.

  ‘Why not let me take advantage of you, if you’re worried? Hurry. I need you,’ she hisses, reaching into her dress and flourishing a condom as if she’s discovered the cure for cancer.

  I look around. ‘Here?’ I can’t believe I’m hesitating, putting on the brakes after two incredibly frustrating encounters in the past twenty-four hours. What the hell is wrong with me? But I’m more determined than ever she have a good time after the secret she shared.

  ‘I kind of had a whole seduction thing planned,’ I say, lifting a curl of her hair and rubbing my thumb over the silky strands. ‘A bottle of wine, some music, the view from my bure...’ It’s hard to talk past her kisses, which grow increasingly frantic with every passing second.

  ‘I appreciate the gesture, but yes, here. Now. I’m not risking another false start.’ She tugs my mouth down to hers, but not before I notice the small dart of her eyes at our relatively secluded surroundings. Al-fresco sex excites her, but the no doubt deeply ingrained conscientiousness that allowed her to qualify and practise as a doctor also makes her cautious of public indecency charges.