CHAPTER
9
Anna flipped her head up and wrapped a towel around it like a turban. She felt refreshed after her shower, scrubbed clean. It was a new day, one day further away from her old life. And Lizzie was right. She’d slept well. The first decent night’s sleep since she couldn’t remember when.
It had been surprisingly relaxing to be sleeping in a different bed. It was a fresh start somehow. The pillows were plumper, the mattress felt new and slightly stiff under her back, the sheets softer, more comforting than what she was used to. No 1500 thread count cotton here, the kind she had that needed ironing just to look good on the bed. And yes, she’d been known to iron her sheets. It was something as simple as different sheets that set her mind to wandering. What if, in these sheets, in the still quiet of Middle Point, she could wake up and be someone else?
Maybe she didn’t have to be good girl Anna Morelli, GP, daughter, sister, jilted wife. Perhaps down here, waking up in someone else’s bed, she could pretend she was on holidays and be a totally different person.
And who would that be? If she could have her own sliding door moment, whose life would she want to be living instead of her own?
Maybe she could be more relaxed, suck on some of those chill pills that Dan and Lizzie were on. A free spirit. Why couldn’t she be a person who let life happen to them, flow over them like waves, rather than someone who had meticulously created hers? This free spirit would live in bare feet, not stilettos, would sleep in and breathe deeply and give up wearing a bra. Anna looked down at her breasts with a frown. Only if she wanted them sagging around her ankles.
She found another folded towel on a shelf in Dan’s bathroom and wrapped it around herself, folding it over her body and tucking it under her arms. Even the towels felt soft and comfortable.
‘A free spirit,’ she said, trying it out loud to see how it felt. Anna swiped the foggy mirror and sighed. Would that mean she’d have to give up real coffee for chai lattes, whatever they hell they were. Forsake real Italian bread for something gluggy and gluten-free? And, terror of terrors, say farewell forever to prosciutto? She shuddered at the thought. And just thinking of coffee made her crave one. She remembered Dan and Lizzie’s offer of breakfast at the pub and her stomach rumbled with hunger. She pushed open the bathroom door and stepped out into the hallway.
Something to her right caught her eye, a movement of shadow, and when she turned, her heart almost leapt into her throat.
Joe Blake was ten feet away. Staring right at her.
CHAPTER
10
‘Anna?’
‘Joe?’
‘Yeah. It’s me. Hi.’ He was in silhouette against the bright light streaming into the house through its front windows and it was almost impossible to make out his features, his eyes or his mouth. He was a shadow, made up of dark shapes; a strong curve of his muscled forearms against the light, wide shoulders and long, long legs.
Anna plastered a splayed hand to her chest. Droplets of water still decorated her skin and she felt a shiver, cold and then hot and then cold again. She gulped. Blinked twice. ‘For God’s sake,’ she stammered. ‘I thought you were an axe murderer.’
Joe raised that one eyebrow. ‘In Middle Point?’
‘Well.’ Anna pursed her lips. ‘This is the country, you know. All kinds of maniacs could be hiding out down here. You could have chopped my body into a million pieces and thrown me into the ocean to be eaten by sharks. No one would ever know.’
As Joe strolled towards her, his features came into clear focus. She really wished he hadn’t moved. Now she could see the sparkle in his blue eyes and those little laugh lines around his mouth.
He chuckled and it lit a fire deep down in her belly. ‘That’s not exactly what I want to do to your body, Anna.’
She heard the tease in his voice. Saw that sexy grin on his lips and zeroed in on the clear invitation in his eyes. Which was so wrong on so many levels. She wondered again why she’d come to Middle Point when it raised the very real risk of running into Joe. Was she trying to punish herself with the memory of their night together? What had seemed just minutes ago to be a luxurious escape now felt like torture.
Anna met his eyes. ‘Don’t you believe in knocking?’
Joe cocked his head to one side. ‘You’re not from around here, are you?’
‘Obviously not.’ She gripped the towel tight where it covered her breasts and then felt slightly ridiculous at her own shyness. He’d already seen her naked and she tried not to remember that she’d seen every inch of him naked too.
‘So what are you doing here?’
‘Admiring the view, obviously,’ Joe replied, his voice as relaxed and cool as the sea breeze. And then he did it again, took two steps closer. She didn’t need to be so close to that dirty blond hair, short, tousled and pushed back off his forehead into a peak. His lips, held together in a playful smirk, were full and lush. His strong jaw was dusted with just the right length of blond holiday growth.
It was so unfair to be faced with the sight of him. Unfair and humiliating and tempting all over again. Anna let out a frustrated huff. ‘Why don’t people lock their doors? That is so crazy. If you leave the front door open, total strangers could barge right in and—’
Joe quirked that one eyebrow gain and his lips parted in a grin. ‘Total strangers?’
Anna sighed. ‘Yes. Total strangers. You don’t know a thing about me.’
‘Don’t I?’ He eyed her up and down, slow and sexy.
Anna shook her head. ‘No, absolutely nothing.’
‘You like to dance.’
‘Anyone who was at the wedding would know that.’
‘You drive like a maniac.’
‘People make assumptions just because you drive a red sports car.’
‘You purr like a cat when you—’
Anna held up a hand. ‘Stop it.’
‘So maybe not total strangers, Anna.’
She looked away from his penetrating gaze, wondered what to do to calm her racing pulse.
When he laughed, it shot higher into heart attack territory. ‘Listen, I’m actually looking for Dan. We’re supposed to be heading up to the pub for breakfast. They do a mean fry-up on a Sunday morning.’
That had been her plan too. Until about two minutes ago.
‘Well, as you can see, he’s not here.’
Joe chuckled. ‘I wasn’t an investigative journalist for nothing, you know. I didn’t think you’d be wandering around dressed like that if you had company.’
They stood staring at one another.
‘Dan and Lizzie went back to her place last night so I could crash here.’
‘Right.’ Joe’s eyes moved down her body to her bare feet and then right back up again to her face. ‘So why did you need to crash here?’
‘I had a little too much wine last night and it’s not a good look for a GP to be caught drink-driving, is it?’ Anna decided he didn’t need to know the gory details about the real reason for her escape from the city, her reasons for wanting to run.
‘No, I guess not.’
‘People like you – reporters – would put it on the news.’
He shrugged. ‘That depends.’
‘And just a mention of something like that could ruin someone’s reputation and potentially their whole life. Something like that can never be taken back. It would be like a black mark against them forever.’
‘It could be.’
‘Even if it’s something they really regret doing,’ Anna said.
‘Mmm.’ Joe looked like he was taking mental notes of everything Anna was saying. ‘Regret?’
Regret. Yes, that’s what this emotion was, she decided. It was regret that was sending a shimmer all the way down her spine to her toes.
‘And it goes with saying that it’s actually quite dangerous as well.’
Joe nodded. ‘Dangerous. Yes, very dangerous.’
A loud drip from the shower echoed from the bathroo
m behind Anna, like a metronome counting the seconds of silence between them.
‘It’s good to see you,’ he said finally, and then he was so close she could see the soft fullness of his lower lip and the blond of his eyelashes that made his shining eyes look even brighter.
Merda.
Anna felt it like an electric shock. That chemistry they had, the combustible something that had flared between them the night of the wedding, was still there. It was in his smile, in his eyes. It was in the way her chest tightened when he looked at her. It was in the sound of his voice and the tease of his words. When she squeezed her eyes closed, all she could see was him naked and her fingers twitched with the memory of his body next to hers. And everything came back to her in a rush. The dancing, bodies tight against each other. The kissing, tongues roaming and his fingers twisting in her hair. The sex, his hands on her breasts, hers on his chest. His body, so hard and strong beneath her as she’d straddled him, groaning and moving against him. She tried to swallow the memory that was stuck in her throat like a fish bone.
She’d had sex with Joe to help her forget Alex. Hadn’t she?
Now, anger and humiliation and lust plummeted to the pit of her stomach and swirled around together like primordial ooze. She wasn’t sure which man she was supposed to be feeling guilty about.
Anna looked at Joe again, hoping the reality of seeing him would sweep away the distorted memories and help her get a grip on reality. But the soft expression in his eyes had her questioning if Joe was also remembering their night together. And in the smile on his lips and in his eyes, she didn’t see guilt or regret or shame. She was seeing something else entirely.
She wanted to curse herself. This was insane. She had to get her head on straight. She wasn’t a free spirit. She was who she was. And one-night stands were not part of her repertoire. She wasn’t built for them. She’d have to write Joe off as a mistake, an error of judgment. She didn’t make mistakes often, in fact, she made it a practice to avoid them at all costs, but when she made one, she made it big. And handsome.
Joe reached out a hand in her direction. He was about to touch her again and Anna suddenly felt completely uncertain about how she would react if his fingers landed on her skin. There was only one thing to do. She bolted.
‘I’ve gotta go.’ With a quick move, Anna sidestepped into the bedroom and slammed the door behind her. She lowered herself onto the edge of the bed and held her head in her hands.
Good girls, sensible girls, didn’t put themselves in situations like this.
Wasn’t she that good girl? She’d always believed she was, had liked being that person and had willingly occupied that role since she was born. There had never been pressure from her family to be good; it was simply who she was. It was the role predetermined for her it seemed. And she’d revelled in it. She was responsible and sensible. She’d studied hard to please her family and established her career before she’d married Alex. Good girls like Anna were respectful of their family and their traditions. When she married, she knew exactly who her prospective husband was; his character and their compatibility, his personality and predilections and how they complemented her own.
Good girls like Anna weren’t supposed to get divorced.
Good girls like Anna certainly didn’t fuck around for fun.
The damp towel around her was making her cold and she shivered. Her night with Joe had only ever been a diversion, about no-strings-attached fun. It couldn’t be anything else.
It simply couldn’t.
Merda.
There were two heavy knocks on the door. ‘Anna?’
She counted to ten before answering. Uno, due, tre … ‘What?’
‘Can I come in?’
‘No.’
‘C’mon Anna.’ She found the teasing and pleading in his voice almost impossible to ignore. It sounded half fun, half agony. She found St Christopher and gave him a good working over, twisting and turning the medallion around in her fingers. ‘What do you want, Joe?’
‘You hungry?’
Hungry? Was that swirling feeling in the pit of her stomach hunger? No, it was confusion. Anna flopped backwards onto the bed and covered her eyes with her forearm, swearing softly in Italian. She wanted a real coffee more than anything. But to have it with Joe? She couldn’t. She’d have to live with her desperation until she got back to the city.
‘No, I can’t. I’ve got to go home.’
Outside in the hallway, Joe rested one hand high on the doorframe, trying to resist the urge to barge right on in and whip that towel from Anna’s body. He couldn’t believe he was envious of a towel. He’d found it hard to keep from staring at the way it barely draped over her body, leaving no mystery about the curve of her breasts or her tanned thighs. Instead, he stilled and listened intently for any sign of movement. There was a ferocious kind of whispering, but he couldn’t make out any words.
‘Look, Anna. Why don’t you just open the door?’ It didn’t feel right to leave it like this.
‘Please go away.’
‘Not gonna happen,’ he said. ‘Why are you hiding in there?’
‘I’m not hiding.’
‘Yes you are. You’re acting like a politician with a secret.’
‘And you’re acting like a paparazzo. I’m not answering any more of your questions.’
That one was like a kick up the arse and he pulled himself back. Joe knew Anna was right and the last thing he wanted to do was scare her away. He was so used to asking questions that he had to remind himself occasionally that people had a right not to answer them. He’d always defended this behaviour by saying that he was only out for the truth, the whole truth and nothing but.
Those black and white lines had become murkier just lately and he’d had to learn that all the asking in the world didn’t automatically get you what you want.
‘Anna, listen …’ He stopped to think about what he really wanted to say. Hoped he’d get it right. ‘Look. The thing is …’
He pressed an ear to the door. There was no sound. Either she was standing stock-still or she’d passed out.
‘I don’t want you to feel bad about what happened. It happened. But this is Middle Point. There’s not much chance of us avoiding each other down here, even if we were trying really hard. Surely we can have a coffee together as friends.’ Friends? He shook his head in disbelief. Where had that come from? Did he want to be friends with Anna? At this point they were two strangers who’d happened to have unbe-fucking-lievable, no-strings-attached sex. Wasn’t that what every man wanted? He knew that in years to come, he would chalk her up to one of those good times he could look back on when he was old and grey, when his best friend was a walking frame and he might be lucky to have all his own teeth. Remember that time at the wedding down at the beach, he’d ask himself? When you were still moderately handsome and you met that Italian woman? What was her name?
Anna.
Joe knew he’d never forget her. He’d growled her name when he was inside her, whispered it in her ear after he’d come.
‘C’mon, Anna.’
‘I meant what I said, Joe. What happens in Middle Point has to stay in Middle Point. Got it?’
He lifted a clenched fist to knock again but hesitated. He got it. She’s trying to give you the kiss off. She’s married, you dumb schmuck. Joe turned to leave but his mind whirred with questions. He’d made a career out of reading between the lines of what people said and he couldn’t help but wonder why, if Anna was married, she kept turning up to Middle Point all alone?
As he walked out the front door into the bright sunshine and the sea breeze, Joe realised there was another question he couldn’t answer.
Why did he care so much?
CHAPTER
11
In the half hour since he’d left Anna barricaded behind the bedroom door at Dan’s place, Joe had thrown down a hasty coffee at The Market and then headed out into the water with his surfboard. He needed to get her out of his head and he kne
w that the ocean was the best place to do it.
Looking back on Middle Point from one hundred metres out, past the swell of the water in front of him and the white foam caps, the sand and the cliffs, Joe had a light-bulb moment. He’d been too long out of the ocean. He’d lived a lot of life since the last time he’d been a regular out on the water in his hometown. And to him, home didn’t necessarily mean the place he’d grown up in. Or his family, most of them gone. It didn’t mean schoolmates or the first time he’d driven a car or got laid. He hadn’t felt settled anywhere since he’d left, almost two decades ago.
Except for one place. This ocean. Where the water was all around him for what felt like a million miles and the rhythmic swells from the south carried him, propelled him along and gave him a feeling he’d never been able to find anywhere else. This place had been his playground. He’d practically grown up out here, past the rocks of Middle Point and the swell of the Southern Ocean. Out here, with breaks left and right, and the southern swell sweeping in to the long wide beach. And even when the waves didn’t come, you could just sit on your board and look to your left along the coastline to Victor Harbor and to your left, to the east, was the sand as far as it disappeared into the sea mist and the horizon.
This had been home, before ambition had overwhelmed him and he’d caught a bus to Sydney to escape his small town for a career in the biggest and most competitive news market in the country. He’d surfed when he first moved to the east coast, but he’d soon replaced his passion with his ambition. It wasn’t long before journalism had replaced the waves for the sheer buzz of an adrenaline rush. Soon he was on the Sydney fast track, where weekends were spent schmoozing not surfing, but life was good. It was even better when he met Jasmine. Three months later, in a lust-filled, sex-fuelled rush, they were married and he was in heaven with a beautiful woman on his arm and his face in the newspaper every day. There was no longer anything small-town Middle Point about him – he’d made it. He’d willingly paid the price for his career and for being married to a woman like Jasmine, which had made him feel like an even bigger fool now that it was all over. The headline of their relationship may as well have been ‘North Shore Beauty Meets Small-town Hack’. If he was honest, and he could do that now because it was over and he’d spent more than enough time wallowing in his misery, he’d never believed he was good enough for her. She’d never wanted to visit Middle Point for their holidays. She’d chosen the destinations and it was always the shops of New York or London in time for the new fashion season, rather than the place he’d grown up in. At first, it had seemed like a small price to pay for having such a beautiful woman as part of his life. A career, a marriage, life had all conspired to turn him into one of those blokes who looked out at the waves through the wistful eyes of someone who felt old and serious.
Our Kind of Love Page 6
