I won’t forget you.
She snuggled closer and closed her eyes. In a perfect world, she could ask him to come to her sister’s wedding. If Jai was with her, she might even enjoy herself. As it was, she’d be one of Angie’s four bridesmaids and have to smile her way through the day knowing her sister had only asked her because it would have looked bad if she hadn’t.
Summer had seen a picture of the dress the bridesmaids would be wearing. The color was called carnation. It was a pale-pink cocktail-length dress with a draped bodice, pleated cap sleeves and sweetheart neckline made of dupioni. She’d looked that word up. A shimmering silk made by weaving two different-colored threads together. It was a pretty dress, but Angie could hardly have made her wear sackcloth and ashes, no matter how much she might have wanted to.
While she was away, Summer had received an email once every four months from her mother, regular as clockwork, as though it was a duty and not a pleasure. Her father and brother emailed more often and irregularly, always with something that made her smile. Neither of her sisters had ever emailed. Summer knew that Angie hadn’t forgiven her. It was hard taking the blame for something that hadn’t been totally Summer’s fault. Eighteen months away wouldn’t have changed anything.
* * * * *
Summer came awake slowly, aware Jai lay on his side looking at her. Over his shoulder she could see the red numbers on the clock. Late afternoon.
“Time to get up,” he said.
As she slid her hand toward him, he leapt out of bed and strode over to the bathroom. When the door closed, something slammed shut in her heart. Her joy at throwing off the remnants of good-girl Summer began to shrivel.
Going off to South America, the tattoo, piercings and pink hair had all been her trying to find a different skin, to be the rebel she longed to be, a Summer who didn’t analyze everything, who stopped thinking like a scientist, a Summer who followed her instincts without coming up with a reason not to. But it was only when she’d actually let her heart rule her head, and lain on the airport floor with Jai and wanted him to put his hand in her panties, that she’d believed she’d made herself into a different person.
A moment snatched. Two strangers acting on a mutual attraction and having a quick fuck. It was supposed to mean nothing. She’d told herself to let it mean nothing, but it did. To her at least. How could it not? She wasn’t someone who fucked strangers.
Summer rolled out of bed. She took a pair of tatty panties from her backpack, the only ones she had, ones she’d decided not to put on this morning when she’d thrown her others away. She picked up her dress and Jai’s sweater from the floor. She heard the shower start and sat on the bed to wait, hugging her clothes.
What had she expected when they woke? A proposal of marriage? Yeah, right. But some words of kindness perhaps? A gesture? A brush of his fingers against her cheek? There was still time for him to ask for her number, yet she knew he wouldn’t. And she couldn’t. What she didn’t want was for him to be awkward with her because that would make them both feel bad and Summer didn’t want to feel bad about this because guilt would follow right on its heels.
The shower stopped and a few moments later, he emerged with a towel wrapped around his waist and another in his hand, rubbing his damp hair. He didn’t look at her.
“All yours,” he said.
“Thanks.”
Summer didn’t close the door, not because she was inviting him in, but because she didn’t want to put a physical barrier between them when he was busy erecting a far more powerful mental one. She showered quickly, cleaned her teeth, dried her hair and caught sight of him watching from the bed. Summer made herself smile and pulled on her clothes. I’ll be the same. I won’t be different.
She’d convinced herself he wouldn’t touch her ever again but when she walked into the bedroom, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her.
“You were fantastic,” he whispered. “Cute and sexy and funny.”
And it sounded so false, so practiced that her heart ached. “Don’t,” she said and pulled back to face him.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t be different with me now.”
He sucked in his cheeks and then nodded. “Summer, if—”
“No,” she snapped and stuffed her toothbrush and paste back in her bag. “No ifs. It’s okay.” Because “if” told her he didn’t feel the same way as her. She hugged his sweater. “Can I wear this until we get to London?” She wouldn’t ask for his address so she could post it back.
“Keep it. I’ve plenty.”
Summer slipped her hand into his and when he gripped her fingers, her toes curled. They left the room and made their way to the elevator.
“Neither of us will ever be able to come back to Philadelphia and not think of this,” she said. “It’s enough, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
It wasn’t the answer she wanted.
* * * * *
“When are you going to take that hat off?” Jai asked as they settled in their seats on the plane.
“When we’re in the air.” Going through airport security had sent her heart rate off the scale, even though she told herself there was no reason for the authorities in the States to be looking for her. If drugs had been hidden in her backpack as they had in her suitcase, they’d have surely been found before now.
The cabin crew had been all over them since they’d sat down. Summer had never flown anything other than economy. A succession of smartly dressed women and men had come past and smiled at them…well, at Jai.
“Champagne, Mr. Winter? Or would you prefer plain orange juice or a Buck’s Fizz?” The flight attendant gave Jai a broad smile.
Or maybe a blowjob?
“Champagne, thanks. Summer?”
“Lovely.” She wasn’t going to turn down champagne.
“Have you had a good trip?” the woman asked.
“Fine, thanks.” Jai turned to Summer and she had the impression it was to avoid more interaction.
He tapped his glass against hers. “To you,” he said.
“To you,” she replied.
A different attendant hovered ready to top up their glasses and Jai waved her away.
“Anything you need, Mr. Winter, just let us know.” Another dazzling smile.
“I’ll be sure to do that. Thank you.”
“Apart from the fact that we’re going to go snow-blind from their smiles, I’m impressed with business class,” Summer whispered. “They know your name and they want to fill you with champagne. I hope the food’s better than it is in economy.”
“Not much.”
“They’ll probably cook you fillet steak if you ask. And lick your arse.”
Jai snorted.
Didn’t he know the effect he had on people? As if being good-looking wasn’t enough, he had natural charm, electric charisma. An energy flowed from him that demanded attention. She’d seen the effect in the airport—people staring at him, watching him. At first she’d worried it was her in her hat, but it wasn’t. It was Jai.
As soon as the plane was airborne, Summer pulled off her hat and dragged her fingers through her hair.
Jai gave her a puzzled look. “Going to explain?”
Maybe later, when she’d plucked up enough courage. “It’s a superstition. I’m fine now. Well, I’ll have to put it back on when we get to Heathrow.”
He laughed.
She wanted to tell him, wanted to see if he thought she’d done the right thing, whether she should go to the police in the UK. But was that being too personal? Going down a path they’d sort of agreed not to follow? The truth was that she was scared of what might be waiting for her at Heathrow because something told her London was the drugs’ intended destination.
“Have your friends seen you with pink hair?”
She shook her head. “I suspect I’ll have to change the color next week anyway. My sister Angelina is getting married in Kent next Saturday and my hair will clash with the dress I have to w
ear.”
Oops. Summer swallowed hard. They hadn’t actually talked about anything personal. Chatter about favorite food and drink didn’t count. Family details did.
“You’ve not been home for eighteen months?” he asked.
“No.”
“Is the dress going to fit?”
“I sent my size. It’ll be fine.”
And her mother had emailed back and asked if she was sure she’d dropped a whole dress size.
“Looking forward to the wedding?” he asked.
“No. I think it’s fair to say that if I could have got out of going I would have, but sometimes you just have to accept there are things you have no choice about.” She groaned. “Ignore me. Even thinking about my family gets me worked up.”
“Are your other siblings married?” he asked.
“No.”
“My brother…”
When he didn’t continue, Summer turned to him.
“My eldest brother’s married with kids. Boy and a girl. My twin’s single and likely to remain that way. He did something horrible once, asked a girl to marry him for a bet. She turned up at the register office and he never did.”
Summer was aware her jaw had dropped but she couldn’t close her mouth.
“Course she’s better off without the bastard but it was a vile thing to do.”
“What happened to her?”
“I think Richard tried to apologize, but what could he say that could put that right? Evan, my oldest brother, was furious with him. It made the papers because of who the girl then got involved with. Charlie Storm.”
“I’ve seen a couple of films he’s been in.”
“I met him once at a party.” Jai sighed. “Kate—the girl Richard jilted—and Charlie were trying to kill themselves and they collided in the sea. God, if she’d died, how could Richard have lived with that? It wasn’t as if he changed his mind at the last minute; that happens. He never intended to turn up at all. What sort of guy does that?”
“Not you, obviously.”
He let out a short laugh. “Don’t get the idea I’m any better a person than my dickhead of a brother. Kate had a lucky escape.”
Why did she think he was giving her a message?
When he unclipped his belt and went to use the loo, she reached for the in-flight magazine to see what films were on and the duty-free catalogue came out of the pocket with it. She flicked through, wondering if there was something she should buy for her mother, though any peace offering was doomed to failure, and moved on a couple of pages after the one advertising Fixx before she turned back.
In that split second she went from—wow that guy is hot—to—he looks like Jai—to—it is Jai. He leaned barefoot against a weathered shack on a beach, white sand, blue sky, his white linen shirt hanging loose and open, denim jeans unbuttoned at the top. His dark eyes stared straight at her, a half-smile on his face.
Oh god. No wonder the cabin crew was all over him. He was the face and body of one of the most famous fashion lines in the world.
I’m such an idiot.
Chapter Seven
Summer had her head buried in the in-flight magazine when he got back from the washroom. As he clicked his seat belt in place, he glanced over, let out a long sigh and sagged like a deflating balloon. Busted.
“You’re a gay beach bum,” she said.
A choked laugh burst from his lips.
“And a top model when you’re not script writing. Thanks for not telling me.”
“I am writing a script about two demons, but I haven’t told anyone about it except you.”
Did she realize what he’d trusted her with?
“You’re famous, aren’t you?” She slapped the heel of her hand to her head. “Course you are. That’s why the cabin crew are swooning and pouring champagne down your throat, and mine by default.”
“If you’d been in the UK or the States over the last eighteen months you’d have probably recognized me.” He hesitated. “I liked that you didn’t know who I was. It felt good to be with someone I wanted to be with and not a woman pushed in my direction by my agent. The past twenty-four hours have been…brilliant.”
“Even sleeping on the airport floor?”
“Especially that.”
She put her hand on his forehead. “Are you feeling okay?”
“I haven’t been for a long time, but now I am.”
She’d made him think life was worth living again, except he couldn’t tell her that. Way to freak her out. I don’t want to kill myself when I’m with you. She’d run and he wouldn’t blame her. In any case, the Summer effect could only be temporary. Another call from Saul and he’d be back in a Winter hell.
Depression settled over him like a wet blanket. He was already trying to rerun what he’d said to her, wondering if she’d sell him out and then ashamed of imagining she would. Except the worry lingered. Why did I open my mouth?
She took his hand in hers and stroked his fingers. “So you get paid for lounging around in exotic places with your pants undone?”
He smiled.
“Are you friends with Naomi Campbell and Kate Moss? Clue—the right answer is no.”
He laughed. “No.”
“Do you get fed up of people thinking it’s an easy job?”
“It is compared to a lot of jobs.”
“I suppose it’s easier than emptying septic tanks.”
When she grinned at him, he felt himself relax.
“Easier than doing an exam of an elephant’s colon,” he said. “Hazmat suit required.”
“Or being the guy who cleans up at a sex club. Hazmat suit definitely required.”
He laughed. “Or being an armpit sniffer.”
“No such thing.”
“Yes, there is. How would deodorant manufacturers know if their product was working?”
“Euww. Shall I tell you a secret? I’ve never used deodorant in my life.”
He leaned closer. “Lucky for you I lost my sense of smell years ago.”
Summer elbowed him. “As if I haven’t heard that one before. It’s a genetic thing. One in fifty women doesn’t need to use deodorant. I’m a mutant, or is it mutation?” She chewed her lip.
“I’m not sure I could survive on a shoot without it, though we’re more often cold than hot. Too much of my time is spent standing around in windy locations wearing uncomfortable clothes, my feet stuffed in shoes a couple of sizes too small because they were all that was available, while I wait and wait for the cameraman to say the light is perfect. It might not sound it, and I’m not whining about it, but modeling is physically and mentally tiring.”
“Plus you have to stay in shape.”
“I’m lucky. I don’t have to work too hard at that, but I’ve seen girls burst into tears when they’ve been told they’re too fat. The modeling business is harder for women. They have to be a perfect shape, perfect height, have perfect skin. Once they’re no longer a fresh face, there’s plenty of others barely into their teens ready to take their place. There’s no way I’d want a child of mine to go into modeling. I’d rather they went into armpit sniffing.”
She giggled and it was like the sun coming out from behind a cloud.
“Now tell me what’s good about it,” she said. “There must be a reason you’re still doing it, apart from the money.”
Not one he could tell her. “Actually most models aren’t well-paid. It’s a precarious profession, and at the start it’s a mess of people crawling over each other and stabbing each other in the back as they struggle to land jobs. Worse for men then, in a way, because they’re paid less than women, but male models can work longer than women. Now I’ve scrambled my way over the bodies of those who fell by the wayside, the money is good. I’ve been fortunate. My face fits. My agent…my booker is good at his job. He has the right contacts and brokers good deals.” He’s just a fucking piranha. “Plus I get free clothes, free drinks, all sorts of free stuff. It’s still a thrill when I see myself in a magazin
e or on the back of a bus. But I’m thick. There’s nothing else I can do.”
He meant it. He’d fucked-up his school exams time after time.
Summer huffed. “You’re not thick. Don’t say that about yourself. You know wine doesn’t have hard edges, that there’s an actual job sniffing armpits and you like me. No one thick could like me. Anyway, when your looks fade in about ninety years, you could always work as a janitor in a sex club.”
“You’ve guessed my retirement plan.”
“There must be a lot of downsides too. All those women throwing themselves at you? Do you get tired of beating them off?”
Jai threaded his fingers with hers. “I say no and throw them back.” Unless Saul or Marta told him otherwise. “I’m glad I’m not doing high fashion anymore. There’s a lot of pressure—constantly having all your insecurities thrown in your face, having to wear ridiculous stuff that you wouldn’t even be seen dead in at a costume party, fending off some of the dressers who feel the need to keep adjusting your clothes around the waistband and zipper. As if we don’t know they’re copping a feel. Even the gay models don’t like it.”
“How long are you going to keep doing it?”
Until Saul didn’t want him anymore or he couldn’t take it anymore and jumped off a bridge. He had that on his list. Or until someone saved him from himself. He looked straight into her eyes and then let his gaze drop. Not fair to expect anyone to get him out of his mess apart from himself.
“I’ll keep modeling until I can make a living doing something else.”
And when was that going to happen?
“You better hurry up with that script.”
“Yeah. That’s my golden ticket.” Who’d even look at his script? It was probably a pile of crap.
She leaned to whisper in his ear. “You don’t like modeling, do you?”
The breath caught in his throat. “I fucking hate it.” The words slipped out before he could drag them back. He pressed his lips together. Too late.
“Stop doing it.” She gripped his hand.
“It’s not as simple as that. I have an…obligation. Contracts. Commitments. I’m…trapped.” It was as much as he dared say.
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