by Nicola Marsh
‘These friends aren’t going to ply me with suspect cookies and homebrew before pushing me off a pier?’
‘Wait and see.’
He didn’t trust her exaggerated wink any more than his resolution to keep things between them casual.
Gemma slipped her mask and snorkel on, trying not to ogle Rory in his wetsuit. How the man managed to make rubber look good was beyond her.
He seemed unfazed by the whole adventure, and she wondered if anything ever rattled him.
When she’d procured bathing suits and they’d boarded the boat at Sorrento, he’d merely raised an eyebrow and settled in for the ride.
How many times had her dad brought her out here? Twenty? Thirty? She never tired of snorkelling at Popes Eye Marine National Park, a small semi-circle of rocks between Queenscliff and Sorrento. The shallow protected waters teemed with colourful fish and marine life, and today she’d get to share that with Rory.
Before the main event.
‘Ready?’
He nodded and gave a thumbs-up. ‘As I’ll ever be.’
‘You’ve done this before, right?’
He dangled his snorkel and mask on the end of his finger, swinging along with the gentle swell buffeting the boat. ‘Snorkelling? Yeah. Here in the icy waters of Port Phillip Bay? Not on your life.’
‘Trust me, it’s worth it.’
Especially the way he was looking at her at that moment, with admiration and something deeper darkening his eyes.
They joined the group entering the water, and for the next half-hour stayed close as they snorkelled around the national park.
As a kid, she’d loved the fact this place had been constructed as an incomplete island fort during the late 1800s, and had imagined herself as a pirate, a sea captain and a mermaid—in that order.
When they finally broke the surface of the water Gemma pointed upwards, delighting in Rory’s open-mouthed awe.
‘There’s a unique rookery of Australasian gannets around here. Watch this.’
A large gannet with an impressive two-metre wingspan swooped fast, plunging into the bay at high speed. Rory held his breath, and she revelled in his surprise when the bird reappeared with a fish in its beak.
‘They’re excellent plunge divers.’
‘I can see that.’
They bobbed in the water for a few moments, but this time he wasn’t looking at the local wildlife. He had the strangest expression as he stared at her, as if he was seeing her for the first time.
The group leader gave a shout to round them up, and when she climbed back aboard she put the shivery feeling shimmying through her body down to the frigid water rather than the intensity of his stare.
‘What’s next?’
‘You’ll see.’
He didn’t push her for info, content to sit next to her, close enough that their rubber-clad thighs brushed. Those shivers were tiptoeing down her spine with increasing frequency, making her want to snuggle into him.
A short time later he shifted and sat upright. ‘Are those seals?’
‘Uh-huh. Welcome to Chinaman’s Hat seal platform.’
His genuine grin gladdened her heart. ‘Are these your friends?’
‘No, you’ll meet them shortly. But you’ll like these guys too—you have something in common.’
‘We do?’
‘Yeah. They’re a bachelor community of Australian Fur Seals and they can get grumpy if approached.’
He laughed out loud. ‘By “something in common”, I’m hoping you mean we’re bachelors?’
‘And the rest,’ she said, her sickly sweet smile garnering her a hip-to-shoulder bump.
‘I’m not grumpy.’
She wondered how far she should take this, before deciding to give him another nudge. ‘Maybe not grumpy. A tad withdrawn?’
His eyes clouded and she immediately regretted bringing it up out here and spoiling their outing.
‘End of a long working week. I’m usually mellow.’
Mellow? Was that what he called a well-executed retreat?
‘Uh-huh,’ she mumbled in vague agreement.
She was a fool. What had she expected? For him to admit he was back-pedalling because he didn’t want this to get complicated between them? For him to confess he was as scared as her of any emotional involvement but was sorely tempted regardless?
An awkward silence stretched between them and she plucked at the rubber stretched taut on her thigh. Then he said, ‘Gemma, I don’t want—’
‘Dolphins!’
Once the cry went up everyone crowded to the side of the boat and the moment vanished.
As they re-entered the water, she wondered if he’d been about to say I don’t want complications, I don’t want a relationship or, the worst possibility, I don’t want you.
Before she slipped on her mask and snorkel she waved at the small pod of Bottlenose dolphins nearby.
‘Meet my friends. If they don’t convince you to look after the local beaches, nothing will.’
Wisely, he remained silent, but the understanding flash in his eyes before he slid his mask on gave her hope.
They slipped into the water in small groups, and while they held on to mermaid lines and allowed the curious dolphins to come to them Gemma watched Rory.
She saw the first moment a dolphin swam within touching distance and his eyes crinkled at the corners in delight, saw the awe on his face when a group of five dolphins leapt out of the water, saw the workaholic executive melt away beneath the onslaught of these beautiful creatures.
When they’d finally made it back on the boat and stripped out of their gear it took him a full ten minutes before he spoke.
‘I get it,’ he said, his voice low, his tone reverent, and she refrained from flinging her arms around his neck and hugging the life out of him—just.
She settled for touching his hand. ‘I’m glad.’
He turned his hand over, sliding his fingers between hers, holding on tight, and that was how they remained for the return journey to Sorrento.
Holding hands, her head resting on his shoulder, watching the sun set in a dazzling display of mauve and gold and pink, streaking the sky with beauty.
Gemma didn’t believe in romance or fairytales or happily-ever-afters. But this? It came pretty darn close to topping her list of life’s perfect moments.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
RORY had swum in the crystal clear ocean around the Maldives, had snorkelled in Fiji and dived in the Caribbean with Bert on a rare child-friendly trip in his early teens. But nothing beat the swim he’d had today.
Initially unimpressed by the icy waters of Port Phillip Bay, he’d quickly warmed up—courtesy of Gemma’s wide-eyed enthusiasm and her ‘friends’.
The laughs had been on him when he’d realised his vision of dreadlocked hippies was in reality a pod of dolphins.
Devlin Corp donated to various conservation causes, but he’d be lying if he didn’t admit that had more to do with tax breaks than any real love of marine wildlife.
Gemma had opened his eyes today, and while he wouldn’t be diving into that shiver-inducing water on a regular basis, he knew he’d take a more personal role in his company’s causes.
What he’d seen on that dolphin dive—her enthusiasm, her animation, her verve—had reaffirmed that marine science wasn’t just a job to her. She truly believed in the cause and her ethics blew him away.
He couldn’t fathom how he could have been attracted to women who were torn between the Caesar salad and the wonton soup, women who valued their six-hundred-dollar pairs of designer shoes more than the ozone, women who prided themselves on etiquette and appearances but were shallower than the rock pools where the boat had docked.
Being with Gemma, her refreshing honesty and exuberance and lack of pretence, made him feel like a new man—a man capable of handling a spontaneous, vivacious woman, a man capable of change.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d played hooky. He was rarely sick and n
ever lolled around. The closest he came to relaxing was the occasional sauna at the gym, and even that had him edgy after fifteen minutes.
Spending the afternoon swimming with dolphins should have had him going stir-crazy. Instead he’d loved it. Gemma had intrigued him from the start, and now, after discovering another side to this incredibly multi-faceted woman, he knew he was in serious trouble.
He’d bounded up the wooden steps of the Baths Café in Sorrento, where they were stopping for a snack before heading home, when his phone buzzed.
He’d left it in the car all afternoon: another first. He never went anywhere without his phone—needed to be connected to his business at all times. Yet he hadn’t given Devlin Corp a second thought all day and that sobered him.
He was acting just like his dad. Putting personal needs first, acting on a whim, forgetting the implications for Devlin Corp.
Hell.
He’d sworn never to be like Bert—had made a commitment to Devlin Corp. So what was he doing, losing his head over a woman who would be out of his life sooner rather than later?
Annoyed at his afternoon lapse, he scrolled through the messages. He tensed when he spied the latest from his PA Denise.
Check out the Melbourne Daily late edition.
With a few taps on his bookmarks he brought up the online paper and flipped through the pages. On page eight, in full Technicolor glory, was a picture of Gemma talking into her Dictaphone on the beach this morning: focussed, wind-blown, magnificent.
He skimmed the article, vindicated by the numerous mentions of Devlin Corp and its continual rise to the top, interspersed with the story of the company’s dedication to the environment in hiring Gemma. They extolled her virtues at length, listing her credentials and how her presence at Portsea Point would ensure marine viability alongside Devlin Corp’s signature homes.
He’d got what he wanted. Bert and his associated bad publicity for Devlin Corp had been wiped from the media, replaced by Gemma as the face of his new project. Positive spin all the way.
As his gaze focussed on that picture of Gemma in her natural glory, doing what she loved best, he wondered at what cost.
With Devlin Corp at stake he’d done what he had to do. But how would Gemma feel about it? Technically he wasn’t using her, merely boosting her profile as the company’s latest and greatest consultant, but would his genuine motivation count for anything when he told her the truth?
With her waiting for him inside the café, guilt twanged his conscience—hard. He should tell her. It was the decent thing to do.
Turning off his phone for the first time ever, he stuck it in his pocket, mentally rehearsing what he’d say, how he’d explain his rationale without sounding like a jerk.
By the time he pushed through the glass door and caught sight of her, sitting on the veranda, all his good intentions flew out of the open window.
Her hair fluttered in the breeze like gold silk, and her eyes were wide and sparkling, reflecting the stunning blue of the bay behind her, as she caught sight of him and waved.
His resolve shot, revelations forgotten, he strode across the café, focussed on nothing but being with her.
Gemma never lazed around. She spent every moment of every day at high velocity, packing as much into her life as she could. She liked being busy at work, liked the satisfaction of a job well done. In her down-time she hiked and swam, preferring to keep moving.
The guys she’d dated hadn’t been interested in her frenetic pace. They’d preferred women to sloth around, lazing by a pool in a bikini rather than actually swimming. Guys who needed attention, guys so blatantly wrong for her she often wondered if that was the reason she’d dated them.
She’d never had the grand dream of settling down and getting married and raising a family, was too used to hiding behind the job she loved to avoid the pain of emotional involvement. Too used to her independent lifestyle, too used to packing up at a moment’s notice and traversing the world for work. She thrived on it and, while many might call her selfish, she liked her life just fine.
Getting to know Rory had changed all that.
It made no sense.
She hadn’t known him long.
He was a corporate big-wig; she was an environmental specialist.
He liked designer duds; she liked cheap, functional and funky.
They were light years apart in every way.
Yet seeing him come alive in the bay this afternoon, watching him open his eyes and his heart, see her for who she really was and what mattered, had shattered her illusions for ever.
It was okay to have the happily-ever-after dream with the right person.
Unexpectedly—catastrophically—she’d found him.
The guy she could see herself changing her life for.
A guy special enough that she could stay in Melbourne and build a life with him.
A guy worthy of investing in emotionally for the first time.
It wasn’t one specific thing but the whole package: his ability to make her laugh, to say the right thing, to make her feel like a beautiful woman with a glance.
She didn’t need compliments to feel good about herself; growing up a tomboy and working in a male-dominated environment, she was used to being one of the boys.
Facials, manicures and hair straighteners were as foreign to her as sequins and clutch bags and stilettos. Yet spending time with Rory made her feel more feminine, more appreciated, than she’d ever been.
The question was, what was she going to do about it?
She had a job to do on the Portsea project; that much was clear. Once the month was up? What then? Rory expected her to pack up and leave, a job well done. Should she tell him she might stick around?
The implications of a revelation that momentous made her shiver.
‘You cold?’
Rory sat beside her and draped an arm across her shoulders, rubbing her arm to warm her up. Holding hands on the boat after sharing the dolphin swim had changed something between them, breaking down his barriers, bringing them closer in a way she’d never expected.
He’d been more relaxed than she’d ever seen him, unconsciously touching her in unspoken agreement that he liked her despite not admitting it.
They were a fine pair: dancing around each other, emotionally stunted, terrified to take the first step. After that ride she felt as if they’d taken a leap into a scary abyss.
‘Not any more,’ she said, snuggling into him as if it was the most natural thing in the world, giving him a clear signal that she’d like to do this on an ongoing basis.
‘Fancy another coffee?’
‘No, thanks. I’m content to sit awhile if you are?’
‘I’m exactly where I want to be,’ he said, his expression inscrutable as he stared out at the choppy bay, at small waves created by a blustery wind.
Over two lattes each, and a massive blueberry muffin for her, all-day breakfast for him, they’d watched the ferry from Queenscliff dock and depart again, people strolling along the beach, kids playing in the icy shallows.
Gemma could have sat there all evening, letting the world pass her by, but as Rory’s arm remained wrapped around her she knew she had to tell him.
Someone like him didn’t come along every day and she’d be a fool to pretend otherwise. They might not have a lot in common, and she knew next to nothing about him, but she’d taken risks her entire life. What was one more?
The fact previous risks had been physical and this risk was emotional? She’d waste time second-guessing that later.
‘Rory?’
‘Hmm?’
Reluctant to move, but needing to see his reaction when she dropped her bombshell, she eased back and he removed his arm. She missed the contact, and emboldened by her decision, she placed a hand on his thigh.
‘I’m thinking of sticking around.’
Confusion creased his brow for a second, before realisation widened his eyes.
‘In Melbourne, you mean?’
‘Uh-huh.’
His thigh flexed beneath her palm, and she resisted the urge to stroke the firm sinews.
‘Once this job is finished, I might look around for something else to work on. What do you think?’
For a horrifying second panic flared in his eyes, before his lips curved into a smile.
‘I think that’s a great idea.’ He covered her hand with his.
She waited for him to say more, waited for him to say it would give them a chance to get to know one another, waited for him to say he was willing to take a chance if she was.
His silence unnerved her, but he hadn’t released her hand so she’d have to be happy with that. What had she expected? For a self-professed commitment-phobe to jump for joy?
It had taken her long enough to get to this point. She needed to give him time to get used to the idea that they might share more than a spark.
‘Good.’
She had the impression he wanted to say something, but a waitress came to clear the table and the moment passed.
‘We better make a move.’
A chill settled over her as they stood. It had little to do with the wind and more to do with the nagging feeling that, despite his words, her declaration had scared him more than he let on.
Coral usually spent Saturday evenings having dinner with friends. Gemma was counting on it as Rory dropped her off, but one glance at the driveway had her giving him a hurried kiss.
Coral’s Honda sat in front of her VW, meaning at any moment her mum would come waltzing out on the pretext of checking that a possum wasn’t devouring her roses, or some such guff, when in reality she’d want to scope out Rory. Gemma could only imagine how inadequate Coral might make her feel about spending time with someone as smooth and suited as him.
‘Today was great. We got heaps of work done, and you were a trooper on the dolphin swim, and the café was lovely, and—’
‘Is anything wrong?’
Darting a quick glance over her shoulder, and seeing an upstairs curtain twitch, she grimaced. ‘My mum’s queen bee on the local gossip grapevine. She thrives on it. So I’m trying to beat a hasty exit and leave you unmolested before she descends.’