by Dee Palmer
“I couldn’t handle the fame.” I peek up as he looks down.
“You’d be dead.”
“A good point and still preferable to dealing with the press, from what you’ve told me.”
“I do make a point of avoiding headlines for that very reason.” He playfully taps my nose, and I scoff my observation.
“Then what on earth made you think I was a good idea?” He takes my hand and leads me from the bedroom into the open living room. The glass wall separating the living space from the wide veranda is fully open. Cattleya orchids, Laceleaf, and Lilies soak the gentle evening breeze with a rich tropical scent. The nearly full moon lights the ripples from the swell of the tiny waves lapping the shore, and the sound is both luring and hypnotic. I walk over to the balcony and kick my shoes off. There are only three steps, and my feet sink into the warm soft sand, our hands are still joined when he pulls me back into his hold.
“You are my very best idea.” His lips press softly to mine, tender and reverent, and I know I’ve never felt anything like this, because I’ve never been scared of anything, not really, and this…this fucking terrifies me.
“Jørgen, I don’t think this was such a good idea.” The warmth from his palm drops away from my cheek when I sit down and perch on the end of the sun lounger. He is quick to sit beside me, turning me to face him. His brow is troubled with lines, and there is a sadness in his eyes that makes my chest ache.
“You regret coming here?”
“No, no, not at all. This isn’t about regret, this is…I don’t know what this is.” I let out a heavy sigh, as the storm of doubt and uncertainty rages on inside me. “You’re not the person I thought, and—”
“And that’s bad?” He dips his eye contact when I try to lower mine, and I find I can’t look anywhere else, he’s drawing me in. He has me, and he knows it.
“No. Sorry, I’m not making any sense. I don’t know what you want from me.”
“Yes, you do.” His intense gaze is as captivating as it is serious. He can’t be serious.
“I don’t know if I can give you that.”
“Yes, you do.” This isn’t the first conversation about marriage. With my defences flatlining and arguments sounding more and more like weak excuses, I feel it may be our last. I throw my hands high with exasperation, the last ditch attempt to make the man see sense falls from my mouth with little conviction.
“Jørgen, you’re crazy. How can you be this really smart guy and still believe in fairy tales? There is no such thing as love at first sight, and a happily ever after marriage is…excuse my rose-tinted vocabulary on this…but it’s just bollocks. No one is that lucky that they find the ‘one’…forever.”
“I think that is the problem here, you see marriage as a millstone, an inevitable tragedy just doomed to fail.”
“Pretty much, yes.”
“But you feel this.” He takes my hand, slides it through the gap in his shirt at the front and flattens it against his warm skin with his own. He’s right, I feel this. I feel it in my bones, in my soul, and it’s as strong as the beat of his heart beneath my fingertips. And yet…
“You know this doesn’t happen every day, and that isn’t enough?”
“Even if I do feel that this, I have no frame of reference, so how could I possibly know if it’s enough? How do you know it is? How do you know that it’s me?”
“There are no guarantees, Hope. I know that, the difference is, I’m not afraid. I know I love you, and I know we belong together.”
“You know what-the-what now?” I splutter out my own words.
“You heard me perfectly well.”
“You can’t just go throwing around the ‘L’ word with that casual, sexy-ass grin of yours. What am I supposed to do with that?”
“Hope, what was it about me that made you think I wasn’t the type of man to go after what I want and get it?”
“But marriage?” My spine curves with the slump in my shoulders now weighing down my body, and I don’t bother to hide the groan in my resigned tone.
“Time is too precious; it’s fleeting and out of our control.” He slides along the lounger, lifting me into his lap as he pulls his long legs up and leans back, cradling me and making me feel just as precious as can be when he says, “If I can have one month, two, or even a year of happiness with you, I’ll take it. That’s more than many people get in a whole lifetime.”
“I hear that, I do, but does it have to be marriage? Can’t we just shack up and see how it goes?” My light jovial tone he favours with a soft accommodating smile, and then, bam!
“If you’re lucky in this world, you find someone who connects and completes something inside of you that makes you whole and everything makes sense. It sharpens your focus because all you can see is them. There is nothing else; there is only you.” Demolishing me with the big guns: disarming charm, sinful sexiness, and words that Shakespeare himself could have penned, they sound so damn good. He takes a breath, having stolen mine, and then bops me on the nose. “And yes, it has to be marriage. It’s not only a commitment to each other, it’s a declaration to the world.”
“I’m not sure the world gives a shit.”
“But my father does.”
“So I would be marrying you because of your father?” I quip, twisting in his arms so I’m leaning away from his body and looking up at him.
“Is that a yes?”
“Answer the question.” I narrow my eyes, and he matches my stare, penetrating and fiery.
“You know it isn’t the reason. I love you, and I think you just wanted me to say that again.”
“Maybe. It does sound rather good coming from that talented mouth of yours.” Pulling my lip between my teeth, I make a slow show of releasing the flesh. His eyes fix on the movement and darken. He moves closer; however, just when I’m about to leap and pin him to the lounger, he slips from beneath me and stands. Holding out his hand, he chuckles, killing the mood before it really sparked to life.
“Come on, princess, let’s go to Giles’s Valentine party.” He helps me to my feet, and I reluctantly follow him back up the steps to the veranda.
“Urgh Valentine.” I groan dramatically. “It has to be the worst of all days in my opinion. Hallmark inspired for the unimaginative and lazy. I take it that, in addition to marriage, you’re a huge fan of Valentine’s Day as well?”
“Marriage yes, Valentine’s Day no. If you are only compelled to express how much you love someone on one day, you’re not in love and really shouldn’t be with that person. Life is too short to settle. If you’re lucky enough to truly love someone and be loved in return why would you limit celebrating that to just one day?”
“Wow.”
“What?”
“Nothing.” My jaw falls a little lax hearing those words uttered so sincerely from his perfect lips. How does he do that? How does he leave me both speechless and wanting in equal measure. His eyes dip to keep contact and a shy smile spreads like nectar across his handsome face.
“Ready to go?”
“I kind of want to stay on your little island; it’s too peoply out there.”
“Too peoply?”
“What? That’s a word.” I brush the sand from my feet and slip my shoes on.
“I thought you liked to party?”
“I do…did. See, look what you’ve done to me?”
“I would take credit, but this is paradise, and I can completely understand your reticence to leave. However, Giles is a good friend, and his parties are legendary. We’ll have fun, I promise.”
“We’d have more fun here, I promise.” I walk my fingers down the centre of his chest seductively and get almost to the belt of his linen trousers, when Jørgen’s housekeeper, Clara, announces the arrival of our transport.
“Sir, the captain is ready to leave.”
“Hold that thought.” He kisses my cheek, his lips carving a sinful smile on my skin.
“I have been since I got here. One more night should
n’t be so hard.” I mutter and grumble, making Jørgen laugh. Who knew celibacy was funny?
THE SLEEK PRINCESS R-CLASS SPEEDBOAT roars to life, and I grip Jørgen’s hand, grinning like an idiot when we’re both thrown back with the sudden acceleration. The sun set a while ago, and we bounce and thunder our way across the inky ocean into the darkness and the party on the neighbouring island. An exhilarating forty-minute journey that leaves me shaken, stirred, and completely windswept. Jørgen helps me from the boat, and with shaky legs, I replace my heels, straighten the only long dress I packed, and try and tame my wild mane.
“I did say stunning, didn’t I?”
“I look like I’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards now, but thank you.” I barely get to finish my comment when he has me flush against his firm body, his lips on mine. The kiss is hot, breath-stealing, passionate, and way too brief. His hot breath washes over me, and I rise onto my toes, chasing more of his sweet contact and making him laugh.
“Stunning.”
“More kisses, please.”
“Later, there’s people.”
“And?”
“Where there’s people, there are phones and cameras.”
“It’s just a kiss, Jørgen.”
“Kissing you is never ‘just a kiss’.”
“Are you ashamed?”
“No, god, no! Never, this…this is private, that’s all.” He waves his finger between my chest and his. “I don’t feel the need to share, do you?”
“I never thought about it as sharing.”
“You have to know, to some degree, in public situations, I am always being judged, always on display, and some things I do not feel inclined to share, and us is one of them.”
“That’s awful.”
“You get used to it.”
“I’m not sure I’d want to. I don’t like the idea of not being able to kiss you when I want.” My mouth purses with the unpleasant notion.
“I’m that irresistible, hmm?” He flashes a wide, dazzling smile, and I swear his chest puffs under the white linen shirt.
“Not when you sound like a smug git, you’re not.”
“I’m not smug. I’m just revelling in the first time you’ve openly expressed you want me.”
“Oh, I want you.” My gaze blatantly dips from his eyes to his pants.
“Not what I meant.” He tips my chin high, and I narrow my eyes and let out an exaggerated puff of breath.
“I take it crotch grabbing is a no-no too?”
“You’re learning fast.” He catches the rope and helps the captain secure the boat to the dock, giving me time to digest this new obstacle. He finishes with the captain and returns to me, placing a light cashmere wrap over my shoulders, warming me through before I have even registered the distinct chill in the air.
“I tell you what: Since the rules are so important to you, I’ll try my best, but if I need to touch you or kiss you, I will give you a sign and we can take it somewhere private.”
“Subtle.” He tilts his head and humours me with a cute grin.
“It can be. I’m a very tactile person, and I have needs, which I’ve never suppressed, so this is going to be hard for me. It’s my best and only offer, Jørgen; take it or leave it.” I counter his cute with my sass.
“Hard for you, hmm? How hard do you think it will be for me?” He pulls me up close and very personal.
“Now you’re just teasing,” I whimper, feeling his delicious rock hard heat brand my skin through our clothes.
“Not for much longer, I hope. This is fucking agony.” He groans.
“And that’s the first time you’ve acknowledged this is hell for you as much as it is for me.”
“Good things come to those who wait, and I promise, Hope, this is worth the wait.” The tension in his jaw pulses as he forces himself to relinquish the hold, tilting his hips away first before taking a step back.
His scorching gaze burns me up and melts me at the same time. I’m thankful for the cool breeze drifting in from the ocean to keep me from combusting. This is going to be a long night if he keeps looking at me like that, coupled with the new ‘no PDA’ restriction. He takes my hand and threads it into the crook of his arm.
We pick our way along the sandy path, from the small dock of boats, up the hillside edged with flickering, flaming torches. The horizon is ablaze with thousands of twinkling lights, hundreds of glowing heart shaped lanterns and loud, vibrant music blasts out, shattering the quiet night I’ve become so used to. Crowds of people gather in clusters, and it looks like an entire village is in full fiesta. The sprawling residence rises against the lush backdrop of the tropical forest and dominates the illuminated landscaped gardens.
We join a small line leading to an older man with a fake tan and a shock of thick white hair. The woman on his arm is like a Barbie doll, with impossible proportions that seem to not only defy gravity, but make me wonder how she doesn’t topple over. Although the latter isn’t likely since she seems to have a deathlike grip on the host’s arm. Jørgen makes the introductions, and we chat politely for a few minutes before we are ushered away and into the main bar area.
“What does Giles do exactly?” Jørgen lifts me up onto the high bar stool. He pulls the seat close to his and waves the bartender down to get some drinks.
“He’s a banker.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that, he seemed quite nice.” I arch a cheeky brow when he tilts his head, taking only a second to get my rhyming slang reference, banker-wanker.
“Cute. He made a lot of money investing in tech start-ups. He was also a hedge fund manager for many years. He bought this place for his third wife.”
“That lady?”
“No, I think that might be number five. I lose count.”
“And that is exactly why—” His lips crush mine, and I’m too shocked to enjoy the taste. He pulls away, and my tongue chases his flavour on my lips. “Mmm, what happened to no kissing in public?”
“I wasn’t going to let you finish that sentence. We’re not them.”
“I’m wearing more clothes for a start.”
“Quite.”
“I liked the kiss.”
“Me, too. I think not kissing may prove impossible.” His grumble holds no gravitas, although his gaze does furtively dart around the room.
“Good.” I’m tentative leaning forward, and love that he doesn’t hesitate to kiss me again, tender, gentle and perfect. The easy smile he flashes dazzles as he hands me a chilled glass of champagne. The bar area starts to get busy, and no one is paying us any attention. The way Jørgen makes me feel, I’m not sure there is another person in the room until our little bubble is abruptly burst.
The man directly behind me sounds like he’s using a bullhorn he’s so loud. Even sitting on the stool, I can see he is tall and slim, with dark hair slicked back to his scalp and beady eyes. From his reflection in the mirror opposite me, I would guess he’s similar in age to Jørgen with barely a fraction of his class. He has a group of men around him, and judging by the furtive glances they are casting, they are either bodyguards or just uneasy with his odious behaviour. I’ve tried to ignore the obnoxious shit that’s falling from his mouth. Unfortunately, with every fresh piece of toxic information I feel my hackles rising.
“If I had a dollar for every dollar I wasted on buying women drinks, lunches and evenings out and not getting to fuck the bitches, I would be able to buy an island like this one.” He snorts and barks out a dirty laugh.
“Chad, keep it down.” The man closest to him places a hand on Chad’s shoulder, but sadly his suggestion fails to have any impact.
“I wouldn’t mind, you know, but most of them are sluts and are fucking begging for it.”
I slip from my stool, and I’m about to spin to face the arsehole, when Jørgen steps forward, effectively blocking me. “Hope, what are you doing?”
“Clearing the air.”
“Hope, no, this isn’t the time or place. People are entitled to their
opinions, however disgusting and disrespectful.” He leans close to my ear, and only I can hear the stern warning in his whisper. It’s like a slap, and I jolt back out of his space, crossing my arms defensively.
“What? You can’t mean that?”
“However unpleasant, it’s better to not make a scene that will be tomorrow’s tabloid headline.” He reaches for my arm, only to retract his hand when I narrow my eyes like daggers and clench my fists. My temper is bubbling just below boiling, and I have no idea what’s keeping it in check.
“You really think I give a shit about a headline, when an arsehole like that is spouting off?” My smile is tight, fake, and contorted with the effort to keep my tone civil.
“Please, Hope, this isn’t your fight.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s not worth fighting.”
“Hope!”
I surge past Jørgen and plant myself in the centre of Chad’s circle of friends and right up in his ugly face.
“Excuse me, I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation, mostly on the grounds that your volume is as obnoxious as you are.” I suck in a calming breath and keep my tone disarmingly polite, a sop to Jørgen, since he’s so concerned with me making a scene. “You clearly have excellent taste, dating women with both scruples and sense enough to kick an odious man like you to the curb. Understand this: It doesn’t matter if you serve up a plate of diamonds for the starter, main, and dessert, a woman owes you nothing you haven’t earned…nothing. Having a tiny dick doesn’t mean you have to act like a massive one.” I raise my glass and clink it against the one he’s holding limply in his hand. With my free hand, I use my index finger to tip his shocked, dropped jaw closed.
Walking away, I take Jørgen’s hand as I pass him and lead us both away to a quieter part of the house. When I feel we are far enough from prying eyes and ears, I stop and face him. “I kept my voice low, and I even held onto my drink, my concession to your sensitivities, Jørgen, but I won’t ever sit back and listen to that kind of crap, so this might be a good time to take that on board before we get—,” I shock myself as the words fill my head and are about to topple from my mouth. Was I really about to say that?