When in doubt, be polite.
He stared at her hand as though he didn’t quite know what to do with it before reaching out to shake it. “Jarvie Roberts.”
“I’m sure Nate will be back shortly,” she said.
Because surely he would be. He couldn’t leave his friend hanging like this.
Jarvie smiled cynically. “No, he won’t. He won’t come back until he knows I’ve cleared out.”
“Oh.”
Jarvie’s gaze slid over her again, then he bent and collected the envelope from the ground. He handed it to her.
“Would you mind giving this to him?”
“Certainly.”
“Thanks, I appreciate it,” he said. He raised his hand in farewell as he strode up the driveway.
Elizabeth sighed and pushed her hair away from her forehead.
What in hell had all that been about?
She looked at the envelope in her hands. She hadn’t heard much of the heated conversation, but she’d heard enough to gather that Nate was partners in some sort of business with the other man and that he’d recently walked away from it. She eyed the logo on the envelope. Smartsell. She’d never heard of it, but that didn’t mean anything.
Nathan didn’t strike her as a man who’d abandon a business on a whim. Even though her first impression had been that he was a lazy, feckless beach bum, she knew him a little better now.
She went into the kitchen and propped the envelope against the salt and pepper shakers on the kitchen table so he would see it as soon as he came in. As she was turning away, her gaze fell on a magazine rack in the far corner, overflowing with similar-looking envelopes. She stepped closer to examine them. Sure enough, they all bore the Smartsell logo.
Confused and worried, she walked to the beach in search of Nate.
She told herself she was being stupid, that Nate did not want her chasing him. He’d cut her loose this morning, in no uncertain terms. She might not be very experienced with men, but she recognized a kiss-off when she heard one.
Still, she walked to the waterline and shaded her eyes, looking up and down the beach for him.
His whole body had been trembling when she touched his arm to stop the fight. And the look in his eyes…
Her gut told her that something was very wrong, and she was worried about him. Maybe that made her foolish, but so be it. She could be embarrassed about it later, when she’d assured herself he was all right.
She walked along the beach for fifteen minutes in both directions, then she went to the pub and checked both the beer garden and the public bar. There was no sign of Nate anywhere, and the barman, Trevor, said he hadn’t seen him.
Which left her at a standstill. She didn’t know Nate well enough to guess where else he might go. Which pretty much said everything, really.
Just leave it, Elizabeth. He’s not your responsibility. You had some good sex, he cut you loose, that’s it. Let it go.
Good advice, but it didn’t stop her from descending the stairs to the main bar earlier than usual that night, hoping Nathan would be there. He wasn’t and she was on edge all evening, waiting for him to appear. By eleven he hadn’t and she figured he wasn’t going to. She went upstairs to her room and told herself it was just as well.
Her island fling was well and truly over.
NATE SUCKED DOWN THE LAST of his beer and threw the empty bottle onto the grass beneath the hammock. It clinked against another empty bottle, which wasn’t exactly a miracle since he’d been drinking heavily since he returned to the house in the late afternoon and the lawn was littered with bottles.
Despite all the beer, the agitated, unsettled feeling still gripped his chest and gut, as it had all day.
Bloody Jarvie. Coming down here, ruining Nate’s peace. He’d given the guy carte blanche to do whatever he wanted with the business—why couldn’t he just piss off and leave Nate to what was left of his life? Why did he have to keep inserting himself into things, reminding Nate of the way things used to be?
It had taken Nate months to develop a routine that got him through the days and the nights. After too many hangovers to count he’d finally discovered the perfect amount of beer to consume to achieve an undisturbed night’s sleep without making the next day a disaster. Between the beer and the surfing and the occasional hook-up with a warm and willing woman from town, he’d survived the past four months. Just.
Then Jarvie had barged in this morning with his demands, bringing Nate’s old life with him.
He closed his eyes and pressed his fingers against his eyelids, thinking about the envelope Jarvie had left on his kitchen table and all that it represented.
Why can’t he understand? I don’t want it. I don’t want any of it anymore.
The success he’d worked so hard to achieve. The big house and expensive car and invitations from people who knew people. None of it meant anything anymore.
It wasn’t like he hadn’t tried to pick up the pieces after the accident. He’d gone back to work. He’d even tried to drive once his concussion specialist had told him he was clear to do so.
Nausea burned the back of Nate’s throat and he swallowed urgently. It was pathetic, but the memory of the afternoon he’d tried to get behind the wheel again still had the power to freak him out. Opening the car door. The smell of leather and expensive electronics. The steering wheel, the gearshift, the windshield. He’d slid into the driver’s seat and been instantly transported to that night. The sound of screeching rubber, the smash of rending metal and shattering glass, the explosion of the airbags. The blood. The pain. The helplessness.
Nate gripped the edge of the hammock and swung his legs to the ground. He braced his legs wide and stared hard at the grass, his body tense, his breath coming fast as he battled with remembered panic and fear.
He closed his eyes, but nothing could block out the sound of Olivia’s screaming. She was always there, in the back of his mind. Dying over and over again. And there was nothing he could do to help her or stop the pain or soothe her.
Anger and despair welled up inside him. This was Jarvie’s fault. If he hadn’t come… Why couldn’t he leave Nate alone?
It took five minutes to get the nausea under control. Nate pushed himself to his feet and crossed to the house, heading straight for the fridge. He needed more beer to drown Olivia out. He needed to drink until he was numb again.
He stared at the empty shelves in the fridge. It took him a few seconds to understand there was nothing left to drink. He swore under his breath and pulled the freezer door open, looking for the bottle of vodka he kept there. He dragged it out and swore again when he saw there was barely an inch left.
How had he let that happen? He always had beer and vodka on hand. Always. He slammed the freezer door shut and leaned his forehead against the cool white metal. He hadn’t restocked because he’d been so busy thinking about Elizabeth, fantasizing about getting her naked again, that it hadn’t seemed important.
Stupid. So stupid.
He’d have to go into town, buy some more beer. Enough to get him through the night. He headed for the door but the clock on the kitchen wall caught his eye. It was past twelve. Which meant the pub would be closed for the night.
He stood frozen in the middle of the kitchen, panic fluttering in his chest. He needed that beer. How was he going to get through the night without it?
He walked into the living room and sank onto the couch. Maybe if he tried to sleep now, before the beer buzz wore off, he’d be able to get past this shit that Jarvie had stirred up. Then tomorrow it would be business as usual, back to his routine. He’d stock up on alcohol again, make sure he had backup this time. Batten down the hatches and wait for things to settle.
He lay down and rolled to face the back of the couch. His legs were too long and he bent his knees and drew them up. He had a sudden flash of how he must look—a grown man, huddled on the couch like a child.
Pathetic. So freaking weak.
He wrapped his arms aro
und himself as the trembling began. He could hear Olivia screaming. He squeezed his eyes tightly closed and prayed to whoever might be listening to let him make it to dawn.
ELIZABETH WOKE FROM A DEEP sleep to the sound of someone pounding on her hotel-room door. She sat up with a start and reached for the robe she’d left lying across the end of her bed. The glowing bedside clock told her it was three o’clock as she crossed to the door.
She was pretty sure she knew who it was, but she stood on tiptoes and looked through the spy hole just in case. Nate stood on the other side, his face downturned as he leaned one arm against the door, his expression distorted by the fish-eye lens.
She twisted the lock and opened the door. Nate dropped his arm and straightened. “Hey.”
“What’s going on?” she asked.
She could smell beer. He was glassy-eyed, with a fine sheen of sweat on his face. He smiled, but it didn’t even come close to reaching his eyes.
“Can I come in?” he asked.
She stepped to one side silently, watching him carefully as he entered her room. Something was going on. He’d clearly been drinking—hardly new—but there was something else. Something wrong behind his eyes.
“How about I make us a coffee?” she said.
She turned toward the small counter in the corner but Nate came up behind her and slid his arm around her, his hand sliding unerringly onto her breast. He began massaging her through the silk of her robe, his hips pressing against her backside as he nuzzled the nape of her neck.
Impossible to stop herself from responding to his touch, but there was something so desperate about the way he held her, as though he was trying to merge his body with hers. He started to peel off her robe, his movements jerky and impatient.
“Nate. Has something happened?” she asked.
She twisted in his arms so that she could see his face but he immediately ducked his head and started kissing her, forcing her head back on her neck with his need.
His hands cupped her backside through her robe, lifting her against his hips as he rubbed himself against her over and over. His whole body was trembling, his muscles bunched as he held her tight.
Emotion closed her throat. He hadn’t said a word, but she could feel the pain in him—he vibrated with it like a struck tuning fork. She wrapped her arms around him and smoothed her palms up and down his back, trying to reassure and calm him.
“It’s okay, Nate,” she murmured against his mouth. “Whatever it is, it’s okay.”
His breath seemed to get stuck in his throat then and he broke their kiss, pressing his face into the soft skin beneath her ear, his arms as hard as steel as he held her close. The trembling increased and he made a strangled noise in the back of his throat. She had no idea what to say or do, so she followed her instincts, soothing him with her hands, offering him what reassurance she could.
“It’s okay, Nate,” she said again. “You’re safe here.”
She rested one hand on top of his bowed head, the other in the middle of his back, holding him to her as tightly as he was holding her. She wasn’t going anywhere and she wanted him to know it.
Slowly the trembling faded. She felt Nate come back into himself and a new kind of tension took over his body. He started to push her away, no doubt feeling self-conscious now that the moment of crisis had passed. She didn’t give him a chance to withdraw; instead, she encouraged him toward the bed.
“Sit down,” she instructed.
He hesitated a moment. She knew he was trying to formulate an excuse so he could leave. She pushed him toward the bed.
“Go on,” she said.
His face was shuttered when he looked at her. Then he took a step backward and sat on the bed. She knelt and pulled off his boots and socks, then she tugged at the waistband on his jeans and unzipped his fly. He leaned back as she peeled his jeans over his hips.
“Lie down,” she said.
This time he obeyed as meekly as a child, shuffling over to make room for her. She lay down beside him and drew his head onto her chest, wrapping her arms around as much of him as she could hold. He lay there tensely for a beat, resisting the comfort she offered. Then his body relaxed and he turned his face into her breast, his breath coming in noisy gusts.
She felt dampness against her skin and knew he was crying. Tears stung her own eyes but she blinked them away and simply held him, her hands smoothing soothing circles on his back.
After a while Nate’s grip softened. His breathing became deep and slow. She brushed the hair from his forehead and looked down into his face, still tight with anguish even though he was asleep.
Whatever was wrong, she was deeply touched that he’d come to her, even if he’d had to dress it up as sexual need to allow himself to do so. Which was crazy when she considered how long they’d known each other.
A warning bell sounded in her mind. She silenced it. Right now, Nate needed her. That was the only important consideration. Reality could wait until morning.
8
NATE WOKE TO DARKNESS and the soft rise and fall of Elizabeth’s breast beneath his cheek. It took a moment for memory to fully return. Scorching heat rose up his chest and into his face as he remembered the way he’d pounded on her door and then jumped on her like a desperate madman. God only knew what she must think of him. It was a wonder she hadn’t called security and had him thrown out.
He eased away from her until he was on his back, his head on a pillow instead of the cushioning warmth of her body. His face felt stiff from his tears. He ground his teeth together, furious and humiliated in equal measure.
He’d lost it last night. Big-time. Not since the early days after the accident had he been such a basket case.
He almost laughed as a thought occurred to him: if Jarvie could have seen him last night, there was no way he’d want him back in the business. Maybe next time the night terrors struck he should record it and send the disk to Jarvie for his edification. No doubt he’d never be bothered again once his old friend understood exactly how screwed up Nate really was.
“How are you feeling?”
The gentle inquiry came out of the darkness. He tensed. He’d planned on being long gone by the time she woke. Save them both from the awkwardness of having to look each other in the eye after his meltdown.
“Do you want some water? Maybe some aspirin?”
“I’m fine. Thanks.”
There was a short silence. Then he heard her inhale.
“Want to talk about it?”
He smiled grimly. Did he want to talk about it—the million dollar question. Everybody who claimed any friendship with him had been eager to talk in those early days. They’d all wanted to “be there” for him. And all he’d wanted to do was forget.
But he couldn’t simply pull on his jeans and bugger off, not when he’d cried like a baby in Elizabeth’s arms. He owed her something. Some explanation, at least.
“Sorry for barging in on you like that. It won’t happen again,” he said.
“I didn’t ask for an apology, Nathan. But if you don’t want to talk, I understand.”
Her hand found his arm, then his hand. She slid her palm against his and wove their fingers together. She didn’t say anything further, simply squeezed his hand comfortingly.
Hot emotion choked his throat for the second time. He swallowed, the sound audible in the quiet room.
Bloody hell. He really was losing it. Might as well hand his cojones over now.
“I noticed that some of the other catamarans had two sails up yesterday. Is that normal or are they different from the Rubber Ducky?” Elizabeth asked.
For a moment he was thrown by the abrupt change of subject. Then he understood what she was doing: giving him some breathing room. He squeezed her hand and she returned the gentle pressure.
“You’re talking about a jib,” he said. His voice caught and he cleared his throat. “They make the cat more maneuverable and help with tacking. We had a good northerly the other day, though, so I
didn’t bother rigging it.”
“Right. So when you’re sailing alone, how do you manage it as well as the main sail?”
“You cleat the main sail first, then move forward to set the jib…”
They talked sailing for a few minutes. The faintest tinge of light was starting to creep beneath the blind. Gradually the tension in his chest eased. He turned his head and studied Elizabeth’s profile, barely discernible in the dim light. Her small nose, the shape of her mouth and slope of her cheek.
He made a decision and returned his gaze to the ceiling.
“I had a car accident,” he said. “Six months ago. I was driving to Melbourne from the island with my little sister, Olivia. There’d been another accident earlier. There was oil on the road. The car skidded…”
Elizabeth’s hand tightened on his and he took a deep breath.
“We hit a tree, front left-hand side. The car…the car folded like a piece of freaking origami. I hit my head, passed out for a bit. Olivia—”
His throat closed as his sister’s screams echoed in his head.
“You don’t have to tell me. It’s okay,” Elizabeth said.
“I want to.”
It took him a couple of shots at it. He held on to her hand for dear life as he told her how he’d woken and found Olivia pinned by twisted metal. How her face had been dark with blood, how icy her hand had been when he’d found it. How she’d whimpered and cried and begged. How he couldn’t do anything, trapped beneath the steering wheel and the collapsed dash.
He stopped only when he got to the end. He couldn’t make himself say it. Couldn’t explain how Olivia had pleaded with him to do something to stop the pain, right up until the moment she’d fallen silent and the desperate, labored rasp of her breathing had stopped, and how he’d held her hand until the rescue crew arrived and cut him free and forced him to relinquish his grip.
Elizabeth rolled onto her side and put her arms around him and held him tightly. Neither of them said anything for a long time. Then she lifted her face and pressed a kiss to his chin.
Hot Island Nights Page 11
