More Than a Fling?

by Joss Wood

  ‘We have a connection...a big one,’ Ally admitted. ‘I’m in love with him and I think that he might be in love with me.’

  Ally didn’t see Sabine’s very satisfied smile. ‘That’s a good start.’

  Ally looked past Sabine’s shoulder and out of the window and dimly realised that they were in the air. She hadn’t even realised that they had taken off.

  ‘It’s crazy—we haven’t known each other that long and he’s talking about trying to keep this...this thing going.’

  ‘Good for him. How?’

  Ally sat up, undid her seatbelt and sat cross-legged in the big chair. ‘I don’t know. I didn’t let him get that far. I said that everything I love is in Geneva and that I can’t sacrifice my career for him.’

  ‘L’imbecile...’ Sabine murmured, but gently.

  ‘I know.’ Ally looked down at her hands. ‘I’m scared. I’ve been scared for a long, long time.’

  ‘Of what?’

  Could she say this? Did she dare?

  ‘Of being left alone. Of experiencing love and losing it. Of not being wanted. But mostly of being left alone. It terrifies me, but—’

  ‘But?’

  ‘But I’m almost more afraid of not being with him than I am of being alone’ Ally admitted. ‘And I’m so ashamed that I’ve left him thinking that I don’t love him.’

  ‘You did that?’

  ‘Mmm.’

  ‘Then I repeat: you’re an idiot,’ Sabine said on a loving smile. ‘Do you want me to get the plane turned around?’

  Ally looked at her in shock. ‘What? Why?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know...so that you can go back and tell him the truth?’

  She might be tired of being scared but she wasn’t that brave. She needed to take some time to think this through...

  ‘It would be too easy, and I don’t know if he’d believe me,’ Ally said quietly. ‘I think I need a little time.’

  ‘To do what?’

  Ally half smiled, although her heart still felt as if it was breaking. ‘To learn how to be a better daughter, friend, lover. I need to be a better listener, to gain control of my fear. I need time, Maman.’

  It was the first time she’d called Sabine by that name and she liked the sound of it on her lips. Judging by Sabine’s wobbly lower lip, she did too.

  ‘You risk losing him if you take too much time, ma petite.’

  Ally nodded. ‘I know. But I won’t go back to him as half a person, living in fear. If I go back—when I go back—it’ll be because I’m strong enough to be his lover. He doesn’t deserve anything less.’

  Sabine didn’t say anything for a long time. ‘I’m so proud of you.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Ally slumped back in her chair. ‘Now can you take the pain away?’

  Sabine raised one shoulder in that very Gallic way. ‘The pain is the proof that you can love. Own it—be proud of it.’

  ‘It sucks,’ she muttered inelegantly.

  * * *

  Ally stood behind her family in the media room on the Bellechier estate and held her breath as Luc inserted a CD into the system so that they could watch the final cuts for the four Bellechier commercials. Her heart was firmly in her throat.

  Ross jumped out of the screen, his eyes inviting the viewers to step into his world.

  The camera loved Ross and had captured his innate charisma and his love of life. Norm had done a great job, incorporating the craziness and funkiness of the open offices of RBM, and they’d all agreed to call the new Bellechier line Win!. Whether he was standing on the top of Table Mountain at sunset or flinging his Ducati around the tight corners of Chapman’s Peak Drive, every frame made you want to live his life, be part of his life, wear his clothes...be just like him.

  Or, if you were female, be with him.

  Mission accomplished, Ally thought, shoving her fist into that space just beneath her ribs. Her heartburn was back—an ailment she hadn’t experienced in Cape Town. Probably because after a hard day’s work she’d destressed by having Ross’s hands on her body, his mouth on hers, him taking her every which way to Sunday.

  She’d been back in Geneva for a week and she felt as if she was walking around with half of her brain and all of her heart in Cape Town. Ally pulled her bottom lip with her thumb and forefinger as the still photographs of Ross flashed up on the screen. There was the one of him sitting on the couch in his office, half smiling up at her as he told her to trust the people around her.

  She’d taken that image, had it printed, and it was sitting on her bedside table. She’d spent many, many hours not sleeping and looking at him...

  She didn’t want to look at his photograph for the rest of her life when she could be looking at the real thing. She didn’t want to struggle to remember what his hands felt like on her skin. She wanted to feel, experience, live.

  Dear God, she wanted to live...with him.

  Ross’s face faded from the massive TV screen and Ally didn’t hear the conversation around her—didn’t take in the effusive praise, barely felt the kisses on her cheek, the arms around her shoulder squeezing her.

  ‘I’m resigning,’ she said quietly, and then with more force, ‘I’ve got to leave.’

  Luc turned around as the conversation tapered off and folded his arms across his broad chest. ‘What did you say?’

  Ally threw up her hands. ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry...and after all you’ve done for me! I’m so grateful for the job, and the responsibility of being Brand and Image Director, but I can’t any more.’ She placed her hands on her face. ‘I know it’s ungrateful, and it’s terrible timing, and that you’ll hate me for it, but I need to go back to Cape Town. I need to be there.’

  Ally felt Luc step forward, inhaled his cologne and allowed him to peel her fingers off her face. As always, his expression was kind and understanding.

  Ally opened her mouth to talk again but Luc shook his head. ‘Shut up, kid.’

  Ally blinked away tears as Luc looked at his father and Patric. ‘You two owe me a hundred each. She didn’t last two weeks.’

  As Justin and Patric reached into their wallets and looked for cash Luc’s words started to make sense. ‘You bet on me?’

  ‘Sure.’ Patric ruffled her hair after he’d handed his cash to Luc.

  ‘Shame on you!’ Sabine chastised them, sliding her hand around Ally’s waist. ‘Peegs!’

  Justin grinned. ‘Oh, you’re not innocent either, my angel. We had a side bet going too.’

  Ally narrowed her eyes at her mother. ‘Et tu...?’

  Sabine shrugged, and then grinned. ‘We all knew that you would go back to Cape Town if you could just stop being so stubborn and admit that you wanted more than just your career.’

  Luc shoved the cash into his wallet as Ally rubbed the back of her neck, conscious that she now had knots on her knots. ‘About my job...’

  Luc shrugged. ‘There’s no reason why you can’t work from Cape Town—maybe spending a week here every six weeks or so. Ally, you have some very well-paid, well-educated and talented people in your team and it’s about time that they earned the huge salaries we’re paying them. Create the vision, create the direction and then let them get on with it. Pick the projects you want to get involved in or not. Direct, delegate, advise.’ Luc grinned. ‘What do you think I do all day?’

  ‘Mess about online and chat to your bimbos,’ Patric grumbled. ‘I would like to point out that I am the only one who, as the de
signer, actually does any work in this place.’

  Ally flashed him a smile. ‘But you are the heart of Bellechier, Patric.’

  ‘I so am.’

  Luc rolled his eyes at Ally. ‘So, are you staying or going?’

  It didn’t take Ally more than a millisecond to make up her mind. She loved her job, and she’d need something to do in Cape Town or she’d drive Ross to drink. ‘Staying at Bellechier. Going to Cape Town.’

  ‘And I presume you’d like the plane?’ Luc said.

  Ally flashed her dimples at him. ‘Yes, please.’

  Luc wrapped his arm around her neck and hauled her into his chest. ‘Go get him, Pork Chop.’

  ‘He might not want me anymore,’ Ally muttered into his collarbone.

  ‘Then he’d be an idiot, and I’ve very good reports that he is anything but.’ Luc pulled back to look down into her face. ‘But if he hurts you he’ll have your brothers rearranging his face.’

  ‘And me,’ Justin added.

  Ally sent them a watery smile as she reached out and took Sabine’s hand. ‘Thanks, but he should be more scared of Maman.’

  ‘Damn right,’ Sabine agreed. ‘Nobody messes with my girl.’

  * * *

  Ross slouched into the chair on his fully dark veranda and propped his bare feet up onto the corner of the long wooden table. When he couldn’t sleep—which was all the time—he’d taken to sitting here in this chair and staring into the dark. Above him the stars in the southern hemisphere sky were partially obscured by light cloud and below him the waves used the beach as a punch bag.

  He closed his eyes, saw Ally in every shadow in his mind and quickly opened them again. Frickin’ hell, he simply couldn’t get her out of his head. She was there in the early morning as he tried to run off his frustration and his sadness on the beach; he found himself reaching for his mobile to see if she’d sent him an e-mail or a text during meetings; she was there when he finally crawled into bed at night.

  He’d tried so hard to stop loving her, to stop thinking about her, but everywhere he went she was on his mind. He so badly wanted her to fade from his memory but just as badly he wanted to recollect every minute he’d spent with her.

  He’d become the basket case he’d accused her of being. Ross rubbed his jaw, hearing the rasp of his beard. He couldn’t remember when last he’d shaved, when last he’d eaten something he’d actually tasted, and when he did manage to doze off his dreams all starred Ally. He couldn’t decide if he hated or loved them.

  A million thoughts scurried in and out of his brain but a few were lodged front and centre. They’d been so damn close to finding something special, to clicking in the way that poets and songwriters wrote of. So damn close... Had he said enough? Had he reacted too early? Had he forced her into a corner and boxed her in?

  Each question twisted the long, cold spear lodged in his heart. He’d still had so much to say to her but instead he’d just watched her walk away.

  Then again, he’d asked her if she loved him and she hadn’t had an answer. And even he knew, stupid as he was when it came to women, that her non-answer meant that she didn’t. And he’d have to have had the IQ of a fence pole to forget that she’d warned him that she didn’t do messy emotions or attachments. Why the frig hadn’t he listened?

  And under the desperation, the ache for her, he was constantly, chronically angry. They could have had, could have been, something special. When she forgot to be closed off and walled up she was funny and sensitive and so damn sexy it took his breath away. And she adored his dog...

  ‘Arf!’ Pic barked, as if he knew exactly what Ross was thinking.

  ‘Yeah, yeah—she loved you far more than she loved me. No need to rub it in.’

  Pic gave him a look that suggested he grow a pair and stop whining. It wasn’t a bad idea, Ross thought, but he rather liked wallowing—especially when there was no one to witness it except for Pic. And who was he going to tell?

  ‘Arf, arf, arf!’ Pic bark-shouted again, his tone suggesting that Ross should not test his powers.

  ‘I’m talking to a damned dog,’ he murmured, rolling his head to try and ease the tension that had become his favourite companion—not counting the four-legged sarcasm machine at his feet.

  So tomorrow he’d get up, get dressed, go to work, he thought. Just as he’d done every day since she’d left. Maybe tomorrow he’d recapture the joy he felt in his work; hopefully he wouldn’t spend another day just going through the motions.

  Maybe he’d call up a few mates, have them round for a barbecue, surf later and throw back a few beers, pretend everything was back to normal.

  Or maybe—and this was far more likely—he’d sit here again tomorrow night, alone and miserable, with a whisky bottle close to his elbow and an empty, throbbing soul.

  THIRTEEN

  Ross caught a wave to the beach, stepped off his board into the shallows and wished that he could just go back in and stay there. When he was flying down the waves he temporarily forgot that he was bloody miserable and...and lonely, dammit.

  He tucked his board under his arm and shoved his hair back off his face. He had little reason to feel so...so flat, he thought. Yeah, he’d lost a girl, but his life was still full. He was financially fluid, his relationship with his family was better than ever, he had lots of friends and a roaring business. If he needed a woman he could do it the old-fashioned way: head down to a pub and pick someone up.

  The thought made him want to throw up. Not only had Jones taken his heart, it seemed she’d also taken his sex drive too. Just another aspect of this very crappy situation.

  Ross whistled for Pic and frowned when he saw that he wasn’t where he’d left him, lying next to the huge piece of driftwood where he and Ally had always sat when they came down to the beach. Ross felt his heart lurch in panic. Pic—so well trained—would never have left his spot unless there’d been a problem. Had he been dognapped? He’d lost his woman—losing his dog would put him right over the edge.

  Desperately trying to keep calm, Ross whistled again and finally heard that answering familiar bark. He whirled around, surfboard wobbling, and there was Pic, his long ears bouncing as he ran.

  Ross would later swear he had the biggest smile on his face.

  ‘Arf-arf-arf-arf-arf!’

  Ross bent down as Pic reached him, quickly running his hands over his body to check if he was injured, looking for a clue as to why he’d leave his spot. ‘Why d’ya leave, Picky? Why, huh?’

  ‘Arf-arf-arf-arf-arf!’ Pic shouted back, then twisted around and bolted down the beach.

  Ross shouted at him to return, but instead he ran full-tilt at the waves to a slim figure who stood in the shallows, a stick in her hand. Ross watched as she lifted the stick and threw it into the water. Pic plunged into the waves after it.

  Ally.

  Ross dropped his board, put his hands on his thighs and hoped that his heart wasn’t about to jump out of his ribcage. She was dressed as casually as he’d ever seen in her, in cotton shorts that stopped midthigh and a tight-fitting crop top that showed off a strip of her belly. Her hair was tucked under a baseball cap and big shades covered her eyes. If it wasn’t for Pic then he might not even have noticed her standing on the beach, the sea playing amongst her bare toes.

  This is it, Ally thought, looking sideways.

  She could feel Ross’s hard eyes on her, yet he didn’t come any closer, didn’t make a move. Ally
sighed. Could she blame him? She was the one who’d walked, who’d left him with words of love on his lips... Why should he do a damn thing?

  No, she owed it to him to make the first move, she thought as Pic dropped the stick at her feet, lay down on his tummy and looked up at her with his I’ll-die-if-you-don’t eyes. She smiled, picked up the stick and tossed it again. When he’d bounded off she made her way through the shallows to where Ross was standing, his expression forbidding.

  ‘Hi,’ she said quietly, wishing she could touch him. His hand, his arm, his face...anywhere.

  ‘I should’ve guessed you were back when I couldn’t find my damn dog. Pic wouldn’t leave his spot for anyone but you,’ Ross said in a rough voice.

  ‘He looked so sad, waiting for you, that I thought I’d play with him for a bit,’ Ally said, her words spilling out in a heated rush.

  Ross picked his board up, pushed it nose down into the sand and folded his arms across his bare chest. ‘What are you doing here, Alyssa?’

  Ally twisted her fingers together. ‘That’s a good question...’

  ‘Does it have an answer? Maybe some time this century?’

  Ally winced at the ice in his tone. Pic bounded up to them again, the stick in his mouth. Ross grabbed him before its pointed ends could scrape either of them, commanded Pic to drop the stick and stay.

  Pic dropped the stick and stayed, but not before humphing out an unamused bark and turning his back on Ross. Ally bit her lip to keep from smiling at Ross’s fur person.

  ‘He’s been impossible since you left,’ Ross muttered. ‘You spoilt him.’

  ‘And you spoilt me,’ Ally said. ‘And I’ve been impossible since I left too.’

  Ross waited a beat before responding. ‘You are always bloody impossible, so how was it different this time?’ he said in a weary voice.

  Ally gestured to their spot by the driftwood and felt relieved when Ross walked over to the log, rested his butt against the hard wood and crossed his legs at the ankles. Water sat in fat beads on his skin and rolled off his hair. As per usual he hadn’t brought a towel with him to the beach, preferring to jump into the shower after surfing. Preferably with her.