Antonides' Forbidden Wife

by Anne McAllister

  She knew that there were places in Kauai that were celebrated as “off the beaten path.” She just wished she weren’t on her way to one of them—especially since she expected to be sent on from there.

  She felt like she was going nowhere—just winding through a thick jungly forest, over mountain and down dale. The trees held the heat in. Perspiration trickled down her back. She flexed her shoulders and tried to get rid of the crick in her neck. She wondered if she’d missed a turn. But she hadn’t seen anything remotely resembling one.

  And then, just as she despaired of ever finding the house, or her way back, she came around a curve and the view opened out into a lush hollow and there was a house—a long stunning Indonesian-style house overhung with palm trees on a rise between her and the sea.

  She pulled up as near to the house as she could get. And when the engine shut off, she could hear the sound of birds, the rustle of palm fronds, and waves breaking, and her heart pounding in her chest.

  She’d given up even imagining she’d find him. She’d hoped all the way back to New York, all the way to his apartment, all night in her hotel, all the way to his office, all the way back to Kauai, all the way to God knew where.

  The house was like something out of Shangri-La—open and airy, with woven shades and soaring lines, all very natural and fitting, built with native stone and wood. The hideout of some wealthy eccentric billionaire no doubt. Certainly not PJ.

  Ally grabbed her tote bag out of the car, went up onto the porch and knocked on the door. No one answered. The windows were open, though. Probably the door was, too. Who, after all, would be breaking in out here?

  “Anyone home?” she called.

  Again no response.

  She wasn’t driving all the way back again. She simply wasn’t. She’d do a Goldilocks and sleep in someone’s bed if she had to. Wait for them to come home. Find the next clue…

  That was what it felt like.

  She tried the door handle. It opened. She hesitated, then just pushed the door open. The inside of the house was as beautiful as the outside, with woven mats on broad-planked teak floors, rattan furniture, a native stone fireplace and eye-catching art—a pair of masks on the wall by the door, a very old surfboard above the sofa. And high on the wall above the fireplace a wall hanging that—

  —looked astonishingly familiar.

  And yet she hadn’t seen it in years.

  She stared. Then, numbly she made her way down the shallow steps into the living area to get a closer look.

  Believing—and disbelieving—at the same time.

  Good heavens, it was here. The one she’d made that first year in California when she’d been so homesick. The one of the beach where she’d met PJ. The ocean in all its shades of blue and green, the houses, shops. The execution was amateurish. She knew that now, had known it then. But it had captured a memory. A time. A place. Things that had meant something special to her but no one else.

  And yet someone had bought it. She’d always priced it high—too high for anyone to be tempted. It wasn’t that good.

  But one day it had been sold.

  And now it was here. She reached a hand up and could just reach the bottom of it. She brushed her fingers along the ragged edge of it. And she smiled as she did so.

  She didn’t need to wonder whose house this was anymore.

  She looked around with new eyes. Open eyes. Ran her fingers over the soft patina of the wood. Savored the setting, the way the house and its furnishings fit as if they’d always been there, as if they belonged.

  It wasn’t a new house. But it had been painstakingly restored. She smelled a bit of varnish, now that she was paying closer attention. She moved to the windows that looked out toward the ocean. Yes, the deck looked as if it had been recently refinished.

  And the man who had done it was walking up from the beach.

  He was bare-chested, bare-headed, sandy and sunburned. He carried a surfboard under his arm. He looked beautiful. He didn’t look happy.

  Ally wondered if seeing her would make him any happier.

  Or if it was too late. If she’d left it too long.

  She took a deep breath and pushed open the door to the deck. It squeaked.

  PJ looked up. And stared.

  He didn’t move. A wave broke against the shore behind him. And then another. He didn’t so much as blink. Just stared—and stared—at her.

  And then she saw him swallow convulsively. He let out a breath. “Al?” His voice was rusty.

  She smiled tentatively, took a step toward him. “You sound worse than the door.”

  He swallowed again. “Don’t…have much occasion to talk.” He still didn’t move.

  She was going to have to make all the running, then. Well, fair enough. She crossed the deck. “Will you talk to me?”

  He looked wary. “About what?”

  “Coming back to New York.” She smiled. “Lukas wants you there.”

  “I won’t go for Lukas.”

  “Will you come for me?”

  There was one more split second of stillness. And then he moved.

  He took the three steps that closed the gap between them and wrapped his arms around her, crushed her hard against him, clung to her as if he’d never let her go.

  He was shaking, she realized. And so, she thought as her knees wobbled, was she.

  “What happened?” he demanded. “Your father…?”

  “Wants to meet you.”

  He stared disbelieving.

  She nodded, smiling up at him. “I told him I loved you.”

  A grin cracked his face. “And he didn’t croak?”

  She shook her head. “He’s sticking around for a grandchild,” she told him. “Just like you said.”

  PJ made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. He wrapped his arms around her again and held her so tightly she nearly couldn’t breathe. She didn’t care. It felt wonderful. It felt perfect. It felt as if she’d finally come home to the place—and the man—in her life.

  Then he eased his grip on her just slightly and drew her into the house with him. “How’d you find me?”

  “I went to New York. To your place. You weren’t there. I went to the office. Saw Lukas and Elias. I thought Elias was sending me on a wild-goose chase. This is really the…back of the beyond. It’s…yours?”

  “Bought it five years ago.”

  “You weren’t in New York five years ago,” she protested.

  “No. But I was tired of hanging around Honolulu. There wasn’t much point in staying,” he added pointedly.

  And there was a look on his face that made her ask wonderingly, “Because of what happened that night—at the gallery?”

  “It didn’t help.”

  “No. I’m sorry. I was insecure,” she told him. “And there was Annie—” she hated admitting that, but it was true.

  “A friend. Period. I swear it.”

  “I believe you. The problem wasn’t you,” she told him. “It was me. And now…it’s not.”

  He held her again then, ran his hands over her as if he could barely believe she was here. Then he drew her down onto the sofa and kissed her, and Ally kissed him back, wanting far more than kisses, but needing to get all the explanations out of the way first.

  She pulled back to look into his eyes. “I didn’t understand,” she told him, “about love.”

  PJ shook his head. “Neither did I. Or maybe I did and it scared me to death. It did that, all right.” He let out a breath. “That first night…”

  Ally stared at him. “The…first night? Our wedding night?”

  “Hell, yeah. You comin’ to the door like that. Blew me away. I wasn’t ready for it at all.”

  “It was wonderful,” Ally rubbed her thumbs against the backs of his hands.

  PJ nodded. “Yeah. But terrifying. Trying to make it good for you—”

  “It was good for me,” Ally said fervently.

  “Well, good. But—not just making love. Making a li
fe…together.”

  “You…thought about it?”

  He let out a breath. “How could I not? But how could I suggest it? I hadn’t thought about it before. Wasn’t ready to think about it then. And you had things to do. It would have been springing you from one trap to put you in another.”

  Ally let out a shaky laugh and pushed her hair away from her face as she looked into his. “Oh, God, PJ. I…I wanted it, too. So much. But I couldn’t ask for anything more.”

  They stared at each other a long moment, each of them rethinking the past, wondering, questioning.

  Then PJ said, “Just as well we didn’t. We’d probably have blown it.”

  And Ally bit her lip and nodded, certain he was right. But she had to ask, “What about when I came back to Honolulu five years ago? Were you ready then?”

  “I thought I might be.” He shoved a hand through his hair, then added wryly, “Not that I had anything to offer you then.”

  “You’d already given me everything I could ever have wanted.” She framed his face in her hands and kissed him again. It was a long kiss, a lingering kiss. A kiss that allowed her to realize, dear God, how much she loved him—and how long.

  “I love you,” she murmured. “So much. I think I always did. But I didn’t know how to tell you. Or to trust it.”

  “And now you do?” It was a statement, but Ally heard the question in it.

  “I do,” Ally said, and smiled at the echo of her vow so many years ago. “See?” And she turned her side to him so that he could see a small fabric patch she’d appliqued to her sleeve.

  PJ studied the pair of entwined fabric hearts. His mouth twitched. “You’re wearing your heart on your sleeve.”

  “I am,” she agreed. “Always. For you. I just didn’t know how to tell you.”

  “Just say the words,” he told her hoarsely. “You can’t ever say them enough.”

  So Ally said them again. And again. She put her arms around his neck as he swung her up and cradled her against him as he carried her inside. “I love you, PJ Antonides. I will tell you so every day of your life.”

  “Works for me,” he said. “You can show me, too.” He grinned, carrying her all the way into the bedroom. “Anytime you want.”

  She showed him how much she loved him while they stayed on Kauai. She showed him back in Honolulu when they stayed a week to visit with her dad.

  Far from having died at the news of who she was in love with, Hiroshi Maruyama seemed to have a new lease on life. Certainly he did his best to make PJ feel welcome. And so what if he dropped more than a few hints about how nice it would be to have a grandchild.

  “I’m willing,” PJ said. “Whenever Ally is.”

  “We’re working on it,” she assured her father, blushing when he smiled knowingly.

  She was gratified that PJ and her father got on well. But she was equally happy when PJ said he needed to get back to New York.

  “Wouldn’t want Lukas to think I’d abandoned him forever.”

  “I’m looking forward to getting home,” Ally replied.

  PJ’s brows lifted. “Home.” He grinned. “I like it that you’re coming home with me.”

  “I liked—I love—everything about you,” Ally assured him. “And I want to get back to look at the mural.”

  And now they were home in PJ’s Park Slope brownstone—her home, Ally thought with abiding joy. And she was standing in front of the mural, looking. And looking. And looking.

  “I’m not here,” she said.

  She looked at everyone in the beach scenes. She didn’t find anyone who looked like her. She identified many of the others—surfers they knew, friends they’d had, even her own friend May. But she couldn’t find herself.

  Or PJ for that matter. He wasn’t on the beach. He wasn’t in the water. He wasn’t anywhere.

  She studied Benny’s Place. Maybe he was eating a hamburger there. Maybe she was behind the counter. But neither was there. She looked at the anonymous passersby just ambling by on the sidewalks or sunning on the shore.

  “We’re not here,” she grumbled.

  PJ came and stood behind her, wrapping his arms around her, nuzzling beneath her ear. “You’re looking in the wrong place.”

  “I’ve looked every place we were. The beach. The sand. Benny’s.” Ally sighed.

  “You’ll find it. You’ve got the rest of our lives.”

  She smiled and settled back against him, loving the feel of his hard strong arms holding her. She turned her head and planted a kiss on his jaw, then went back to the mural. She found the university, the surf shop where PJ had worked, the tiny hole-in-the-wall storage unit where he had built his first windsurfers. She found the apartment where he’d lived above Mrs. Chang’s garage.

  “Ah.” She tapped at the tiny painted window. “Are we in there?”

  PJ nipped her ear and laughed. “It’s not an X-rated mural.”

  But she was beginning to feel a bit X-rated right now. His hands were sliding up under her shirt, cupping her breasts. She could feel PJ’s body, behind hers, developing its own X-rated agenda.

  And then, just when she was about to give up and suggest they adjourn to the bedroom, she found them—PJ and Ally—kissing on the steps of the courthouse.

  Ally stared in amazement. She felt shivers all up and down her spine because it was such a pivotal memory for her. And that he would have chosen it, too…

  “That’s your memory of us? Not the beach? Not Benny’s? You remember kissing at the courthouse?”

  “What’s wrong with the courthouse?” PJ wanted to know.

  “Nothing’s wrong. It’s just—I can’t believe that’s what you remember.” It was like a gift. The greatest gift—his love.

  “It’s not all I remember. But it’s what I remember most,” he said as he turned her in his arms and kissed her again—and again and again and again. Then he drew her with him down the hall and into the bedroom.

  “It was the start of what I want to remember always, Al.” And as they fell together onto their bed, he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her with all the urgency they’d both felt that day. “It’s when I first began to believe in love.”

  All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all the incidents are pure invention.

  All Rights Reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Enterprises II BV/S.à.r.l. The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, storage in an information retrieval system, or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher.

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the prior consent of the publisher in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  ® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.

  First published in Great Britain 2008

  Harlequin Mills & Boon Limited,

  Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road, Richmond, Surrey TW9 1SR

  © Anne McAllister 2008

  ISBN: 9781408903506

 

 

 
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