by Kate Johnson
“A family?” he suggested, not trying to hide his own tears any more.
“Happy,” she hiccupped, and then she fell against him and he held her as they both cried.
Chapter Eighteen
Damn, it felt good to be held by him. The wind whipped around them, her skin prickled, and she huddled closer for warmth. Xavier pulled her into his lap as if she was a dainty little princess, and wrapped his arms around her as she soaked his shirt with her tears.
“I’m sorry, honey, I’m so sorry,” he whispered. He was crying too.
“I know I have to move on. We have to move on. And I’m trying. But I don’t want to just…”
“Pretend it never happened?”
“Yes.” He did understand. Oh God, she’d been an idiot. “I really am stupid,” she muttered.
“No, you’re not. You are the smartest person I know.”
“Well, I’ve definitely been stupid,” she sniffed, trying not to bask in his praise.
“That’s totally different from being stupid.”
She ran that sentence through in her head and looked up at him.
“You knew what I meant,” he said, smiling a little. She smiled too, and laid her head against his shoulder. He showed no signs of letting go of her and she didn’t want him to.
“There is something you have to tell me, though,” he said, and she stiffened. “Who it was who made you feel stupid in the first place. For someone so smart you have a real complex about it.”
Eliza slumped in his arms. “I know. Blame the dyslexia.”
“Ohh,” Xavier said, as if this was a great revelation. “You’re—why didn’t you tell me this?”
She shrugged. “Was it important?”
“I guess not. But it does explain… you never liked texting much, did you?”
She smiled. “I make a lot of mistakes I just don’t see. It’s worse when I’m in a hurry, or stressed or upset. I have to concentrate quite hard. My old nanny thought I was just being thick, you see. Or lazy. She was quite old-school. It wasn’t until I went to school they figured it out, and by then the label had stuck. Drina was the horsey one, I was the stupid one.”
“That’s horrible.”
“That’s the gutter press. And society as a whole, actually. People love to make fun, and kids can be pretty cruel. Especially if they’re entitled little arseholes like most of the children in my set.”
“Like Melissa?”
Eliza shuddered. “Can we lock her in with Marisol?”
“A fitting punishment.” Xavier stroked her hair where the wind had whipped strands out of their plaits. “Eliza, did you ever think she might not be as innocent as she says she is?”
Frequently. “She’s a cow,” Eliza said, “but I don’t think we can lock her in jail for that. Do you really think she was behind getting me kidnapped?”
Xavier shrugged. Eliza tried not to enjoy the movement of his chest too much. “I think it’s a hell of a coincidence. I’ve been trying to think my way through it, but… I dunno. Last couple months I haven’t been exactly…”
“In the mood to investigate entitled little bitches?”
“In the mood to do anything.”
Her fingers curled into his shirt. “To get out of bed, to have a conversation, to go outside?” She listened to his heart beat. “Low in the water, quietly sinking?” He nodded. “I’ve memorised that tune. Oh, Xavi, I had no idea. I was too wrapped up in myself to even think.” He’d been going through the same thing she had. How had she not realised?
Because you wanted someone to blame.
He squeezed her tight. “Don’t you dare apologise again.”
“But I was so busy blaming you—”
“It’s natural to want to blame someone.”
“Like Melissa?” she said.
Xavier gave a bit of a laugh. “Yeah. I swear someone that self-involved has to be guilty of something.”
“Yes, but unfortunately it’s not illegal to be a bitch. She has this incredible way of talking to the press about me that sounds like she’s being totally sympathetic and she’s being so evil.”
“The press seems to have warmed to you lately.”
“Yes, it’s amazing how a tragedy will do that. They hate you though. We’ll have to do something about that.”
“I don’t really care.”
“Well, I do.” She looked up indignantly. “If my family are going to accept you then—” Something hit the top of her head. “Ow?”
“If your family are going to—what? Jeez!”
The rain was so heavy and sudden it hurt. They scrambled to their feet, Eliza grabbing the blanket as Xavier took the ditch bag, and raced to one of the wooden pavilions used for weddings on the little island. It was hardly waterproof, the roof made mostly out of palm leaves that clearly needed replacing.
Rain poured down, eliminating visibility more than a few feet ahead. Eliza’s radio burst into life.
“Are you there? Are you all right?”
“Yes, we’re fine,” she replied, swiping water from her face. “The rain came down suddenly. I’d been hoping the clouds would pass.”
“We’ll come and get you—”
“No!” yelped Eliza, before she could examine her reasons why. She glanced at Xavier, who was folding the blanket back into the backpack. “I mean… we’re fine. And the water is probably choppy. And… we still have a lot to talk about.”
There was a pause. “We’ll check back in later. No response, we’re coming.”
Eliza agreed to that and shrugged at Xavier.
“It’s not a hurricane or a tropical storm,” he said. “It’s just a regular thunderstorm. It’ll probably pass and be clear in half an hour.”
But it didn’t. The pavilion, not meant to withstand anything more than occasional use, leaked like a sieve. The wind tore at them.
“The shack is supposed to be quite close,” Eliza said, raising her voice to be heard. “Up that path, I think.”
“Is it waterproof? I say we go for it!”
Given the state of the structures on the beach, she wasn’t sure, but it had to be more sheltered than this. She started running, along the beach then up the path. It was mostly wooden planks, with a rail along one side that had been fitted with tiny lanterns. Several had rusted and fallen off, however, and at one point she came to a total halt as the whole path disappeared underwater.
“Whoa!” said Xavier, nearly running into her. “Why’d you—oh.”
The path evidently dipped down here, and the water rushing from the higher points of the island had formed a fast-flowing stream, fording the walkway.
“How deep do you think it is?” she asked, peering over the side of the railing where the ground fell gently away. This was clearly a natural gully, the water finding its own path down towards the sea.
“You want me to go first?”
She looked him over. Hair plastered to his head, shirt clinging to his body. Her dress was probably giving him an eyeful, too.
“I don’t think we can get any wetter,” she said, and knotted the strings of her sandals together to loop around her neck. She took a cautious step into the water, which was much colder than she’d anticipated. Then another.
“The current is quite strong,” she called back over her shoulder, and right on cue it swept something into her ankle that knocked her off balance.
“Eliza!”
“I’m okay,” she said, and grabbed the railing to steady herself as she got back up. But the wood gave way under her weight, and she toppled over the side, sliding down into the slippery sand and rapidly descending.
“Eliza!”
The ground fell away in a slope that had seemed gentle when she wasn’t being washed down it. Eliza grabbed for something, anything, to slow her rapid slide, one plant sliding from her grasp and another breaking off before she shoved herself towards a tree and managed to get her body wedged against it.
Xavier was calling her name, and she heard him
crashing through the forest as she dragged herself out of the river of water to the other side, where the ground was merely muddy and not actually moving under her feet.
“I’m okay,” she yelled, but he was on the other side of the running water and couldn’t hear her. He started to cross. “No! You’ll fall!”
“What?”
His inattention cost him exactly as it had cost her. He flailed and went over, almost comical in his attempts to stand upright. By the time had gained his knees, the water halfway up his thighs, Eliza had given up on trying to keep her giggles in.
“Okay, sure, it’s hilarious.” But a smile tugged at his handsome face.
“Come this way. On your knees, you’ll stay up better.”
Xavier evidently felt daft doing that, but it worked, and he made it to her side, the far side of the mudslide from the way they’d come. He had sandy mud caked all over him, and twigs in his hair, and Eliza grabbed into him as soon as she could and tackled him to the ground in a hug.
“Oh my God!” she laughed.
“Are you okay?”
“Am I okay? You just commando-crawled through a mudslide.” She couldn’t stop giggling.
“What, I was supposed to leave you?”
“You know I can swim, right?”
“What, uphill?” But he was laughing too, the two of them filthy and absolutely soaked.
Eliza leaned in and kissed him, on an impulse that lasted a damn long time as the rain fell around them and half the island washed itself down the hill.
“Um,” she said when he lifted his head, a little dazed.
“Yeah,” he agreed.
Thunder suddenly cracked overhead, and they both jumped.
“We should find that hut,” he said, and she nodded. Xavier pulled her to her feet and they started back up the slope, using trees to hold onto as they gained the path. From here onwards, it looked sturdier, and they made it up several short flights of steps before reaching a rustic wooden building, half hidden amongst the trees. It had a kind of verandah at the front, and looked well-weathered.
“Oh no, we don’t have a key,” Eliza said, but Xavier just dealt her a look as he lifted the latch and opened the door. “Okay, good. I hope the roof is sound,” she said, following him in.
Xavier said, “Wonder if there’s a generator?” The place was in near-darkness, but then he flicked a switch and they both stopped dead.
Xavier found his voice first. “This is a shack?”
Eliza stared at the polished wood floors, the colourful sofa, the stone fireplace. Little lanterns gave the place a homely glow, and large shuttered windows could be opened all around the walls. Visible through a wide doorway was a large bed, unmade but hung with dreamy white netting. She moved forward, helpless to resist, and found patio doors opening onto a large deck with a hot tub.
She started to laugh.
Xavier’s voice came after her. “I mean to you it probably is a shack, but… holy crap, look at that view.”
It was magnificent, or at least it would be when the rain cleared. Right over the pine forest they’d scrambled through, to the beach and the ocean and probably some of the other cays, too.
“Oh, we have been so set up,” Eliza said. She couldn’t stop laughing. “A bloody honeymoon suite? I asked for somewhere quiet, I was thinking a beach or a park and… oh my God, not a honeymoon suite.”
Xavier peered into the bathroom. “There’s a shower in here big enough for four people, and it has a window over the jungle,” he said.
“Of course it does. Is there champagne in the minibar?”
She squelched out to the living room, where a small bar area housed a variety of drinks and snacks. Champagne featured heavily. She held up a bottle to Xavier.
“We’re so set up,” he said. “Is this your cousin or my sister?”
“But how could they have known we’d come here? I asked Tapper for somewhere quiet, not…”
“Maybe she was waiting for the opportunity to bring us here.”
“What, they were going to wait for a storm and bundle us into the back of a boat?”
“Kidnapped by your own security staff?” Xavier said. He was filthy and soaked and he looked absolutely gorgeous.
“I’ve been kidnapped in much worse places,” she said. “Give me the radio.”
He swung the bag off his back and got the waterproof radio out of its pocket. When he handed it over, their fingers brushed and Eliza pretended she hadn’t felt the spark.
“This is Eliza. We’re in the shack.”
“Do you require rescue?”
“No, and I think you know that.” She looked around at the twinkling lights and the draped bed and the minibar. “Whose idea was this?”
“Ma’am?”
His tone was deliberately bland.
“Okay, come and get us in the morning. And, um, let us know beforehand,” she added, averting her eyes from Xavier and his nearly-transparent shirt.
She set the radio down on the bar and kept her gaze on it for a long moment. She shouldn’t rush here. Shouldn’t give into her impulses. That kiss in the mud had just been—
Oh, who was she kidding.
For the first time in months, she wasn’t quietly sinking. She wasn’t screaming and thrashing. She was swimming, just like she’d been born to.
“I’m going to take a shower,” she said, and walked past him to the bathroom.
The walk-in shower was indeed large enough for four, but Eliza figured two would be enough. One glass wall looked right out into the forest, where the rain was still sluicing down. She switched on the water, hoping the generator that provided light also heated the water.
It did. Not that a cold shower would have gone amiss with the amount of mud and sand covering her, and the amount of heat coursing through her body.
She stripped off her sodden dress and stood looking through the toiletries, which were suspiciously well-stocked.
“There are towels in the closet,” Xavier called through. “You want me to bring you one?”
Eliza looked at her reflection. She pulled the elastics from her hair, shook it out, extracted a twig from her bra then padded barefoot to the open doorway to the bedroom.
“Sure,” she said. “But do it later.”
Xavier’s gaze went straight to her bra, which had gone totally see-through, and he actually gulped. His hand moved to cross himself.
“I think we should see if the shower will fit two comfortably,” she said, and he moved so fast she thought he’d trip. She was laughing as his arms came around her and his lips crashed down on hers. He kissed her like a man dying.
“Eliza,” he breathed, his hands all over her. “Oh, God, Eliza. Are you sure?”
“Never been more sure,” she said, and she meant it.
Her underwear hit the floor pretty fast. Xavier didn’t seem to care that she was filthy, he couldn’t stop touching her. She backed under the warm water spray and he followed her as if he was helpless to resist.
“You really ought to get out of those wet things,” she said, enjoying herself, and he seemed to realise he was still dressed. In the time it took him to strip off his clothes, she’d squirted a generous amount of soap into her hands and lathered up. “You’re absolutely filthy,” she said. “Come here.”
The way they washed each other was hardly effective, not that Eliza gave a damn. There were still streaks of mud in her hair as Xavier bent his head to her breast, his fingers between her legs. And there was mud all over him as he fell to his knees and put his mouth where his hand had been.
Eliza fell hard against the forest window, biting down on her hand until she realised she didn’t have to be silent and cried out her pleasure.
When he rose to kiss her she tasted herself on his mouth. Her arms trembled as she held him close.
“Eliza,” he breathed. “Please tell me there are condoms in this bathroom.”
She giggled. “Yes. Also in the ditch bag.” At his incredulous look she
said, “I’m not going unprepared again.”
“That is very sexy,” he told her, as he rushed to get one.
Then he was back with her, inside her, and Eliza lost her mind again as the water beat down on them and the rain pattered against the window.
Afterwards, he wrapped her in a fluffy bathrobe, kissed her like he still hadn’t had his fill, and led her to the little living room overlooking the island. He lit the fire while she poured the champagne, and they lounged together on the sofa, snuggling and kissing like the newlyweds the place had been designed for.
“Can we just stay here?” Xavier said, his fingers caressing her knee.
“Mmm, and never go back to the real world. Like on the island.”
“Only with electricity and hot water and a proper bed.”
“Hah. Much as I love you, sleeping in that tiny life raft tent was not what you might call comfortable. No, don’t stop, that was nice,” she said, when his hand went still.
“What did you say?”
“I said don’t stop.” She peered at him. “Did you get water in your ears?”
“You said you love me.”
“Did I?” Did she?
Oh, of course she did. She’d loved him for longer than she could even work out.
“Well,” she said lightly, “I certainly loved what you did to me in the shower.”
“Eliza.”
She looked away from him, at the fire burning in its neat little grate. Yes, she loved him. But would that be enough?
“I can’t afford to have my heart broken again,” she said. “I thought it would kill me last time.”
Xavier said nothing, just took her hand and held it against his chest. She felt his heart beat.
“If I tell you… if we get together again… if I have to think about the future,” she said, turning to him, “I don’t really know what it will be. Last time it was a fait accompli. We’d go to my family and tell them they more or less had to accept us getting married. But this time, there’s no bargaining chip. There’s no dreadful alternative. There’s just… ‘well, you can’t marry him because he’s a Catholic and he’s divorced and everyone thinks he’s a deadbeat dad’.”