A Beautiful Danger (Beautiful #7)

by Lilliana Anderson

  WHEN THE END of the week comes along, the holidays I applied for have kicked in and I'm free from work. Except I’m not spending them in Melbourne as planned. Joel is too snowed under with work of his own.

  “I’m sorry,” he says over the phone, sounding distracted when he calls me on the lunch break he’s obviously working through. “This deal has become so incredibly complicated that we’re pulling sixteen-hour days. I want you here more than anything, you need to know that. But I don’t want to fly you down here just so you can sit in an empty apartment and watch me snore a few hours each night.”

  “It’s OK. I get it. I’ll just spend some time with Paige and Dakota. I’m sure they’ll be happy for the adult conversation, or even a babysitter. Plus, I can read and go to the gym a bit more.”

  “You’re not going to hang out with that housemate guy?” His words are delivered with a casual intention, but the aabsence of sound on his end means he’s paying full attention to my answer.

  “If he’s here, we might watch the same show on TV, but after the parkour lesson and the lunch at his sister’s place, I might give venturing out into the world with him a miss for now.”

  “You had lunch with his sister?”

  “Yeah. On Wednesday. I told you about it.”

  “Sorry, I mustn’t have heard you properly.”

  I thought he had taken it well. Actually, I bragged a little to Flynn that Joel wasn’t anywhere near as jealous as he claimed. Turns out he wasn’t listening to me.

  “It’s fine. You’re busy.”

  “No. It isn’t fine. I’m an arsehole. I’m so sorry about this, Ruby. You deserve better than an absent boyfriend. I’ll make it up to, I promise.”

  “Yeah, you will,” I say with a smile, sighing when he needs to quickly end the conversation after a colleague enters his office.

  “And you thought having gainful employment was a good quality in a man,” Flynn says from the kitchen where he’s throwing grapes in the air and catching them in his mouth. At the same time, he’s tapping away on his phone.

  “I still do, you layabout.”

  “You’re the one lying on the couch.”

  “Yes. But I work. All you seem to do is go free running with your friends and play games on your phone.”

  He holds up his phone, flashing the screen my way. “I’m not gaming.”

  “Then what are you doing?”

  “Emailing.”

  “About?”

  “Things I’m thinking about.”

  “So you’re emailing people about me?” I bat my lashes playfully.

  He laughs. “You would think.” Then he finishes whatever he was doing and slips his phone in his pocket. “I have an idea,” he says, moving to sit beside me on the couch. Except I block him with my legs.

  “I can’t lie here if you’re taking up half the space.”

  Grinning, he lifts my legs and takes a seat beneath them so my calves are lying on his lap. When I bend my legs to move away, he clamps an arm over them, stopping me from sitting. “Nope, you said you wanted to lie down. This is the compromise.”

  “Fine,” I say, relaxing. “So, what is this idea of yours?”

  “Some of the guys I run with are meeting up in the city for drinks. Would you like to join us? You already know Delilah.”

  “Oh, my attendance might upset poor Delilah. She has quite the thing for you.”

  He shrugs. “I’m too busy having a thing for you, so....”

  His hand rests on my shin, warm and comforting. I have to give him credit for not trying to railroad me into being intimate with him. Turns out he’s more of a stand-up guy than I gave him credit for; ever since he agreed to back off, he’s done exactly that.

  “You go. I’m going to veg out at home and binge-watch Netflix with a tub of ice cream. It’ll be the perfect night.”

  He puts his feet on the coffee table and crosses them at the ankles. “OK. I’m in. Cue up the first show. We may as well get an early start on this binge.”

  “What about your mates?”

  “They’re perfectly capable of drinking without me.”

  “OK. But no backing out once it starts,” I say, picking up the remote and opening the app. “This is seriously girly.”

  He scoffs. “You seem to be forgetting that I have two sisters. I can girly better than any guy.—and a lot of girls.”

  “All right,” I say, selecting season one of Outlander. During the first episode, I sneak a few glances at him to see if he’s gotten bored yet, or if the sex scenes are making him uncomfortable, but every time I do, he catches me.

  “Pay attention to your show, Ruby,” he tells me, just before Claire falls through the standing stones. From there, I’m so engrossed in the show that I can’t stand to look away.

  We watch episode after episode, stopping only for toilet breaks or to get food. We eat Chinese straight from the box and ice cream straight from the tub, switching the tubs between us to alternate between The Tonight Dough and Strawberry Cheesecake flavours. The whole way through, we also drink the last of the wine from Coral’s wine of the month stash.

  It makes for a thoroughly enjoyable evening. Until, of course, Jamie Fraser gets captured by Captain Jack Randall.

  I grab the remote and hit Pause, knowing what’s coming and freaking out because I don’t want my beautiful Jamie to be tortured like that. “Oh God. I made a bad choice. I made a horrible choice.”

  Flynn looks over at me, his eyes wide. “Randall needs to fucking die. I hate him so bad.”

  Sitting up, I cross my legs. “Me too. And he’s going to ruin everything between Jamie and Claire. I mean, I am so in love with their connection. It’s... it’s....”

  “Palpable,” he finishes for me.

  “Right? You just....” I let out a sigh. “You feel it in your chest. And this”—I gesture with one arm outstretched to the paused TV screen—“is going to mess with Jamie so bad that it’s going to turn that connection ugly. That innocent love they have will be gone.”

  “I agree. But we have to keep going. We can’t leave the poor guy like this.”

  “But you know what’s about to happen, right?” He nods. “And based on the rest of the series so far, I think this is going to be really hard to watch.”

  He curves one side of his mouth upward and lifts one shoulder. “At least we’re watching it together though. Moral support.”

  “I wish I’d bought that vodka now. I need something harder than wine to get me through this series.”

  Flynn holds up his finger. “Hold that thought.” Then he gets up and disappears into his room, returning with a half-full bottle of that Trotsky vodka. “Told you I’ve tried it.”

  “You dog, you’ve been hiding the good stuff in your room.” I twist around on the couch, watching as he pours a finger each into two glasses.

  “Do you want to try it with or without a mixer?”

  “I think I need it straight to calm my nerves before the next episode.”

  He grins, walks over and hands me a glass, tapping his against mine as he looks me in the eye. “Bóo-deem zda-ró-vye,” he says before downing the clear liquid.

  Unable to even attempt repeating what he said, I just say, “Cheers,” and down mine. The liquid is smooth and strong, and it doesn’t burn on the way down; it simply sits in my stomach all warm and comforting.

  “Another?” he asks, taking the empty glass from me and setting it next to the bottle in the kitchen.

  “OK. But just one more. I don’t want to be so drunk I can’t remember their reunion.”

  When he’s finished pouring, he places the bottle in the freezer, then joins me on the couch. “I didn’t know you spoke Russian. Was that Russian?” I ask, taking the glass from his hand.

  “It was, and I only speak a little. My grandparents came here from Russia, but my parents never spoke much Russian to us. We only know a few phrases, and the drinking ones tend to stick.”

  “What did that one mean?”
<
br />   “To our health.”

  I smile. “That’s nice.” Then I lift the remote and aim it at the TV like it’s the arming switch for a nuclear launch. “Are you ready?”

  “Tear off the Band-Aid,” he says.

  I hit Play. And for the next few hours, I feel as though my heart is breaking for the characters. But when the season ends, I’m again filled with hope that all will be well for my new favourite couple.

  “I think I’m in love with Jamie,” I tell him on a sigh.

  He chuckles. “Me too. That whole ‘give me back my wife’ thing he did was epic.”

  I turn and face him. “So you really enjoyed this?”

  “Fucking oath, I did. And I’ll be pissed at you if you watch the next season without me.”

  “OK then. It’s a date.” I hold out my hand to shake on it, a warmth spreading up my arm as he takes hold.

  “Next Friday.”

  My heart does this strange little flutter thing in my chest. “Next Friday,” I agree, knowing full well that it will be the last Friday we have together.

  29

  IN MY DREAMS, I’m Claire in front of the standing stones. Behind me, Frank calls out and when I turn, it’s Joel wearing a brown suit with his hat in his hand. He looks worried and I’m torn between touching the stones or going back to him. In the end, I can’t help myself; I fall through the stones and end up in Jamie’s waiting arms. Except, when I look up, it isn’t Jamie at all—it’s Flynn. He smiles and says, “I knew you’d pick me.”

  Then I wake up.

  I have this dream every night for the next week. I think it’s my subconscious trying to force my hand and fall into a life that is full of unknowns. Each time, I know staying with Joel is the safest option and I go to bed telling myself that. I spend my days convincing myself, trying to change the dream’s outcome. But it’s always the same. Each time, I take the risk and fall through the stones; into Flynn’s arms.

  I know what it means. It’s my heart trying to convince my mind to take the plunge and be with Flynn, even though I have absolutely no idea what our future will hold.

  But how do I tell my heart that it’s wrong? Do I stop sleeping? How do I explain to it that my mind can’t take a risk on Flynn? I have run out of risks to take, the scars on my body where my bones were reset a testament to that.

  With Joel, I can close my eyes and see exactly what my future will hold. It’s not going to be all romance and excitement. But it will be comfortable and, in turn, I’m comfortable with it.

  When I try to see a future with Flynn, I have no idea where our life together will take us. How would we live? I still don’t know what the hell he does for a living; all I know is that he’s cagey about it. And that can’t be good. No. If I choose Flynn, I’m just setting myself up for a whole lot of pain and uncertainty. I’m not interested in a life like that, no matter how intense our chemistry might be.

  So my heart is wrong.

  It’s wrong.

  ***

  “How are things going with Flynn?” Coral asks during a Skype conversation later the next week.

  “They’re fine. We’re getting along.”

  She smiles. “Anything else?”

  “Joel is trying to find the time to fly me down to Melbourne for a few days. He’s really sweet, sends flowers and makes sure he calls every day—even if it’s only five minutes. He’s really considerate.”

  “I’m taking that as a no,” she responds, her lips tipping downward.

  “It’s a no. I’m willing to label him a friend now, because we do get along. But I’m not about to fall into his arms.”

  “Is the chemistry fizzing out or something?”

  I shrug. “No, that’s not it.”

  “Ha! So you admit it.” She holds up her finger comically.

  “I’m not admitting anything. I’m just saying that romance won’t be happening. I just think Flynn and I want different things.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know—and that’s exactly the problem. He’s so closed off about certain aspects of his personal life that I don’t know enough about him.”

  “Of course you do. You know he’s a good man—a kind man. He has integrity, a conscience, and he’s strong and faithful and dependable.”

  “Don’t recite my list to me to try and prove your point. I know Flynn is a good guy. That’s not the question here.”

  “Then what is?”

  “I can’t get past the fact that he seems to have no job but plenty of money. He’s close with his family, so maybe his sister is bankrolling him or she’s a part of whatever he has going on, but I just don’t know. I overheard them talking and he’s definitely hiding something.”

  “You met his sister?”

  “We had lunch,” I say with a dismissive wave of my hand. “But that’s not the point. He’s doing something he doesn’t want me to know about. He’s always typing something on his phone, but he never stands where I can see his screen. Then he goes out saying he’s running errands, but he never comes back with anything. All I can think of is that he’s doing something dodgy. If you could merge Joel’s career and lifestyle with Flynn’s everything else, then I’d have my perfect man. But as it stands, Joel has to be the one.”

  “Even though you don’t have anywhere near the chemistry with him that you have with Flynn?”

  “I’m not taking chances with my life anymore.”

  “Chances with your life? Come on, Ruby. Who looked after you when you were too drunk to walk straight? Who dropped everything to teach you to surf? Who saved you when the stingray almost collided with your head? Who has been there and done right by you ever since you slammed into the guy?”

  “He slammed into me.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Semantics. Just answer the question.”

  “It was all Flynn,” I concede, my words sounding like a sigh.

  “Then what the hell does it matter what he does or doesn’t do for a living?”

  “It just matters, OK? What a person does for a living speaks of their character and their integrity.”

  “OK. If we’re following those rules, then what does Joel’s career say about him? He helps make companies richer. Where’s the integrity in that?”

  “He teaches self-defence,” I counter.

  “And he gets free use of the gym in return. I think you have this guy up too high on a pedestal. I’m not saying he’s bad in any way, but I think you’re glorifying a very normal man into something he isn’t. How is he even reacting to the fact that Flynn is living with you at the moment? Surely that must get some sort of emotion out of him.”

  “Are you saying that Joel is too even-tempered?”

  She grimaces. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”

  “I actually like that he’s even-tempered. But he’s definitely jealous. I have so many floral arrangements in the apartment that it looks like someone died.”

  “And yet he’s still not there with you.”

  I close my eyes for a moment, willing myself to stay calm. “He has work, Coral. Listen, I don’t want to argue over the good and the bad points of each man—they’re both good. And I’ve already made up my mind. I really need my friends to trust me to decide what’s best in my own life.”

  Coral lifts her hands. “I wouldn’t keep arguing if I didn’t think I was right.”

  “I know you’re just trying to be a good friend to me, but can we leave it now, please? How about you tell me about your first week back home?”

  A grins creeps across her face, her eyes sparkling. “Shane and I are getting married.”

  “What? Oh my God, that’s amazing! I thought you were going to wait.”

  “I didn’t want to marry him just because he wanted me to stay in Sydney. But we were sitting in our apartment in the middle of the boxes and the mess from moving and he looked at me in this way that told me he adored everything about me. And he asked me. This time I said yes.”

  “Wow, Coral. I am s
o happy for you both. When’s the big day?”

  “The end of December.”

  “That soon?”

  She smiles. “Yeah. We’d do it sooner, but his parents were planning on visiting between Christmas and New Year’s, so we want to save them the extra trip. I want you to be my maid of honour, Ruby. Please say you can come.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of missing it. Will it be snowing?”

  She smiles. “Probably not. But it will be very cold. You’ll love it.”

  “This is wonderful news, Coral.” I beam, genuinely happy for my friend. “I can’t wait to see you.”

  “Maybe you’ll bring a handsome date with a Russian-sounding surname?”

  I laugh. I have to give her credit for one thing—she’s persistent.

  30

  “THIS PLACE STINKS like a funeral parlour. Does your boyfriend really have to miss you this much?” Flynn walks through the apartment, opening windows and fanning the air. Joel has sent flowers every day this past week. He’s either feeling terrible for not having the time to bring me to Melbourne or he’s obscenely jealous that Flynn is staying here. Either way, Flynn is right. It does stink. Too many perfumes are combining to make a strange musky smell that tickles the nose rather than delights.

  “OK. I think maybe we should throw some of these out. I’ll just keep the most recent ones.”

  “Or,” Flynn starts, “instead of throwing perfectly good flowers in the bin, we could take them to the old folks’ home. I’m sure they could do with some extra colour in their day. And most of them are probably so old their noses don’t work anymore.”

  I laugh. “I don’t think that’s how aging works. But it’s a good idea. I’d rather someone else enjoys them over trashing them.”

  “Then it’s decided. Let’s gather them up and take them over now. Then we can get supplies for our Outlander binge tonight.”

  “You still up for that?” I ask, picking up an arrangement of gerberas.

  He lifts a shoulder and frowns. “Why wouldn’t I be? We made plans, right?”

  “Yeah, but you haven’t said anything all week, so I was just checking.”

  “I’ve just been busy.I’m very much looking forward to this.” He picks up two different wildflower arrangements, then reaches for a third. “So we're clear, I don’t want you thinking I want to get rid of these because of where they came from. I’m seriously having headaches every time I walk in this room.”