by Nicola Marsh
And he would, she had no doubt, just as long as she didn’t fall any deeper. Being a realist and acknowledging her feelings was one thing, believing in non-existent fairy tales another.
Roman was based in London, she’d be based wherever her job took her, if she was lucky enough to land a full-time position with Globetrotter.
Then why the sliver of sadness as she caught her first memorable glimpse of white sandy beaches, rocky cliffs, and a sparkling marina?
Crazy thing was, when the plane landed and she stepped out into the tropical heat, she searched the terminal for Roman, half fearing, half hoping he’d be here to meet her.
He wasn’t but she spied a young guy in white shorts and navy polo holding a card with her name.
‘Miss Beck?’
‘That’s me.’
Could she sound any dorkier? If she planned on using Beck as a pseudonym she’d better get used to it and not gawk at people when they called her.
‘If you’ll follow me, we’ll be on our way.’
She handed over her bag when it appeared he wouldn’t move until she did, and fell into step alongside him, quickly reaching the transport bays. Odd, she couldn’t see any transport beyond a bunch of golf carts.
Confused, she stopped, and her chauffeur laughed. ‘This is how we get around on the island. Hop in.’
Feeling as if she’d stepped from a seventies sitcom where guests landed on a fantasy island and were handed off into mobiles similar to these, she slid onto the seat beside him.
As the cart wound its way through leafy roads her driver kept up a steady commentary but all she could think about was how different this was from the cloistered rides she’d taken over the years. Rides in limos with their cool, darkened interiors and the heady expensive leathers, where she’d been told where to sit, when to keep her head lowered, when it was safe to step out flanked by obstreperous bodyguards. And she’d hated the partition separating the driver from the occupants, like some solid class divide.
Yet here she was, riding in the open air, not afraid to be seen, not afraid she’d be watched or criticised or chastened.
She grinned, relaxing against the seat, watching the beautiful vista unfold around her. No place did verdant green foliage and cerulean oceans and pristine beaches like north Queensland and the fact she was here to work was still a tad on the pinch-worthy side.
The cart slowed after five minutes of steady climbing and pulled over into a natural garage made from overhanging rock.
Confused, she glanced around for a hotel.
‘This is where you get out. Follow the path to the right. Mr Gianakis is waiting for you.’
She should’ve known. High-handed, confident and challenging, he’d commandeered her arrival here the same way he’d commandeered her heart.
‘Uh, okay, thanks.’
Uncertain what to do with her bag and hoping the driver’s version of ‘a little way’ wasn’t a hike, she glanced around, indecisive.
‘Your bags will be taken care of, miss.’
His tone implied ‘don’t keep the man waiting’ and she nodded, muttered ‘thanks’ and stepped out, the warm breeze blowing her skirt around her legs. If she’d known Roman had intended to meet her on top of some great rock she wouldn’t have worn a summer dress and espadrilles.
However, she’d barely taken ten steps along a well-worn track when she caught sight of him, standing on an outcrop, wind ruffling his dark hair off his neck, moulding his ivory shirt to his chest.
Her fingers ached to take a photo, to capture his magnificence as a still-shot. How many times would she look back on a photo like this in the future and wish he would be as captivated by her as he was for the view from that height?
He half turned, caught sight of her and the potency of his smile buffeted her almost clear off the mountain.
She ran.
An impulsive, spontaneous, completely corny gesture but she couldn’t stop her feet any more than she could stop her feelings for him, and as she flung herself into his open arms and he spun her around and around she didn’t regret it.
Whatever happened, she’d never regret opening her heart to this man. Regret was for bitter people dwelling on the past. And she wasn’t that person. Not any more.
She squealed as the wind lifted her skirt and, laughing, he slowed, her body sliding against his until her feet touched the ground.
‘I can’t believe you’re here,’ he said, capturing her face between his hands, staring at her in wonder and awe.
‘I can’t believe you hired some guy in a golf buggy to bring me up here.’
He grinned and her muscles spasmed with want. ‘I doubt you would’ve come on my preferred mode of transport.’
‘Which is?’
He jerked his thumb over his left shoulder and she peered in that direction, seeing nothing.
‘A little to the left.’
He guided her with his hands on her waist and she found it increasingly difficult to focus with them there.
‘Oh no…’ She caught sight of a great hulking black beast of a bike. With two helmets hanging off the handlebars. ‘You’re not expecting me to ride that thing back down the mountain, are you?’
He shrugged, the wicked glint in his eyes ensuring she’d have little option.
‘There’s always the other way I prefer.’
‘Which is?’
‘Parachuting off.’
She took one glance at the sheer drop off the cliff and jabbed him in the chest.
‘Don’t joke about stuff like that.’
He chuckled. ‘You’ve already done a tandem jump so what’s a little cliff jump between friends?’
‘No.’ She laid a palm against his chest. Any excuse. ‘Way.’
‘In that case, the bike it is.’
‘I’ll take the buggy, thanks.’
Sheepish, he shrugged. ‘I gave Terry instructions to drop you off and not stick around.’
‘You didn’t!’
‘I did.’
Tilting her chin up, she glared. ‘Did anyone ever tell you you’re pushy and presumptuous and—?’
His kiss stifled the rest of what she’d been about to say; whatever it was. She forgot the moment his lips touched hers. She forgot everything but the taste of him and the feel of him and the heat of him, setting her alight, encouraging her receptors to remember the many ways he’d pleasured her with these talented lips.
She clung to him, lost on a wave of sensation so powerful he could’ve slipped a parachute on her and she wouldn’t have noticed, lost to everything but him.
She hadn’t fallen just a little in love with him.
She’d fallen the whole damn way.
She’d eventually have to fathom a solution to this problem. For now, she was content for him to kiss her ’til sunset.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
EVER since Roman heard Ava would be arriving on Hamilton Island he hadn’t been thinking straight.
Work? His concentration was shot.
Dinner with old friends? He’d been caught daydreaming twice.
Play? In the past wakeboarding had always cleared his head; the rush of being dragged behind a boat, the spray in his face, the increasing speed. He’d tried three times and nothing, not a hint of a buzz.
He’d known then he was in serious trouble.
Extreme sports had never let him down. When he was dealing with his mother’s indifference and subtle passive-aggressiveness and binges all those years, the adrenalin rush had been the one constant he could rely on.
Not getting that buzz this time scared him.
What if his addiction to Ava had replaced his adrenalin addiction?
The way he was feeling now, out of control, couldn’t stop thinking about her, needing to see her desperately, it sure felt like an addiction.
He’d come here, the highest point of the island, to think, to strategise. When he was up high, whether it be on a plane about to jump or perched on a cliff, he felt invincible. As if he
could do anything. Face any battle and come out on top. King of the world.
He’d assumed meeting Ava up here would give him clarity. It had only been a few days but he’d been going crazy without her, missing her with a staggering fierceness. He’d blurted some of what he was feeling on the phone when she’d rung accusing him of arranging her trip. Funnily enough, he probably would’ve done exactly that given a few more days of this uncharacteristic madness.
Now she was here and all his plans to romance her flew straight off the precipice. He couldn’t keep his hands off her. And he couldn’t keep his mind off anything but figuring out how he could keep her in his life longer than a week.
He had a few ideas but he needed to decipher them, rationalise them, before doing what he’d never done before: lay it on the line with a woman.
But the moment they’d kissed he’d known he couldn’t wait and all the thinking in the world wouldn’t change what he knew deep down: that she gave him a better buzz than any jump or dive or glide.
‘Wow, you have missed me,’ she said, touching her fingers to her lips, her eyes wide and shining and reflecting the perfect blue of the sky.
‘You could say that.’
Her smile faded at his serious tone and he kicked himself for what he was about to lump on her when she’d only just arrived.
He had no choice. If he waited he knew this thing for her would continue eating at him and who knew what he’d blurt and when?
‘What’s up?’
‘I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.’
Wariness replaced the excitement in her eyes. ‘About?’
‘Us.’
‘Didn’t know there was an us?’
Her emotionless voice scared him as much as the speed in which she deliberately blanked all expression.
He imagined she’d had loads of practice at assuming this careful mask, to show the world she didn’t care. He knew why she was doing it now. She was scared too, scared what had started out as a lighthearted fling had developed into so much more.
Neither of them had expected this but it had happened anyway. Surely they owed it to themselves to give it a shot?
He took hold of her hands, noting the slight tremble in hers matched the tingle in his he usually got pre-jump.
‘Let’s not pretend, Ava. A fling was nice in theory but I think we both know the practice has evolved into something else.’
Her teeth worried her bottom lip. ‘Like?’
‘Like something deeper, something that won’t go away.’
Squeezing her hands, he drew her closer. ‘I can’t stop thinking about you. What about you?’
‘I can’t stop thinking about me either.’
He laughed, loving her ability to break the tension. But her amusement faded quickly as she slid a hand out of his to reach up and cup his cheek.
‘Same here.’
Her gaze dropped to focus on his chest. ‘I’ve never felt this way about any guy before.’
Elation made him want to fist-pump the air. An elation that quickly deflated when she raised her eyes to meet his and he saw the rejection there before they’d even begun.
‘But I’ve sacrificed too much for too long. I’m not willing to give it up for a relationship.’
‘Who said anything about giving it up?’
Releasing her hands and taking a step back, he looked out over the island, trying to get his words straight.
‘Long distance won’t work,’ she said, her finality chilling.
‘I wasn’t thinking long distance.’
He paced, before swivelling to face her, desperate to make her understand the convoluted thoughts twisting his brain into a pretzel.
‘I talked to my mum and you were right. She’s terrified I’ll walk away and not look back, so she’s been pushing me away deliberately.’
He drew in a deep breath, beyond grateful this incredibly insightful woman had helped him see sense where Estelle was concerned.
‘She’s promised to give rehab a serious go this time, along with AA after she comes out, as long as I’m there to support her so I’m stuck in London for however long it takes.’
The dampness in her eyes made them shine brighter than the ocean backdrop. ‘That’s great, for both of you.’
Hoping she’d go for the rest of his plan, he rushed on. ‘So I was thinking what if you’re based in London but continue to travel as widely as you need? You can still write for Globetrotter, maybe expand your portfolio and write for other European mags. But the thing is, you can always come back to London.
‘To me,’ he added, sounding like a dolt. As if she hadn’t already understood that part.
He’d seen her tentative, he’d seen her aroused, he’d never seen her in open-mouthed shock.
‘Not exactly the reaction I was hoping for,’ he muttered, resuming his pacing, wishing she’d say something before he jumped off the cliff sans parachute.
‘I can’t believe this.’
She shook her head, as if the arrangement he’d just proposed was as out of reach as joining him on his next cliff dive.
‘Look, forget I said anything—’
‘I damn well won’t.’
She grabbed at his arm, forcing him to stop. ‘I can’t believe you want to have a relationship. I can’t believe you’d be happy to fit in around my career. I can’t believe…’
‘What?’
When she raised her eyes to his, she didn’t have to say the words. The depth of emotion mirrored what he felt, but he’d bet she’d be much more eloquent expressing it.
‘I can’t believe we’re going to give this a go.’
He let out a whoop and crushed her in his arms. Where he hoped she’d stay. For a very long time.
Like for ever.
Considering the staidness of her previous life, Ava had never been on a motorbike. Hadn’t even been close to one. As she adjusted the chin strap on her helmet and wrapped her arms around Roman’s waist she thought, How hard can it be?
Roman let rip a full throttle and eased the bike around, coasting onto the track leading down the mountain.
See? Nothing to worry about. Then the thing started moving, seriously moving, and she screamed inside her visor.
Not that Roman drove particularly fast but with his offer of a relationship still sinking in, plus the altitude and curves and headiness of having her body plastered against his, she couldn’t breathe.
The beautiful scenery was lost on her as she kept her eyes firmly shut for most of the ride and when the bike eventually slowed before stopping, she couldn’t have moved if she tried. Her entire body felt stiff but surprisingly she felt the same buzz she’d had after the tandem jump: as if she could take on the world and conquer it.
Roman dismounted, shucked up his visor and helped her off. Lucky, for her legs had serious wobbles.
‘Enjoy that?’
‘Laugh a minute,’ she said, reluctantly joining in his chuckles at her dry response.
‘I love the way you embrace new experiences,’ he said, helping her unstrap the helmet and slip it off.
She was past caring about her hair. With that descent down the mountain, it was probably standing on end anyway.
‘And I love—how I feel when I’m with you.’
If he noticed her hesitation he didn’t say anything, but the softness around his mouth and the twinkle in his eyes told her he knew what she’d been about to say and felt the same way.
A relationship. With this guy. In London. While she followed a new career path.
Could life get any better?
As they held hands and traversed the lobby of what she assumed was his hotel, or hers, it didn’t matter as long as they made it to a room fast, she caught sight of a newsstand filled with magazines.
With her picture on the front.
She stumbled and Roman’s grip tightened. ‘You okay?’
Ice trickled through her veins and she shivered, wanting to look away but irrevocably drawn to impending disa
ster.
‘Ava, honey, you’re scaring me.’
Her lips moved but no sound came out, the horror of a month ago rushing back to swamp her in a sickening wave.
‘Come over here, sit down—’
‘No!’
Finding the strength to drag her gaze away from the visual nightmare she’d just walked into, she shook her head.
‘I don’t want to sit down…those magazines…’
Confusion clouded his eyes before he glanced across at the newsstand and bewilderment gave way to concern.
‘Is that—?’
‘Yep, that’s me.’
Now the shock was wearing off and, increasingly incensed, she marched over to the newsstand, rummaged in her bag and handed over a wad of money, grabbing as many of the offending magazines as she could.
Unable to carry them all, she thrust half at Roman, who took them without a word. She’d seen his face wear many expressions: from roguish to amused, passionate to teasing. Never had she seen him like this: stricken, floundering, worried.
‘I’m assuming this is your hotel?’
He nodded.
‘Good, let’s go talk in your room.’
‘Ava, they’re just dumb magazines—’
‘Unless you want me to have a mini-meltdown right here I suggest we discuss this in private.’
His lips clamped shut and with one last concerned glance her way he headed for the lifts. Thankfully, he didn’t speak and, clutching the offending magazines to her chest, she followed him into the lift.
As it moved the horror of her past swam up, a host of unwelcome memories.
Was she wearing a see-through skirt?
Was there spinach in her teeth?
Was the distance between her and her partner appropriate and unlikely to be misconstrued?
And that was before the nightmare of the divorce, spread across the tabloids for all to speculate.
Biting back the urge to scream, she marched down a corridor alongside Roman, the magazines in her arms weighing a ton, their content weighing on her conscience more.
