Tycoon's Unexpected Caribbean Fling

by Ella Hayes

  The path sheared away suddenly, descending some thirty feet by way of steps cut crudely into the volcanic rock, then it flattened again, taking him into a stretch of dense forest. He pushed his sunglasses up and tramped along, brushing through fronds, taking in a million shades of dappled green, trying to spot the birds responsible for the shrieks and squawks he could hear. The air felt soft and damp against his face, and although the plants and the sounds were unfamiliar, something about the light reminded him of the forest on his family’s island east of Stockholm. It was where he’d spent that first summer with Astrid...

  He’d been sixteen. It was the year Astrid’s mother had been killed in a car crash. Her father, Karl, was his father’s dearest friend as well as his business partner at Larsson Lüning Construction. Karl had needed support and time to process his loss, so he’d brought fifteen-year-old Astrid to spend the summer with Joel and his family on the island, except that Joel’s whole family hadn’t been there. His older brothers, Johan and Stephen, had gone travelling with their university friends.

  Astrid hadn’t wanted to hang out with his two younger sisters any more than he had, so increasingly they’d spent their days together and it had been fun because Astrid enjoyed the same things as him—sailing, exploring, building campfires on the beach—and although she’d been grieving for her mother and had sometimes taken herself off for an hour or two, the summer had been good...

  He felt a gentle warmth filling his chest. That was how they’d started: two shy teenagers thrown together for a summer and becoming friends. The following summer Karl and Astrid came to the island again. That was the summer he’d noticed the way Astrid’s body was changing, the way her large blue eyes held his. That was the summer they’d become boyfriend and girlfriend, the summer he’d felt his father Lars’s eyes on him, felt a warning behind them...

  ‘Don’t hurt Karl’s daughter...’

  Hurting Astrid had been the last thing on his mind. He wasn’t a player, never had been. He and Astrid had gone on, rock solid, all though university, never falling out, never hooking up with other people for fun like so many of their friends did. They’d seemed to fit. Maybe that was why, when he was twenty-two, Lars had taken him aside and handed him a small box containing the engagement ring that had belonged to his grandmother.

  ‘You should make it official, son! Propose to Astrid at her twenty-first birthday party. It would mean a lot to Karl right now!’

  Karl had been diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease not long before. Maybe that was why Lars hadn’t mentioned Astrid’s happiness, or his own! He’d been thinking of his friend and had taken the rest for granted. A natural enough assumption! He and Astrid had been together for five years by that time. He’d accepted the ring, but he’d told Lars he’d rather propose in private. Hijacking Astrid’s milestone birthday party hadn’t seemed right, even for Karl’s sake. It was a year later, on Astrid’s twenty-second birthday, that he’d popped the question.

  He stopped walking and rubbed at a glancing ache in one temple. Getting engaged must have been a joyful moment, but for some reason the only picture he could bring to mind was the selfie they’d taken straight afterwards. It was his laptop screensaver. A squawk shattered the thought. He looked up, saw a green parakeet sitting on a branch, attacking a red berry with its sharp grey beak. He watched it for a few moments, then walked on.

  August was the time for lingonberries. He and Astrid had gone berry picking that first summer. He could see it so clearly...bright red handfuls landing in the basket by her feet. She’d smiled, said that when they got back to the house, she would make jam if there was enough sugar in the larder... He faltered, feeling a little dizzy. Jam, sugar, larder! Etched on his memory. Weird, remembering stuff like that! He walked on, picturing her younger face. Clear blue eyes. The dark green beanie she always wore... He faltered again, felt tightness banding around his chest. If he’d been happy for all the years that they were together, then why were his fondest memories of Astrid so firmly rooted in that first summer when they’d only been friends...?

  He pushed the thought away, pushing himself faster. The track was twisting downwards now, becoming narrower and more overgrown—more challenging. But physical challenges were welcome. Thrashing his way through dangling branches and dense undergrowth was far easier than hacking through the thicket of confusion in his head.

  And then the path exploded into a clearing and there was hot sun on his face and a ledge in front of him, overlooking a cove. A yacht was moored in the turquoise water. On deck, a man was lounging with a book in his hand and a woman was sunbathing. Two teenagers—boys—were jostling each other, then jumping off the side, all raucous laughter and splashing.

  He parked himself on a boulder and stripped off his daysack, retrieving his water bottle. He gulped down a tepid mouthful, watching the family, his focus blurring. He’d grown up surrounded by noisy siblings, but he’d always been quiet. The quiet one! Johan and Stephen had joined Larsson Lüning straight from university, but he’d never wanted to follow, even though Lars had tried hard to persuade him. He’d always wanted to steer his own course. He drew an uncomfortable breath. It wasn’t his fault that construction had never interested him. He’d always liked puzzles and strategy games so making a career in computer security had felt like a natural choice. And he was good at it. With his engagement to Astrid settled, he’d thrown himself into building his business, and now, eight years on, Larlock antivirus software was the number one brand across the globe. He was proud of that, but what had it cost him?

  ‘Joel, we need to talk.’

  She’d looked so pale and slender in grey cashmere, her silky, blonde hair twisted up, her eyes wide and anxious. He clamped his teeth together, swallowing hard. It can’t have been easy, delivering the death blow. On the receiving end, it had felt like plunging into snow after a sauna: cold shock, disorientation, breathlessness.

  He simply hadn’t seen it coming. Yes, she’d been working unusually late for the past six months, but taking her place on the Board at Larsson Lüning when Karl’s Parkinson’s had made it impossible for him to carry on had been a huge adjustment. As Karl’s only child, it had always been on the cards that she’d step up, but they hadn’t thought it would happen when it did. There was so much to learn, she’d told him, and Johan had been such a help.

  He closed his eyes, tightening his grip on the water bottle. Astrid said that nothing had actually happened between them, but that her feelings for Johan were real, growing stronger, so she couldn’t possibly marry him. It was all so clean and tidy. A clinical finale. And now, after that initial, devastating shock, he was marooned in the numb fortress of his own skin, waiting for...what? Some stabbing pain to finish him off...to free him.

  He sighed, swigging back another tepid mouthful. Emilie! She made him feel the opposite of numb, but giving that feeling room to grow would only set him more adrift. He didn’t even know what the feeling was. Lust, desire...rebound stuff, definitely! He couldn’t indulge it or let it show any more than he could tell her that he always left her kitchen feeling hungry.

  The obvious pride she took in her work—the beautiful presentation of the tiny, delicious morsels she served him in the evenings—he couldn’t put a dent in that because he’d seen that first evening how important it was to her that he liked her food. He’d messed up that night with all his awkwardness. It was why he’d gone into the kitchen—to explain—but he hadn’t had the courage to tell her that the portions were too small. He hadn’t wanted to hurt her feelings, because her feelings had suddenly felt more important to him than his hunger. Then, somehow, he’d been telling her about the wedding that never was and there’d been such empathy in her eyes, as if she understood...

  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.