by Fiona Harper
The expression on Zoe’s face almost made him laugh again, but he held it in. Even though they’d been sailing round the Devon and Cornwall coast for over a week now, she hadn’t thought to mention this before? The possibility must have crossed her mind.
‘You think we really could?’ she said a little breathlessly.
Damien pulled her close, book and all, and pressed a kiss to the tip of her nose. ‘We made a deal—I’m your deck hand and skipper for the next five days. I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.’
Zoe’s response was so enthusiastic that she dropped the book on Damien’s toe.
* * *
Zoe ran up to the front of the boat as they neared Polkerris Beach. She hung on to the metal rails of the parapet and leaned forward, Titanic-style, her arms outstretched.
The photo in her aunt’s book had only paid partial tribute to its beauty. Steep, rock-scarred hills rose either side of a swirl of pale yellow beach, held safe from the changeable Cornish weather by the protective arm of a curved sea wall at one end. She knew this beach had inspired a famous novelist, and Zoe had liked that book of hers when she’d read it at school, the one about the girl trying to fill another woman’s shoes and not really succeeding. She’d have to read it again when she got home.
She turned to grin at Damien back in the cockpit. They’d abandoned the idea of the Scilly Isles and opted to stay in the Falmouth area, as it was the perfect base for exploring the wonderful local beaches. This was the third one she could tick off her list, the third of her childhood wishes granted. And this man had made them happen.
That night after they’d been to the bookshop he’d settled down at the navigation table on Dream Weaver and had got out his maps and charts. Zoe had tried to join him, but the little bench seat had clearly been made for one and she didn’t have the right kind of skinny behind to slide in beside him, so she’d hugged him from behind, hanging round his neck like a college boy’s sweater, until he’d shooed her away.
She hadn’t even minded that he’d been completely absorbed for the next hour or so, or that she’d fallen asleep on the long cabin bench Damien used as a berth reading her book. She’d woken later in the night to find herself covered with an opened-out sleeping bag, his unconscious form across from her on the opposite bench.
Damien might have ignored her, but she hadn’t cared because no one had ever done anything to make her feel so special.
Oh, she knew that had been the deal they’d made on that first morning—that he’d take her where she wanted to go. But a lot had changed since then. It wasn’t because he had to any more, but because he’d wanted to.
Plans had changed. She had changed. She’d even go so far as to say that Damien had undergone a transformation, but she wasn’t really sure that was true. She’d just tarred him with Aiden’s brush from the beginning, not seen what was right in front of her.
He wasn’t anything like Aiden. Not really.
Yes, he had the same ilk of good looks, the same kind of confidence, but Damien was kind and thoughtful where her ex had been self-important and shallow. She shuddered to think back to how much she’d adored him now, how much she’d let herself disappear and change to please him. But it had never been enough.
She should have seen the warning signs; they’d been there, after all.
She should have minded that he used to joke about their initials to friends constantly, as if he’d come up with the funniest gag in the world and couldn’t resist sharing it. ‘I’m the A and she’s the Z,’ he used to say, and Zoe had laughed along, even though, after the fourth airing, her smile had become pinched instead of open.
She turned her attention back to the sunny beach. She didn’t want to think about Aiden any more. And Damien never made her feel like that—second class to his first class.
A pair of strong, warm arms closed around her. A taut, muscled body pressed against her back. Zoe stayed with her arms outstretched, eyes closed, and breathed in the moment. Pretty soon a pair of soft, firm lips began to work their way up from her collarbone to her ear. She twisted as he got there to kiss him properly, even though it made her neck ache horribly.
‘I’ve got to drop the anchor or we’ll float all the way to Portugal,’ he mumbled against her lips.
Zoe sighed. ‘If you have to.’
He gave her a nudge. ‘You’re in my way,’ he whispered in her ear, his low voice tickling her skin and making her break out into goosebumps.
‘Give me a minute. I just need to finish my moment.’
Damien just rumbled a laugh as she faced front and began to sing.
‘What are you doing? Calling whales?’
She reached behind and slapped him wherever she could reach. ‘It’s the song from the film. Join in! You might as well. We’ve got you, me, the front of a boat…It’s the least we can do to provide the soundtrack.’ And she carried on singing into the wind.
Damien just laughed harder, picked her up in his arms and threw her into the vibrant blue water. When Zoe came to the surface, spluttering a little and wiping the curls from her eyes, she yelled, ‘What was that for?’ But she didn’t mind, not really. Damien was surprising her, doing things she’d never thought he’d do, and it was turning her carefully constructed walls into chocolate.
He was busy letting the chain out to drop the anchor. ‘I fast-forwarded. That’s how the film ends, after all.’
She paddled her legs to keep herself afloat. ‘I think you’ll find the hero ends up in a much more sorry state than you are. Still…there’s time yet!’
Damien finished his job and stood smiling down at her, hands on hips, legs apart. Zoe couldn’t help smiling back.
It was working. She was letting go of all that baggage she’d been dragging around with her since the night of her hen do, and it was such a relief to see it float away and disappear. She couldn’t remember a time when she’d been happier.
And then there was a splash and Zoe’s eyes were sprayed with salt water. She opened them again to find him swimming towards her. Her heart kicked and the resulting adrenalin spike made her want to move, to run. To fly. Since she could do neither of those things, she settled for swimming.
‘Last one to the beach is a rotten egg,’ she shouted, then set off to churn up the waves with her notoriously haphazard front crawl. Damien would probably catch her, but Zoe decided she didn’t mind that one bit.
* * *
That night they moored where they had the first night they’d arrived in the Fal estuary: opposite the little beach with the stone cottage. But time had moved on and a few days had turned the previously absent moon into a sliver of pale shimmering white just above the horizon. When they jumped in the water the magic was gone.
It doesn’t last, Zoe reminded herself. Magic like this doesn’t last.
And neither would her time with Damien; she needed to remember that. Only…sometimes it was so difficult. She knew this was dangerous, knew it would be so easy to tumble head over heels for this man.
Only a few more days together. The tide on their holiday had turned and now they were heading in a different direction. Tomorrow they were setting sail back off up the coast towards the River Dart and Lower Hadwell. And then they’d go their separate ways and it would all be a beautiful memory. As long as she could last out, hold onto her heart for a few more days, she’d be okay. She could last that long, couldn’t she?
Easier said than done in a setting like this, she thought, as she peeled her T-shirt off over her swimming costume. She didn’t even think twice about it now, even though she got uncharacteristically shy normally when displaying her curves, but Damien seemed to like them, and suddenly it didn’t seem quite as important to keep the flimsy cotton barrier on.
This time she followed Damien’s lead and jumped straight in. He was right. It was easier that way, rather than prolonging the torture by climbing in slowly.
They swam to the beach and strolled along it, holding hands, stopping every now and then to win
d themselves round each other and kiss. The beach was even more beautiful with a touch of moonlight to turn its sand bluish-white.
Damien stopped walking and pulled her to him, his hands exploring her bare torso, his lips working the magic that the water had forgotten.
She knew where this was leading and twin desires warred inside her—the desire to have Damien completely, to know him completely, and the desire to keep herself safe. It had taken two years to get over Aiden’s betrayal and, while she knew Damien wasn’t like that, it wouldn’t do to fall for him. This wasn’t to have and to hold, to love and to cherish; it was just for now.
Just a few more days. People did this all the time—had flings, walked away unscathed. So could she. And being with Damien would be…amazing. So what if she hadn’t quite managed to sleep with anyone else since Aiden? She’d moved on. She was ready now.
He pulled away and she could tell he was looking at her intently just by the way he brushed his thumb across her cheek. ‘I’d really like to take you out to dinner when we get back to London,’ he said.
That was when Zoe began to wobble. Inside.
Say no.
A fling with a time limit was one thing. Something they took home, carried on back in London? That was too much like a relationship for Zoe’s liking. She’d never be able to hold herself back emotionally, not if it went on for weeks or, heaven help her, months. She couldn’t fall for him. Not this one. Another man who wouldn’t want her for ever.
At least this one had the honesty to say that upfront, though.
She pulled away, tried to wriggle out of his grasp. ‘I’ll race you back to the boat,’ she said brightly and stepped back.
Damien caught her hand. Gently. Far too gently. Zoe felt moisture well behind her eyes for some reason. Please let me go, she begged silently. I need some distance, some kind of barrier.
He didn’t pull her back to him, but stepped towards her, keeping his grip round her wrist feather-light. She was glad it was too dark to see the look in his eyes. That might have been her undoing.
‘What’s wrong?’ he said gently, and his free hand reached out to touch her face.
Zoe closed her eyes, partly to block him out, partly to stop the bead of moisture hanging on her lashes from falling onto his fingers and giving herself away. She shook her head, effectively dislodging his hand and refuting his words in one small motion.
He moved closer, but he didn’t touch her again. He even let go of her wrist. ‘I know you,’ he said, his voice low and far too soft. ‘Don’t hide from me.’
But I need to. I really do.
It was happening already, wasn’t it? She could feel herself melting under his touch, her chest squeezing painfully from his tenderness and concern for her. Even with the stupid time limit, she wasn’t safe. She should have realised. She shouldn’t do what she’d been planning to do with him now. It would seal her fate.
He kissed her softly, tenderly, almost drawing her secrets from her. Zoe’s throat tightened even as her lips moved in tandem with his. She couldn’t hold back, not any longer. So she threw away all her masks, let down every last barrier and kissed him the way she’d always wanted to, telling him what she would never say with her lips.
That was when things got really scary. And wonderful.
They were doing more than just kissing now. They were communicating. And, while their bodies were still—just about—clothed, it felt as if whoever Damien and Zoe were inside those cases of flesh and bones and nerves were totally naked. Transparent. Zoe found she couldn’t breathe. She’d never realised it could be this way, but it was too… It was too much.
She pulled her lips from his, pushed her hands on his chest to help her gather just a few inches of distance before she lost herself completely.
Her voice was hoarse and thready when she spoke. ‘I know we said this was a fling,’ she began. ‘But I don’t know if I’m ready to…’
She didn’t say the last bit. Coward.
Damien’s warm arms closed around her shoulders, pulled her close. She laid her cheek against his chest and breathed him in.
‘If there’s one thing I’ve learned this week, it’s that rushing to the destination sometimes robs the journey of its joy,’ he said softly.
A wave of something washed over Zoe. She called it gratitude, but she feared it was something else.
‘I know it will be amazing,’ Damien said softly as his fingers ran lightly down her back, making her shiver, ‘but it has to feel right for both of us.’
Zoe really wanted to tell him she wasn’t sure that was such a good idea, but the soft seductive tone of his voice and the lazy circles of his fingers on the back of her hips had severed the connection between brain and tongue.
‘So let’s not end it now. I’ve spent too much of my life sticking doggedly to a self-imposed timetable. I want to do things the way you do it. I want to savour the experience, enjoy the journey, not miss the best bits because I’m rushing to the end goal.’
She shivered again, but it was nothing to do with his fingers and everything about the thought of Damien applying his new philosophy to his lovemaking. That approach could make a girl very, very happy.
His voice was low and coaxing in her ear. ‘So, have dinner with me on Saturday night, Zoe, when we get back. Let’s see where this thing can go.’
Unfortunately, while her head was firing excuse after excuse in his direction, her mouth just said, very clearly and politely, ‘I’d like that.’
Oh, you stupid girl. You shouldn’t have said that.
But the warm ball of hope that had ignited inside her chest at his words had completely derailed all her good intentions.
Maybe there was a chance. Maybe he really, really liked her.
And, for now, maybe was enough because Zoe St James had not just discovered she could dream again, but she was learning how to tug their delicate strings and pull those far-off images towards reality.
* * *
They’d been lucky with the weather, they knew that, but their luck didn’t hold much longer. The forecast two days later wasn’t terrible; it just wasn’t that good either. Damien loved it, of course. Scudding clouds and an impatient breeze behind Dream Weaver. Zoe, not so much, but he kept her busy on deck, where she wasn’t as fond of the pitch of the boat as he was—she was still only just discovering her sea legs—but she was learning the basics well. If she ever decided to keep this up, she could be a pretty decent sailor. She had the instinct for it.
They headed for Bantham Beach anyway, but when they dropped the sail and surveyed the shore Damien held off lowering the anchor. Zoe came to join him in the cockpit and stared landward with him. ‘Problem?’
Damien nodded. ‘The water is shallow here quite a way out, and the surf is pounding against that shore. The flags say swimming would be dangerous, and the dinghy would probably flip over.’
‘So it’s no go for this one.’
‘Not from a seaward approach, anyway.’ He made rueful face. ‘Sorry.’
Zoe frowned and stared at the beach. He waited for her to say something funny and biting to take the edge off her disappointment, but she just closed her mouth and put her hands on her hips.
She’d been in a strange mood all day yesterday: one moment enthusiastic and funny as always, the next quiet and pensive. Distant. As if she was backing away from him, which didn’t make sense. He’d have thought she’d be pleased he wanted to see her again after their holiday. Maybe she didn’t like him as much as he thought.
And that would be a pity. He discovered he could relax around her. Probably because, since they hadn’t exactly warmed to each other on first meeting, he’d never gone into full-out impress mode. And it was a little late to start now. Zoe had already seen more of his bad side than most people did. However, it hadn’t put her off completely, and it was kind of refreshing not to have to live up to his own reputation.
She turned away from the beach and sighed. ‘It doesn’t look as pretty as the pi
cture in the book, anyway.’
He took a long, hard look at the shore, the jagged grey rocks piercing the flat and endless sand, the dunes behind them covered in fluffy grass. On a sunny summer’s day this would be the perfect place for a family: rock pools aplenty to explore, a wide beach that shelved gently, leaving plenty of warm places where the sun heated shallow pools of sea water when the tide went out. But now the tide was in, angry and grey, and the breakers over the shallow sand relentless.
‘A different kind of pretty, maybe. But the beach hasn’t changed, has it? Just the weather. Maybe it’s all in the way you look at it?’
She sat down on the cockpit bench. He sensed she couldn’t quite bear to look at the source of disappointment. He could understand that, he supposed. This had been one of her favourites.
‘We could always try again tomorrow,’ he said.
‘We’ve got to have this boat back on its mooring in two days, you said. I thought the schedule was pretty tight.’
It was. But he wanted to do this for her, see her happy again. ‘We’ll see.’
Zoe’s arms dropped and hung limp by her side. ‘Maybe this one wasn’t supposed to come true.’ And then she stood up and loped down the stairs into the cabin.
He wanted to go to her, kiss her until he saw that naughty sparkle in her eyes again, but the weather wouldn’t allow it. They were too close to the shore and he couldn’t let Dream Weaver drift in this kind of weather. It would have to wait until they reached dry land.
For some reason, he started thinking about what she’d told him the first night they’d moored at the beach, about her fiancé. His mind had drifted in that direction quite a few times in the last few days.
What must it have been like? To have the whole of your life mapped out, a date set, a venue booked, dress chosen and fitted…for it all to come to nothing? He understood now why she had that cynical streak, why, despite her exuberant positive personality, she was reluctant to hope and plan for even little things. It wasn’t a weakness of character that prevented her from pursuing her dreams, just the scars of previous failed attempts. And Damien knew himself just how hard those things could sting.