Stormswept: The Bold and the Beautiful
Page 13
He couldn’t help responding to her smile with one of his own.
“But seeing you with Jasmine, and—”
“Whoa—what’s this about Jasmine?” The name had come out of left field for him, and he was struggling to keep up with the conversation. He watched as heat bloomed across her cheeks.
“I saw you two, the day after we were rescued.”
He frowned, trying to remember. “Wait, do you mean when she dropped off the fruit basket?”
Hope blinked. “If that’s what you call it …”
He nodded. “Yes, she dropped off a fruit basket. She said she’d left one at your door, too. She wanted to apologize for what happened to us.”
Hope’s mouth opened. “Oh.” She frowned. “Actually, I do remember a fruit basket.” She gazed up at him, and then her eyes widened in understanding. “Oh!”
He stared at her for a moment, his eyes narrowing. “What did you think we were doing?”
“Uh, nothing,” she said, trying to maintain eye contact. That was another tell—that wide-eyed innocent look that didn’t quite stick. He shook his head in disbelief.
“Were you—were you jealous?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head and waving her hand casually. She met his gaze. “Well, okay, yes, like a green-eyed monster,” she admitted.
Hope was jealous. “And this sudden need to share this with me now …?”
She took a deep breath, as though girding herself for battle. “I don’t want you to go. I want you to stay. I need you. I—I love you.”
He felt like he’d been punched in the gut.
“Huh?”
“I love you, Oliver Jones.”
“Do you mean—as a friend?” God, he hoped not.
She leaned up on tiptoe to brush her lips against his. “That, and more,” she said, the words whispering across his cheek. She clasped his face with both hands.
“I think I’ve always loved you, I just wasn’t ready to admit it—to you, or to me. I want us, Oliver. I feel safe with you, I feel like I matter with you, and that’s something special that I only feel with you.”
He tried to swallow, but his mouth was as dry as that red rock in the middle of the Australian outback.
“Of course you matter, Hope. You always have.”
“It took you to remind me,” she said, then leaned up to kiss him again.
This time he opened his mouth, welcoming her kiss like a drowning man seeks air. He pulled her into his arms, enfolding her. Their tongues entwined, and heat immediately engulfed him.
It was always like that with Hope—instant fire. He slid his hand down her side, cupping her breast through the thin fabric of her dress. Her nipple jutted against his palm, and she moaned against his lips as he handled her breast. Sweet heaven. Sweet, sweet heaven.
His hand trailed down her side, over her hip, until he reached the hem of her dress and her upper thigh.
Silken smooth skin. He shuddered as she did something wicked with her tongue inside his mouth, and her hands ran over his shoulders and down his back, scoring his skin with her nails.
His hand slid up under her skirt, and his eyes widened as his fingers encountered her skimpy lace panties. He palmed her flesh, and she moaned, arching her back and rubbing her breasts against his chest.
Things were flaring too hot, too fast. He pulled his head away from hers, and tried to catch his breath.
“What’s wrong?” Hope gasped, the fabric of her dress chafing his chest with every breath.
“We need to stop,” he gulped.
“Why?”
He looked at her for a moment, and took a breath to calm himself. She wasn’t ready to stop yet. Okay. “Just—just tell me when you want to stop.” He wasn’t going to rush her, he wasn’t going to make her do anything she’d later regret.
She slid her hands into his hair and tugged his head forward until he met her gaze.
“I love you, Oliver.” The words were a balm to the dark place inside his heart that he’d carried ever since he’d betrayed her.
“I love you, too, Hope. Always and forever.”
“So let’s not stop.”
*
Hope watched as confusion clouded his features. She could feel his arousal pressed against her, the towel doing little to disguise it. His hand cupped her butt. He wanted her, she could feel it, yet he was ready to stop if she wanted to. She didn’t know whether to thank him or to hit him.
She kissed him instead, pouring all of her desire, her love, into the kiss.
He groaned into her mouth, his hand stroking her with a heavy passion that was intoxicating.
He raised his hands to her head, taking control of the kiss, tilting her head to gain better access to her mouth. He kissed like a dream, always had.
Hot need flashed through her, and she writhed against him, trying to show him how much she wanted him. He started to back her toward the bed, and something brushed her calves. The towel. He’d lost his towel.
Her hands slid down his back, and she shuddered. He was glorious—muscled, lean, with a strength that rippled with each movement.
They stopped when the backs of her legs came in contact with the bed. Without taking his lips from hers, his hands went to the zipper at her back, and the slow glide of it along her body was like a loud siren, clear in its intent.
She shrugged out of the garment, then raised her arms and wrapped them around his neck, relishing the feel of his hard body against hers.
He lifted his head, and looked her straight in the eye, his cheeks flushed with desire. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, touching the skin over her ribs, where her bruises had turned to a pale yellow and green. “Tell me if you want to stop,” he rasped at her.
She shook her head. “I’m fine. Don’t stop.” She was. She only felt the slightest twinge every now and then, but her desire for Oliver easily canceled out any discomfort.
He closed his eyes briefly, then dipped his head and kissed her, hard, his hands at the back of her bra, expertly undoing the clasp. She lowered her arms to let the garment fall, then felt his chest against her naked torso, and shivered. Her breasts swelled, her nipples tightening.
His hands slid down her back as he pulled her to him, and she could feel his hardness against her tummy.
His fingers tugged at the lace of her panties, and he dropped to one knee to drag them down her leg. She stepped out of them, and he looked up at her.
She stood before him, naked, exposed, but his expression was one of almost worship. She felt no hesitation, no embarrassment. This was her friend, her first love. The man who had shown her, over and over, his love and respect for her. She opened her arms to him, and he rose to embrace her, lowering her ever so gently onto the bed. The crisp cotton of the linen was almost a shock against her heated skin.
Oliver kissed her slowly, almost reverently, before levering himself up off her, and at last she had an opportunity to look, really look, at his gorgeous body. His chest was toned, well-defined, his abdomen delineated with muscle that rippled with each breath he took, his torso tapering to lean hips, and down to … Her lips curved. He was beautiful.
“You know I love you, right?” he said to her, his gaze serious, his lips tight with passion.
She nodded, skimming her hands up his strong arms. “Yes, and I love you.”
“If you need to—”
“Don’t stop.” She held his face, and this time it was her expression that showed her sincerity. “I love you, Oliver. I want you … I want us. I trust you, I have faith in us. I’m committed to you.”
He closed his eyes, but his face clearly showed his vulnerability. He finally opened his eyes as he lowered himself to cover her body. “I’m committed to you,” he whispered against her lips. “Marry me?”
Her breath hitched, then warmth bloomed in her heart, flooding her body with joy.
“Yes,” she said.
“I love you, always and forever,” he said, as he leaned in close.
/>
“Always and forever,” she promised right back, and welcomed him into her body.
He paused, relishing the exquisite sensation, until she moved beneath him, moaning. Then he groaned, gazing into her eyes, and made slow, sweet love to her as the sun slowly set outside, bathing the room in a golden glow.
*
Hope strode down the catwalk, confidence lifting her chin and adding a little bounce to her step. The crowd was loud and appreciative, and each of the designs had been met with applause.
She turned one way, then the other, artfully holding the skirt of the dress so the fabric flowed and shimmered under the lights. Music, a thumping modern beat infused with the Aboriginal didgeridoo, was a perfect partner for their designs. Modern tribe. Global community. A smile spread across her face as cameras flashed. News crews were stationed in the rear, and she made sure to wink at a couple of the cameras before turning to strut her way back to the curtain.
The silk curtain had been printed with a scene from the outback, and silk banners lined the reception hall, each depicting some of Australia’s beautiful and unique scenery. She halted, then turned, and looked up at the stunning architecture of the iconic building. The Sydney Opera House. She could barely believe that she was modeling the HFTF line in such a prestigious location.
She set off down the runway again, conscious of her fellow models following her out as they sashayed down the impromptu stage wearing the showcase designs. She swung her hips in time to the music, a secret smile on her face. She was happy.
No, she was more than happy. She was thrilled, giddy and content, all wrapped up in one ecstatic package.
She stopped at the end of the runway, beaming as the crowd got to their feet, cheering and clapping. Oliver was down near the front, snapping away. He grinned at the crowd, then winked at her.
A stage hand hurried over to her, carrying a microphone. She had to wait several minutes for the uproar to die down.
“Thank you, thank you all so much for that,” she said to the crowd. “We first want to thank you all for your support, it means so much to be so warmly received here in this beautiful building that honors beautiful, creative art.” She gestured to the soaring arched windows, still not quite believing the experience was real.
“HFTF is all about embracing community by empowering the individual. Being true to oneself, and having the freedom and courage to express oneself, are qualities that I feel are very reflective of my own values, and of Forrester Creations—respect, honor, freedom, and love—and we’ve tried to pull that into all our designs.” She had to pause again as the crowd erupted.
She laughed. “Again, thank you all so much. While I may be a spokesperson for HFTF, there are many more people involved behind the scenes. Our designer, Caroline Spencer, for one,” she called, then waited for Caroline to join her on stage, to the sound of wild cheers. Caroline’s face was flushed with pleasure as she waved to the crowd. “Thomas Forrester, another of our talented designers, as well as Forrester Creations’ Vice-President.” The cheers took on a decidedly feminine pitch when Thomas took to the stage. “And of course, President of Forrester Creations, my very clever brother, Rick Forrester,” she said, and grinned when her brother strode confidently onto the catwalk, nodding at the crowd.
She turned to face the hall at large. “And there’s one person who is very dear to us, and without whom I wouldn’t be here.” She looked down at Oliver, whose eyes widened when he realized what she was about to do. “Oliver Jones, our chief photographer.”
Cameras flashed and journalists jostled as the now famous hero reluctantly took to the stage. He shook his head at her, smiling in exasperation.
She raised the microphone to her lips, not wanting him to miss a word. “My friend, my confidant, my love. I want you to know, I have complete faith in you. Thank you for not giving up.” She knew most people would presume she was referring to his saving her life, which had been widely broadcasted. But she knew he understood what she was really saying.
His expression briefly showed surprise as she stretched up to kiss him. She held her lips to his for a moment, her touch tender and loving as she shared the man of her heart with the world.
His hand delved into her hair and he kissed her back, bending her over his arm. She laughed against his lips, then stopped as he kissed her hotly, tenderly. Her best friend, her lover.
And the crowd went wild.
Acknowledgments
There are so many elements that go into creating a story—not least of all my plotting buddies. Thanks so much to Amy Andrews again, for the chats on what we could possibly do to our characters.
Thank you to Hannah Brown, from Sunsail, for her patience and expertise on all things sailing in the Whitsundays.
Thanks again to the Momentum Books and Pan Macmillan teams—these stories are a wonderful collaboration, and I do so enjoy the experience.
And thanks to The Bold and the Beautiful writing team, as well as the gorgeous cast who inspire these stories!
About Shannon Curtis
Shannon Curtis has worked as an office admin manager, customer service rep, logistics supervisor, dangerous goods handler, event planner, “switch bitch” and betting agent.
She loved reading from an early age and decided to combine her passion for action and romance by penning a novel. Her first two books were shortlisted for Favourite Romantic Suspense for 2012 & 2013 by the Australian Romance Readers Association.
She is also the author of Collision Course, one of the first titles published with THE BOLD AND THE BEAUTIFUL.
She lives in Sydney with her family and various pets, and dreams of one day having a library like the one in Beauty and the Beast (as long as she doesn't have to clean it).
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First published by Momentum in 2014
This edition published in 2014 by Momentum
Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Ltd
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Copyright © BBL Distribution 2014
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
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A CIP record for this book is available at the National Library of Australia
Stormswept: The Bold and the Beautiful
EPUB format: 9781760080808
Mobi format: 9781760080815
Based on the television series by Bradley P. Bell
Story Editor, Rhonda Friedman
Cover photo by Gilles Toucas
Cover design by Carrie Kabak
Edited by Vanessa Lanaway
Proofread by Dianne Blacklock
Macmillan Digital Australia: www.macmillandigital.com.au
To report a typographical error, please visit momentumbooks.com.au/contact/