Harlequin Romance April 2021 Box Set

by Rebecca Winters

  He rubbed a thumb over his lower lip. What was her life like? What trials had she gone through...? The way she’d blushed when he’d questioned her decision to cross the world for the sake of a short contract...and that thing she’d said about how it had been timely... Timely?

  He capped his water bottle and shoved it back into his bag. Maybe it was time for him to get out of his own head and think about someone else for a change. Without him having to ask, Emilie had helped him with the sail; she’d welcomed him into her kitchen, listened to him with kindness. The very least he could do was to stop being so distant. Stop disappearing all the time! Maybe she was in need of a friend, someone to talk to. He wasn’t in the best place emotionally, but he could try to be that person.

  He levered himself off the boulder, slung the daysack over his shoulder and retraced his steps through the clearing to the track. Going left would take him to Apple Bay. Going right would take him back to the Jeep, the Jeep would take him to the marina where the catamaran was moored and the catamaran would take him back to Buck Island...

  He took a deep breath, adjusted his backpack, and turned right.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ‘EMILIE...?’

  Her heart lurched and the bowl of sugar glaze slipped in her hands. She steadied it, breathing carefully, then looked up. Joel was standing by the dresser, perfect in a linen shirt and slouchy cargo shorts, his fingers resting on the radio’s volume dial.

  ‘I’m sorry for turning it down...’ His shoulders slid upwards. ‘I tried to get your attention, but the music was too loud...’

  The clean, peppery scent of his cologne reached her on a ripple of air, speaking to her senses, skewing them. He must have been back for a while, showering and changing before ninja-ing his way into her kitchen. She swallowed hard. Why had he come? Why now, just when she’d decided to take advantage of his long absences! Just when she’d ramped up the volume of her favourite R ’n’ B station and had been happily pottering with some ideas for Café Hygge! She wasn’t even in her chef’s whites. A clean apron over her vest and shorts had seemed perfectly reasonable for test baking, but now, for some reason, she felt like a rabbit caught in the headlights.

  She put the bowl of glaze down. Breathe! Joel was a guest and he was welcome in the kitchen. As for her attire—she glanced at his battered loafers—he’d be the last person to judge her for being overly casual. She felt her pulse steadying, a momentary spark of gladness lifting her heart. It was good to see him—so good—but how was she supposed to react? He’d distanced himself for days, eating his evening meals with barely a word, as if they’d never sat talking over a glass of wine, as if they’d never laughed together on the beach.

  She understood completely that he was heartbroken, probably so consumed with pain that he was blind to everything else—to her feelings—but facing him now, the hurt she’d felt at being shut out for days seemed to be sharpening itself, slashing tiny nicks in her heart. She wanted to be friendly, but she felt vulnerable, naked. The wounds Tom had inflicted still hurt and, whether he’d meant to or not, Joel had hurt her too. She couldn’t lay herself on the slab again. She moistened her lips. ‘It’s okay. You don’t have to apologise.’ She motioned to the radio, forcing out what she hoped was a friendly smile. ‘I just wasn’t expecting anyone.’

  A dimple appeared in his left cheek. ‘I can see that...’

  Was he referring to the music, or to her baking outfit? His gaze was playful, and as for that dimple... Impossible! She pressed her palms together, trying to blow past it. ‘Well, at least you didn’t see me dancing.’

  His eyebrows flickered.

  Oh, God! She felt her cheeks flushing, her cool façade melting. ‘You saw...?’

  He seemed to hesitate and then he nodded, eyes twinkling, a second dimple appearing below the first.

  He was clearly holding everything in, trying not to make her feel more embarrassed than she was feeling already, which was nice of him... But it was only dancing. Nothing to be embarrassed about, except maybe for the part when she’d been getting her groove on with the pull-out larder unit, but he might not have seen that...

  Damn! Time to swing away. She took a breath. ‘So... Do you ever dance?’

  ‘God, no!’ The smile he’d been holding in broke his face apart. ‘Except when I’m drunk.’ His hands raked the air. ‘I don’t have your...’

  ‘Flair...?’ In spite of herself, she felt a smile coming. ‘Talent...? Rhythm...?’

  He laughed. ‘All of the above!’

  He seemed different. Tanned, clear eyed, relaxed. It was nice to hear him laughing. Perhaps his holiday was doing him good, in spite of his heartache. If that were the case, she was glad, but it didn’t explain why he’d come into the kitchen. It was way past lunchtime, and too early for afternoon tea. She felt her wariness seeping back.

  He was moving, taking up a position at the other side of the island unit, leaning over to inspect the mini Bundt cakes she’d been glazing. His eyes lifted to hers. ‘So, what’s cooking?’

  ‘Chocolate rum cake... I mean, cakes...’ Needlessly, she nudged the bowl of glaze an inch along the worktop. ‘Slightly different versions.’

  ‘You’re trying to choose the best one?’ Mischievous smile. ‘Let me know if you need any help with tasting...’

  His gaze was warm and inviting, but she couldn’t allow herself to dive in, no matter how much she wanted to. Tom had broken her heart, but Joel had stung her too, in a small way, and losing herself in his light, only to have him switch it off a second time, would be too much to bear. No matter how disarming he was, she needed to keep him at arm’s length.

  ‘I will.’ She pressed her lips together. ‘So, can I get you anything? A snack? Coffee? A cool drink?’

  He straightened. ‘Coffee would be great, but you’re busy so I’ll make it, and I’ll make one for you too. Or maybe you’d prefer tea...?’ He half closed one eye. ‘At a stretch I could whip up an omelette if you’re hungry!’

  It was hard not to smile. He was turning on the charm, but he wasn’t making coffee, or tea, or omelettes for that matter. She already felt guilty about him making his own breakfasts. ‘Joel, you really do need to read that brochure. You’re not supposed to be doing anything! I’ll make the coffee. Can I bring it out to the terrace or to the pool...?’

  His eyes fastened on hers. ‘I was hoping to have it in here, with you, that is, if you don’t mind?’

  She could feel her heart straining at the leash, wanting to let him in, but if she did, what would happen this time? She swallowed hard. If only Melinda were there, to act as a buffer, but Melinda had organised time off to help Kesney with the baby.

  ‘You do mind...?’ The light was draining from his eyes.

  She couldn’t tell him she was wary of his mercurial ways. He was a guest. She nudged the bowl of glaze another pointless inch. ‘Of course I don’t mind... It’s just that I’m busy.’

  ‘No. That’s not it.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘You’re upset with me, aren’t you?’

  She bit her lips together. The nerve he was prodding was too raw.

  He was shaking his head. ‘The other evening, you gave me your time, your kindness, and I’ve repaid you with distance. Emilie, I’m sorry.’

  The intensity of his gaze was turning her inside out. She felt her eyes prickling and looked down, swirling the glaze around in its bowl. ‘It’s all right, but I really do need to get on with—’

  ‘It’s not all right.’ His voice was softening. ‘Emilie, please. Let me make you a coffee.’

  She looked up. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because small though it is, it would be me doing something for you, because if we have coffee together, then maybe we can pick up where we left off.’ A smile touched his lips. ‘Quid pro quo, remember? You asked me two questions the other night, which means you still owe me one.’

  His gaze was
tugging at her, but her insides were churning. She’d snatched at the threads of his friendship that first night because that was her way. It had always been her way, rushing in, bonding too quickly, too easily, because she didn’t like being alone, but she had to change. She had to be smarter. Wiser. She had to put herself at the centre.

  ‘Emilie...?’ His smile was fading.

  She drew in a careful breath. ‘Joel, apologising is one thing, but we’re not picking up anything until you tell me why you’ve barely spoken to me for days.’

  His eyes clouded. He seemed to be wrestling with something, but she couldn’t let herself feel bad for putting him on the spot. He needed to answer for his actions, not think that he could just smooth things over with a cup of coffee. And then he blinked, inhaled audibly. ‘How to explain...?’ He swallowed. ‘Ever since Astrid broke things off, it’s as if I’ve been dropped into a giant maze. I feel lost and numb. I can’t see the big picture... I can’t see how I fitted in, or how she did...or how we fitted together. It’s like being in limbo...’

  His gaze softened. ‘But then, the other night when we were in here talking, I felt like I’d come back into the real world again. Everything was easy, normal. It was like breathing fresh air.’ His teeth caught on his lower lip. ‘But then the next morning, it struck me that if I hung around here, instead of excavating the last decade of my life, maybe finding some perspective and some closure, I’d be getting distracted by—’

  ‘Normality...?’

  His cheeks coloured slightly and then he nodded. ‘When your world’s been upended, normal is catnip...’

  She felt the muscles in her face softening. She knew what limbo felt like. After Tom had broken the news about Rachel and the baby, hadn’t she withdrawn into her own head too, hiding under her duvet for weeks—crying—trying to understand how the life she’d built had been torn to shreds? It was why she’d come to Buck Island, to escape the prison of her heartache over Tom, to get away from all that endless, miserable sifting through the past.

  Being busy doing the job she loved, being challenged, was her normal—her catnip—and even though she hadn’t consciously been thinking about Tom over the past three weeks, somehow, she had found perspective, had started seeing things about the past she hadn’t been able to see before. Maybe Joel was beginning to see that avoiding normal wasn’t the way out of the maze. ‘So, you stayed away and now you’ve changed your mind... Now you want normal?’

  ‘Yes!’ His eyes filled with warm, soft light. ‘But I also want a friend...and, more importantly, I want to be a friend, if you’ll let me?’

  She felt her heart tilting towards him, opening. Being friends with Joel was what she’d hoped for, but what if he stepped back again? It would hurt so much more next time, unless...unless she could harden herself, like her little conch. It would mean reining in that pathetic, needy side of herself that flowed out and wrapped itself around others so easily.

  The problem was that something in Joel’s eyes was already tugging at the soft, pink heart of her. He was a good man caught in a bad headspace, that was all, and if he’d had to retreat for a while, then it didn’t make him a bad person. It made him a person who deserved a second chance, a person who deserved a friend...

  ‘I have, haven’t I?’ He was shaking his head. ‘You think I’ll freeze on you again.’

  ‘I don’t...’ I don’t know. ‘I’m just...’

  She jammed her tongue against her teeth. Just that morning she’d had the idea for Café Hygge and for the first time in ages she’d felt happy and motivated. She’d made her little chocolate rum cakes, having wrestled with decisions about stem ginger and ground almonds, and then Joel had arrived. Now there were different, harder decisions to make, but thinking straight was impossible when his eyes were taking her apart, when just looking at him was making her pulse race. Friendship wasn’t meant to do that. She bit her lip. If only she knew how to be friends with Joel.

  He pressed his palms to the worktop. ‘Emilie, if you’ll let me, I can show you that you can trust me...’ His eyes swept the kitchen, then fastened on hers again. ‘But we’ll need a change of scene. What do you say to getting out of here?’

  She held his gaze. He was trying so hard to win her over. Hope in his eyes, but behind its light she could see his shadows. She recognised them because they were her shadows too. They’d both been knocked sideways; they’d both come to Buck Island to make sense of their pain and find hope for the future. Maybe that was enough of a seed from which to grow a friendship. If she made sure that the ties on her side were loose, then maybe it could work. She arched an eyebrow. ‘To go where?’

  ‘The beach!’ A smile lit his eyes. ‘It’ll be fun—I promise.’

  His smile was sunshine, irresistible. She felt its warmth surrounding her, burning off her lingering doubts like mist. ‘Okay...but first, I need to finish what I’m doing.’ She picked up the bowl of glaze, felt a smile coming as an idea popped into her head. ‘I’ll see you outside in ten minutes.’

  * * *

  ‘You’re going to jump out of the way at the last minute.’ She was twisting round, eyeing him suspiciously over one smooth, tanned shoulder. ‘I can see it all over your face!’

  He rolled his eyes, feigning impatience. ‘Why would I do that? It would defeat the purpose. This is about trust, remember.’ He steadied his feet in the soft sand, gesturing for her to turn her back to him.

  ‘But that’s the problem...’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘You’ve got this mischievous glint going on—’ her hands spun the air around ‘—and it’s not exactly inspiring confidence.’

  ‘There’s no glint of any kind; you’re imagining it.’ Except she wasn’t. She was misinterpreting it, that was all. He knew that his eyes must have been shining like Christmas because inside he felt fit to burst. After four days of sailing solo and roaming Tortola by himself, being with Emilie, enjoying her company—just being normal—was giving him an abnormal high. Containing it was hard, but he’d have to try, or he’d scare her away, and since she’d taken some persuading to give him another chance, the last thing he wanted to do was blow it. He gave her a mock-stern look. ‘Emilie, please, just turn around so we can do this...’

  ‘Okay. Fine!’ She turned her back on him, shaking out her ponytail, squaring her lovely shoulders. ‘I’ll do it, but if you drop me, you’ll be sorry.’

  Her playful tone was a dead giveaway! She was enjoying herself as much as he was.

  ‘I’ll catch you; I promise.’ He settled his feet again, smiling.’ On the count of three, just fall backwards.’

  ‘Should I hold my arms out, like Kate in Titanic?’

  It was impossible not to smile. ‘If you want.’ Out her arms went, smooth and toned. There was the sweetest whisper of a bicep. He felt an urge to trail kisses along her arms, then shook himself, clearing his throat. ‘Okay, are you ready?’

  She was giggling. ‘As I’ll ever be.’

  ‘Okay! One... Two... Thr—’ And then, in the next moment, she was in his arms, upside down, head tipped back, laughing, her eyes sparkling.

  ‘You caught me!’

  ‘Of course I did...’ She smelt of spring flowers and spun sugar. Her bare arms felt warm through the fabric of his shirt. If he’d been wearing a tee shirt, they’d have been skin to skin. Just thinking about it made his breath catch.

  ‘So...’ her voice was a near gasp ‘...is this prolonged hold part of the exercise, or do you just enjoy looking up my nose?’

  He smiled into her upside-down face. ‘I was just making sure that you believe me now, that you know you can trust me.’ He’d also been lost in the view, eyes, lips, and nose, but he couldn’t tell her that. He gathered himself, then launched her upright, steadying her as she found her balance. ‘You did well!’

  Her eyebrows lifted. ‘I did well to trust you?’

  ‘No.’ He shook his head. She was runnin
g circles around him, teasing, but he didn’t mind. It felt nice, normal. ‘You know I didn’t mean it like that. What I meant was that you’re brave...’

  ‘Bravery has nothing to do with it.’ She tidied her ponytail, fingers raking at the loose strands falling around her face. ‘I knew you’d catch me because I’m the chef and no doubt you’ll be wanting dinner tonight?’

  Another round of tiny, delicious, complicated morsels. Not his idea of dinner, but he’d sworn himself to secrecy. ‘You make a good point, although, honestly—’ he clapped his hand to his heart ‘—it was the last thing on my mind.’

  ‘Well, if we’re being honest, then you should know that I don’t really need trust-building exercises...’ A scrawl of pain surfaced in her eyes. ‘My problem is that I tend to trust people too easily, attach myself—’ Her lips pinched together and then she swallowed. ‘But I’m working on changing that...’

  ‘Don’t!’

  Her eyes narrowed. ‘What...?’

  His throat went tight. He must have said it out loud. It was supposed to have stayed in his head, gagged, and bound... Emilie, please don’t change. You’re perfect just the way you are. He couldn’t tell her that, but he had to say something because she was looking at him, waiting for an answer. And then a loud buzz filled his ear as an insect winged past.

  Insect! He lifted his hands slowly and took a small step towards her. ‘Don’t move...’ Another step. ‘Stay very still.’ Bemused eyes held his as he extended one hand towards her shoulder and swatted away an imaginary insect, and then he stepped back, pouring everything he had into looking deadly serious. ‘Woolly wall bee...it’s got a sting... You can’t be too careful.’ He swallowed, thanking his lucky stars for the local wildlife guide he’d been perusing just that morning.

  ‘Woolly wall bee...?’ Her eyebrows flickered faintly. ‘Okay...well, thanks for saving me.’