“You’re not singing.”
“I engineer it, I don’t do it. I’ve got the musicality of a loaf of bread.”
Sam laughed. “You picked the wrong crowd to fall in with. It’s like battle of the vocal chords every weekend with us.”
She shrugged and Damon must’ve felt it. “You really don’t sing.”
“I really, really don’t.”
“Ever.”
“Never.”
She caught Sam’s smirk. “Heather doesn’t sing,” he said.
Damon leaned his shoulder into hers but turned his face to the window as if he was studying the scenery. “Might have to rethink this.”
Sam snorted. Which meant they’d talked and Damon was having a lend of her. “I didn’t realise it was a prerequisite.”
His hand came down on her thigh and he turned to face her. “It’s not a prerequisite, it’s a challenge.”
“Hah. One you’ll lose.”
“I’m backing Damo. Sorry Georgia, you seem like a top bird, but he’s got a way about him.”
“No contest, I’ve already won.” Damon’s expression gave superior a slack reputation.
“How do you figure that?”
He took his cap off and dropped his head to the headrest, eyes closed, dimple kinked. Sam laughed and pulled into a beachside car park. He unclipped his belt and got out.
Georgia touched Damon’s shoulder. He was going to give that up. She repeated her question. “How do you figure that?”
He unclipped his belt and leaned in so his face was close to hers. “I’ve already heard you sing and it was the sweetest sound.”
There was no way. She wasn’t even a hummer. Tap a rhythm out, dance badly when no one was watching, sure, but sing. “You’re hallucinating?”
“Every tight breath, every little vocal hitch, every sigh, all those throaty moans and murmurs.”
Oh, God. Oh. She checked over her shoulder, no sign of Sam.
Damon’s hand went from her thigh to her waist, to her shoulder and trailed up her neck. He took her chin and angled her head so he could whisper in her ear. “I’m going to take it personally,” his voice was secret crystal cave bright and stealth of night wicked and it made her flush, “if you don’t sing for me, and only me, every time I make you come.”
“Oh dear God.” She put her hand over his mouth. “That’s not… Damon… Hoo. That’s not fair.”
He smiled under her palm, before he peeled her hand away. “Provided I succeed, I’d say it’s very fair.”
“That’s not… That’s.” She was a stuttering mess and he was getting out of the truck. And the thing is, he was right. He only had to put his lips to her ear and she was one semi-quaver off choir practice.
She followed him out of the truck into the sun, shutting the door behind her, as stunned in the sudden glare as she was by Damon in her life. Only anxiety about how she was going to fit in with his friends prevented her luxuriating in what he’d just said and how it made her feel.
The gang was all assembled: Angus, Taylor, Jamie and another woman. Georgia recognised her as the one who’d kissed Angus behind the bar—Heather, the other non-singer.
Damon was talking to Angus. She put the back of her hand to the back of his and he took it, held it possessively, only releasing her to let Jamie give her a welcome hug, then taking it again. That helped her deal with the pissed off look she scored from Taylor whose face-swallowing sunglasses didn’t hide her annoyance. It was better to watch the parasail operator on the beach, the boat out beyond the break, than deal with whatever that was about.
Turned out everyone but Heather had done this before. Heather was visibly nervous but insisted on going first and not in a tandem with Angus. She was so skinny it was a wonder there was a harness small enough for her.
On the beach, Angus produced food and cold drinks from an esky. Jamie set up a shade tent. Damon sat behind her, his legs on the outside of hers, his chest trapping humidity between them. They faced the ocean and Georgia fed him strawberries, blueberries and slices of sticky mango over her shoulder and almost forgot they weren’t alone when he sucked at her fingers, until Heather arrived at the tent in a fit of excited laughter.
Taylor went for her turn. Georgia listened to Damon and Angus talk cricket and watched Jamie and Sam throw a frisbee. Beyond some eyebrows going over sunglass rims when they’d showed up together, no one was fussing over her. She wasn’t being singled out for attention or ignored, and although they were with the group, nothing Damon had done suggested he didn’t want her close to him.
Her shoulders felt safe enough to leave her ears to fend for themselves without cover. She relaxed, feeling the tension in her neck ease, and when Angus went for his turn and Damon pulled her down to the surf mat they were on, she was edging towards being comfortable again. She tipped all the way into contented when he said he wanted to go up tandem with her. But he didn’t need to worry about her. “I’m happy to go up alone.”
There wasn’t much of his face to see behind the sunnies and cap, but he put a twist in his lips that told her he was not good with that. “You might be.”
She tapped the brim of his cap, catching on. “Actually, I was cracking hardy. I’m scared to death to go up there by myself.”
He grinned. “That’s better. Don’t worry, I’ll save you.” He flexed his bicep, muscleman, laughing at himself. “Meanwhile, keep an eye on Sam. He can’t be trusted.”
“What’s he likely to do?”
“Make sure I get very wet.”
Georgia closed her eyes. God, she had it bad for Damon. He only had to say the word wet and she was catapulted back to last night and this morning, pressing her legs together as if that would give her relief. She shouldn’t want to kiss him so desperately. Only the thought she might embarrass him in front of his crew stopped her.
“What’s Sam doing?” Damon moved two fingers in a slow circle on the inside of her thigh, where her shorts finished. She hadn’t worn shorts in years and her skin was so milky white, had it not been for the tent she couldn’t have sat outside without courting third degree burns. She wanted to keep watching Damon’s hand, but she dragged her eyes away and looked for Sam, finding him with Taylor and Jamie.
Taylor was wet, she’d been dunked. Sam was telling her some story full of rapid arm gestures, which she was ignoring to look out to the parasail where Angus was. Jamie had his sunglasses pushed to the top of his head and was watching Taylor. Georgia blinked. Jamie was watching Taylor with an intensity that made her sit up straighter. Jamie wanted Taylor, Taylor wanted Angus, Angus wanted Heather.
“Oh boy.”
Damon grunted. “You can’t outrun him. Best just to take it and think about a way of getting him back when he least expects it. Don’t let him see your fear.”
He thought she meant Sam, who was striding down the beach towards the parachute canopy. “We’re safe. Sam is going up next.” That left Jamie and Taylor alone, but Jamie was yelling something after Sam, his whole attention focused on Sam’s muscled brown back, so maybe she’d gotten that group dynamic analysis wrong. She watched while Taylor cut Jamie a look that would wither the hardiest weed and trudged up the beach towards the tent.
And maybe not.
She’d have asked Damon but Taylor was there too soon, dripping on them both.
“Are you piking?” Taylor kicked Damon’s foot. “You can’t pike after dragging me out of bed for this.”
Damon grunted. “I’m not piking.”
Taylor turned her face to Georgia.
“I’m not piking either,” she said.
Taylor reached for her towel and wrapped it around her shoulders. Sam was in the chute harness, Angus and Heather at the water’s edge and Jamie was where Taylor left him. Taylor looked at her toes in the sand. “So you two are an item?”
She said it like they were number thirty-three on a menu with a picture of two ingredients that shouldn’t belong on a plate together, like ham and chocolate custard, and
only idiots ever ordered it.
Damon moved his foot out of her way and grinned. “Yeah. You got a problem with that?” He squeezed Georgia’s thigh.
“No, I don’t have a problem with that.”
Taylor’s face sure did. Georgia had yet to see her smile, other than when she’d been on stage singing.
Damon hooted. “Say that without the vinegar in your mouth.”
Taylor kicked sand at him, but she looked at Georgia with vinegar’s older, badder, prison-record wielding cousin, poison in her eyes before she stomped away.
“Don’t take that the wrong way.”
What was the right way to take Taylor’s obvious hostility? “She hates me.”
“And the context is she hates everyone I date.”
Which meant it went like this: Angus wanted Heather, Jamie wanted Taylor. Taylor wanted Damon more than she wanted Angus or Jamie. Georgia scrambled to her feet. Why would Damon want to bring her and Taylor together? Taylor who he’d had to argue with to get here, if not to make Georgia feel like she was in a competition for his affection? If not to use her in whatever his twisted relationship with Taylor was.
“Georgia.” He sat up.
“I’m going for my turn. I do want to go up alone after all.”
“Shit.” Damon got to his feet. He reached out a hand, but he was sideways to her and the glare must’ve made it hard for him to see. Unless she made a sound, he didn’t know where she was, because of course he was blind and he’d never see her, never know what she looked like. And despite his independence, he’d always need the people around him to be considerate. She didn’t feel considerate. Her dad and Hamish had taken her consideration and used it all up so there was nothing left in the emotional well it’d come from and no time to get a refill.
She felt even less like being used as Damon’s plaything. She walked to the edge of the tent where the shade gave out to the sun’s burn, knowing the squeak of the sand under her feet would tell him she was leaving. Right now she’d rather have blisters and peeling, weeping skin than stay with him.
She walked out to where Jamie was standing. Everyone else was at the shoreline.
“Great day,” she said. Stupid words, but she had to say something. She faced the sea and so did Jamie.
“Don’t leave him there without telling him what you’re doing.” She sighed, eyes down on the sand mounds at her feet. Jamie went on. “It’s okay to fight with him, hate his guts, but you can’t decide to abandon him.”
“He’s not helpless.” She wanted to bite her tongue off, she sounded so petulant.
“He’s not helpless at all.” Jamie kept his eyes on the parasail; Heather taking another turn. “He’s got more resources, financial and personal, than all of us put together. But it’s rude to walk away from him like you just did.”
“Ahh.” Her face and neck were so hot from embarrassment she might blister without the sun’s help.
“Whatever Taylor said she said because she worries about Damon on a professional level. She’s been doing it so long, its part of who she is.”
“Have they ever been…” she floundered and fell back on Taylor’s word, “an item.” It might account for the look of longing Jamie had given Taylor.
Jamie shook his head. “No.”
Where was this irrational jealousy coming from? She’d spent one night with Damon and she was carrying on as if she owned him one minute and couldn’t bear the sight of him the next.
“Are you going back there? He’ll want to go up tandem because he likes hearing the other person’s experience.”
She looked towards Damon. He’d made no attempt to leave the tent. He’d moved into the sun though, ditched his singlet and was stretched out, arms folded behind his head.
Jamie took her hesitation and turned it into action, stepping forward. She grabbed his hand to stop him. “I’ll go.” He nodded and she took a chance on him, because he’d been straight with her when she’d needed it. “You’re into Taylor.”
He gave a mocking laugh. “Wild guess.”
She let his arm go. “Sorry. I thought I saw… Never mind.” She looked at Jamie’s feet, dug into the sand. He was smart, the sand was so hot it was burning her toes, but a layer underneath it was cooler, like she needed to be. “Thank you for being upfront with me about Damon.”
“If he hasn’t told you how hooked by you he is, he will. Don’t worry about Taylor.”
She sighed, lifted her face and smiled at Jamie. She’d liked his earlier hug, she didn’t want to spoil whatever first impression she’d made to make him regret giving it to her. She had to have come close. “I’m pretty hooked by him too. Put this down to a jealous rage.”
Jamie smiled back. “Taylor can have that effect. I’ve learned to live with it. Please don’t say anything about it. She’s not into me and it’ll only make it awkward.”
The best answer was a promise to keep his secret safe. She gave Jamie a hug, as welcoming as the one he’d given her, before she trudged up the beach to Damon.
He’d have heard her coming, but he didn’t speak. She knelt at his side. “I’m scared.”
He turned his face to her. “I’m listening.”
She took a breath. She liked that he hadn’t tried to jump in and explain Taylor away as nothing. “I haven’t flown tandem for a long time. I haven’t even wanted to.” She watched his face to see if he understood she wasn’t talking about parasailing.
He tipped his head to the side, considering. He got it. “But now you do.”
“Now I do and it freaks me out.”
He smiled, full dimple. “That’s allowed.”
“I’m feeling all these things for you I don’t know how to manage.”
He sat up, held his hand out and she put hers in it. “That’s allowed too. What made you come back? Did Taylor give you a serve?”
“Jamie.”
“Jesus, he must like you. He wants another hug, he has to come through me.”
She squeezed his hand. “They really are your family.”
“Yeah. They can’t help themselves. It can get mighty irritating.”
Damon got to his knees and she moved forward, pushed his cap off his head and snaked her hand through his sweaty hair.
“You’re also allowed to get angry with me and walk away.” He shrugged. “Just try not to leave me in the middle of a freeway or the edge of a precipice, but other than that, no matter what Jamie said, no matter how Taylor looks at you, there are no rules for being with me that are any different from being with anyone else.”
How could that be true? There’d been all kinds of rules for having a relationship with Hamish, all kinds of procedures, habits and sensibilities that made it less a relationship and more a transaction. Damon could blast past his blindness and make you believe he could see as much as he wanted, but the truth was different.
He pushed to his feet. “You don’t trust that.” She stood with him. He opened his arms and she stepped into them, into the crisp heat of his sunbaked skin. It made her shiver. He sighed. He took her hat off, put his hand to her plait and tugged left and right, piloting her head to give him the answer she didn’t. “I guess that’s fair, especially because I left a rule out.”
“Argh.” She made a sound of annoyance and he laughed.
He dropped his hand to her back and held her. “There is only one rule I need. You have to let me hear you.” He took her sunglasses off, tossed them with his on a towel. “Whisper, yell, mumble, throw things, stomp around,” he lowered his voice, “sing. It doesn’t matter what you do, but I need to hear your emotion. I can handle being left on a precipice without falling. Abandon me on a highway or a back road and I’ll make it out okay, but if you stop making sounds I can hear, I’m truly in the dark.”
That was fair and so little to ask of her. As much a basic courtesy as a rule. “I can do that.”
He gave her a flash of dimple, a dose of wobbly knee and a kiss to seal the promise, which he followed with a none too gen
tle swat to her backside.
“Now take me tandem parasailing and let me hear you scream.”
19: Nothing
Damon woke coughing and the pain rolled in, a swarm of sensation, the worst of it throbbing behind his eyes. He lurched upright, something cold against his arm, metal. He pushed against it and dry retched over the side of the bed. Not his bed. And God, not Georgia’s. Where the fuck was he and why was he dying?
He slumped back on the pillow, very starchy sheets, and this bed was a narrow single. Humming noises and squeaky shoes, but not close.
He didn’t know if he was alone and the urge to vomit had a good grip on him.
He’d taken Georgia for lunch, walked her back to Avocado. She’d hailed him a taxi, and then something tried to take the top of his head off. He hadn’t gotten here by carrier pigeon. What day was it? How long had he been out?
The question-forming part of his brain was obviously functioning. The answer giving part must’ve been sheared off by the impact. He put his hand to his head, not exactly to check if it was all there, but still gratified to feel hair and intact scalp. He also felt a bandage, a sticking one. Gingerly poking the spot made him grunt. His neck hurt, his stomach churned, his back was stiff and his knee felt bruised and swollen. It was hard to care about answers, about anything, when he felt so terrible.
Then a hand to his forehead and he winced.
“How long have you been completely blind?” Taylor. And even through the mist of confusion he knew she was shitty.
“What happened?”
“You walked into a truck.”
Run over. No wonder everything hurt.
“Anyone see who hit me?”
“No one hit you. You stepped out on the road and walked into the back of a truck carrying building supplies. You nearly decapitated yourself on metal scaffolding.” Angus. Equally pissed.
That can’t be right. Shaking his head made him want to vomit again. “Where am I?”
“Prince of Wales. You’ve been out of it a couple of hours.” Angus, now closer. Damon had no sense of where Taylor was and there was no point trying to open his eyes again.
“Georgia?” Was she here too? Why wasn’t she talking, touching him?
Incapable (Love Triumphs Book 3) Page 19