Stormswept: The Bold and the Beautiful

by Shannon Curtis

  He closed his eyes, trying to shut out the suggestive seduction of her words. He wanted this—hell, his body really wanted this—but not like this. Not as some twisted obligation to repay a perceived debt. Something in his heart cracked.

  “No,” he said. “Not like this.”

  She froze in his arms. “What?” Her voice was small, and he felt her tremble in his arms.

  He slid his hand into her hair, and pulled gently, until she met his gaze. “Not like this. We’re better than this.” They could be so good together, they could be so good for each other, but not like this. She didn’t need to thank him for saving her life—he’d do it a thousand times over, if need be.

  He moved her off him, avoiding the hurt, the confusion stamped on her face, and rolled to his feet, pulling his briefs up and adjusting himself.

  Hope looked around the cave, lost for a moment.

  “I don’t understand,” she said, and he had to strain to hear her. He turned to gaze out of the cave. The sky was light now as the sun began to climb.

  “I didn’t save you so I could sleep with you, Hope,” he growled.

  “I know, and this wasn’t about paying you back,” she said. “I—I couldn’t do something like that. There is no way I could possibly repay you for saving my life. I just thought … I thought you wanted me.” Her voice was timid, and filled with uncertainty, vulnerability, and pain.

  His eyes widened with disbelief as he turned to face her. “Of course I want you,” he exclaimed. “Look at me. I so want you, Hope,” he said, gesturing to the hard evidence of his desire for her. “But this isn’t you. Sure, we could make love, but five minutes later you’d be regretting it, and agonizing over it, wanting to forget it had happened. I won’t take advantage of you, and I’m not going to go through that regret after making love, not again.”

  He shook his head as he stalked over to his tattered shorts. He swiped them up, the fabric stiff with salt and sweat.

  “If and when we make love, I want us to be fully committed to each other. Not—thanking each other.” He tried to shove his foot into one leg of his shorts, hopping briefly before giving up and casting the garment aside in frustration.

  “Is that how you see me, as some repressed, virginal girl who can’t handle a physical relationship?” Hope asked, her words clipped. “Because maybe you don’t know me as well as you think, Oliver.”

  Oliver ran his hands through his hair, tugging at it briefly in agitation. “You think I don’t know you, Hope? Repressed? No, I don’t think you’re repressed. I don’t think you’re ready for an honest relationship between us, but I don’t think you’re repressed.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means that we’ve been down this road before. And it didn’t end well for either of us.”

  “Oh, you mean when you slept with my mother?” she spat, crossing her arms.

  He held up a finger. “I did not sleep with your mother. There was no sleeping involved.”

  Ah, hell, that sounded bad, even to his ears. “We were getting closer, and we were considering a commitment, but you were reluctant to take that next step.”

  “I was a virgin, Oliver. A young, inexperienced virgin discovering my first love. That’s a big step to take, and I won’t let you make me feel guilty for not taking it with you.”

  He gaped at her. “You think that’s what I’m doing? Trying to make you feel guilty?” He shook his head. “Wow. Maybe it’s you who doesn’t know me, Hope, if you think I’m capable of that kind of manipulation.”

  He turned to leave the cave, halted, then crossed back to the beautiful woman whose pain carved just as deeply into his heart as it did hers. “Did it ever cross your mind that I admired you for that? For your sense of self-worth, your self-respect?”

  She gazed at him with suspicion and uncertainty, and he hated that she was experiencing those emotions with him.

  “I was ready to wait for as long as it took, because to me, you were worth the wait. I had faith in you. I just wish you had the same faith in me.”

  He turned and walked away, grabbing his spear as he left.

  *

  Hope stared at his receding shadow. Oliver stomped down to the beach in his underwear. The sun was shining, the sea a glittering blue. She gazed up at the sky. Not a cloud in sight.

  And yet her life had become so dark and stormy.

  She leaned against the wall, turning her gaze away from Oliver. What did he mean about not wanting to feel regret after making love to her again? They had never made love.

  And he was the one who had called a halt this time. She covered her face with her hands. Oh, that was humiliating. She was normally the one to withdraw, to hesitate and then retreat. It was uncomfortable having the roles reversed.

  She’d woken up in a blazing embrace, desire thrumming through her body as though she’d been awakened from a long, passionless slumber. She’d been filled with lust. Blinding, searing, rationality-stealing lust. For Oliver. And then she’d ruined it all by thanking him.

  Argh. What had she been thinking? She’d used her words carelessly. She had wanted Oliver, and hadn’t been prepared to admit it. So she’d tried to cover her desire with a more rational, polite expression of gratitude. That must have sounded so insulting.

  Had she really thought he’d be so desperate for her that he’d accept whatever excuse she fed him? Had she taken him for granted that much? Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them back, refusing to feel sorry for herself. And what did he mean by her not having faith? He’d broken the faith. He was the one who had been disloyal to her—with her mother, of all people. An unbidden rage rose at the memory of the discovery, and of the cover-up afterwards. The betrayal had been compounded by the deceit—and he had the gall to call her out for not trusting him?

  Not likely.

  She stomped out after him.

  *

  He was in the shallows, thrusting the spear repeatedly into the water. Hope frowned. Suddenly he held the spear aloft, shaking it at the sky, then pulled it down and snapped it over his knee. Her eyes widened when he cast the spear back up the beach, then proceeded to kick at the water.

  “Fish not biting?” she asked sweetly from her spot on the sand.

  Oliver whirled, his chest heaving. His expression was tight with anger until he forced himself to calm down.

  “No. They’re not,” he answered.

  Hope looked beyond him into the water. Well, if there had been fish, they’d be long gone now, fleeing from the mad fisherman in the water.

  Oliver took a deep breath, closed his eyes, then released the tension in his shoulders as he exhaled in a deep sigh.

  “What did you mean about not having faith?”

  Oliver scrunched up his face. “It’s over, Hope. Forget it.”

  She held up a hand. “Oh, no. You accused me of not having faith in you. I loved you—you were the one who trashed that relationship.”

  Oliver’s gaze returned to hers, and she blinked at the desolation she saw there.

  “You’ll never know how much I regret that,” he admitted. “It was the worst possible betrayal, and I’m so sorry I hurt you so badly.”

  His quietly spoken words, sincere and heartfelt, soothed something deep inside that she hadn’t even realized was hurting—or perhaps she’d grown so accustomed to the pain she’d learned to live with it. But at the bald honesty in his expression, something long buried began to unfurl.

  “But I want you to know, you weren’t the only one who felt betrayed by that whole situation,” he told her quietly, and her jaw dropped.

  “I don’t understand,” she whispered, frowning. “Are you trying to imply that I was somehow at fault?” She felt a chill in her veins at the surprising change of direction.

  Oliver’s eyes widened, and he shook his head rapidly. “Good grief, no!” He waded out of the water until he stood before her, dripping, as the sun shone down on them. She watched a droplet trail down over his c
hest and traverse the dip and curve of his abdomen, before disappearing beneath the waistband of his trunks.

  “No, I’m not saying that.”

  Oliver ran his hand through his hair, and she watched as the warm breeze toyed with brown strands, ruffling them playfully. He squinted out over the water, and seemed to be choosing his words carefully.

  “I loved you, Hope,” he began quietly. “I’ve always loved you. You were my best friend, the most beautiful woman I’d ever met, both inside and out. You had this innocence, this joy about you,” he shrugged. “I was a goner from the moment I met you.” He smiled sadly. “I have never cheated on you,” he murmured, then tapped his temple. “At least, not up here.”

  “I was so happy. I had a job that I loved, my sister and I were reconnecting, and my girlfriend was so special. I was content to wait until you were ready. In my mind, I’d already made the commitment to you, and I respected you for not jumping into the sack with me, or anyone else, for that matter, until you were sure. And you’d told me exactly what you would do, what you would say, when you decided you were ready.”

  Her gaze flickered, and she clasped her hands under her chin. She remembered the discussion, the excitement that had built within her whenever she’d thought about taking that all-important step in their relationship. She also remembered the warmth she’d felt at his patience, at his readiness to wait for her—how cherished he’d made her feel. Oliver was the only man who’d ever made her feel truly treasured.

  “By the time your graduation party rolled around, things had been getting pretty steamy between us,” he said, and she nodded.

  “When a woman who looked so much like you, who wore the same dress and mask as you, as well as the necklace that I gave you, came up to me and whispered into my ear those exact words—I think I wanted to take that step so badly that I managed to convince myself it was the right thing to do. How was I to know your mother’s dress was identical to yours, that she’d got the necklace after you left it at the office? And that Ridge and I were wearing the same jacket …” He shook his head. “Crazy. Simply put, Brooke mistook me for Ridge—and I thought you were finally ready to commit to me. I was wrong, on so many levels.”

  Hope brushed at the tear that rolled down her cheek.

  “But I want you to know, I never once thought I was making love to Brooke—I never once wanted to make love to Brooke. You were always the one for me, Hope. Always and forever.”

  Oliver curled his toes in the sand, and she stared at the little indentations he made. “But you never once fought for us, Hope. Not like you did with Liam.” He smiled sadly. “And he’s done far worse to you than I ever would.”

  Hope frowned. His words hurt. He’d made love to her mother. The first man she’d even thought about “going there” with, and he’d made love to her mother on the patio, while there was a party going on inside, like some cheap, tawdry little thrill. That wasn’t how she’d wanted her first time to be, and she’d said so at the time.

  “How can you say that?” she whispered. Oliver had hurt her like no other man had, before or since.

  His brows rose. “How can I say that?” His tone was incredulous. “I had one lapse,” he said, holding up a finger. “Just one, and even during that lapse, I was fully committed to you. Liam, on the other hand, can marry another woman—not once, but twice, I might add—and then go on to have an emotional affair with that woman, cheat on you with her, get her pregnant when you and he are apparently talking about marriage, but I’m the one who has done you wrong?”

  A dull droning rang in her ears, and her eyelids fluttered as she looked away. “Liam and I—we had a connection.”

  Oliver sucked in a pained breath, and rubbed his chest. “Funny, so did we. You and I—we had an intimacy that went far beyond being physical. Can you say the same about you and Liam? Or Wyatt, for that matter?” He shook his head. “You’ve forgiven your mother. You’ve forgiven Liam in the past for his many failings with Steffy—but you won’t forgive me.”

  The droning in her ears was getting louder, and she tucked her hair back from her face.

  “I guess I was too stubborn to face that,” he told her quietly. “I kept holding on to hope.” He gave a rough laugh, and she flinched at the scratchy sound. “No pun intended. I just—I just thought that if we could stay friends, then maybe we could build on that. But I have to accept that you’ll never feel for me what I feel for you.” He turned and faced the sea. “I used to wish that you would remember that spark of self-worth in your relationship with Liam, and kick his butt to the curb. I hated myself for extinguishing that in you. I didn’t realize I’d extinguished it in me, too.” he said.

  She looked at him in surprise, feeling the agony in his words. “What do you mean?” she asked hoarsely. Did he mean to say he’d lost some of his self-respect?

  Since his indiscretion with her mother, Oliver had only been with one woman: Amber Moore. Hope grimaced at the memory of that greedy, grasping she-devil. She’d used Oliver in the worst way, using his access to Forrester Creations to steal designs. Then … Hope frowned. She couldn’t really remember him being in a steady relationship since.

  Oliver was gazing out to sea. She wasn’t sure if he hadn’t heard her question, or if he was trying to decide how to respond. “What are you saying?” she repeated.

  He shrugged and ruffled his hair. “I’m not sure. I just know that I felt really, really bad for so long, I guess I thought that was how I should always feel. You couldn’t forgive me, so how could I forgive myself?”

  He turned to face her. The droning she’d heard earlier was now a constant buzz in her ears, gradually getting louder.

  “But at some point, I have to forgive myself for what happened.” He shrugged. “I’m sorry, Hope. I’m sorry I hurt you. But I’m not going to continue punishing myself over something that happened years ago. If you can move on, so can I.”

  The buzzing became a roar, and Hope realized that Oliver could hear it too. He frowned, glancing up, as a helicopter appeared over the ridge of the cliff. They gaped at it for a moment, so unexpected was the sight, then Oliver started to yell and wave his arms, running along the beach.

  Hope stumbled behind him, tears tracking down her face as she screamed. Her ribs burned with the arm-waving, and she ended up limping to favor her side. She shrugged out of her shirt and waved it around like a flag, grimacing at the burn, but grinning when the helicopter flew low over them and the pilot gave them a thumbs-up signal.

  Chapter Twelve

  Oliver insisted she was winched up first. He helped the rescue crew strap her into the harness, and then stood back as they raised her, keeping a cautious eye on her progress. The beach was too narrow to land on, the rescuer had informed them. Oliver shrugged into the stiff, uncomfortable clothes he’d fetched from the cave as Hope slowly twirled away.

  They were being rescued. His knees were shaking, and he locked them into place as he watched Hope’s careful ascent. It wasn’t long before the rescuer returned for Oliver. Minutes later, he was on board and they were zooming over the waters toward the Hamilton Island rescue base. One of the helicopter crew handed them each a protein bar, and Oliver chewed his rapidly, washing it down with the water they handed him. It tasted like cardboard and chocolate, but he enjoyed every last crumb.

  They were able to radio in to the base, and he and Hope laughed at the jubilant roar that erupted over the radio when it was reported that the “two American tourists” had been located. He glanced out of the window, astounded at the amount of boats out on the water below.

  “They’re all looking for you,” one of the rescuers yelled at him over the noise of the helicopter, gesturing to the considerable fleet below. Oliver swallowed, humbled at the effort that had been launched on their behalf.

  He looked at their rescuers, who were grinning at him and Hope with relief.

  “Thank you,” he told them sincerely. “Thank you so much.”

  The rescuer who had spoken
earlier waved a casual hand. “No worries, mate.”

  Oliver rested his head against the window. The touch of a hand against his thigh caused him to look down, and he grasped Hope’s hand, squeezing it in response. He met her gaze briefly. There was relief and happiness there, but also something darker, more serious. He could feel it, too. Like the storm that had decimated their working vacation, this ordeal had tested and battered their relationship. He sighed. He’d meant what he’d said, back on the beach. He was sorry, but he wasn’t going to punish himself anymore. He hadn’t even realized that was what he’d been doing.

  Things had changed between them. Their relationship wasn’t necessarily better or worse, just different. He was torn, though. He felt like he was giving up, saying goodbye to the potential of “them”, but he also knew that he had to take a step forward, and give himself a break. He smiled sadly at Hope. Yeah, no worries.

  *

  The next twenty-four hours passed in a blur. When they finally arrived back at the island base, a doctor had checked them over. Then there was a press conference, which Hope handled as quickly and politely as she could, accustomed to the public scrutiny. She couldn’t help noticing Oliver’s surprise at finding himself the focus of the camera flashes for once. That was yesterday afternoon, and the last time she’d seen him.

  Hope leaned back in the lounge and gazed out through the plantation doors of her pavilion as the sun set low in the distance, bathing the skies and water with a fiery orange. She’d spent most of the day resting.

  “How are you feeling?” Rick asked from his seat opposite her. She had two cracked ribs and extensive bruising, she’d just eaten so much she feared she might slip into a food coma, and she was blissfully, fragrantly clean. She eyed the remains of the fruit basket she’d found at her front door that morning, accompanied by a note from Jasmine and the charter company. She’d eaten almost half of it.

  “I’m fine,” she responded. “How is James doing?” The captain of their yacht had suffered a massive heart attack, resulting in a stroke.