He raised his hand, slowly, afraid she might startle and back away. Her breasts rose and fell beneath the filmy dress she wore. She wasn’t unaffected, that was for sure. Her body shifted, leaning toward him ever so slightly.
“Wow, you look hot.” A female voice broke the moment, shattering it like dropped crystal. Hope blinked. Straightened.
Oliver turned. Jasmine Marshall had entered the tent, fanning herself with a hat. She grinned.
“I think I have a new appreciation for models,” she said. She shook her head. “I couldn’t do it.” She placed her hand on the back of a camp chair. “The ladies are all on board, we just need to pack up the tent and chairs and the last of your equipment.”
Hope nodded. “Okay. Um, sure.” She turned one way, took a step, then performed an about-face. She pointed to the tent flap, smiled at nobody in particular, and strode out.
Actually, ran would be a better word. Oliver watched her hasty departure and sighed. Darn it. So close, they’d been so darn close …
Jasmine frowned in bewilderment. “Sorry, did I interrupt something?”
Oliver shook his head and leaned over to grab his shirt. “No, no you didn’t.” He smiled at her, masking his frustration.
Jasmine looked at the tent flap. “So you guys aren’t …?”
“Aren’t what?”
“Together?”
Oliver met her gaze. Her curiosity was obvious, and he wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw a flare of attraction as she eyed his chest.
“No, we’re not together,” he answered. Not from lack of trying, though.
Jasmine nodded. “Good. Is there a girlfriend back home?”
Oliver’s eyebrows rose. No, he wasn’t mistaken. She was direct, to say the least.
“Uh, no.” The only woman he wanted made a habit of getting engaged to another man.
Jasmine smiled. “Great.”
There was silence between them. Was she waiting for something from him? He suddenly felt awkward.
“I don’t have a boyfriend,” she offered. “Just in case you were wondering.”
“Oh. Uh, great.” He wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that. He was flattered by her attention, though.
“Great.”
They smiled at each other for a moment.
“Uh, well, I guess we should probably get packed up,” Jasmine finally said.
“Oh, right, sure,” Oliver said, and slung his damp shirt over his shoulder. He loaded his camera into its bag, and the rest of Jasmine’s crew helped to stow the equipment in the dinghy.
“Well, see you at the next beach,” Oliver said.
Jasmine nodded as she climbed into the dinghy. “Want a ride? You could join the yacht at the next destination, if you like.”
Oliver glanced over at the yacht, where Rick, Caroline and Hope sat, watching their exchange. “Uh, they’re waiting for me. Maybe next time.”
Jasmine grinned. “Swim over anytime.”
Oliver gave her a wave as she started the engine and guided the dinghy out to the large motor launch moored offshore. He stood in the shallows for a moment, squinting against the light that reflected off the water.
Well, that was … unexpected. He had to admit, he was a little surprised by the young skipper’s interest—and a little intrigued. Jasmine was gorgeous. And she didn’t see him as Oliver Jones, fashion photographer and the next rung on the ladder to being a runway model. She seemed genuinely attracted to him. After experiencing Hope’s rejections, it was a salve to his ego, he couldn’t deny that. He turned toward the yacht. Still, there was another woman whose attentions he’d prefer …
His body heated at the memory of their shared moment in the tent. For once she hadn’t looked at him as good ol’ Ollie. She’d looked at him like a woman looked at a man. But then she’d run off. With Hope, it always felt like he took two steps forward, one step back. He couldn’t take anything for granted, not even a hot sliver of attraction. He sighed as he waded out into the water, its cool touch a refreshing comfort to his flushed skin. Being around Hope involved a lot of cooling off, a lot of patience.
Oliver struck out toward the yacht, letting the waters of the Coral Sea calm him, soothe him. He smiled as he approached the waiting boat. Hope might have managed to put a little distance between them, but he hadn’t lost all his ground. He had new information.
No matter how hard Hope tried to hide it, she was attracted to him.
He could work with that.
*
The yacht bobbed in the water, and Hope watched surreptitiously as Oliver hauled himself up the ladder onto the deck.
Oh. My. Gosh. Omigosh. The man was sexy. When did that happen? He’d always been a good-looking guy, but—wow. They’d met when she was still in high school—they’d both been so young. His body had definitely matured since then. She’d always thought he was attractive, but she couldn’t remember feeling this magnetic pull before, this kind of rubbery feeling in her knees. The boy had definitely grown into a smoking hot hunk of a man.
An engine started, and the yacht began to move away from the beach.
“Hm-hm. Will you look at that,” Caroline commented from behind the dark frames of her sunglasses. She and Hope both wore bikinis, and were soaking up some rays in an effort to relax and unwind after the busy morning.
“What?” Rick asked, looking up from his iPad. He frowned, glancing back toward the island. “What am I missing?”
Caroline smiled and patted him on his arm, nodding toward Oliver. “Anytime you want to strip off, babe, you just go right ahead.”
Rick shook his head. “I’d fry in this sun. Not a good look.” He turned his attention back to the iPad.
Caroline pouted as she watched Oliver towel himself off. “Pity.”
Hope slid her sunglasses down over her eyes. She wasn’t going to ogle Oliver. She refused to sit and stare at his body while he covered his face and dried his hair. Nor would she watch the water slide over his pectoral muscles, taking a slow, lazy tour down his body, drifting from one band of muscle to the next, over his golden torso, or—oh, dear—disappearing beneath the waistband of his sodden shorts, which were indecently plastered to the lower half of his body. No, she—oh, good grief. Now he was drying his chest.
She turned her head slightly, hoping that if anyone glanced at her they’d think she was simply admiring the retreating view of Whitsunday Island. Her breath hitched as she watched Oliver slowly pat himself dry, the play of his muscles bunching and relaxing with each movement.
She should feel guilty. Or ashamed. She licked her lips as the towel followed the water droplets down over his washboard stomach. Lucky towel. She tried not to watch as he patted his hips and thighs.
Oliver slung the towel over his shoulder. “I’m just going to change,” he announced casually, then winked at Hope and entered the main salon.
Her jaw dropped. He knew. He knew she’d been watching him. Heat suffused her cheeks. Oh. My. Gosh. Had he done all that slow, sexy drying off deliberately?
“Why aren’t you all over that?” Caroline asked quietly. Her brother’s wife leaned toward her, resting her head on the cushion of the sun lounge.
Hope snapped her jaw shut. “Oliver and I are just friends,” she replied. Had Caroline noticed her drooling over Oliver? She hoped the woman was just making conversation.
“Puh-leeze. Friends, schmiends. He’s hot. If you don’t snap him up, some other woman will. You should hear what the models say about him when he’s not around.”
“I’ve heard what they say.” It was hard not to when she used the same changing tent as they did. They thought he was hot and mysterious. She’d been a little embarrassed, actually, hearing them talk about her friend like that, as though he was some object of fantasy, and nothing like the real person she knew him to be.
“So why aren’t you beating them back with a stick?”
Hope looked around, hoping for a distraction. “Where’s Thomas?” She’d just realized they were mi
ssing one passenger.
“He’s on the boat with the models, of course,” Caroline said dryly. “Now, stop trying to change the subject. Why aren’t you doing a tropical tango with Oliver?”
Hope frowned. “Oliver and I have a history, one that doesn’t bear repeating.” She watched as Captain Marshall cut the engine then crossed to a mast, tugged on a rope, and unfurled a sail.
Caroline’s jaw sagged, and she lowered her sunglasses to the end of her nose, peering at Hope over the frame. “You dated that hot hunk of loving? When? And why aren’t you dating him now? I mean, aside from your numerous engagements to my cousin, that is.”
Hope grimaced. “Let’s just say there are some things you can’t get over.” She stood. “I’m going to go and get some rest before we reach the next location.”
She entered the salon and paused, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darker interior.
She heard a thump behind her, out on the deck, followed by her brother’s voice.
“Ow!”
“What went down between Hope and Oliver?” Caroline demanded.
“You heard Hope. We’re leaving it at that.” Hope smiled at her brother’s response, appreciating his respect for her privacy. When she and Oliver had broken up there had been a lot of media attention. She hated to have her personal life play out in the tabloids, and while Caroline was no rumor-mongering journalist, she did like to gossip. Hope winced when she heard another thump.
“Ow. Will you stop doing that? I’m trying to work.”
“We are sailing through paradise, and you want to work? What happened to pampering me?”
“Oh, I’ll pamper you, all right,” her brother growled, and Caroline squealed. Hope shook her head as she headed below deck. Ever since they’d reunited, her brother and sister-in-law had behaved like newlyweds.
She refused to be envious.
Chapter Five
“I’m exhausted,” Caroline sighed, and Oliver smiled. They were sitting around the table in the main salon. The cabin cruiser was moored several feet away, its lights visible through the yacht’s portside windows as the boats bobbed in the sheltered safety of Maureen’s Cove, off Hook Island. They were scrolling through the day’s shots, reviewing them on Oliver’s laptop with a critical eye, trying to decide which ones to use in the HFTF campaign.
“I feel like I’m going cross-eyed,” Rick admitted, rubbing his face. Sandy had prepared a delicious gourmet dinner, which they had long since finished. The Marshalls had retired for the night, but the Forrester team had been planning and reviewing for hours.
“Some of these shots are beautiful,” Hope said quietly, looking at one image in particular. Oliver had to agree. All of the models, Hope included, stood in a cluster, barefoot in the white sand, a summer breeze lifting the fabric of their garments and playing with the tendrils of their hair. He nodded. It was a beautiful shot. The blue of the water, the green of the lush tropical bush behind them, the white of the sand—the colors were stunning. Hope’s eyes, though, seemed especially blue, staring straight at the viewer with an intensity that revealed an inner confidence and strength, and suggested hidden depths. She’d nailed it.
“I think that’s the money shot,” Rick said. “It’s stunning. All the models look fantastic, the dresses drape really well—couldn’t have done any better in a studio.”
Caroline yawned. “Uh-huh. I agree. And Quinn Fuller’s jewelry does a great job of accenting the designs. But I’m tired, and we have another big day ahead.”
Hope clapped a hand over her mouth to hide her own yawn. “Oops, sorry.” Her gaze dropped to Oliver’s chest, then darted back up again. Oliver hid a smile. He hadn’t donned a shirt. There wasn’t really any need to, it was warm and humid. Hope’s gaze kept skittering to his torso. He liked her looking at him—except when she looked like she was about to nod off. That wasn’t such a confidence boost.
He waved a hand. “No, it’s fine.” Considering they’d been up before sunrise, and had traveled to two locations—one involving an inland trek through a rain forest to reach some caves—he was surprised they weren’t all snoozing under the table.
“I’ll keep sorting through these, pull out the ones we can’t use.” There were a number of photos that weren’t suitable—ones where someone had blinked, or shooed at a fly, or where the breeze had blown hair across someone’s face. Culling those would go a small way toward making the final selection a little easier. “With the photos we take tomorrow, as well as the ones we got at Uluru, we should have a really good selection for the fashion show and the media campaigns.”
Caroline nodded. “Tomorrow night I want to go through all the scenic shots so we can send them through to the Sydney office in time for the outdoor ad campaign.”
Rick nodded. “Great. Well, goodnight folks.” He stood, and helped Caroline to her feet. Oliver watched them leave. There went one couple who had beaten the odds and reconnected. He looked at Hope. Why couldn’t they do the same?
She smiled at him as she rose from her seat at the banquet table. “Great work, Oliver.”
His brow wrinkled. Was she trying to put him in his place? Remind him of his position as the hired help? “Thanks,” he responded gruffly, and clicked the mouse to cycle through to the next image.
“No, I mean it. You’ve done even better than I could have ever hoped for.”
He stared at the image on the screen. It was a close-up of Hope. She wore her hair in that complex, twisty style on top of her head. Her gown was loose, but the breeze had brushed the garment flush against her body. The soft peach color brought out the rosy tint in her skin, the gauzy fabric draping her figure in a seductive, teasing way that displayed the sweep and curve of her body while keeping the details hidden.
Much like the woman herself. As spokeswoman for HFTF, and the face of one of the top fashion lines in the world, Hope was constantly on display, yet she still managed to keep a part of herself private, aloof.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, focusing on the image. It was the simple truth.
She laughed softly. “Yeah, well, remember that when you see me tomorrow morning, before the hair and makeup team get a hold of me.”
He looked up at her. “Is that an invitation?”
He wasn’t sure what made him say it—an impish desire to taunt, or a more serious need to break through the polite, civil friendship they had lapsed into.
Hope’s mouth fell open, her eyes wide.
“Uh, well,” she said, then laughed softly, uncertainty creeping onto her face. Normally he’d make some inane comment to ease the tension. Instead, he stood and faced her. They were less than a foot apart. He smoothed a tendril of golden hair behind her ear.
“Because if it is, I accept,” he added softly.
Her eyes lowered, glancing down at his chest, before she met his gaze. “Um, Oliver …”
He waited for her to finish her sentence, but she paused, as though hoping he’d fill in the missing words from the tired script they kept recycling. But tonight, he wasn’t feeling cooperative.
He slid his hand under the hair at the nape of her neck, moving slowly, giving her ample time to withdraw.
She closed her eyes, and he could see the pulse flutter at the base of her neck. She didn’t move.
Encouraged, he lowered his head.
“We can’t,” she whispered, when his mouth was just a hair’s breadth from hers.
“We can,” he whispered back, and pressed his lips to hers. He kept the kiss gentle, teasing, until she opened her mouth against his. He swept his tongue in, gliding, sucking. She sighed into his mouth, tilting her head back to give him better access. Her hands rose to his chest, and he sucked in a breath at her touch.
He pulled her closer, deepening the kiss. Her pert breasts brushed against him, their bodies separated only by the thin cotton of her blouse. He could feel her nipples against his skin, and his body tightened with arousal, hot and hard. Her hair fell in waves down her back, brushing the back
of his arm. She’d showered earlier, and her light floral scent teased his senses. For a moment only the sound of their breathing filled the cabin.
She tore her lips from his. “No,” she gasped.
Her breasts rose with each pant, creating a delicious friction against his skin.
“What’s the matter?” His voice was low, roughened by passion.
She bit her lip as she looked up at him. “This isn’t good,” she said, shaking her head. He closed his eyes as her hair brushed over his arm once, twice.
“Actually, I think this is very good,” he murmured, and leaned down to trail his lips over her neck. She trembled, softening against him for a moment. Then she shook her head and took a steadying breath, and he closed his eyes briefly at the press of those tantalizing nubs against his chest.
“No,” she said again, her voice still shaky, but a little louder this time. She pushed against him, and for a brief moment he held onto her, reluctant to let her go. But he’d never been the type of man to hold a woman against her wishes. She stepped away, her face twisted with sadness, with pain.
“We can’t do this, Ollie,” she said quietly, and he stiffened at the moniker.
“Why not?” he challenged her. How could something that felt so good be bad for them?
She frowned. “You know why. We can never get back what we had before. It’s done. Gone.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw as he tried to control the desire raging through his system. “It would be different this time. It could be better.”
Hope folded her arms, hugging herself. “I—I can’t. I’m sorry, Oliver. I just can’t.”
He leaned back against the table. “I can’t keep doing this.”
“What?”
He gestured between them. “This. We don’t get anywhere. We don’t advance, we don’t change. We’re in this holding pattern, you and I.”
Hope frowned, her face pale. “What else can there be, Ollie?”
“I want more than this.” God, he so wanted much more than this one-sided, torturous affair.
Stormswept: The Bold and the Beautiful Page 4