by JC Harroway
I nod, too choked by my own regret and stupidity to speak. I lost sight of real the minute I met her. But just because I can’t be as brave as she is, doesn’t mean I can’t give her everything until it’s time for her to leave.
That’s what a selfish, superficial bastard would do, and if the cap fits...
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Grace
I’M STILL IN Ryan’s bed, in the bure he shifted to last night, the French doors open to a slightly different, but equally beautiful view of the sea and another perfect day in paradise. Before I can wonder where he is, he strolls back into the bungalow carrying a tray full of breakfast delights. His smile pins me to the pillows, his sleep-rumpled hair and board shorts low on his hips adding to the delicious sight that makes me want to weep.
After yesterday’s bump in the road, I promised myself I’d focus on the truth and not become caught up in my feelings for this man, because they’re ridiculous. Ingenuous and unrealistic, especially in light of what I’ve just read about Ryan Dempsey on the internet. More evidence if I needed it of the dead end we’re hurtling towards with every tick of the clock.
‘I hope you’re hungry,’ he says, his voice still sleepy, ‘because I raided the kitchen. Perks of being the boss.’ He winks, sets the tray on the table on the balcony and crawls onto the bed to kiss me, long and hard.
I pull back, my heart sore and happy and all kinds of confused.
‘I did something.’ I grip my phone and hold my breath.
His brows pinch together and he collapses beside me, throwing one arm under his head in a lazy sprawl of his big, manly body that wakes up the rest of my anatomy.
‘Something I should have done the first day I met you,’ I say, because we agreed to keep it real. ‘I looked you up.’
‘Oh...?’ He stills, his dipped stare telling me every word I’ve read is true.
My pulse gallops. Throat tight. ‘Are you seriously planning on changing all of this?’ I wave my hand at the breathtaking view through the open French windows.
‘I see. Well, I’m not going to rip up palm trees and build a shopping mall on the reef, but yes. That’s why I’m here. To turn this into a Dempsey resort. I presume that’s what you’ve read.’
He swings off the bed and strides to the balcony, snagging a croissant on his way to the kitchen. ‘The only major change will be the clientele—singles instead of couples.’ He shrugs as if it’s no big deal, and to him I guess it isn’t.
An ache settles behind my sternum. How can I be so wrong about someone? When I heard he’d given his superior bungalow to the French newly-weds, I saw that, despite what he believes about himself, out of pain and fear of getting hurt, he is romantic and generous and caring. Saw that he has so much more to give than the bare minimum he allows in order to keep his distance.
But now...
Is it about the bottom line? Or is he so cynical that he would change something that works, just because he’ll never need to personally use the facilities?
‘You shouldn’t believe what you read on the internet.’ He flicks on the kettle and grabs a couple of mugs to make tea.
I pluck my phone from the sheets, finding the article I’ve just read with a pounding pulse. ‘“Irish entrepreneur and founder of Dempsey Holdings today announced his purchase of the latest Dempsey resort. Famed for the ‘anything goes’ luxury singles’ resorts all over the globe, Dempsey, at thirty-six and one of Europe’s most eligible billionaires, remains, himself, determinedly single. ‘I don’t believe in marriage,’ boldly says Dempsey. ‘It’s an outdated lie, an excuse for people to behave selfishly hidden behind a veneer of respectability.’”’
I look up. His face is blank, but a muscle twitches in his jaw. ‘So...?’ he says. ‘That’s what I believe. I told you that. Everyone is entitled to their opinions.’
‘So that’s what you meant when you said Remy and Evie’s wedding would be the last on the island?’
‘Yes.’
‘And there’s no part of you that sees this as a waste of a good thing? That you have a perfect investment here as it is?’ I say, my voice rising.
Is this the ultimate gesture of contempt to his past? To the love he doesn’t believe exists?
‘No.’ His eyes harden. ‘It’s business, Grace. A money-making decision—the way I make all my business decisions.’
‘But why change what isn’t broken? It’s perfect here.’ I sigh.
His jaw hardens, eyes blank. ‘Because I’m not in the happy-ever-after business.’
I cringe. Inwardly collapse as if his words are blows. For the first time I see the other side of Ryan Dempsey, so far from the laid-back, patient paddleboard teacher. The ruthless businessman. Driven. Single-minded. Formidable.
My throat burns for the pain and fear I know lies behind his cynicism. For that lonely and scared boy waiting for the door to open. Waiting to be accepted and loved and deemed important by the one person he should have been able to count on.
His mother.
‘I know you’re entitled to your opinions, and I don’t care that we want different things from life.’ Liar. ‘I just wonder if it’s good business sense motivating you, or something else.’
My head pounds, danger signs flashing. It’s none of my business. The world is full of idyllic honeymoon locations. One less won’t matter. But I can no longer deny how much I care. I want him to be happy, and my greatest fear is that I’ll leave him behind on this island knowing he isn’t. Knowing that perhaps he never will be until he faces what’s holding him back.
‘You’re reading too much into it. My resorts are wildly successful. Lots of people, wealthy people, want somewhere discreet and luxurious to play and mingle.’
‘Of course. I have friends who’d probably love one of your resorts. I’m not making a judgment.’
His face hardens, his next words deceptively quiet. ‘Perhaps you’d love it too. You’re honest about your desires, and really that’s all it’s about.’
He can stand there and calmly visualise me as a paying guest at one of his hook-up resorts?
My temperature spikes, red-hot and fiery. The need to lash out. To open his eyes. ‘Yes. Maybe I would. And maybe I’ll try one out.’
The twitch next to his eye gives me no satisfaction, because his lips are mashed together, when the fool in me wants words he’ll likely never say. ‘Only, eventually, I want to meet someone. I’m sure most people who go to a Dempsey resort do so hoping they’ll find a connection. It’s human nature.’
A connection like the one I’ve found with him.
All the fight leaves me in a rush. What’s the point of arguing? He’s him and I’m me. We can’t work off this island. Can’t work beyond really good sex.
I clamber out of bed, avoiding his stare. ‘Breakfast looks divine. I’m just going to jump in the shower first.’ I head to the en suite bathroom, finally releasing my trapped breath as I press my back against the closed door.
What am I doing?
I switch on the shower and then brace my arms on the edge of the basin, staring at my pale face in the mirror. All I need to do is keep it together for one more day and then I’ll be gone.
No, I don’t want to lie to myself any more. I should tell him I want more of him. Stop pretending it’s still just about the sex for me. Admit out loud how much I care that he’s happy.
When I step under the hot spray, the water numbs my outside to match my inside. I close my eyes, my head full of self-talk as I try to grasp at reality. Perhaps when I’m away from here, away from him, perspective will return. My feelings will dissolve. But either way, I don’t regret coming here and meeting him. Without that leap of faith—long-haul journey of faith more like—I’d still be stuck with my guilt and regret and inertia. Still living a half-life. Still pretending I had everything I needed.
Don’t I owe it to myself,
to the new me, to tell him how I feel, even when I know I’ll be rejected?
The door opens after a single knock, and a naked Ryan strides into the room. He opens the shower door and steps inside, his face fierce with need and the passion I’ve come to expect.
‘Let’s not fight. Not when we have so little time left.’ His hands grasp my face and he tugs my mouth up to his kiss under the spray.
I pull back, panting. ‘We’re not fighting.’ I grip his wrists, squeeze, and look deep into his eyes, unable to contain my feelings. ‘I just want you to know...that you’re not the loner you think you are. You’re a caring people person. Your staff adore you. You muck in where needed. I’m pretty sure Evie and Remy will never forget you.’ My voice breaks, the rest emerging as a whisper. ‘And neither will I.’
His stare burns bright with emotion, even as a deep frown slashes his brow. He doesn’t want to hear what I’m saying, but I’m running out of time. If I don’t say it now, I’ll miss my chance.
I place my hand on his chest, over his heart, which thumps against my palm. ‘You care from the heart, Ryan, not just from the head. You have so much to give. Always remember that.’
He grips my face harder, his eyes burning into mine, seeming to say all the things I want to hear. But he would never vocalise them. He can’t. I knew that from day one.
‘And you don’t have to do things to please anyone but yourself,’ he says. ‘You’re brave and true and breathtaking. Keep being that, Grace. Keep being you.’
His mouth covers mine and I whimper, leaning into his heat and strength. My arms hold him as tightly as he’s holding me. If I could squeeze the broken pieces of him back together with my bare hands, I would. But he’ll never want the same things I do. All I can do is hold him now, and respect him and his choices anyway.
We head back to the bedroom, still dripping, too impatient to towel dry. I push him backwards onto the bed and crawl over him, my mouth tracing every droplet of water, every ridge of muscle and valley of soft, Ryan-scented skin.
By the time I take his erect length into my mouth, his eyes burn with that familiar passion we share, his fingers tangling in my hair and his hips lifting from the bed, his demands honest in a way I suspect he can’t be with his heart. But I live for the moment. This moment. Us.
One of a dwindling number of moments we have left.
‘Grace...’ His voice warns me he’s close as I suck and stroke and take him as deep as I can. If I could mark him somehow, I would, so that he’d always remember how good we are together when everything else, the world, our pasts, others’ expectations, are stripped away.
‘I want to come inside you.’ He caresses my cheek, his stare locked to where my lips are stretched around his beautiful thick penis.
I release him and straddle his hips, sinking onto him with an ecstatic groan. He joins me in vocal pleasure, his head thrown back, and then he quickly recovers, his hands cupping my breasts as I ride him with only the warm, scented breeze from the open doors on my skin.
Jackknifing into a sitting position, Ryan wraps his arms around me and presses me to his chest so hard, I struggle to breathe. ‘I’ll remember you too,’ he says against my throat before dipping his mouth to capture one nipple.
His declaration fills a place inside me; if this is all he can give me, I’ll take it. Carry it home with me, a holiday souvenir I can pull out and inspect any time I find my newfound search for this kind of passion wavering.
We rock together until sweat coats us, neither of us in a hurry to the cross the finish line. When we eventually come, him seconds after me, it’s all I can do to bite back my words and stop myself from confessing just how hard I’ve fallen.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Ryan
I GRAB GRACE’S hand and drag her out of the shallows, tossing our snorkel gear into the kayak so I can pull her close for a kiss.
‘That was amazing. Thank you,’ she says when I release her for air, even though every bone in my body protests. She’s leaving tomorrow after her final first-aid class, and while the reasons and arguments that it’s for the best sound through my head, that confused, churned up part of me wants to lock her in my bungalow so she misses her flight.
So fucked up. Because it would only delay the inevitable. We can’t stay here for ever. I can’t stay here for ever. Even if I could, I’m still the same person I was a week ago and Grace deserves better. She deserves her passionate life and a partner who shares her dreams.
Not a cynic like me. A loner, in spite of what she might think. A coward.
Our kiss turns heated. I wrap my arms around her waist and drag her closer, wishing we could stay here, like this, trapped in this moment for ever, like cursed lovers.
‘Ryan,’ she whispers, rubbing her lips against mine while my eyes stay stubbornly closed. ‘I need to tell you...’ The sound of a stormy sea rages in my head, but I open my eyes, powerless to deny my beautiful, fearless Grace.
‘I know you don’t want to hear it,’ she whispers, tracing my lips with her fingertip, ‘but I could so easily fall for you.’
I watch the words I’m dreading emerge, then hide a wince, because it’s disgust with myself I feel. Disgust for touching her in the first place when I knew I shouldn’t. For selfishly gorging on every minute I could with her, even when I saw the way she looked at me, knew what she felt, because I feel it too. Disgust for not being brave enough to deserve her.
‘Don’t...’ I crush her close, breathe in the scent of her hair and formulate words worthy of this amazing woman I wish I’d met in another life. As another me.
But she’s too honest to stay silent. ‘I wanted you to know. But I don’t expect anything of you,’ she says against my skin, tearing out another chunk of concrete from that block.
I ease her away, a burning Grace-shaped imprint left behind on my chest. ‘I don’t deserve someone like you, Grace, even though if I were in the happy-ever-after business, I could fall for you too. But I’m in the singles business. I don’t know how to do anything else.’
She’s frozen with my hands on her shoulders. Or I’m frozen...terrified to break the moment, to acknowledge the full circle we’ve reached only to find ourselves back at the place we started.
I hear my name being called, turning away from Grace to see Taito heading our way across the beach.
‘Boss, there was a phone call for you. From Manor Court,’ he says, mentioning the name of my grandmother’s nursing home.
Acid fills my throat, my heart leaping, fear nudging aside all other feelings. ‘Did they leave a message?’
He shakes his head, and my blood actually runs cold. I reach for Grace’s hand, automatically, and stride towards my bure, aware that her stride matches mine in urgency. ‘Thanks, Taito. I’ll call them back.’
I find my phone and stab out the international number I know by heart, my stomach lurching into my mouth.
Please don’t let it be too late.
I’m wound too tightly to sit, but neither can I move, frozen in place facing the view I’m blind to with a silent, stoic Grace by my side.
The conversation is brief—terse yes and no answers from me and an avalanche of alarming medical terms from them.
‘Atypical bacteria...worsening pneumonia...acute renal failure...lapses of consciousness...’
I disconnect the call and try to suck in enough oxygen past the panic choking me. This is it. This can’t be it. I’m not ready. I knew this day would come...eventually... But... I pace to the kitchen and back, the movement making me seasick.
‘You should go. I’ll help you pack.’ Grace’s scent buffets me through the fog, her hand warm and soft and comforting on my arm. It’s bittersweet, pleasure and pain, comfort and confrontation, her touch burning my skin while her words sink in.
‘I need to think...’ My temples throb. I should have gone sooner.
‘Ryan—you need to go to her.’ Calm. Hushed. Her doctor’s voice. ‘You’ll never forgive yourself if you don’t.’
I scrunch my eyes closed, wishing I could switch off my hearing and the drum inside my head that beats out the certainty I’ve dreaded all these years. Perhaps if I ignore it, it won’t be true. Just as I learned not to feel after my mother abandoned me for the umpteenth time, just as I’ve shoved down my feelings for Grace.
Deny. Ignore. Hide.
‘Listen.’ She stands in front of me, her hands gripping both my arms, fingers digging into my biceps. ‘You can’t hide from this. Not this. You might save yourself the pain of not going today, but in the long run, the consequences will be greater. I know. I hated saying goodbye to Bryony. I cried and bargained and begged the universe to make it untrue. But I’m glad every day that I had that chance. Because I miss her and every day I wish I could speak to her, but at least I got to say goodbye.’
I shake my head. Step back from her wall of concern and sense and courage. ‘I understand, but she’s only seventy-eight. We’ve been here before—she’s recovered before. I will go, but—’ I move away from her scalding touch and compassionate eyes, my scalp prickling with apprehension. I curl my fist into my hair and relish the sting.
I’m wound so tight, there’s no room in me for feelings. I welcome numbness, the automatic pilot that makes me fire a series of emails and instructions to my assistant to set the wheels of my imminent departure from the island—and from Grace—in motion.
When I turn back to Grace, she’s looking at the view, her arms crossed over her waist, her back rigid. I step up beside her, my own hands curled into impotent fists inside my shorts’ pockets.
Her concerned expression cuts me like a knife. ‘I hope you’re right, about your grandmother. I hope more than anything she recovers, that she tells you off for your sunburnt nose.’
Her words sting like acid. Even now she’s trying to lesson my worry. The urge to take her in my arms one last time almost weakens my knees. But I hold my body still, every muscle focussed on keeping me together when I feel like I’m crumbling into a million fragments.