He wondered if he’d see her again tonight. Then he smiled to himself. He’d make sure he did. Why leave it to chance, after all?
He spotted the thick white envelope sticking out of his mailbox as he lifted his board off the New Zealanders’ roof rack. His mood soured. Just what he needed—a reminder of everything he’d turned his back on.
He tugged the envelope free on his way past, not even glancing at the red-and-black logo in the top left corner. He dumped his board by the back door and threw the envelope into the corner of the kitchen as he entered. It slapped against the stack of other envelopes piled there, all of them unopened. One day soon he’d get around to dumping the lot of them in the recycle bin.
He took a quick shower, threw on fresh clothes, then did a lap of the house, trying to decide what to do next, feeling off-kilter thanks to that damn envelope. Pathetic that that was all it took these days.
Thoughts of Elizabeth flashed across his mind again, but he could hardly go looking for her so soon after leaving her bed. He needed to watch himself where she was concerned as it was.
He did another lap of the house, anxiety nipping at his ankles. He didn’t do alone time without a beer in his hands and it was definitely too early to drink. Making a quick decision, he grabbed his wallet and walked out the door. He’d head into town, get something to eat, maybe grab some groceries for the next few days. That ought to kill an hour or two.
The first person he saw when he hit main street was Elizabeth, sitting at one of the tables on the sidewalk outside the Euphoria Cafe. All his self-strictures about being careful where she was concerned went out the window. She looked so soft and cool and he could practically feel her skin beneath his hands. He was about to cross to her table when a tall, dark-haired man exited the café and sat with her. There was something about the way the guy looked at her that got Nate’s back up. The feeling only intensified when the guy picked up her hand and held it. And she let him. She even laughed at something he said and squeezed his fingers.
Elizabeth had told him she was single. She’d lain down on the beach with him and tangled his sheets and a few hours ago had taken him in her mouth and made him a little bit crazy. So who the hell was this guy? This pale, overdressed stiff with his ridiculous pants and business shirt and banker’s haircut?
He was already striding toward their table when it hit him that his reaction was way over the top. Elizabeth owed him nothing. They’d slept with each other twice. They’d made no commitments to each other, tacit or overt.
So why the hell was he standing at her table, glaring down at her?
“Lizzy. Long time no see,” he said.
Her eyes widened with shock. “Nathan. Hello. Um. Yes.”
Nate could feel the other guy checking him out and he straightened to his full height. Hard to tell with the other man sitting down, but Nate figured he had a couple of inches on him. He met the other guy’s eye and offered his hand. “Nathan Jones.”
“Martin St. Clair,” the guy said, his accent a perfect match for Elizabeth’s clipped tones.
“Nathan shares a house with my father. He’s helping me make contact with him,” Elizabeth explained. She flipped her teaspoon over and over nervously.
“I see. It’s nice to know Elizabeth has friends to help her out when she’s so far from home,” St. Clair said.
It was such a pompous, stiff little speech that Nate couldn’t help smirking. St. Clair didn’t look much older than him—early thirties—so what was with the big stick up his ass?
“I’m more than happy to help Elizabeth out. In fact, it’s been my pleasure,” he said.
Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed, even as her cheeks turned pink.
That was the problem with that creamy English complexion of hers—it was a dead giveaway every time.
St. Clair was looking back and forth between the two of them, a frown on his face.
“Have you known Blackwell long?” he asked.
“About ten years or so.” Nate could elaborate, but he chose not to. Knowledge was power, after all.
He switched his attention to Elizabeth, who was positively glowering at him now.
“I’m free to talk about that thing again tonight, by the way,” he said. “What time suits you?”
“I’ll have to get back to you.” Her accent even more cut-glass than usual.
He shrugged. Then, because he was far too aware of her English lover or whoever St. Clair was, Nate slid his hand onto the nape of her neck and ducked his head to kiss her goodbye. She tasted like coffee and she jerked her head backward when he slipped his tongue inside her mouth.
“Nice meeting you, Martin,” Nathan said as he straightened.
He gave them both a finger wave before turning and sauntering up the street toward the bakery.
So much for his perfect distraction.
ELIZABETH FOUGHT THE URGE to squirm in her seat. There was no way that Martin had not picked up on the not-very-subtle signals Nathan had been sending. The man had practically cocked his leg, he’d marked his territory so obviously.
She could only imagine what Martin must be thinking. She snuck a look at him from beneath her lashes. He was studying a sugar sachet, smoothing his thumb back and forth over the small square.
She felt a strong urge to apologize, even though that would only confirm that she’d slept with another man mere days after ending their engagement. She opened her mouth, but something stopped her from saying the words on the tip of her tongue. She remembered the strange, almost scary euphoria she’d felt after that first night with Nathan. The feeling of freedom.
And suddenly it hit her that she didn’t owe Martin anything. Their relationship was over. Had been since the moment she’d called off the wedding in London. She hoped that they would remain friends, but she wasn’t going to pretend to be something she wasn’t to achieve that. If Martin chose to judge her, that was his decision, not hers. At the end of the day, the only person whose opinion she needed to worry about was her own.
It was a strange realization. A revolutionary concept. She’d lived for the good opinion of others for so long, it felt like shedding a huge weight. Just last night she’d been mortified because Nathan had teased her by displaying an inch of her underwear in the bar. She’d retreated to her room and imagined what judgments people must be making about her, what they must be whispering to each other. She was so used to living in the fishbowl of her grandparents’ elite, discreet social circle that it simply hadn’t occurred to her to not care what anyone else thought.
Because, really, it didn’t matter that a few people she’d probably never see again might suspect she’d had sex with Nathan Jones. In the big scheme of things, it was neither here nor there. It was none of their business. Pure and simple. And if they chose to judge her, then so be it. She couldn’t control how other people saw her. Which, essentially, was what she’d been trying to do all her adult life.
She met Martin’s gaze across the table.
“Thank you for breakfast. I know you want to get back to Melbourne, but you should at least come for a walk along the beach before you go.”
He put the sugar sachet down and placed his palms flat on the table.
“Thank you, but no. I think I need to go home.”
She nodded. She understood. And she regretted his pain. But she was not going to apologize. For perhaps the first time in her life. She owed herself—her new self—that, at least.
They both stood and walked to the pub to collect Martin’s bags. Then she walked him to his rental car and watched as he stowed his luggage. When he was done, he turned to her and eyed her for a long, silent moment, his gaze roaming over her face.
“Look after yourself, Elizabeth.”
“I will. You do the same, okay?”
She hesitated, then she stood on tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. His lashes swept down as he closed his eyes, then, as she was about to withdraw, his arms closed around her and he pulled her close in a fierce bear hug.
She hugged him back, thinking about the many hours they’d spent with each other, the many kindnesses he’d shown her. She loved him very much—as a friend. He was a lovely man. He simply wasn’t the man for her.
His arms loosened and she took a step backward. He cleared his throat. “Goodbye, Elizabeth.”
She waited until his car had driven out of sight before marching down to the beach. What on earth had led Nathan to put on such an obvious display? Was it some kind of chest-beating alpha-male thing? Or was it yet another example of his warped sense of humor, more teasing in line with his stunt with her underwear?
Whatever it was, it was unacceptable. The sun was at its zenith, the sand hazy with heat as she walked along the high-tide mark and then up the short track to her father’s street. She spotted Nathan the moment she rounded the corner of the house; he was lounging in a hammock strung between his studio and one of the lower branches of the big tree that shaded much of the backyard. His eyes were closed and he was nursing a bottle of beer against his bare chest.
As angry as she was with him, it was impossible not to appreciate the sheer physical beauty of the man. Shaking her head at herself, she strode up to the hammock and gave it a hard yank.
The hammock tilted dramatically, dumping Nathan unceremoniously facedown onto the grass.
He swore, his words muffled. Then he rolled onto his back and stared up at her, his chest glistening with spilled beer. “What was that for?”
“Take a wild guess.”
He braced his arms on the ground and pushed himself to his feet. She tried not to notice the way his abdominal muscles flexed invitingly.
“What you did was incredibly inappropriate. Not to mention embarrassing,” she said.
“I kissed a friend goodbye. Where’s the harm in that?”
“That wasn’t a kiss. That was a brand. You were marking your territory.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “What was it, then? Why did you kiss me like that in front of Martin?”
He shrugged a shoulder before bending down to collect his beer bottle.
“I don’t know. It was just an impulse. A bit of fun. Unlike certain people, I don’t spend half my life staring at my own navel, analyzing every thought and body function.”
“Well, maybe you should. It might stop you from behaving like a fifteen-year-old boy half the time.”
To her enormous chagrin, he laughed. “Lizzy, we really have to do something about your insults. That one couldn’t fight its way out of a soggy paper bag.”
She pointed a finger at him. “Don’t attempt to disarm me with your cheap charmer’s tricks. You wanted to embarrass me this morning. You might not want to admit it, but I know it and so do you.”
“You’re way too uptight, you know that?” He reached for her, trying to pull her close.
She slipped out of his grasp. “No. No more. Good sex is not an excuse for bad behavior. You might not respect me, but I do. Goodbye, Nathan.”
She turned on her heel and started walking.
“Lizzy.”
She turned the corner into the driveway. She told herself it was probably a good thing to draw a line under whatever it was that had been going on between her and Nathan. She wasn’t in the market for a holiday fling. She wasn’t in the market for anything. She was here seeking contact with her father, nothing more. “Elizabeth.”
His hand caught her shoulder as she was about to step onto the road. They faced each other under the bright midday sun.
“I’m sorry, okay? I saw you with that guy, the way he was looking at you, and you’d told me there was no one else, and…I don’t know. It just pissed me off.”
She stared at him. Was it her imagination, or was Nathan telling her that he’d been jealous of Martin? She wasn’t an expert on casual sex by any means, but she was pretty sure that possessiveness and jealousy were not supposed to be part of the equation. Especially with a guy like Nathan, a man who lived in a single room at the back of someone else’s property and who surfed and drank all day then hung out in bars chatting up women at night.
“I think you might be the most confusing man I’ve ever met.”
He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re no walk in the park, either, your highness.”
He leaned close and she didn’t resist as he pulled her into his arms and kissed her, long and slow. He tasted of beer and salt and his skin felt very hot when she slid her arms around him. He spread his hands on her back and widened his stance and they stood there kissing like fervent teenagers, their hips and bellies and chests pressed together.
Finally he broke the kiss, sliding his hand down her arm to take her hand.
“Come shower with me,” he said.
But she dug her heels in, resisting. He raised his eyebrows and she shook her head, feeling suddenly hugely out of her depth. She’d had a grand total of two lovers in her life, including him. She wasn’t stupid, but she was very definitely inexperienced when it came to matters of sex and men and dating. She had no idea what was happening between them, what he wanted from her, what she could expect from him. Nothing? Hot sex for as long as it stayed fun? One more night? A week? A month?
“What is this?” she asked quietly. Probably that was breaking some mysterious rule of the dating world she didn’t know about, but she had to know. She needed parameters, some kind of guidance, because she sensed that it would be very easy to let herself get swept away by Nathan’s sexy body and boyish charm and incredible intensity.
“It is what it is, Lizzy. Fun in the sun, for as long as it lasts.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him about his jealousy, where that fit in to his easy-breezy view of things. But then he tugged on her hand again and she allowed him to lead her inside. She told herself it was because she was hot and a shower sounded wonderful and she wasn’t ready to give up the sex yet.
It was almost the whole truth, too.
6
THEY WASHED EACH OTHER in the shower, then they crossed the yard to his studio and spent the afternoon naked in his bed.
Elizabeth had never felt so depraved, self-indulgent and decadent all at once. When she was with him, skin to skin, the outside world ceased to exist. There was only the suck and lick and pull of his mouth on her body, the glide of his fingers on her skin, the hard planes of his chest and back and belly, the fierce power of his thighs, the thick, satisfying length of him inside her.
After the sun had gone down they showered again. He pulled on a pair of jeans and laid a fire in the brick barbecue on the back lawn. She rummaged in the fridge and managed to cobble together a salad while he cooked steaks over the coals. They sat on a picnic blanket to eat, then stretched out in the twilight afterward, their plates pushed to one side, each of them nursing a cold bottle of beer.
They talked about books and movies and travel as the heat of the day slowly faded, and when she mentioned her teaching he peppered her with questions and seemed genuinely interested in her replies. She was surprised by how well-read he was, how well thought out his opinions were. It dawned on her that he was much more than a beautiful face and a hard body. She’d known he was smart—he was too quick on his feet to be anything but. She simply hadn’t appreciated how sharp he was beneath the tan and the sand and the worn denim.
He asked why she’d chosen to teach in the public rather than the private system and listened as she told him about the special literacy course she’d run last year, and somehow the subject shifted to travel and she learned he’d surfed the coast of South America as well as Africa and spent nearly two months in Rome as a young man.
As the evening wore on she became more and more confused. On one hand, Nathan presented as a lazy layabout, a man who spent his days lolling in hammocks or riding waves. And yet he had clearly lived another life, a life outside of this small island and this very modest, slightly down-at-the-heel house.
Th
en there was the dark intensity he brought to the bedroom. This morning she’d scoffed at herself for reading things into the almost desperate way he held her and made love to her. Lying next to him under the stars, listening to him, she couldn’t help wondering all over again. Because there was definitely more to this man than met the eye. Definitely.
She turned her head to look at him, besieged by questions—none of which she felt remotely entitled to ask. He hadn’t asked her anything, after all. He hadn’t even asked about Martin, and when she’d mentioned her parents’ deaths during dinner he hadn’t even offered the usual “sorry” before changing the subject. He hadn’t volunteered anything about himself, either. In fact, she knew nothing about him except for his name and where he lived.
“You’ve got that look on your face again, Lizzy. I don’t like it,” Nathan said.
She’d thought he was stargazing, which was why she’d been studying him so blatantly. But apparently he had twenty-twenty peripheral vision.
“What look is that?” she asked, matching his casual tone.
“That thinking look. I’m right, aren’t I? You were thinking, weren’t you?”
“It’s rather difficult to stop, actually.”
“Now that’s where you’re wrong. You just need something to distract you.”
She watched as he put his beer down then rolled toward her and plucked her bottle from her hand.
“A distraction,” she said. “Any suggestions?”
Warmth pooled low in her belly as Nathan’s gaze slid over her body.
“Mmm. Let me see if I can think of anything,” he murmured.
He leaned over her, one long leg sliding over hers as his hand found her breast and his mouth found her lips. They kissed deeply as his fingers teased at her nipple through the fabric of her dress, pinching, flicking, rubbing. She shifted restlessly, already anticipating the weight of his body on hers, the push of him inside her.
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