by Joss Wood
Yet despite running through his long list of why he shouldn’t be contemplating another night, a fling, a short-term affair with her, he was unable to walk away.
Rob placed his head on the back on the chair and groaned again. You are utterly and completely screwed, man.
Even that thought wasn’t enough to pull himself out of the chair and out of her house.
Screwed to the max. And still caffeine-deprived.
* * *
Rob tapped on the frame of the open bathroom door and grinned when Willa, standing in front of the huge bathroom mirror above the double basins in a pale yellow bra and thong, reached for a dressing gown to cover up.
‘Bit late for that, seeing as I’ve seen and kissed most of you.’
Fighting her blush, Willa dropped the gown. He had seen—stroked, tasted—everything, so it was a silly, pointless gesture. Willa picked up a square black box and, flipping it open, brushed a pale pink blush over her cheekbones. Rob placed a cup of coffee on the counter and went back to lean his shoulder into the doorframe and cross his legs at the ankles, holding his cup in his hand.
‘Thanks,’ Willa said.
‘That was the last of the milk, and there’s nothing but a half-tub of cottage cheese and some yoghurt in your fridge...what do you eat?’
‘Not much,’ she admitted in a jerky voice. ‘I hate cooking for myself.’
Rob saw the confusion in her eyes, knew that she wasn’t quite sure what to do with him, how to behave. While he knew her body inside out, he was still, to all intents and purposes, a stranger.
‘So, some of your friends have arrived. Do you want me to go?’
Willa bit the inside of her lip. ‘You don’t have to... Stick around if you don’t have anything better to do.’
Thank her for a good time, kiss her goodbye and walk on out...
‘Thanks, I’ll do that.’
His sensible side cursed him a blue streak for staying exactly where he was and stalked off. Since Patrick—his cousin, partner and accountant, who’d accompanied him from South Africa to work on establishing their companies here—was spending the weekend with an old university friend, Rob rationalised, why should he spend the day alone? He liked people, and they, despite the fact that he could be blunt and frequently tactless, liked him. So Rob thought he might as well hang around... He could always change his mind and leave. That was one of the cool benefits of free will.
He folded his arms against his chest and his biceps stretched the fabric of his creased shirt. He kept his eyes and tone inscrutable. ‘So, apparently this house is part of your divorce settlement? You are still technically married.’
Willa sent him an uncertain look and for a moment she looked a lot younger and a great deal more vulnerable than he’d expected. His heart shuddered and he told it to get a grip... He wasn’t a sap about women and their wobbly lips and soft eyes.
‘We’ve been separated, officially, for a little more than half a year; in reality we haven’t had a marriage for more years than I can count. Should I have told you?’ she asked, unscrewing and then replacing the cap of her mascara in a movement that suggested OCD or nervousness.
If she had mentioned the M-word in the bar he would have run as fast and as far as he could, not even sticking around long enough to hear that she was separated. Was he crazy about the fact that she was still married? No. Was it going to stop him from sleeping with her again? Hell, no.
‘I don’t sleep with married women,’ he stated, and wasn’t sure if he was informing her or reminding himself.
Willa met his gaze in the mirror and her aqua eyes were direct and honest. She tossed the tube of mascara onto the counter and slapped her hands on her hips. ‘I don’t cheat. I haven’t slept with anyone else and I would not have slept with you if I’d still felt morally married.’
Rob lifted his hands, slightly amused at her spirited reply. ‘Easy there, tiger.’
Willa glared at him. ‘So, would you cheat if you were married?’
Of course not. But it was a moot point because he had no plans to get married—he couldn’t, because marriage meant that he had to trust himself and his judgement when it came to women. And people.
Not gonna happen.
‘Well? Would you? Do you?’ Willa demanded, pulling him back to this house, on another continent, a lifetime later.
‘Sorry—missed that. What did you say?’
‘Would you cheat on your wife? On your girlfriend? Is that something you already do?’ There was no judgement in her voice, just curiosity.
‘What? Cheat?’ Rob twisted his lips. ‘I’m single, and I don’t get involved with anybody long enough for the question to arise.’
Willa released a long, surprised sigh. ‘God, you’re honest. I haven’t met an honest man in a long, long time.’
‘You’ve been hanging around with the wrong crowd, gorgeous; it’s the only way to be,’ Rob stated. ‘So, in the spirit of honesty...do you want to do this again?’
He really didn’t want her to say no, Rob realised. He wanted to make love to her again... If she didn’t have a house full of people downstairs he’d lift her up onto that counter, spread her legs and pull her panties out of the way. He’d be inside her in a matter of seconds...
And there he went, rising in anticipation.
‘You’re talking about having sex again?’
At least she hadn’t called it making love; if she had, he’d have had to correct her.
‘Yeah. You keen? Pure sex, pure fun, no obligations or strings.’
‘For how long?’
He wasn’t idiot enough to make promises he couldn’t keep. ‘I have no freakin’ idea. Once more? Twice? Sixteen times? I don’t know...let’s just play it by ear.’
Willa was so still and so quiet for such a long time that Rob thought she was about to say no and his heart plummeted. As earlier suggested: Get a freakin’ grip, dammit!
‘Yeah,’ Willa said eventually. ‘We can do that. Play it by ear.’
‘Excellent.’
Rob slowly slowly, put his cup on the shelf next to the door and walked into the bathroom. Then he gripped her hips and easily lifted her up onto the bathroom counter, placing her between the two basins.
‘Let’s start right now.’
Since she’d just placed her hands on his chest and sucked his lower lip between her teeth, Rob assumed that she had no objections to his suggestion.
* * *
When Willa finally made it downstairs and stepped onto the outside entertainment area, still cross-eyed and lost in a lustful funk—she had a lover...whoo!—it felt as if she had been transported back eight years to the magical Whitsundays and the Weeping Reef resort. It was in the laughter she heard, the excitement in the voices of her guests, the rhythm of their speech.
She pulled in her breath and allowed the years to roll back to when she’d felt free and happy and sexy and...happy. Back then she’d thought that nothing bad could ever happen...and then it had. Amy was attacked and Scott and Brodie’s friendship had blown up and everything changed.
She didn’t respond well to change or to pain, and her distress that her friends had been hurting, that their magical time on the Whitsundays had ended so brutally, had just pushed her further into the arms of the older, romantic, tell-her-exactly-what-she-needed-to-hear Wayne. She’d felt safe there—cosseted, protected. After all, she’d been shielded from the vagaries of life since she was thirteen by her father, who didn’t see why her being an adult should change that.
Note to Dad: life doesn’t work that way.
Willa shook off her memories, put a smile on her face and ignored the flutter of nerves in her stomach. Nobody was judging her, waiting for her to fail, she told herself as she was recognised, as conversations were muted and a cluster of her old friends
walked over to greet her.
‘Oh, it’s so good to see you.’
‘You look fantastic.’
‘Thank you for coming... Have a drink...help yourself to food.’
Willa kissed and hugged her guests, making her way across the veranda, and then Scott was standing in front of her, his arms open wide. Willa gave a cry of delight, stepped into his arms and Scott picked her up and swung her around. She could feel the strength in his arms, the power of his chest. His fabulous green eyes sparkled down at her and he smelled terrific. He was sexy and solid... But, nope, he didn’t make her heart or her hormones hop.
‘Scott, it’s been so long!’ she cried, and kissed his cheek.
‘Looking good, Wills,’ Scott said in his drawling voice, before stepping back to jam his hands into the pockets of his cargo shorts.
Willa, seeing Jessica standing next to Scott, and remembering that, without her help she’d be buzzing around like a demented fly, reached over and squeezed her arm. ‘Thanks for setting everything out, Jess.’
‘No worries.’
Amy’s flatmate, wearing very dark glasses, was nursing what looked like a Bloody Mary. Jeez, she could do with one of those... Her booze hangover was gone, but she suspected that she now had a hangover thanks to too much sex. Don’t get her wrong, she wasn’t complaining...
Talking of spectacular sex... She turned around and saw Rob helping himself to a beer. ‘And this is Rob...’
‘Rob Hanson.’
Rob held his hand out for Scott to shake and within minutes was enveloped in his and Jessica’s conversation. Seeing that her brand-new lover didn’t need babysitting—thank goodness—Willa sent him a slow smile and turned away to catch up with her friends.
While she played host, gently flirted with her old male friends and caught up with her old girlfriends, she exchanged hot looks with Rob. Even though he was still dressed in last night’s jeans and shirt, he looked as if he’d stepped off the cover of a men’s magazine. Broad shoulders, long legs, white teeth, and those silver eyes slightly shadowed by blue.
Willa couldn’t believe that out of all those sexy girls in the club last night he’d come home with her—that he still wanted more from her. Again, she wasn’t complaining...at all. She was just surprised and grateful.
Grateful that he was nice and fun and, yeah, hard. Skilled...hot.
Willa’s conversation with Jane—if she could call Jane’s wittering on about pottery classes and her not hearing a word a conversation—was interrupted when Amy grabbed her arm and whirled her away.
Willa sent Jane an apologetic smile but allowed Amy to pull her into a quiet corner. Remembering how curious Amy could be, she waited with lifted brows.
‘How long does it take you to shower—or did you get distracted by the good-looking bloke with the funny accent?’
‘He doesn’t have a funny accent,’ Willa protested, hoping to deflect Amy’s nosiness.
‘Pfft. We both know that I’m asking if you got shagged again,’ Amy demanded.
‘Ames, that’s none of your...’ Willa looked around and dropped her voice. ‘Okay, I did. Again. On the counter of the bathroom and it was fabulous.’
‘We can all tell,’ Amy said dryly. Her expression changed and became a lot more sober. ‘Look, I know I sort of pushed you towards him last night, but I thought you’d just flirt with him and it would cheer you up. All this... Well, do you know what you’re doing, Wills? He’s a nice guy, but he has short-term written all over him.’
Eight years on and she was being shooed away under Amy’s wing again. Willa rubbed her shoulder with her hand, thinking that she was a big girl and didn’t need to be shooed anywhere any more.
‘So he told me. Relax, Ames, I’d be an idiot if I fell for the first man I had sex with after The Pain, and I really am trying not to be an idiot about men any more.’
‘Promise?’
‘That I’m not going to be an idiot? Well, I promise to try...’ Willa smiled. ‘So, what are we eating? Drinking?’
Amy gestured to the dining table, piled high with salads, a couple of loaves of fresh bread and various dips. ‘I bought enough to feed an army. There are prawns and crayfish in the fridge that the boys can throw on the barbie...wine, beer, coolers to drink.’
Willa looked from the food to her friend. ‘You need to tell me what I owe you.’
‘Later.’
‘Can you believe how many people came? It’s amazing...’
‘You were always a lot more popular than you realised, Willa,’ Amy replied. ‘I just wish...’
‘That Luke and Brodie and Chantal were here?’ Willa finished her sentence. ‘Me too.’ She took Amy’s hand. ‘Thank you for doing the food—thank you for making me do this. I feel like the others are just around the corner...like we’re waiting for them to arrive.’
‘Me too.’ Amy looked down at their clasped hands and licked her lips. ‘Talking of friends... Did I ever say thanks, Willa? For helping me that night? For picking me up and patching me up?’
Willa looked at the faint scar just below Amy’s eye and acid rolled through her stomach. ‘God, I am just so glad that he didn’t...you know...’
‘Rape me? Yeah, me too. Though he packed a pretty mean punch,’ Amy said in a low, bitter tone. ‘If it wasn’t for you—for Luke—I don’t know if I could’ve got through that night.’
‘I wish you hadn’t left, Amy. It wasn’t the same without you.’
Amy shook her head. ‘Honey, how could I stay? I was front of house and I looked like a raccoon, with two black and blue eyes, a split cheek and a fat lip. I couldn’t work like that, I didn’t want to answer questions from our friends and I couldn’t tolerate the idea of seeing Justin again.’
‘Luke kicked him off the property and told him never to return. I suspected he also might have punched him... I saw that his knuckles were a bit sore and raw for a couple of days after you left.’
Amy’s eyes softened. ‘That Luke. I was crazy about him. I only went to the beach with Justin in an attempt to make Luke feel jealous.’ Amy looked out onto the harbour. ‘Is he okay, Willa? Really?’
Oh, hell, how did she answer that? ‘Oh, Ames, I don’t know. We’re not that close, and he’d never talk to his younger sister if something was worrying him.’
Amy tilted her head. ‘Why not?’
‘I was thirteen when my mum died and it messed me up. Messed us up. Dad wrapped me in cotton wool, and then in bubble wrap, but he left Luke to flounder.’
‘I don’t understand.’
Hell, she didn’t either.
‘Luke dealt with Mum’s death on his own. Maybe it was because he was older and a young adult already, away at uni, but Dad cosseted me and pretty much ignored Luke. It created a distance between us.’
Her father hadn’t done them any favours... She’d grown up to be spoilt and naïve and Luke had remained on the outside of a family circle reduced to two. She still felt guilty about that, and wished that her father had handled the situation—them—differently. Wished that he’d allowed her to grow up and make some mistakes, allowed Luke to grieve with them instead of encouraging him to work and study his way through his pain.
As a result she’d come to believe that all she needed was a strong man to sort her problems out and protect her from the nasties life could throw her way. Luke had become a highly self-sufficient and extremely independent businessman, with an inability to become emotionally engaged.
‘What are you trying to tell me, Willa?’
Don’t pin your hopes on him; find a nice man who will love you with everything he has. Luke is too complicated, too self-sufficient, too distant.
Willa started to say the words and then shook her head. The heart wanted what the heart wanted, and nothing she could say would have any effect. And for al
l she knew she could be barking up the wrong tree.
Willa snagged a cold beer from the fridge and lifted her shoulders in a what-the-hell-do-I know? shrug. ‘I don’t have a clue, Ames. Ignore me.’
* * *
Later that afternoon Willa, with Scott, Rob and Amy, sat at the round wooden table at the far end of the pool, under the shade of a large umbrella. Her other guests—including Jessica, who’d caught a ride with one of the old Whitsundays lifeguards...cute, but not a rocket scientist!—had all left, and the four of them were lazily picking at a selection of snacks as a late-afternoon treat.
Amy leaned across the table and lightly touched Scott’s arm. ‘I haven’t had a chance to speak to you, Scott, and I want to catch up with what’s going on in your life. Willa says that you’re an architect.’
‘Yep.’
‘And how’s Chantal?’
Willa sucked in a deep breath and winced. With all the craziness she hadn’t had time to fill Amy in on exactly what had happened after she’d left the Weeping Reef. ‘Uh, Ames...’
Amy ignored her interruption. ‘She’s not here with you...why not? Are you two still together?’
Scott stared hard at his beer bottle. ‘No, we broke up,’ he answered eventually.
‘When?’ Amy demanded.
‘How are your folks, Amy?’ Willa asked, desperately hoping to change the subject.
Amy waved her question away. ‘Fine. I really wish she and Brodie were here. Okay, you obviously don’t want to talk about Chantal. Then tell me about Brodie, Scott. How is he? Where is he?’
Willa groaned. Shoot me now.
Scott smiled thinly, drained his beer, stood up and held out his hand for Rob to shake. He bent down and kissed Willa’s cheek. ‘Thanks for a great day, Willa. Let’s get together again and catch up.’
‘No, don’t go,’ Willa said.
Scott’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. ‘I need to get moving. You stay and tell Miss Curiosity, here—’ he ruffled Amy’s hair ‘—about the last episode of the soap opera that was the Weeping Reef.’ He lifted his hand and shook his head. ‘No, don’t get up—I’ll let myself out.’