by Nicola Marsh
‘Because I thought you needed to be reminded of my whacky, insane personality, and factor that into the way I behaved the last time we were together.’ ‘Oh.’
So much for being the articulate consummate professional.
‘If you promise to listen, I’ll untie them.’
He liked having her tied up at his mercy, but voicing that particular opinion wouldn’t get them anywhere except naked and hot—two things he’d like, but would do little to solve their problems.
‘Go ahead.’
It was bad enough reining in his rampant impulse to devour her while she was hog-tied, but when she bent forward to slip the chains off her ankles and he glimpsed a flash of black lace at her cleavage he clenched his fists to stop from reaching for her.
Instead he headed for the discreet bar tucked away in a cabinet, poured himself a double shot of whisky and downed it straight.
When he heard blissful silence, meaning she’d finished slipping out of those damn chains, he risked a glance over his shoulder.
‘Want a drink?’
‘No, thanks.’
She was fiddling with an earring, twisting it till the thing should have snapped.
‘Can we talk?’
‘Sure,’ he managed to croak out, before clearing his throat and gesturing towards the modular suite forming an L in the far corner.
He waited for her to sit before choosing the sofa opposite. The double shot might have cleared his head momentarily, but he had a feeling sitting too close to Gemma would befuddle it faster than he could blink.
She sat with her hands clasped in her lap, shoulders squared, spine straight, as if someone had stuck a rod down the back of her T-shirt. It was so far at odds with the laid-back woman comfortable in her own skin he knew she had to be as nervous as he was.
‘I want to apologise for freaking out on you when you told me about the publicity and why you hired me,’ she said, staring at some point over his left shoulder. ‘It came from left field and really shook me up.’
She took a deep breath, straining against the fabric on her T-shirt, and he maintained eye contact with great effort.
‘I don’t do relationships as a rule, and you’re the first guy I’ve dated in a while, so I felt betrayed and confused and—Ah, hell, this is becoming long-winded.’
She tugged on both earrings, managing to twist off a tentacle or two.
‘What I’m trying to say is I shouldn’t have run like that. I wanted to call, but thought this apology warranted a face-to-face meeting.’
She finally looked at him, expecting an answer, but his mind blanked.
What could he say? That he’d had an awful week because he missed her so much it felt like a permanent ache lodged in his chest? That he’d given up on them? That even if they tried this again how would he know she wouldn’t do a runner again at some point in the future?
He settled for the simplest response.
‘I’m glad you’re here.’
One eyebrow rose in a sceptical arch. ‘Really? Because you don’t look it.’
‘I’m thrown, that’s all.’
That wasn’t all, and they both knew it.
‘You’re peed off at me.’
He could lie, try to smooth things over, but what would be the point? If they stood any chance it had to be truth all the way from now on. ‘Guess it’s not every day I tell a woman I love her and she flings it back in my face.’
She winced. ‘That was tactless. Not one of my proudest moments.’ Her fiddling fingers stilled and she raised a hesitant glance. ‘Did you mean it?’
‘I’m not in the habit of saying things I don’t mean.’
Jeez, could he sound any more uptight and pompous if he tried? Yeah, he was angry with her, but he had to let it go. Or walk away. Something he couldn’t imagine doing at this point.
‘I—I thought you said it to get me to forgive you.’
The thought had struck him while mulling it over these last few days. Had he thrown it out there in desperation? For fear of losing her? He didn’t think so. Then again, did he really have a clue what love was?
‘Honestly? I haven’t had good role models in the love stakes. My grandfather was a tyrant who showed affection with gruffness. And you know my mum upped and left when I was a kid. Dad equates love with the latest model he can sweet-talk into his bed. I date. I don’t do love.’
Her shoulders sagged at his bluntness, but the defiance never left her eyes. ‘I keep hoping you’ll clarify that with until now.’
‘Do you want me to?’
‘I just want the truth,’ she said, her weary tone echoing the tiredness seeping through him. ‘It’s something I haven’t had too much of lately.’
‘What—?’
‘Just some stuff I’ve learned from my mum.’ She took a deep breath and eyeballed him. ‘Let me get this straight. I’ve apologized. You’ve semi-forgiven me. You say you love me but you don’t do love.’ She held her hands out palm-up and shrugged. ‘Where do we go from here?’
‘Damned if I know,’ he muttered, hating the confusion clouding his head.
He wanted to clear up this mess and move on, but he was tired and grumpy—and wary. Wary of taking a chance, wary of having it blow up in his face again, but most of all wary of the power she held over him.
He didn’t like having someone else responsible for his happiness, didn’t like depending on anyone. Yet in a short period of time he’d done just that, and while Gemma had come here to apologise she hadn’t given him any clue as to her feelings.
He wanted to give her a definitive answer, but right now he was running on empty.
‘My work here is done.’ She stood so abruptly she banged her knee on the table. He instinctively reached out to touch it but she swiftly sidestepped. ‘I came here to see where we stand. Guess I have my answer.’
He should have stopped her, should have blurted out his innermost thoughts and deepest fears. But that would involve taking a monumental risk—even bigger than the one he’d taken when assuming the CEO role at Devlin Corp.
Could he do it?
One look at her downturned mouth and shimmering eyes and slumped shoulders was all the incentive he needed.
‘Gemma, wait—’
She didn’t, and he watched her walk out through the door, taking a piece of him with her again.
Gemma made it to the lift before the tears burning the backs of her eyes fell. Of all the stubborn, emotionally repressed, uptight jerks she had to go and fall in love with him.
She’d known it had been a mistake from the start, had lowered her defences regardless. Idiot.
Slow-burning anger replaced her indignation. Anger at herself for reneging on her staunchly independent stance and getting emotionally involved.
Mistake. Big mistake.
Her tears evaporated as anger took hold, refusing to be ignored.
Who the hell did he think he was? Telling her he loved her, then retreating behind his austere front despite her taking a risk and coming here?
He wasn’t the only emotionally repressed person around here. She saw one in the mirror every morning, but she’d managed to reach out. Why couldn’t he?
Fuming, she dashed a hand across her eyes and punched at the button, willing the numbers to accelerate quickly so she could get the hell out of here.
‘ Gemma, wait!’
Damn. She jabbed at the button repeatedly, her heart sinking as the lift stuck on the tenth floor. Swearing, she eyed the fire escape and wondered if she could jog down eighteen flights of stairs even as a hand clamped on her shoulder, effectively ending her escape plans.
‘Please, come back to the office—’
‘Why? So you can sit there and pretend you don’t care? No, thanks.’
He blanched. ‘You need to hear the truth.’
She shrugged off his hand, but he didn’t let her go so easily, grabbing both her upper arms, blocking her, giving her no option but to look up at him.
‘The tr
uth? After the charade you’ve been perpetuating? Like you’d know what that is.’
She scored a direct hit and shame shadowed his gutted gaze. ‘Please, Gemma, just five minutes.’
She owed him nothing. Apart from a swift kick where those bull-ants really should have bitten.
‘Give me one good reason why I should go back into that office with you.’
He had exactly one second to make his answer count.
‘When I said I love you, it wasn’t an excuse to justify what I did. I do. Love you. And I want a chance to show you how much.’
The lift pinged and the doors slid open.
She had two options. Walk away now and preserve what was left of her shredded heart. Or give this one last shot.
‘I won’t let you down again, I promise.’
Her chest constricted, making it difficult to breathe. Her dad had used to make promises all the time.
We’ll build that go-kart on the weekend, Gem. Promise. We’ll check out my new secret fishing spot on the bay next week. Promise. We’ll go hiking at the Grampians next summer. Promise.
Her dad had kept every promise he’d ever made to her. Would Rory? She’d done so much with her dad—at the expense of her mum, so she’d learned.
Ironically, thinking of Coral cemented her decision.
Don’t waste a minute of your life wishing you could change a situation without giving it a damn good shake-up first.
Her mum was right. She didn’t want to spend the next few months, maybe a lifetime, regretting that she hadn’t given this a shake-up.
Not wanting to give in too easily, she tilted her head up, silenced him with a haughty glare before he could plead again.
‘Just so you know, if a guy breaks a promise to me I use these chains to lash him to a concrete block and drop him off the end of Station Pier.’
She rattled her bag for emphasis and the corners of his mouth curved.
‘I’ll keep that in mind,’ he said, slipping a hand under her elbow and guiding her back to his office.
When she hesitated at the door his grip tightened, as if he expected her to bolt.
‘We owe this to ourselves,’ he said, his breath fanning her hair, tickling her scalp.
She nodded in agreement, but was nervous nonetheless. What could he possibly say to convince her to take a chance?
They entered the office and he spun to face her, but before he could speak she held up a hand. ‘Start at the beginning and tell me everything. The truth this time.’
He frowned, his hand unsteady as he jammed it through his hair, ruffling his usually immaculate short back and sides.
‘Devlin Corp had problems with protestors on our last big progect. It almost ruined us. Dad was in charge up at Port Douglas. There was a huge fuss and negative media input, saying we were ravaging the rainforest and worse.’
‘Were you?’
He tensed, started pacing. ‘My father isn’t a businessman. He didn’t have a clue. Hired the wrong consultants, took shortcuts, didn’t read the fine print. Whatever he touched, it was a mess.’ He drew in a long breath, blew it out. ‘I stepped in to clean it up.’
‘Then I came along and you thought you’d use me to fend off similar potential problems?’
He had the grace to nod imperceptibly. ‘You were so gung-ho at the start I wanted to get rid of you. Then I saw your pitch and it blew me away. I knew you’d be an asset to the project. Around the same time I saw another mention of my father in the papers …’ He winced. ‘It was all about timing. You were hell-bent on scoring the job to protect your father’s land. I was hell-bent on protecting my project from my father.’
She couldn’t fault his logic, but it didn’t detract from the fact he’d unashamedly used her.
‘You saw it as a win-win.’ She wanted to jab a finger in his direction but was too afraid it would shake. ‘The consummate businessman, thinking about the bottom dollar, screw emotions.’
Stricken, he locked his gaze on hers. ‘I didn’t expect to fall for you.’
‘That must’ve mucked up your perfectly constructed plan. Tell me—that picture of us together at Portsea. What was that about?’
He shook his head. ‘A mistake. The publicity highlighting your strengths was all I wanted in the papers. Some over-enthusiastic journo must’ve wanted a scoop and continued to tail you.’
‘Nice.’
He held his hands out to her, palms up. ‘I’m sorry. I should’ve told you the truth from the beginning.’
‘Yeah, you should’ve.’ She twisted an earring, deriving little comfort from her marine friend. ‘I opened up to you, told you how Mum had made me feel, like I was never good enough. Then you go and do the same.’
Horror widened his eyes, but she held up her hand to stave off a response.
‘You told me not to doubt myself, that I was amazing, then you belittled me by doing this. Do you know what it felt like? A double betrayal. I thought you really understood me, the first guy to ever do that, then I discovered it was a ruse to protect your precious bloody company.’
‘My love for you was never a ruse,’ he said, the anguish contorting his mouth not detracting from its sensuous curve. ‘I would never fake anything like that.’
Resisting the urge to rub away the agonising ache over her heart, she headed for the door. ‘Good to know, but it doesn’t change a thing—’
‘Marry me.’
She stopped dead and stared at him in disbelief.
‘I know what you’re thinking. Who wants to marry a boorish workaholic who spends his life worrying about his business, using the people he loves for it, and can’t see the best thing that ever happened to him even when she chains herself to whatever’s handy to grab his attention?’
He waved his hand around the office.
‘See this? It was my life till I met you. I’d have done anything for the business, including risk losing you. Using you for publicity and good PR and to deter protestors. Stupid. Monumentally stupid. Not any more.’
He took her hand and dropped to one knee. She was too stunned to do anything but gape.
‘I’ve stuffed up again, blurting that proposal like I blurted how much I love you.’ He raised her hand to his lips and kissed the back. ‘This time I’m doing it right. I love you, Gemma. Love your quirkiness and exuberance and your conviction in standing up for what you believe in. Love you for who you are, inside and out. Love how you’ve opened my eyes in so many ways. Love how you make me feel a better man when I’m with you.’
He turned her hand over and kissed her palm, sending dizzying warmth spiralling through her.
‘I’m hoping you can forgive me for stuffing up and not telling you the truth earlier. I’m hoping you can believe in me. Enough to be my wife.’
Gemma stared at the man she loved kneeling in front of her, genuine love radiating from his eyes.
To see this strong, powerful, commanding man vulnerable to her made her realise she wasn’t the only one with insecurities. When it came to love, it made nervous ninnies of them all.
‘An answer some time this century would be nice, before I chain myself to a concrete block.’
She tugged on his hand, waiting till he stood before flinging herself into his arms, savouring the security of being held by the man she’d thought she’d lost.
He hugged her tight, mirroring her desire to never let go. She’d hold him to that.
When he released her, an eternity later, she stared into his incredible blue eyes, needing no further assurances.
People like them, who didn’t trust their feelings, didn’t open up easily. She believed him when he said he’d wanted to tell her the truth earlier, probably at that tiny café when she’d asked him not to spoil the moment.
But he’d opened up to her in every other way that counted, and to have the unswerving love of a guy like him …? She’d be a fool to walk away from what they could have.
While his declaration had been amazing, and she’d needed to hear him
articulate his feelings, she should have trusted the depth of his love all along—for no one could fake the emotion shining from his eyes.
‘So?’
She cupped his face. ‘So I’m thinking October would be perfect for a spring wedding.’
He let out a jubilant whoop, picked her up and swung her around until they were breathless.
Rory pulled an all-nighter.
Gemma didn’t mind. She was right there by his side, and work was the furthest thing from their minds.
EPILOGUE
‘I NOW pronounce Portsea Point officially open.’
As the mayor cut the ribbon across the main road leading into the precinct, Rory squeezed Gemma’s hand.
She glanced up at her husband and smiled through her tears.
Today had been bittersweet in so many ways: walking through the houses which would soon be filled with laughter and cooking aromas and squabbling siblings, touring her dad’s land where the newly built marine preservation park would soon be enjoyed by families and tourists and anyone with a passion for this beautiful beach.
Rory and Devlin Corp had come through for her, constructing the conservation area exactly the way she’d envisaged, and she hoped the people who lived here would love this place as much as her dad had.
‘Let’s get out of here.’
Rory tugged on her hand and she didn’t need encouragement to follow his lead. He’d done his duty, making an inspiring speech before the mayor. Besides, she knew where he was leading her.
Their spot.
They slipped through the crowd and turned left, walking in silence till they reached the end of the road where it opened into a car park. A huge wooden sign hung over the entrance.
KARL SHULTZ MEMORIAL PARK. The words had been carved into the wood by a local craftsman, and her throat constricted as it always did when she saw the evidence of how much her husband loved her.
They didn’t speak. Rory allowed her time to absorb the significance of this as he always did, respecting her need for private memories as she silently connected with her dad.
They walked through the sand-gravel mix to the entrance of the park—a sprawling acre edged by a natural ti-tree border. There was no sea wall that would have long-term disastrous consequences for the beach beyond.