So why on Earth was he sending her thrice-daily emails? Curiosity won and she opened the most recent one.
WHY WON'T YOU ANSWER MY MESSAGES?
Another:
WE WERE MADE FOR EACH OTHER. WHERE ARE YOU?
That popped up a lot, though the wording varied a bit, depending on the day.
After the first couple dozen, Audra skimmed to the first one he'd sent.
I'M HOME. WHERE ARE YOU, BABY? WHY AREN'T YOU HERE?
Had he completely forgotten about her new job? The reason she was leaving the island? Maybe he was drunk. It still didn't explain why he thought she should be at the resort.
Exasperated, Audra typed a response:
"I'm at Davis as one of the Antarctic meteorology team this summer. I just got back from an expedition to Dome Argus and the South Pole. It was awesome, thanks for asking." She hit send and scrolled through her emails, looking for anything from her family and friends.
Her laptop chimed, signalling that someone wanted to start a video call. Jay, who else?
She hadn't had a shower in days and her hair had been mashed under an assortment of hats and hoods for weeks. One look at her would scare him off for life. Reluctantly, she allowed the call to connect.
"Where the fuck are you really?"
Jay Felix was all charm.
Audra took a deep breath. She'd thought the soundproofing at the resort was bad. Here at Davis, if she raised her voice, the whole building would hear. "Hi, Jay. It's lovely to see you again. It's been months, I'm sure, though I gather you've been busy with your band's tour. I've been very busy, too. First training for my first Antarctic expedition, and then living and working out here for the summer. There are real penguins here, not just a jetty named after one. I must say, the jetty smells better, though."
"Why aren't you here?" Judging by his slurred voice, sobriety had deserted him several hours ago.
"I don't work at Romance Island Resort any more, remember?"
"No. Was it because of me? Did you quit because of me? I told you I was coming back, babe. I own the hotel. Had to come back."
He hadn't known? Then what had he meant that night when they'd... "That last night we spent together. When you answered the door, you said I was just in time and I'd left it until the last minute. You knew it was my last day and I was flying out to Hobart on Monday."
"No, I fucking didn't. You never told me that!"
Audra mulled this over. "So let me get this straight. You spent the night with me, made all sorts of promises you had no intention of keeping, then flew out the next morning to record your new album and go on tour. All the while, not saying a single thing to me. Not a word, a phone call, an email, nothing, until now, when you're demanding to know why I'm not waiting for you with open arms after you deserted me?"
"I didn't desert you! I had to work!"
"And who doesn't? When I got offered the chance of a lifetime, a stint in Antarctica, I took it. I'd have been crazy not to. Especially after dealing with VIPs who threw tantrums, painted the walls with ketchup, and slept with anything in a skirt." She'd never get the image of Jay and Penny out of her mind. It would scar her for life.
"Ooh, is that your boyfriend? Hi, I'm Shelley, Audra's roommate." Shelley smiled and waved over Audra's shoulder before throwing herself on her bed. "Don't mind me."
"Yes, I'm Audra's – " Jay began.
Audra cut in, "No, he's not my boyfriend. Never was, never will be. He used to be my boss." Though it was on the tip of her tongue, she didn't add that he'd once been the bane of her existence. It didn't seem fair to kick a man when he was down.
"What about all the time we spent together?" Jay exploded. "Are you honestly saying everything – the time, the incredible sex – meant nothing to you?"
Audra heard Shelley laugh softly, then whisper an apology.
"It was one night, Jay. One night that you made astonishingly clear meant nothing to you, when you climbed into a helicopter the morning after, then ignored me for months while wrapping yourself in different girls every night. Do you even remember how many? I mean, you did twenty, thirty shows at least, and I know for a fact that you took half a dozen girls back to your hotel room after the Perth concert. Add that all up and I don't need to be a statistician to know you've probably slept with over a hundred women, while you didn't even have time to send me an email saying hi." She drew in a deep, shaky breath. "If it weren't for the other girls, maybe I'd be interested if we were to meet again. But right now, if you showed up in the snow outside my door, I'd kick you right back to the boat that brought your sorry arse to Antarctica."
His eyes got that kicked puppy look that a dog gets when...Audra had never kicked a puppy, but she figured hurt and betrayal and big, wide eyes would feature in there somewhere.
"But...I could fly there now. We can talk about this. I could take you home and...I want to spend the rest of my life with you. How about it? A fresh start with just you and me. I'll marry you if that's what you want. No other women ever again. I swear." That same beseeching look she'd surrendered to before. Never again.
"Jay, you barely know me. Normal people don't marry strangers. Especially not strangers who've slept with a hundred other people in less than six months!"
"Please, baby, give me time to book a flight and – "
Audra's heart nearly broke at the pain in his voice, but somehow she mentally sticky-taped it back together and said, "No. I ship out in a couple of days. Even if you did fly here, I'd be gone, on my way back to Melbourne to finish my training. I told you before, if you want a girl to love you, you have to be more than a rock star. Go back to the hotel library and do some more research. You'll see what happens to guys who cheat. They don't get the girl, that's for sure." She sighed. "I'm sure she's out there, Jay – the right girl for you. But I'm not her. So good night...and good luck." Before he could say anything, she ended the call and slammed her laptop closed.
Shelley whispered, "Was that really Jay Felix?"
Audra nodded.
"And you used to work for him?"
Another nod.
Shelley cleared her throat. "He's always had a reputation for...well, you know. But I've always wondered if it was true or just something the girls made up. What's he like in bed?" In alarm, she added, "I'm only asking in the name of scientific inquiry, of course. Happily married and stored in this fridge and all."
Audra smiled faintly. "Unbelievable."
Shelley inhaled sharply. "I knew it! Wait, in a good way or a bad way?"
"Both."
They both laughed, but Audra's heart wasn't in it any more.
Shelley was sensitive enough to stop. "He seems really into you, despite all his obvious failings. Is there any chance you and him might...you know...reconnect? In some way?"
Audra shook her head. "If he grew up a bit, and maybe turned into a good man instead of a spoiled, selfish arsehole...maybe. But I think hell will freeze over first." She glanced out the window and noticed snow flurrying past the glass, dancing in an evening breeze that she'd never grow tired of watching.
Unseen by anyone, her tears for Jay dropped onto the windowsill. One, two, three, four...the beats of a song that only her heart knew.
FIVE
Jay lost count of the number of times he tried to call Audra again after the first call disconnected, but he just couldn't reach her. He couldn't quite bring himself to believe it. One moment, he'd been thrilled to finally speak to her again, and the next, he was all at sea. She wanted to work in a frozen wasteland and she didn't want him? What was wrong with her?
He'd have to talk to her in person, that was all. He'd find a plane or charter one to take him out there and...
Two hours later, he'd managed to find a cargo plane leaving New Zealand in a fortnight's time that would take him. Too late, if Audra had been telling the truth, because she'd already be on the ship home. Maybe he could track her down in Melbourne, but he wouldn't know where to start looking. Besides, he wasn't a stalker
– he stood out and was proud of it.
And who was Audra, anyway? Just a hotel maid turned weathergirl, who'd saved his life and helped him and...aw, fuck. He'd messed up again. Done something wrong and lost her for good this time. And there wasn't a thing he could do about it. At least, not yet.
He needed to work out what he'd done wrong, so it wouldn't happen again. Rock gods didn't get dumped – not even retired ones.
Time to head back to the library. He'd get as many books as he could carry, and this time he'd pay attention. He'd get this romance thing sorted so no woman could resist him. So when the right one came along...she'd be his, no question. And no fuck-ups.
The library was closed by the time he reached it, but he'd persuaded the security manager to give him access to more than what the regular guests got. He was the owner, after all. After-hours access to the library? Easy.
He headed straight for the shelf where the rock star romances were kept. No matter what Audra said, he'd gotten some of his best ideas from these. As if someone had been expecting him, he found three new ones he'd never seen before – recognisable because of the absence of shirtless dudes on the cover, of course. He checked the bit on the back and they seemed sufficiently similar to the shirtless books to suit him.
What else had she said? Something about marrying strangers. Those were the mail-order brides, weren't they? Funny, she'd admitted that she liked those books, and he'd even seen her reading a couple. He grabbed those, too, figuring they might help.
Five books should do him for a couple of days, he decided, so he tucked them under his arm and left the library, whistling as he walked around the lagoon, back to his villa.
Three books and a lot of bourbon later, he discovered that he'd missed the first book in the series, so he staggered back there to find it. It figured – had a shirtless dude on the cover. No wonder he'd ignored it the first time. May as well get some more of the mail-order bride books, too, to cover up the shirtless dude.
He'd read it as soon as he got another bottle of bourbon. The last one had somehow emptied itself and he couldn't be fucked finding another one. Yeah. But now, he'd just rest his head on the rug for a moment. Because...because...
Jason's head touched the rug and he fell into a deep, whisky-soaked sleep where he was a rock star again, and everything was rosy. Fuck yeah.
SIX
All out of fucks and forks to give, Xan collapsed on her bed. Burying her face in her pillow, she tried to shut out the world, but she didn't have time for that yet. She had to call home.
Easing her phone out of her bag, she checked that the wi-fi was active and started a video call to her parents.
Her dad answered the call, peering blearily at the screen. Was it just Xan's imagination, or was his nose red? Surely he couldn't be drunk at – she checked her watch – ten in the morning. He rarely drank anything.
"Xanthe, is that you? You look so tanned."
"Hi, Dad. Yeah, it's hard not to get tanned out here. The backpackers I manage is pretty open to the elements and it's only a short walk to Cable Beach, when I get time. They call it the wet season here, but we get fewer rainy days than you probably see."
After chatting for a few minutes about life in Broome and some of the strange things Dad's English students had said lately, Xan felt it was safe to ask, "Where's Mum?"
"Trying to single-handedly cure the plague, or that's what she says. I caught the dreaded lurgy from someone at work so your mother's at the supermarket buying ingredients for soup." He sneezed, then finished with a hacking cough. "Impressive, eh?"
Only her father could dramatise dying of man-flu. "Very. You make me really glad I'm on the other side of the world and it's summer here." She tried again. "Just that Mum emailed me, saying she needed to talk to me. It sounded ominous. You wouldn't know what she meant, would you?"
Her father shrugged. "No idea. Maybe she just wants to give you the recipe for her plague-curing soup. It can't be that bad if I haven't heard anything, can it?"
Xan finally relaxed. "No, that's true. Maybe she wants me to send more Vegemite for your birthday."
Her father failed to hide his horror. "Oh God, please no. Don't send any more of that stuff. Do Aussies really eat that? How are any of them still alive?"
Xan laughed. "It's the best hangover cure ever, or so I've been told. I've never had so much to drink that I wanted to try it. Watching tourists try it for breakfast at the backpackers never gets old, though. Their expressions...no words are necessary."
"So you like working there, then? Thinking of extending your stay?"
"Maybe." Xan thought about leaving it at that, but she'd always told her father everything. "I saw a better job advertised at a luxury resort near here. Well, a couple hundred kilometres from here, actually, on an island. They're looking for someone to manage all the activities at the hotel. That includes diving and snorkelling – they've got some awesome coral reefs there that I'd kill to dive, but you can only get to them through the hotel because of the shape of the island. They cater to VIPs, so you have to factor in anything that's within reach of a helicopter, light plane or luxury yacht...and they have access to all three. The pay's good and it includes accommodation and board on the island, so I wouldn't have to share a house in town and pay rent, either."
"Sounds perfect for you. That's what you want, right? All that time at university studying tourism management. I know we talked about history tours of the Greek islands, but with the economy the way it is...maybe you're better working in paradise in Australia. Perhaps one day I can persuade your mother to come for a visit."
Xan breathed a sigh of relief. She'd been thinking it, but to hear it from her father broke through all her remaining resistance. "I'll put in my application tonight."
A few minutes later, she ended the call and switched on her laptop. Yes, she wanted to do more diving before she settled down to a dull, married existence.
SEVEN
Pounding began in Jason's head. It wasn't until he cracked one eye open that he realised there was pounding outside it, too. On the door. "Fuck off," he mumbled. He reached across the bed, but there was nothing to grab but linen. Where were all the girls? He remembered two, maybe three of them, but they weren't here now. That meant no one else would answer the door and the hammering wouldn't stop until he did something about it.
"Yeah, coming," he growled. He reached the front door and waved it open.
"Mail delivery, Mr Felix." The night porter waved at the box of fan mail, topped by a small stack of official-looking envelopes that he should probably read first.
Jason kicked the box inside and grinned when it skidded on the polished tiles, spilling the stack of bills across the floor. White envelopes, white tiles...and one matte black envelope with the address printed on a sparkly silver label. He picked it up and flipped it over, wondering who'd died. It's not like he got funeral invitations very often. Maybe it was one of the Stones or some other rock royalty, acknowledging him as heir apparent to the title of the King of Rock, and begging him to attend the funeral of their old frontman and take his place in the band.
He squinted at the address, struggling to focus on the ornate script. Miller. Who'd he know named Miller? At an address in Perth...
Shrugging, Jason ripped it open and a shower of black glitter floated to the floor. The embossed card in his hand was an invitation, all right. To the wedding of Dr Alana Angel Miller and...fuck! He threw it on the floor, wanting to stomp it into the tiles. Angel was marrying the crazed stalker? The psycho who'd nearly killed her, then tried to beat Jason up, too, when he came to visit her in hospital?
Ignoring his splitting headache, he marched to find his phone. Without hesitating, he punched his sister's number and leaned against the kitchen bench while the call trilled for her to answer.
Pick up, pick up, pick up...she had to.
"Hi Jason. This really isn't a good time. I'm – "
"What the fuck is this? Is she fucking crazy?" he interrupted. "H
e should be locked up and not allowed near her. She should be committed to a mental hospital. Fucking insane..."
"Right, one second. I told my boss it's a family emergency and, seeing as the whole room heard you, I think he'll believe anything, provided I get your profanity the hell out of his meeting. I take it you got the invitation?" The faint sound of a door closing came down the phone line. "Okay, Jason. I'm back in my office and I've closed the door so everyone in the building doesn't have to listen to you swearing. She said she wanted to invite you and I gave her your address."
Then she knew he hadn't left the state. She knew where he was. Fuck, did that mean tomorrow she'd be on his doorstep, knife in hand?
"She said she'd castrate me, Jo! Cut my fucking balls off. What part of that didn't you believe? You're the one who keeps telling me to stay away from her. She carries that knife with her everywhere. And you told her where I live?" Shouting hurt his head, but he couldn't seem to turn down the volume on his own voice.
"She didn't really mean it," Jo soothed. "She was angry. You'd set some security guard to stalk her without telling her. You scared her."
"She wasn't fucking scared. Do you know what she did to the guy? Her and that steroid-enhanced psycho she thinks she's going to marry? She stabbed him. Fucking stabbed him. Then tied him up with electrical tape and tortured him until he told her everything. In her own apartment." Jay hadn't slept for three days after he'd heard that, certain he'd be next. If Angel didn't hunt him down, she'd send the psycho instead, and that guy liked inflicting pain. Just look at what he did to her. "She can't marry him. She just fucking can't!"
Jo sighed. "She can and she will, Jason. Look, I don't like him, either, but she can take care of herself. We're not teenagers any more. Even before Chaya made the charts, she had the money to hire security to watch her twenty-four seven. Trevor says he's not a threat and he'd know. He saw combat in Afghanistan, for God's sake. You're just jealous!"
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