Tycoon's Unexpected Caribbean Fling

by Ella Hayes

  ‘Emilie.’

  Joel! She felt a sob struggling up her throat, tears sliding down her cheeks. She’d run and he’d come after her. She couldn’t turn round for shame.

  ‘Emilie...’ The deck creaked under his footstep and then his warmth filled the space behind her. ‘What’s wrong?’ His voice was gentle, close. ‘Have I upset you?’

  Air funnelled into her lungs at breakneck speed. How could he even think such a thing? She spun round, wiping her face. ‘No! It’s not you...’

  ‘But you’re crying.’ His eyes were searching, taking her apart, then his hands came up and he was brushing her wet cheeks with the backs of his knuckles. ‘Why?’

  Her belly quivered. Had Tom ever touched her as tenderly as this? She couldn’t remember, couldn’t remember ever feeling so weak, so full of longing. ‘I’m crying because you gave me a lovely day and I left you on the path when you were about to...’ The words dried on her tongue. Maybe she’d got it wrong, misread the whole thing. Oh, God!

  His eyes narrowed. ‘About to what?’

  She felt her neck prickling. She couldn’t not tell him the truth. ‘I thought you were going to kiss me and I was scared because... I don’t know...because of Tom...and because I’m not sure about anything any more.’

  His hands fell from her face and then he swallowed. ‘I was thinking about it, but I’m not sure either.’ Something came and went behind his eyes. ‘It’s probably for the best.’

  She pressed her lips together. Tom was the only man she’d ever been with and she’d never looked past him, but now something was unravelling, taking hold of her senses. What would it be like with Joel? How would it feel? She wanted to know, needed to know. She took a breath, resting her hands on his chest. ‘Kiss me...’

  His eyes darted to her mouth, a landscape of light and shade in his eyes. She slid her hands upwards, to the sides of his neck, and on until she was holding his face. ‘I want you to.’

  An animal noise rumbled in his throat and then his mouth was on hers. She closed her eyes, losing herself in the sweet caress of his lips, the stroke of his tongue, the hot, urgent exploring. She was being gathered in, crushed into the smooth hard planes of his body and it was too much to feel, too much to taste, too much, but at the same time it wasn’t enough, not nearly enough.

  ‘Emilie!’ It was a ragged exclamation, then his eyes were on hers. She felt the warm pad of his thumb moving over her cheekbone, a fresh tug of desire drawing tight in her belly. ‘Have you got any idea what you’re doing to me...?’

  She nodded. Her lips felt used, swollen, still hungry. ‘I do because you’re doing it to me too.’ She wound her fingers into his hair, pulling him in, and for a moment his lips took hers again, but then he was pulling away, stepping back.

  ‘Wait!’ He put his hands on her shoulders, holding her at a distance. His eyes were fire and ice. ‘I can’t... I’m not...’ He was shaking his head. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve got to go.’ His fingers flexed, then his hands fell from her shoulders and he was going, down the veranda step, over the grass, heading back towards the path.

  She touched her mouth, still reeling. She was missing him already, but if they’d carried on, they’d have been—what? Holiday lovers? She blinked. That would confuse things and confusion was the last thing either of them needed. Walking away was the right decision, even if it didn’t feel right. At least this way, they could stay friends. He needed to know that they were still friends. She ran to the edge of the veranda. ‘Joel!’

  He half turned.

  ‘It’s okay.’ She swallowed. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow...?’

  He seemed to hesitate, then he threw up a hand and disappeared into the trees.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  JOEL LOWERED HIMSELF on to the trampoline of the catamaran, rolling back so he could stare at the sky. Sailing was his jam—he always felt loose afterwards—but today, although the conditions had been perfect for flying the hull and he’d raced around the eastern side of Tortola with the sun and spray on his face, he was still wound tight.

  He shifted, rolling his shoulders, stretching out his neck. ‘Kiss me.’ That huskiness in her voice, that bright flame of desire in her eyes. All night, fragments from the veranda had been looping in his head. He couldn’t get over the way Emilie had wanted him, the way it had felt, like firing on all cylinders, his senses exploding and imploding at the same time.

  It was new. Raw. Powerful. Too powerful. He’d had to leave, had to, because hooking up for a night wasn’t his style and he wasn’t in any shape for a relationship. He was caught in the gap, no good for anything, but he couldn’t forget the way she’d tasted, the heat in her mouth, the way her body had seemed to fuse with his. He drew in a long breath, trying to inhale some clarity. Why was he so tangled up? Emilie had shouted after him that it was ‘okay’, so why was he struggling to write off that kiss as a momentary loss of self-control? He was burning up with too many feelings, confusing feelings, and wasn’t he already confused enough about Astrid?

  Emilie! The day before he’d been twitching away at the thought of her being with someone else. That might have been a by-product of the tingling static that had been shuttling through his veins ever since she’d slipped that blindfold over his eyes. He could rationalise that desire had turned him into a hothead, a jealous idiot, but he thought he’d moved on, moved himself into the friend zone. It was what he’d been trying to do, but somehow he’d failed.

  At The Roost, when Emilie had said she was dining alone there’d been something in her eyes that had got him right in the chest, had made him want to be there for her, and when she’d asked him about her portion sizes, all that vulnerability swimming in her eyes, he’d felt that he had to be truthful, because she deserved honesty, friendship, the best of him—and a break from Buck Island! It was why he’d asked her to spend the afternoon with him.

  Being with Emilie had felt so easy. Talking to her had opened him up in a way he hadn’t expected. With her, he hadn’t been ‘the quiet one’ at all. For some reason he’d thrown open doors, pulling out things that he hadn’t quite known were there, resentment about Lars curdling in his belly, giving his voice that bitter edge. It had been a shock, realising how deep those feelings ran, but he’d felt lighter for airing them. Emilie had lightened him, lifted his mood.

  After she’d told him about Tom, about how he’d persuaded her to leave a job she loved only to pull the rug from under her in every which way, he’d been determined to lighten her mood too, make her smile again. On the walk back to the distillery he’d dredged up every amusing sailing anecdote he could think of to make her laugh, to see her eyes shining again. And just when he’d thought he was winning she’d started stressing about how she was supposed to be on Buck Island preparing his dinner.

  Emilie! So driven, so conscientious, so insecure. He’d found it impossible to watch her churning away, being so damn hard on herself, so he’d taken control, told her that he was taking her out for dinner. That was when everything had started to slide.

  At Clara’s he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her. Low sun on her face, the little frowns of concentration as she’d tasted things, the million ways her lips could move. She knew all the seasonings, knew which ingredient had been added in which order. He hadn’t felt hungry. All he’d wanted to do was watch her. And then he’d realised that Emilie was blowing him off course with her smile and with the sweet light in her eyes. On the boat, he’d taken himself in hand, told himself to stop fantasising about Emilie because they were friends and that was all. Friends! By the time he’d been tying up the boat at the jetty, he’d felt sure that he was back on track, then he’d walked her home...

  He folded his arms over his head, groaning inside. Walking beside her under the trees, with the splashes of light and the heady scents, his senses had skewed. All he’d wanted to do was kiss her, but she’d run away. Why had he followed?

&nb
sp; He squeezed his eyes shut, mining his emotions. Because they’d shared the day, shared pieces of their lives. They’d laughed and cried and, in his case, ranted. He’d had to go after her to make sure that she was all right, because...he felt something shifting, like a log in the grate...because she was special. He’d let her in, had given her a piece of himself that he’d never given to anyone else, not even Astrid. He’d told her how he really felt about his father, everything spilling out because...because she had no connection to his family. He’d been able to talk about Lars without being made to feel disloyal.

  Cold filled his belly like a tumour. Astrid had specialised in construction law because she’d always been destined to join Larsson Lüning. She’d always been close to Karl, especially after her mother died, and she’d always wanted to make Karl happy. He’d never questioned that, had never thought he was bothered by it, but what if, without realising it, he’d always kept a corner of himself stuck down...what if he’d never properly been himself with Astrid because of her connection to the business...to Lars? He felt a pinprick, an ache gathering around it. If he’d felt like that, then maybe Astrid had too. Had there always been a little bit of distance between them...?

  He rolled himself up slowly, feeling an acid ache in his belly. His history seemed to be shattering like a mirror, splinters everywhere, shards of the past skewing, throwing up dislocated reflections. He’d have to interrogate those splinters, fit them back together so he could see the real picture. He massaged his forehead. More than ever, he needed a friend, someone to talk to. Emilie? He’d opened up and let her in, and because of it he’d felt so close to her... But had he lost control, lost himself inside her kiss because he was lost, and confused—on the rebound—looking for sweet distraction and comfort?

  He blew out a long sigh. If he was on the rebound, looking for physical comfort, if he couldn’t be sure of his feelings, then his feelings weren’t good enough for Emilie. She’d been through enough heartache with Tom. She didn’t need the sorry tailings of his confusion.

  He got to his feet and reached for the mainsail. At least things hadn’t gone too far... And Emilie had called after him, said it was okay, so maybe they could put the kiss behind them and still be friends. He felt a stab of guilt. He’d glimpsed her through the kitchen door that morning and had turned on his heel, unable to face her, but now he needed to see her, to square everything away. He’d make amends, somehow, but first, he had to stow the sails.

  * * *

  ‘So...you were out with Mr Larsson yesterday...?’

  Emilie felt a knot tightening in her belly. She’d known Melinda would be too curious not to call, but she didn’t want to talk about Joel. His kiss was still tingling on her lips, and she was in a tangle about it, unsure of what the fallout was going to be, but whatever it was, she needed to deal with it on her own, not be always clinging to other people, leaning on them.

  She took a breath to speak, then noticed the kitchen door. ‘Sorry, could you hold on a sec...?’ She went to close it. Joel didn’t seem to be around, but she didn’t want to risk him overhearing. She pressed the phone to her ear again, reaching for a breezy tone. ‘Hi...so, yeah, I was with Joel, but it’s nothing. I just bumped into him in Road Town and he asked me if I wanted to visit the distillery with him...’ Not quite the truth, but near enough. ‘It sounded like fun, so I went.’

  ‘Uh-huh...’

  She held in a smile. Melinda could say so much without saying any actual words. ‘We did the tour, then we did the forest trail. Joel wanted to go up to the lookout point, but I was running out of time, so he offered to bring me back. It seemed sensible so I called Erris to cancel—’

  ‘And Erris told me that Joel didn’t get back to the house until after nine.’

  ‘Ah!’ She swallowed hard, trying not to think bad thoughts about Erris. ‘That’s because we had dinner at Clara’s Kitchen. Joel likes street food and since he was bringing me back, I could hardly say no.’

  ‘Hmm...’ Melinda’s voice was teetering on the edge of laughter. ‘I can see that you were in quite a predicament...’

  ‘Melinda!’ In spite of herself, she could feel a giggle vibrating in her belly.

  ‘I’m only teasing.’ Melinda was chuckling and then her tone shifted, became gentle. ‘I think you had a nice time though, didn’t you?’

  How could Melinda read her so well? She felt the knot in her belly loosening, memories unspooling, blue-grey eyes burning into hers: ‘It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen...’ Maybe talking about it would help. She bit her lips together. ‘Yes, I did. I like him, Melinda, a lot. He’s a really good guy.’

  ‘I could see that when I was showing him around, not that he said much, but...’ there was a little pause ‘...with some people you can just tell.’

  She pictured Tom, felt her heart shrinking. ‘Can you though?’

  Melinda made a little tutting noise. ‘That’s just the hurt talking.’

  ‘Probably!’ She blew out a sigh. ‘I’m not in the best place and Joel’s been through some stuff too, and he’s only here for a couple of weeks so—’

  ‘Stop thinking so hard.’ Melinda’s voice was like nectar. ‘You’re in the Caribbean now. Go with the flow, honey. If you like him and he likes you then enjoy it for what it is. God knows you deserve some sweetness after everything you’ve been through.’

  Sweetness? Was Melinda encouraging her to have a fling? She didn’t see herself as a fling kind of person, and yet, if Joel hadn’t walked away last night, would she have put the brakes on? She closed her eyes, remembering his perfect mouth, the heat inside it, the way he’d tasted on her tongue, that deep, warm smell he had, the hard crush of his body. Heat pooled in her belly. She hadn’t been going to say anything about the kiss, but suddenly she needed to let it all out. ‘Melinda...’ she swallowed hard ‘...he kissed me.’

  A deep rich chuckle filled her ear. ‘And how was it?’

  She felt warmth flooding into her chest. ‘Sublime! It was heart-stopping, toe-curling, mind-blowing. Every cliché you can think of!’

  ‘You’re lucky! Some people go their whole lives without ever feeling that with someone.’

  Then why didn’t she feel lucky? She’d spent the morning in turmoil, wondering how Joel was feeling, wondering where he was and whether they really were still friends, then worrying that she was only doing half the job she was being paid to do, breaching her contract. She stared at the island unit. Well, maybe not today. It was covered with the roast medallions of pork, the corn meal dumplings, the fried plantains and the callaloo she’d made. Street food. For Joel.

  She bit her lip. ‘So you think I should be more laid back about...things?’

  ‘I think you should take things as they come and enjoy the break because when Mr Larsson... Joel...leaves, we’re back to a full house. You’re gonna be busy!’ A little fretting noise suddenly filled the earpiece. Ben! Melinda must have been holding him all this time. ‘I’ve got to go. This young man wants a feed.’

  She felt a lump filling her throat. ‘I can’t wait to meet him.’

  ‘And you will, next week! And if you want to invite Joel to the party, go right ahead. He’s welcome.’

  Would Joel want to go? He liked peace and quiet and if Anton and his troupe were performing it would be nothing short of a carnival! But, if she asked him to go, then maybe it could re-seal their friendship, help to smooth over the confusion of the night before. It was something to hope for. ‘You’re so kind, Melinda, welcoming strangers to your celebration.’

  ‘You’re not a stranger! You’re my other daughter! And Joel is your friend so you’re both welcome, always. Now, you just take care of yourself.’ And then she was gone.

  ‘You’re my other daughter!’

  A glow filled her heart. Talking to Melinda had made her feel better. To think she’d almost kept everything to herself, wanting to be indepe
ndent, not wanting to be clingy. She turned her phone over and over in her hands. Melinda had never made her feel as though she was clinging and neither had her grandmother, but Tom had—especially towards the end—and at times so had her parents and her sisters.

  Funny how the people who were supposed to love her, but who’d never seemed to have, or been prepared to make, enough room in their lives for her, were the ones who’d accused her of being clingy. She sucked in a breath. Maybe the problem wasn’t all hers!

  She put her phone down and surveyed the spread laid out on the island unit. So much food! What had she been thinking? Absently, she knotted her shirt around her waist. The truth was that she hadn’t been thinking, not about food anyway. She’d arrived early, hoping to catch Joel so they could talk about things straight away, but he hadn’t appeared and there’d been no evidence that he’d had breakfast.

  And then she’d started thinking about him—that kiss—wondering if they’d be able to get past it, then she’d been worrying about not giving him enough to eat, and all the while, in a sort of trance, she must have started throwing dishes together based on what they’d had at Clara’s. Enough to feed an army, but where was he?

  Sailing? She went outside and across the terrace, passing the pool, until she was at the parapet. She looked down to the beach, felt her heart skittering. He was there, lying on the catamaran, arms folded over his head. The mainsail and jib were lowered. So, not sailing then, just...what? Avoiding her? She drew in a long, steadying breath. If he was feeling awkward about what had happened the night before, there was no shame in it. She was in the same boat, but they needed to confront it, put real trust in one another, not by playing games on the beach, but by talking.