He sat down next to me on the rock that was made for one— or two if you were friendly—took a bite of his own pasty and stared out to sea. I’ve never been a fan of these sidelong glances under eyelashes, but I did it now. His hair was a bit longer than before, pulled back into a ponytail so you could see every bit of those sharp cheekbones, making his long straight nose seem even more defined. Where Will was all broad, stocky and strong, Ollie was the stuff sword-wielding heroes were made of. All he needed was the ruffled white shirt and tight breeches, and he’d be ready to fight for his lady’s honour. Except he wasn’t interested in keeping a lady, he just wanted the fun, liked being the daredevil. More gypsy than gent.
I followed his lead and took a bite of the soft pastry, and the heat and pepper hit the back of my throat. I coughed, well, more of a splutter.
“You okay?” He gave me a hearty slap on the back, then his hand stilled and the warmth bled straight through my layers, reminding my body of how it used to be.
“Fine, thanks.” I shifted away and fought the impulse to get up and walk. I was here for a reason, I just hadn’t expected reality to meet me halfway.
Chapter Three
“Why are you here?” His voice was soft, and he’d gone back to staring at the Celtic Sea as though it might hold the answers, and I wasn’t sure if he meant what was I doing down in Cornwall, or right here— next to him. A spot we’d shared more times than I wanted to remember that youthful summer that had started out with promise and hope.
I put the pasty down on top of my rucksack. Why was I there? “I needed to come back, work out why I was here in the first place.”
He didn’t look at me. “You really know how to put a guy in his place, don’t you?”
There was a rough edge to his voice that hurt.
“I didn’t mean why I was with you.”
I didn’t, I’d been with him because I’d thought we were supposed to be together, because I thought we meant something to each other. I relaxed back against him a bit, this was supposed to be about me, not raking up what did or didn’t go wrong. “I meant why we left home, came here, why I ran away.”
“We weren’t running away, Soph, people grow up, move on and what happened to your—” I resisted the urge to put my hands over my ears, but he stopped short. Never mentioned my parents.
“I just need to do it again, grow up, without the shit ending.”
It was true, I’d never actually thought of it that way before, but it was true. I didn’t want to change anything, I couldn’t change anything, but I wanted, no needed, to understand.
“So you’ve had fun these last few years?” He was pissed, definitely pissed, and he had a right to be.
“I was a cow.” I picked the pasty up again and peeled a bit of the flaky pastry back, watching it blow away in the wind. Risked another bite, tried not to get my hair mixed up in it. “I’m sorry.” It was muffled but I knew he’d hear it and it was the best I could do right now.
“You were, but I understood.”
The hurt edge had lessened and the deep, deep timbre of his voice rolled along my bones like it used to do. Ollie was a man who’d been able to talk his way into my bed, whisper his way into my body. But I’d rushed back to Cheshire, left him, refused to talk about it, and I’d never let him back in because I’d blamed myself, and so I’d blamed him too.
“It wasn’t your fault.” His voice was soft and I wanted to agree, accept what he said, move on. But I couldn’t.
“Or yours, you mean, Ollie?”
He laughed, but it wasn’t exactly a happy laugh. “Now you’re being nasty.”
I was. But I’d run away and he’d not tried that hard to run after me, and it had hurt. Really hurt. We’d been kids when we’d gone off on our big adventure, kids who didn’t want responsibility or commitment. But when I’d gone back to Cheshire to bury my parents, blaming myself for leaving in the first place, it cut deep when I realised that he’d taken my ‘leave me alone’ demand at face value. Had I gone with him because I loved him, or because I needed to get away from the fear? From a dad who got drunk and beat my mum, from a mum who ignored my pleas to leave him. I was pretty sure running from them was part of the story, but I needed to work out how big a part. And how much of it had been about Ollie and me. And I needed to know if when I’d run away from him he’d really cared.
Yeah, sad eh?
So, I couldn’t blame Ollie really. Maybe he was the only one in the whole damned mess who had known what he wanted and gone out and got it— a summer of great sex, fun and freedom. And I was here to understand me, not him.
“Sorry. Again.” I sighed. “So what are you doing down here?”
“I never left. I decided I liked it here.”
He said it with an even tone, no accusation, but I felt bad. We’d been so close, shared so much and then nothing. Full stop. And I hadn’t tried to find out, even though it would have been easy. One word and Dane would have told me.
“Dane says you’re all educated now.” Ah, Dane, so he did know everything.
“He never said what you were doing.” I tried to keep it light, not let the accusation show in my voice.
“I asked him not to. Thought it was better that way. So, smart girl, what happened to the big city?”
“Oh I was never big city, just Grove and Grove.”
He laughed. “Dane tells me they still do the Christmas grab and grotto.”
“What else does he tell you?” I was genuinely interested; I’d love to know how the world looks through Dane’s eyes.
“Ah, this and that.” They were so alike and so different in so many ways Ollie and Dane. They were cousins, but they could have been brothers the way they looked. But where Dane was cautious, Ollie was the bad boy, where Dane wanted roots, Ollie wanted freedom. He’d always been a gypsy at heart, which was partly what had attracted me to him. The wild side, well that and the good looks and the hair I couldn’t keep my fingers away from.
He took a man-sized bite from his pasty, crumpled up the wrapper and turned so that I didn’t have to admire his profile any longer. “You’ve not changed much.”
“No wrinkles?”
“No wrinkles.” The warmth of his hand on my chin was a touch that hadn’t changed, and nor had the effect it had on me. He brushed over my lips with a roughened thumb and I couldn’t stop the little sigh.
“Your hair’s longer.” Looking at his hair was easier than meeting that steady gaze.
“Your breasts are fuller.” Which got me looking at him again. Still playing the bad boy, and who could ignore a bad boy? Not me.
“That’s the big coat and jumper.”
“I wouldn’t mind checking for myself.”
I parted my lips slightly and I could taste the salt on his skin, and it was a taste that made me hungry. Then before I could react, he leaned forward and his lips met mine, a light firm touch, that was soft and sweet but oh so demanding, because the taste of Ollie was one I’d missed so much.
He pulled back and looked, and my heart was hammering harder than it had when I’d been striding up that hill into the mist yesterday. So, obviously this wasn’t going to be the plain sailing I’d planned. For one, I’d never expected to see Ollie here, and for two— and boy, two was the worst bit —never thought I’d want him exactly the way I had when I was sweet seventeen. In fact I think it was worse because my hormones must have multiplied or something, I could have sworn I’d never felt this desperate.
But he’d left me, or rather I’d left him and he’d let me. I stroked my fingers along his cheekbone because I had to and those tawny brown eyes darkened before he jerked away and caught my hand.
“Maybe I should go.” Maybe coming here had been a mistake.
“And how will that help with the working out thing?”
I picked at the harsh grass at the side of me and didn’t say anything.
“Does Dane know you’re here?”
“No. Don’t tell him, will you? Please?”
Dane would go ballistic if he knew I was down here, I wasn’t sure of much, but I was of that. He’d told me off for running away from my problems, not facing up to myself, but he didn’t want me near Ollie. He’d made that clear, more than clear.
He didn’t answer, so I turned to look at him and as I did the wind whipped between us and I saw the thin long scar that snaked across his temple. I put a hand up instinctively to touch it, but he had my wrist in a grip stronger than anything I’d remembered. The boy had turned into a man.
I tried not to flinch. “Where did you get that?”
“Old war wound.” He released his grip slightly, but not so much that I could move or touch him.
“What kind of war?”
“Nothing.” He pushed my hand down, held it between us on the rock and it was then that I noticed the second scar that ran over his collar bone. “Battle scars.”
“Some battle.” They were proper scars, not just from a stumble and I didn’t like that I didn’t know about them.
“Forget it.” He was still holding my wrist, but when I wriggled he suddenly seemed to realise what he was doing, and he slowly uncurled his fingers. But his hand stayed there and I didn’t know whether it was to stop me touching his scars, or because he didn’t want to break the contact between us. “Do you know what you’re doing, Soph?”
“Not really. Do we ever?”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “Guess not. I’ll give you a lift back, shall I?” My gaze drifted back up to the scar, trouble was now I’d noticed it I couldn’t stop looking, and wondering. There was just something about the way Mr. Laid-back had reacted that set those instincts prickling inside me, except my instincts were sometimes way off the mark.
“Stop it, Soph.” He hadn’t missed my stares, which I suppose he wouldn’t. He was on his feet, holding out a hand and pulling me abruptly up before dropping my hand like it was a hot coal, and heading over to the Landrover. Is that what every man in Cornwall drove?
I hadn’t said it out loud, I was sure I hadn’t.
“Comes with the job.” He shoved it into gear with his normal confidence and we were trundling up the steep hill before I’d got my seatbelt on. Yeah, his normal confidence. Much as I wanted to distance myself from Ollie and the past, it was all too normal. I knew him too well. And he knew me.
“So what’s the job?”
“Helping out the grockles.” He gave a short laugh, minus the humour and threw me a glance that dared me to make a joke of it.
“Emmets.”
“Sorry?” He shoved the Landrover down a gear as we hit the steeper section.
“Emmets. Grockles are what they say in Devon.”
“Ah, Miss Know-It-All as normal, some things don’t change, I see.” The corner of his mouth tipped up though, and then he reached over and ruffled the hair on the top of my head, leaving me strangely pleased with myself.
“You cart people up and down to the castle?” I remembered how we’d scoffed at all the visitors who paid and took the easy four wheel option as we’d strode down, then back up with the arrogance of youth. So even Ollie had grown up a bit. Oh God, what if he had really grown up, if he’d got a girlfriend, a wife? I mean lots of my friends had, my sis had a husband and kids in tow, Holly had been married and divorced, even Dane…But it was none of my business, was it?
I glanced at his hand again, no ring. It was really none of my business, I wasn’t here to bother him, to try and start anything up again. Hadn’t I said to Dane that it was a daft going back, making the same old mistakes again?
“Have you got a girlfriend, anyone special in your life? I mean, well, sorry it’s none of my business, you don’t have to say.”
“No.” The Landrover climbed the final steep section of the path effortlessly, emerging by the gift shop at the top triumphantly and he pulled the handbrake on and glanced at me, the look giving nothing away at all.
“No.” His fingers had tightened on the steering wheel. “No, it isn’t any of your business really.”
I dared to let my gaze drift up, linger on the scar at his neck, avoid his direct gaze and settle on the scar at his temple. Then I took a deep breath and let myself meet that dark, knowing gaze of his.
“No, Sophie.” His voice was oh so soft, but firm. No room for misunderstandings. “There’s no one special. You?”
“No.” I looked down at my hands twitching in my lap. It was a damned sight easier dealing with other people’s problems, easy to see right from wrong, the logical way out of a mess. But it was all grey and misty right here and now, just like the rest of Cornwall. I closed my eyes for a moment and wished the magic back. But it didn’t appear. I took a deep breath. “I don’t know that I could cope with anyone else in my life right now, I’m a commitment-free zone.” He slipped the four wheel drive back into gear and edged up to the main road.
“Which way?”
Now there was a question and a half. I gave him the address of the cottage I was staying at and he nodded, revving up as he turned right onto the main road and edged his way through the deserted Tintagel and up a narrow, windy lane I didn’t know existed. The steep high hedges towered above us, closing in and it could have been dangerous proximity or a safe haven—I hadn’t got a clue which. He didn’t say a word, and I didn’t want him to.
He pulled up outside the cottage, turned off the engine and then there was just silence, a big, wide, open silence. We both knew he was coming in. Step one, talk. Neither of us had ever been the coward, not really, and we both knew that we couldn’t run away from each other again. Not yet. At least not without a proper goodbye this time.
We got out without a word, walked around the corner of the cottage side by side to the front door.
And stopped dead.
He sat on the doorstep. Sturdy and immovable with a bottle of wine in one hand, a carrier bag in the other, and a smile on his face that dimmed the second he saw Ollie, or more accurately the moment he registered the possessive hand Ollie had in the small of my back.
Chapter Four
Okay, this was good and this was bad. I was relieved in a way that Will was there. Because it stopped me avoiding the issue and just jumping Ollie’s bones. Bad because, well now I felt bad.
Bad about Will having his balloon pricked, and bad about the way Ollie’s hand had stiffened against me. And I was a little pissed off. I had said I’d meet up with Will later, and I really didn’t need to get involved with a guy who would be there at every turn. A guy who might want more than a little bit of fun.
For a second he looked hurt, that injured animal look flickered across his face and passed by fairly quickly. I guess he was the type of guy who could take it or leave it. Who would cope with whatever you threw at him. The ideal type of guy for a girl who didn’t know what she wanted, for a girl open to persuasion.
“Coming in?” I looked at Will, then looked at Ollie, and they both looked at each other. Neither of them was prepared to give ground I suppose, but they both looked fairly laid back about the situation.
“Sure.” Will nodded then waved over at the pile of logs at the side of the cottage. “Shall I bring some in to put on the wood stove?” Which could have been his way of telling Ollie that he knew I had a wood stove, or could just have been helpful.
Ollie didn’t offer to help, just pushed the front door open and walked in. Which could have been his way of saying he wasn’t the hired help. Who knows? I stripped off my damp coat and was glad that there was going be some heat to dry it out.
Ollie stretched himself out in one of the armchairs and looked completely at home, like he always had done wherever he was. He was that type of guy, so confident in his own skin that you could put him anywhere. I suppose he reminded me in some way of a cat, the way he’d have a sniff around, check out for danger, and then settle himself on the most comfy seat in the house and chill. I was tempted to settle on his knee, but that would have been plain weird with Will sorting out the logs. So instead, I dithered.
Great. Hopping from foot to foot like some nervous kid while I had two of the hunkiest men in the county in my living room. I could be decisive when I was sorting everyone else, harder when it was me and I hadn’t quite worked out what I was after.
“Wine?”
I stopped dead, all fidgeting suspended as the soft Cornish burr rolled across the room straight at me, I’d been so busy thinking about what I was going to do next, and studying his broad back and the way he got the wood burner going effortlessly, that I had forgot about talking. There is something downright sexy about a man doing man things. And I don’t mean messing with a gadget, I mean chopping wood and building fires, rolling his muscles and stuff. All manly and masterful.
“Sure.” I busied about in the tiny kitchen and found three almost matching wine glasses that looked suspiciously like they’d been liberated from a pub, and a corkscrew that worked better than it looked like it would.
When I went back in the two men looked happy enough with the situation, Will eyeing up the fire and Ollie stretched out looking slightly bemused. I poured the wine and wondered what happened next. Awkward silence?
“I’d just sit down and have a drink if I were you.” The slightly dry tone made me colour up as though I’d been caught thinking something I shouldn’t. Ollie had always had that effect on me. Which was probably why he’d always found it so easy to get under my defences— there just weren’t any where he was concerned.
“I, erm, brought some food if you fancy something?” Will’s gaze briefly from his flame watching to my face, which I could swear was giving out a similar amount of heat.
Oh, God, he really had gone to town. Bottle of wine, logs for the fire and a cosy meal for two. Which had turned into three. And it was sweet, and not what I’d expected from my sturdy bullocksy boy.
“Well I’m game, who’s cooking?” Ollie it seemed wasn’t at all fazed.
“No cooking.” Will abandoned his post of chief log burner and went over to the bag that I vaguely remembered seeing in his hand when we’d got back, and swung it in my direction.
Good Enough to Trust (Good Enough, Book 2 - Going Back) Page 4