Bad Business

by JC Harroway

  ‘At first I thought being good would keep my mother home.’ My swallow scrapes my throat raw. ‘It never worked. When I saw that nothing I did made a difference, that she was more intent on following my father, a man who would never love her, never leave his wife and family for her, I rebelled the other way. Gave my grandma a few extra grey hairs.’

  We grip each other’s hands, neither of us breaking the fragile spell.

  ‘You called me fearless before...’ She shakes her head and settles her gaze on the horizon while she takes some deep breaths. ‘I’m not. I’m scared. I came here as a sort of challenge to myself. You see, I lost a patient in the operating theatre.’

  ‘Ah, Grace...’ I want to hold her so badly I ache. Skin-to-skin, every inch of her body pressed to mine the way it was in the early hours before the dawn while she slept and, for a terrifying moment, I imagined what it would feel like to have her in my life.

  She shrugs, her chin lifting bravely. ‘It happens sometimes. But it hit me hard, as if I’d bottled up all this guilt over Bryony and all my feelings that, somehow, I’d missed out on living too, right alongside her, because I’d held myself back. And suddenly the cork flew off.’

  ‘You’re being hard on yourself.’ Of course she would develop a huge well of empathy for others. It’s not only part of her personality, but how she developed too—nature and nurture.

  ‘Maybe, but it’s true.’

  ‘You do a difficult job. I take my hat off to you. Fuck, I respect the hell out of you. Where would we be without diligent, caring people like you?’

  She offers me a sad little half-smile. ‘Thanks, but it made me realise how flat my life had become. All that conforming and caution and those self-inflicted limitations I’d grown up with continued to shape me long into adulthood. And I got scared that if I didn’t change, I’d be wasting a life Bryony never had a chance to live. That’s why I came here—fear, not bravery. But I’m hoping I’ll go home with the beginning of a course adjustment. At least, that’s the plan.’

  ‘It’s a good plan.’ I pull her forwards, my hands trembling, impatient. I press my mouth to hers and hold us there, mouth-to-mouth, breath mingling until the worst of my chest ache eases. When we part, the passion is back in Grace’s stare, the catch of my breath telling me how much of an idiot I’ve been to risk one second of this astonishing woman’s company and how, if I were as brave as she is, I could pursue something more than a casual fling.

  ‘You’re awe-inspiring. Thanks for coming out on the Blarney.’ I’m putting an end to our confessional, but I’m doing so as much for her as for my own comfort. After everything she’s been through, she deserves her fresh start, and if I can be part of giving her some unforgettable memories to take home, perhaps I’ll find it easier to watch her get on the plane.

  Grace nods, a new understanding settling over us. For the first time in my life I welcome the intimacy, the connection, perhaps because I know my vulnerable place is safe in the hands of Dr Grace. Perhaps because she compels me to be a better version of myself. Perhaps because, around her, I feel temporarily less alone.

  ‘Want to go for a swim?’ she says, tugging me to my feet.

  I nod, grateful for the distraction. The urge to touch her and lose myself is growing increasingly hard to control. She’s cracked open a door I keep padlocked. Now I need to decide how far I can let her in and keep myself protected.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Grace

  WE DIVE FROM the back of the boat and swim for shore side by side, our competitive natures turning the leisurely swim into a race. In the shallows, Ryan tugs me close, wrapping one arm around my waist and hauling my mouth up to his for a salty seawater kiss.

  ‘If that fishing boat wasn’t there, I’d be tempted to coax you into another session on the sand,’ he says, his eyes bright and playful minus the haunting vulnerability that followed his confession earlier.

  ‘You wouldn’t have to coax. You’re lucky I let you make it onto the beach—even watching you swim is sexy.’ I suggested the swim to give him space to recover. I can tell he rarely talks about his feelings, and I needed a distraction after sharing my deepest regrets over Bryony.

  We have so much in common. The glimpse of his inner fears inflames my desire for him higher, although I wouldn’t have believed I could want him any more after last night. But the craving drags at my limbs, turning me molten so that I could barely keep pace with his relaxed but powerful front crawl.

  Throughout our talk I wanted to climb into his lap and hold him, but I felt the tension radiating from his big, strong body, the set of his jaw, the pain in his eyes. Pain I wanted to kiss away so badly, I almost choked with longing. But he’s a proud, confident man who’d hate any display that could be misconstrued as pity.

  Now I understand his trust issues. Why he avoids commitment. He’s been deserted by the one person who’s supposed to love him unconditionally. Not simply abandoned, but repeatedly so, his hopes built up every time his mother reappeared only to fall to greater depths when she inevitably disappeared without warning. No wonder he can’t allow anyone close enough to form a relationship. He’s protecting himself. If he doesn’t care, it can’t hurt.

  And now he faces the ultimate loss: his grandmother. The only family he has.

  My heart clenches, climbing into my throat. I hold him close as I lose myself in the balm of the heat behind his eyes and the answering inferno between my legs.

  I want him. More than ever. To a degree that steals my breath and reminds me that, without his stance on relationships, I could easily fall for him. But more than that, I want to comfort him, to burrow under his skin until I understand him a little more, to truly know Ryan Dempsey.

  I swallow hard to dislodge the trickle of panic. This isn’t supposed to happen. It’s just a fling. Casual. Temporary. But in another life...if we wanted the same things...?

  A commotion sounds from the moored fishing boat.

  ‘That sounds like trouble.’ I turn from Ryan’s arms, adrenaline from my years of attending cardiac arrests and other medical emergencies kicking in. ‘Let’s see if they need help.’ I set off at a run, aware of Ryan’s footsteps splashing the wet sand behind me.

  The fishermen’s net is tangled around a green turtle. One of the locals attempts to slash at the nylon ensnared around the turtle’s back leg with a knife, but as it’s a metre long and, Ryan informs me, close to one hundred kilos in weight, the remaining man is struggling to hold on to the flapping creature. Ryan and I rush to help, each holding down the giant shell and freeing the fisherman to grab a towel from the deck to cover the turtle’s head and front flippers.

  The buzz of adrenaline fires my brain. I cast my eye over the magnificent creature for signs of injury, while checking the fisherman’s hands for collateral damage—the knife is razor sharp.

  With our extra two pairs of hands, it doesn’t take long to cut the tangle of net away, but there’s a bloody gash left behind where the turtle has twisted and dragged at its heavy burden. I look to Ryan to gauge what the men are saying.

  He shrugs. ‘I only speak a few words of Fijian—I don’t think hello and can I have a beer? will help right now.’ He’s calm and controlled as ever, but there’s deference in his expression as he looks to me. ‘Do you think he needs to see a vet? There’s a wildlife conservation centre on the mainland.’

  The locals must understand some English because they both shake their heads. I scoop some seawater over the wound to wash away the blood. Then all three sets of eyes settle on me with expectation.

  ‘We’ll trust your opinion,’ says Ryan and heat fizzes through me.

  I peer closer at the wound, which appears superficial. ‘I’m not a vet, but I think it will be okay. It’s just a graze. Like a friction burn. It’s not deep. But I wish I had some antiseptic, just to be certain.’

  Ryan’s worried frown disappears. ‘I have
a first-aid kit on the Blarney—I think there’s some iodine inside. Will that do?’

  ‘Perfect—it certainly won’t do any harm,’ I say, as he jerks to his feet, all action.

  He strides into the sea, and then dives, striking out for the Blarney at a pace twice as fast as we swam to shore.

  ‘He let me win...’ I mutter under my breath, my lips twitching and my stare drawn to his muscular back as he glides through the water. He returns within minutes, rising from the ocean like a god, rivulets of water running down his ripped and golden torso as he brandishes a bottle of iodine solution in a waterproof bag.

  It’s all I can do to avoid drooling while I pour some of the iodine onto the turtle’s wound. The minute I give the all-clear, the locals remove the towel from the creature’s head and we all stand back. Awe steals my air as the turtle ambles back to the water, seemingly none the worse for wear and considerably lighter now he’s free of his unwanted cargo.

  My smile is so wide, there’s a lump in my throat as it disappears from view under the waves. We thank our fellow rescuers and say our farewells. Ryan loops his arm around my shoulders, and presses a kiss to my temple. ‘You were awesome. Lucky turtle.’

  I laugh, wiping away the sting of moisture from my eyes. ‘Me...? You’re the one who undertook a supplies mission back to the boat like a competitive swimmer.’ I can’t stop my eyes from travelling his still-wet body, the memories of that first night in his shower bombarding my erogenous zones with hormones. Is there nothing this man can’t do?

  ‘You are so smart—it’s a massive turn-on,’ he whispers. ‘I had a hard-on watching you teach CPR today. How inappropriate is that?’ His stare turns intense, inflamed, full of promise. My body responds, pulse leaping, breath catching, temperature rising.

  ‘Wanna go back to the boat and be inappropriate some more...?’ I say. Because despite my warning to stay grounded, I can’t get enough of this man.

  ‘Hell yes!’ He grabs my hand and we wade back into the sea.

  On the boat, I head for the deck shower to wash off the seawater, every nerve alive with that feeling of invincibility I’ve had since the day I met him. How can he make me feel as if anything is possible if I’m brave enough to take a risk, or try, or confess my desires?

  Ryan manoeuvres the Blarney to a tiny cluster of islands nearby that are little more than palm-strewn patches of sand. I laze on the lounger and watch him take his own shower, the droplets of water evaporating from my skin having nothing to do with the sun and everything to do with the heat my body generates.

  Heat for him.

  Heat that refuses to budge despite the fact that we want different things.

  We couldn’t work back in the real world away from the fantasy of paradise. Part of me would love to shrug off some of the responsibility that comes with my job and travel more. Do more. See more. Just like Ryan.

  Or even with Ryan.

  Wow—that’s a full-on projection. Ridiculous.

  Even if he wanted a relationship, we’re too different. He’d probably find my life suffocating. I have obligations beyond my job and my friends. I’ve already let down my parents enough, and, after everything they’ve been through, I’m now their only daughter. I know they want grandchildren. I can imagine their faces if I introduced commitment-phobe, globetrotting Ryan.

  ‘Are you hungry? The galley is fully stocked,’ he asks as he towel-dries his hair and settles on the edge of the lounger, which is the size of a double bed, next to me.

  ‘No.’ Ravenous, but only for him. So what if we couldn’t work back in London? We work here, just physical. I don’t need to overthink. Just feel.

  I touch his thigh, shivers of anticipation wracking my body. ‘I want you. I’ve wanted you all day, since I opened my eyes to find you gone.’

  He grips my hand, lifts it to his mouth and presses a kiss over my knuckles. ‘I wish I’d stayed.’

  I tug him down beside me on the lounger, our fingers still entwined as our mouths find each other with soft, exploratory and arousing kisses. The evening sun is so bright I close my eyes, every brush of his lips against mine heightened in sensation until my nerves buzz and I burn inside.

  For him.

  For the way he makes me feel. For bringing out the new Grace.

  We kiss for ever, soft, languid kisses that make me melt into the cushions at my back, heated, searching kisses, so I grip Ryan’s face and he holds mine, and passionate, fiery kisses, which leave me writhing against his hard muscles and digging my fingernails into his shoulders.

  We break for air, both panting.

  Yearning overwhelms me, until the only thing in my head is him. Until the only desire aside from sharing the physical ecstasy I know awaits me is to give him something not even close to all he’s given me.

  I hold his stare. ‘I would have fancied seventeen-year-old Ryan.’

  He smiles then sobers when he sees that I’m serious. ‘I would have pursued you,’ I say. ‘Asked you out. I was braver at that age.’

  He frowns, his expression pained while his eyes laser into mine.

  I hold his face, because I want him to know the real me, the emerging me he’s helped to bring out. ‘I had a major crush on a boy like you must have been—laid-back, confident, good at everything.’

  ‘I’m not good at—’

  I press my fingers to his lips. ‘You’re good at the things that matter—people. I would have asked out a seventeen-year-old you, just like I asked him.’

  He seems to hold his breath, his body braced over me on straight arms. ‘What happened?’ he whispers. ‘Was he your boyfriend?’

  I wonder if he’s remembering his own teenage girlfriend, but then he had bigger things on his mind than girls, like his sick grandmother, his job and where he was going to live. Things I relied on my parents for, as he should have been able to do.

  I shake my head, the memories painful. ‘I arranged to meet him after school, but my sister ended up in hospital that day. She was really sick, so my parents and I stayed with her all night. When I went back to school the next day, I didn’t have the courage to explain why I’d stood him up.’ My voice drops to a shameful whisper. ‘So I ignored him. Pretended I didn’t care any more.’

  ‘Oh, Grace, darlin’.’ He drags me against his chest, and I breathe in the heat and scent of his skin to distract myself from the past.

  ‘It’s okay.’ His voice rumbles under my cheek. ‘You’re still that fearless girl.’ He presses his mouth to mine, punctuating his assertion. ‘I’m in awe of you. Everything you do, you do with caring and passion and honesty.’ Another firm kiss. ‘So determined. And inspiring.’

  His praise fills me to the point my head hurts, because he sees me the way I want to be. A woman to make Bryony proud.

  I kiss him quiet, losing myself once more in our incredible chemistry. I want to make peace with my regrets and move on, and his touch, the safe harbour he provides when we’re alone, brings that reality tantalisingly close.

  ‘Ryan...’ I reach behind my neck and loosen the straps of my bikini, my head falling back on the pillows when he pushes the fabric away and takes my nipple in his mouth. ‘Yes,’ I hiss, because here I’m free with him, safe to explore our physical connection, safe to reveal my vulnerable side, safe to demand this passion that burns, accepting nothing less.

  ‘That’s so good.’ I cradle his head, meet his ferocious stare, which is harsh with a need matched in me. ‘You make me feel so good.’

  Arcs of fire lance my core as he sucks, and I grind my clit against his rock-hard thigh to appease the flutters and spasms inside, where I want to be filled. Ryan rises over me, his fingers seeking out mine, entwining and pressing my hands to the mattress while he keeps up the suction torturing my breast.

  He says he doesn’t do romance, and I now see that he would avoid the emotional pain of caring about someone
too much, but I feel his desire, his passion, his attentiveness, to the tips of my curling toes. Not just for my body, but for all of me, even when he would deny its presence.

  Words trap in my throat, words I know he’ll reject, a new layer of regret blanketing and muting the waves of pleasure. If our younger selves had met in that parallel universe, would things be different? In another life, could Ryan risk giving a relationship a chance? Could I be content, as he claims to be, with just this live-in-the-moment passion?

  I know the answer. I’m honest enough to admit that I want this, and more. I still want it all.

  I cling tighter to his shoulders, as if simply holding on to him is a substitute for our differences. He abandons my nipple and I cry out, the sound smothered in a groan as he spreads my knees with his and rocks his hips forward so the hard length of his erection grinds against my clit through the layers of our swimsuits. His handsome face, haloed by the setting sun at his back, fills my vision, his fierce, burning eye contact paralysing me as he rocks above me.

  ‘Do you want to move inside to the cabin?’ he asks, bending forward to kiss me through the tremors he’s creating.

  ‘No. Do you?’

  He shakes his head, his face serious. This is different from last night, where we laughed and teased. Different. Better. Because he’s shown me a hidden part of himself, and he’s seen the ugly, shameful part of me and wants me still.

  ‘Let’s stay here,’ I say, my fingers flexing against the backs of his hands and my thighs spreading open a fraction more in an attempt to get closer.

  His hand leaves mine to push the hair back from my cheek. ‘You’re beautiful. Irresistible. Addictive. I can’t get enough of you.’

  Heat builds behind my eyes. ‘I feel the same.’ But I swallow the spikes of emotion down; I won’t ruin this perfect moment with what-ifs and maybes and shoulds. My thoughts turn practical. ‘The condoms are inside, but I’m safe if you are?’