BOUND TO HAPPEN

by Alison Kent

  And it obviously was still a relationship of sorts, or they wouldn't be so sensitive to each other, so moody, so emotional and defensive. Poe was right about that, too. Poe seemed to be right about a lot of things, Lauren found herself grudgingly forced to admit. A grudge she needed to let go of, based on misconceptions as it was. And she would. But not yet. Not when Poe's attraction to Anton remained a sore spot.

  Her hand on Anton's doorknob, Lauren took a deep breath and turned it, truly surprised not to find the room locked up tight. She didn't know why she was nervous. She knew this man better than she'd ever known any man, and he knew her better than any man had ever known her.

  It was that knowing that upped the stakes, the realization of how fragile this moment might become if she didn't step carefully, if she didn't choose the right words, if she didn't resist retaliation for the barbs she was sure he would throw. The fact that he'd taken himself off to bed with a bottle was proof enough of his hurt.

  But he was not innocent in this lovers' game they played. She would own up to her failings. She would not take responsibility for the wrongs he had to acknowledge.

  The door opened freely, quietly, into the room of the same neutral tropical pastels that defined the villa's color scheme. Anton wore the same shorts of khaki denim he'd had on at dinner, but now his torso was bare but for a dusting of light-blond hair. He lay on the bed farthest from the door, both pillows behind his head, as well as the one arm he'd crooked back.

  His other hand held the decanter balanced on the flat of his abs. It was a little less than the half-full it had been when he'd taken it from the table. He hadn't had much to drink, after all, which, Lauren hoped, meant he was sober enough, receptive enough, to talk.

  Though the door was already opened, she knocked. "Do you mind if I come in?"

  He stared at her with eyes that were clear and sober. "If I say no, are you going to go away?"

  For a moment she considered leaving, but it hit her that staying was actually the easiest course to take. She came into the room and closed the door behind her. "Actually, no. I don't think I want to go. At least not just yet."

  He gave a careless shrug with one shoulder. "All right. Say what you have to say."

  "And then get the hell out?" she asked.

  He didn't say anything. He didn't have to. She knew from his face she'd guessed right. But knowing he didn't want her there actually goaded her to stay. He wasn't the only one with a hard head.

  And since his hard head was a big part of their problem, this seemed the perfect time to soften him up. And didn't she know better than anyone how to soften him up?

  She made her way to the other bed, Doug's bed, scooted into the center and sat, legs crossed, facing him. She wore a soft cotton, melon-colored tank top that was really the top to her pajamas. The bottoms were the same brushed cotton in a Winnie-the-Pooh print, the set a birthday gift from Macy and nothing like Lauren's usual nightwear.

  She wondered if Anton even noticed. It had been a long time since he had seen her wearing anything in bed. She wondered, too—

  "What are you still doing up?" Anton frowned. "I figured after that performance with Jess and Poe earlier, you would've been standing in line for the next dare, since the game was all about sex."

  Lauren lifted a brow. Why did he have to have such a problem with her sexuality? She thought he'd have been thrilled with her assertive nature, but for some reason he'd always counted it a strike against her. "Actually, the party broke up after you left. Everyone but Sydney is in the hot tub on the sundeck."

  "So why are you here, instead of there? You want to fuck or something?" He watched her reaction carefully, no doubt expecting shock.

  Masking her pain was much more difficult. "I might. But I thought maybe we could talk first."

  He pulled the stopper from the decanter, set it on the bedside table and reached for his glass. He did it all while keeping his gaze steadily focused on her face. "You want we should talk about fucking?"

  This time Lauren had to bite her tongue. "Why don't we start with talking about feelings?"

  "Sure. Why not." He tossed back the bourbon he'd poured, wiped his mouth with the back of the hand holding the empty glass. "I feel … like fucking."

  Lauren blinked, blinked again, working to hold back her rising temper. Anger wouldn't get her anywhere and would only serve to give Anton the upper hand. She was determined to take Poe's advice, to go for it, to find out once and for all if this relationship had a chance to be saved.

  And if she wanted to succeed, she had to hold both her temper and her tongue. "That's the liquor talking, not you. The Anton I know is kind and smart and honest."

  She let that sink in a minute, though his blue eyes remained unreadable and she wasn't sure she'd reached him on the level she'd hoped. "You've been pretty quiet today. I thought that since we're going to be here for a week and a half and will probably be seeing a lot of each other, we should talk about being friends. Or at least about getting along as best we can for the rest of our vacation."

  When he didn't say anything, when he only continued to unblinkingly stare, she battled the horrifying sting of tears. In panic, she reached for the tank top's hem. "But hey, if all you want is sex, we can do that, instead."

  She'd lifted her top only enough to bare an inch or two of her belly when he said, "Lauren, stop."

  She froze, waiting.

  He sat up, swung his legs over the side of the mattress, moving the decanter of whiskey to the bedside table shared by the two beds. With his knees spread wide, his hands flat on the comforter on either side of his hips, Anton stared at the floor as if searching for words.

  Slowly she smoothed the soft cotton of her top back into place. Sitting here, watching him struggle for what he wanted to say, waiting for him to find the composure he sought, her confusion and hurt melted away. Unshielded at last, her heart swelled to near bursting.

  It was so simple, really. She loved him. She had always loved him. But if she had to let him go, she would. She'd come to understand herself much better during their recent time apart. And she knew she would rather remain friends than ever lose complete contact.

  When he looked up, his eyes were turbulent. "I would love to sleep with you, Lauren. More than anything. But I know this isn't the time. And I apologize for being crass. I'm frustrated and I don't need to take it out on you.

  "Things have been … rough. I haven't done well—" he gestured with one hand "—dealing with all this stuff going on between us. I never thought it would hit me as hard as it has. Or in the ways and the places."

  Lauren hadn't known her heart could contain more emotion. She scrambled off the other bed and up onto Anton's, kneeling at his back and wrapping her arms around his chest. His skin was warm, his body so comfortingly solid. "We can always be friends. No matter what else happens, I'd like to think we will always be there for each other the way friends should be."

  She nuzzled his ear with her cheek, closing her eyes as she remembered his scent, his taste, the feel of his hands on her body, his body in her body. She didn't want to lose those memories, and another part of her longed to create more, new experiences to treasure, even if she had to share them with less intimacy than before.

  He reached up with one hand and covered both of hers lying flat on his chest. "I could use a friend right now. I can't stand my own company anymore. Spend the night with me, Lauren."

  Her heart lurched.

  "Just to sleep," he added, as if fearing she'd turn him down otherwise. Silly man.

  "To sleep, perchance to dream?" She felt him smile, felt the muscles in his cheek and jaw move, felt the brush of his day-old beard on her face.

  "If I'm lucky, yes. With you in my arms, any dreams I have should be damn sweet." Anton pushed to his feet, turned and pulled down the comforter and the sheet. "Hop in, Shakespeare."

  Lauren scrambled beneath, rolling onto her side as the mattress dipped beneath his weight. He switched off the bedside lamp and pl
unged the room into darkness, a darkness that eased as her eyes adjusted and the light from the full moon filtered in through the room's open window.

  Anton pulled her close, spooning behind her, settling their bodies into the comfortably familiar position. Neither one of them spoke another word, as if the connection they needed could only be made through the intimacy of their heartbeats sharing the same rhythm, their muscles relaxing in trust, their breaths slowing and deepening.

  A soothing blanket of peace stole over their bruised souls and the two friends slept.

  And slowly they began to heal.

  * * *

  4

  « ^ »

  Ray made his way to the kitchen the next morning before the housekeeper, Auralie Duarte, arrived from the servants' quarters located in the center of the island. The arrangement afforded her and her husband, as well as Nolan's guests, privacy when the couple's service was needed on Coconut Caye.

  Ray hadn't slept well and needed coffee, a lot of coffee, strong, and in a bad way. He wasn't sure that caffeine was going to be enough to get him over the funk of not getting the rest he needed or the funk of not getting what he needed from Sydney.

  And he wasn't talking about sex.

  If getting her into bed had been his primary goal when he'd stepped out onto the balcony last night, he didn't have a doubt that he'd be even more sleep-deprived this morning than he was. He'd also be a helluva lot more relaxed—but then hindsight was twenty-twenty.

  Having found the supply of fresh coffee beans and the grinder, he went in search of the coffeemaker Auralie hadn't yet pulled from storage. He found it in the back of a lower cabinet, pulled it out and cleaned the thermal carafe.

  He hated grinding the beans, certain the noise would wake the four sleeping beauties sprawled across the sectional sofa in the villa's main room. But a man had to do what a man had to do, and he poured the beans into the grinder's chute.

  With no walls dividing the structure's first floor, he supposed Doug and Jess, Kinsey and Poe were asking to be disturbed by falling asleep here, instead of upstairs in their respective bedrooms. He'd been the first last night to leave the hot tab; the others had obviously stayed and partied, though at least half of the party had moved from the deck on the roof of the villa to the veranda wrapped around the structure's first floor.

  He still wondered who it was he and Sydney had heard beneath the balcony last night. Hell, for all he knew, it could've been Anton and Lauren making up for several months' worth of lost time. But still, the sounds had stayed with him and kept him awake. Kept him thinking of Sydney and their one incredible night together.

  At that time and at that age, he'd never talked to another woman the way he had to Sydney, never made love to another woman as many times in one night, never held another woman while she'd cried over the breakup of her family. Never felt as helpless, either. He hadn't known what to say or what to ask.

  Ray admitted he hadn't done much better last night. He had years of experience pulling people from burning buildings, digging survivors from beneath tons of rubble, cutting through twisted metal to reach victims of accidents.

  But none of those challenges matched the delicate job of probing Sydney's mind and heart.

  Back in the States, in full CEO mode, she had shut him out and shut him down every time. And now she'd taken things so far in the other direction that he was at a loss. Maybe her seven-year itch was back. The boy he'd been had always had a big head at being the chosen one, even while wondering why him and why now? The man he'd become was equally curious. But this time he'd get some answers.

  Ray hit the grinder's switch. The aroma of rich Jamaican Blue Mountain filled the kitchen air. The blades whirred and he kept an eye on the main room, watching as first Poe, then Kinsey began to stir. Jess and Doug followed, or at least managed to open their eyes. Neither one of them made an effort to get to their feet, instead sitting and watching the women stumble and stretch.

  Maybe, Ray thought, he needed to take another tack. Maybe he'd take the pressure off Sydney and he'd be the one to find time for them to be alone together. Then he'd make sure he was tuned into her frequency.

  The grinder's blades finished the job with a sudden high-pitched whir. Ray shut off the motor and measured the freshly ground beans into the filter basket. While he filled the reservoir with water, Poe came into the kitchen and found five mugs. She lined them up on the countertop.

  "For coffee, I'll forgive the intrusion into my dreams. Ray, you are definitely a man after my own heart." Wearing the fire-engine-red terry cover-up she'd zipped over her bikini last night, Poe hopped up onto the counter and waited for the coffee to brew.

  "Hey, dude," Jess called from where he still sat sprawled on the sectional, his jaw dark, the circles under his eyes even darker. "You still planning to hit the Jet Skis with us this morning?"

  Ray had no idea when Sydney would make it downstairs. But it didn't really matter. Privacy wasn't going to happen anytime soon. He might as well pretend he was here on Coconut Caye for a vacation.

  "You betcha," he said, and wrapped his hand around the nearest mug and waited for the coffee to brew.

  Ankles crossed, Sydney sank onto the beach towel she'd spread out on the pier that jutted away from the front of the villa and into the sea. Lauren sat beside her, squinting at the rest of the group tearing up the waves on Jet Skis. Sydney handed Lauren the sunglasses she'd left on the kitchen counter.

  "Thanks." Sliding the Oakleys into place, Lauren adjusted the left strap of her Brazilian-cut bikini, turquoise with big fuchsia circles. "That's better. This morning I'd probably have forgotten my head if it wasn't attached to my shoulders."

  "That bad a night, huh?" Sydney was dying to ask more, especially to find out exactly where Lauren had spent the hours between midnight and two, but figured it was best to let her friend spill her guts at her own pace.

  "Actually, I slept like a log." Lauren stretched her arms overhead and yawned.

  Uh-huh, Sydney thought, wondering why, if Lauren had slept so soundly, she was yawning as if she hadn't slept a wink. "You weren't out on the downstairs veranda around midnight, by any chance, were you?"

  "No. Why?"

  "I thought it might've been you I heard moving around down there."

  "Wasn't me. Anton and I talked for a while, then, believe it or not, we went to bed and to sleep. No funny business or footing around or anything." Lauren shook her head in disbelief. "I can count on my fingers the number of times we've gone to bed at the same time and done nothing but sleep."

  "Really? Wow. Let's think about that. You were together about four hundred days, give or take." Sydney could hardly keep a straight face. "That's an awful lot of condoms, girlfriend."

  "Ha-ha-ha." Lauren screwed up her face. "You know what I mean. We didn't always go to bed at the same time. But if we did—"

  "Then you got lucky," Sydney finished, listening to the motors of the watercraft rev and catching the unmistakable whiff of burning fuel.

  "Actually," Lauren amended, tilting her head to one side as she considered her reply, "I like to think of it as Anton getting lucky. That way it's easier to convince myself that he's miserable without me."

  "Instead of you being miserable without him?" Sydney asked, knowing the question was totally redundant.

  "It shows, doesn't it?" When Sydney nodded, Lauren buried her face in her hands, then shuddered away her self-pity and looked up. "It's not a case of simply being lonely. I know that. I haven't exactly been sitting at home feeling sorry for myself all this time."

  "So I've noticed." Sydney had so wanted to talk to Lauren about whatever was going on between her and Nolan and could've kissed her friend for the opening.

  Lauren grimaced. "I love your father to death, Sydney. But as wonderful a man as he is, he's never been more than a friend."

  Relief washed over Sydney like a breath of fresh air she hadn't realized she desperately needed to breathe. "That's good to know. Because as much as
I adore you, and I do adore you, you know that…" She refused to go on until Lauren nodded. "Good. Because, as much as I adore you, you are not the woman my father needs in his life."

  Sydney waited, thinking Lauren might object or complain that she'd been insulted. Instead, Lauren seemed to need time to think. She sat with her mouth pressed in a tight line, returning Poe's wave from where the other woman had slowed her Jet Ski in front of Anton and Ray.

  "Want to know something?" Lauren finally asked, glancing at Sydney. "Your father needs someone like Poe."

  "Poe?" Annabel Lee and her father? Sydney was totally taken aback. "You've got to be kidding."

  "Nope." Lauren shook her head. "You see your father as a father, Sydney. Trust me. I don't see him as a father at all, if you want to get down and dirty about it. And I really could see him and Poe hitting it off. She's older, well, older than we are, anyway, by, what? Five years, I guess? Anyway, she has a really unique sophistication that I think would fit with your father's way of life."

  Sydney couldn't disagree with Lauren's assessment of Poe's attitude and outlook, especially with all she'd recently learned while considering Poe's promotion. But she wasn't going to admit that Poe, as a woman, would make a good partner for Nolan Ford.

  "I don't know. I can't see her chasing my father on a Jet Ski. Or challenging him to a game of truth or dare."

  "Maybe that's because you don't want to see it," Lauren observed wisely.

  "Now, that is a very real possibility." Time to change the subject. "The only possibility even more real is the one where I want to see you and Anton back together."

  Lauren sighed, shrugged, sighed again, as if whatever was going to happen was beyond her control. "We have a lot more talking to do. Last night he was angry … at himself, I think, more than at me. Neither one of us said everything that needs to be said, but he held me. And that said a lot."

  Sydney couldn't think of anything more to add. She stared out at the water and especially at the two men now straddling their surfboards. The surf had long since died.