Cruise Control

by Sarah Mayberry

  She entered the bathroom behind him, and his eyes darkened as he saw what she was wearing. It was a Bali purchase, a thin halter-neck dress in white broderie anglaise, its bodice fitted, with a flared skirt that ended midcalf. Her skin was an inviting latte color after three days of careful exposure, the contrast very sexy with her blond hair and toffee brown eyes. She looked beautiful. And very desirable.

  “Maybe we should stay in for dinner,” he said as he turned to face her.

  She smiled, stepping close to put her arms around his waist.

  “What did you have in mind? Room service?” she asked.

  “And you for dessert.” Her pupils dilated, and he heard the breath hitch in her throat. She was so damned responsive. No wonder he couldn’t get enough of her.

  No wonder he was thinking about her all the time.

  But it didn’t explain why he was pushing her away now, patting her on the backside when she turned inquiring eyes to him. He wanted to take her out, show her a nice time. Pamper her. Show her he cared.

  Which, he was beginning to realize, he did. More and more so every day.

  It scared the hell out of him. But not enough to make him run. He’d never been a stupid man, and he knew a good thing when he was on to it. Perhaps he’d always known with Anna, from that first moment when their eyes locked in the rearview mirror of her car. She was special.

  He just had to decide what he was going to do about it, and how far he was prepared to go to keep her in his life. At the moment he had nothing to offer her. Yes, he was getting a divorce, but he had no illusions about himself—Tara had screwed with his head. He needed to sort himself out before he could tell Anna any of the things that were on his mind.

  Patience, he told himself. She’s not going anywhere. Get it right this time.

  MARC’S HAND WAS WARM and firm in hers as he led her across the sand to a fairy-light-adorned restaurant that was next to the hotel. They were both wearing flip-flops, and they stopped to shake off the sand before entering the high-ceiling, thatch-roofed restaurant. Like so many Balinese buildings, one side was completely open to the elements, extending the floor plan of the restaurant out onto a deck that fronted directly onto the beach.

  It was all so beautiful, so perfect. And Marc was so funny, so handsome, so sexy. And so very, very lovable, as it turned out. She’d learned so much about him over the past few days. As he relaxed, winding down from his demanding lifestyle, she saw more of his humor, his gentleness, his wittiness. She felt her heart squeeze in her chest as he held her seat out for her, his dark eyes gentle on her. He’d secured them a table at the very front of the deck, offering them an unobstructed view of the inky dark rolling surf. Around them, people talked and laughed quietly, but tonight it felt as though the two of them were in a private bubble, a world of their own.

  She’d been fighting her growing feelings for days now, trying so hard to convince herself that she was simply infatuated with Marc, obsessed with his body, even. But she was in love, and tonight she was sick of fighting it. Just have tonight, she told herself. Tomorrow you can regret it.

  The menu was very European. Marc had salmon; she had chicken. The heat made tackling desserts impossible, but they lingered anyway, finishing their bottle of wine.

  “Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?” Marc asked after a comfortable pause in the conversation.

  She smiled. “Yes. But feel free to say it again.”

  “You look very sexy with a tan, Anna.” His glance ran over her, and she marveled at the fact that he could turn her on with just a look.

  “You don’t look so bad yourself, Mr. Lewis,” she said, studying him appreciatively. His olive skin had darkened to a decadent mahogany, making him look exotic and dangerous and infinitely attractive.

  “Thanks for inviting me to share your holiday. I’ve had a great time,” Marc said, raising his glass and holding her eye.

  “Ditto. I’m not quite sure what I would have done on my own,” she said.

  “I think there are a few guys by the pool who would have helped you out,” he said drily.

  She cocked her head. “Jealous?” she teased.

  “You know I am.”

  There was a very serious, very intent look in his eye. She should look away, she knew. But she’d given herself permission to have tonight, hadn’t she?

  But he surprised her with his next comment.

  “You know, I haven’t been on a holiday for years,” he said, relaxing back into his chair.

  “Really. I would have thought that you and your wife…?” Anna asked before she could stop herself.

  He looked out at the ocean. “No. Tara and I put a lot of things off to build up the business,” he said. “It seemed important at the time.”

  It was the first time he’d ever said her name. Tara. Anna was both angry with the woman on Marc’s behalf, and grateful to her for being stupid enough to throw him away. Otherwise, where would Anna be?

  “I grew up pretty poor,” Marc explained, obviously seeing the questions in her eyes. “My father…well, he wasn’t around a lot. He fancied himself as a bit of a musician, but mostly he drifted with the harvest seasons, picking his way around Australia.”

  “So that’s why your mom was always working?” she asked, remembering what he’d said that first night together at his place.

  “Yeah. He hardly ever sent money. He was a shit, actually. There were other women. And he gambled….” Marc shrugged, his face hardening at the memory.

  “I bet your mom is proud of you,” she said, wanting to ease the haunted look from his eyes.

  “Yeah. She’s got a place up on the coast. She likes the warmer weather,” he said, smiling fondly. “She hasn’t had to work for a while now.” He said it with a quiet pride—not bragging, just owning his achievements.

  “My mother died when I was thirteen,” Anna said. She almost put her hands up to cover her mouth—she hadn’t intended to say that, not at all.

  Marc’s hand found hers. “That must have been hard, Anna. I’m sorry.”

  She shrugged a shoulder, but she realized she wanted to tell him.

  So stupid, a little voice said inside her. So dangerous. But she ignored it.

  “She had breast cancer. She lost both her breasts, but it was too late. She died at home, and we all looked after her. But mostly it was me—Danny was too small, and Dad was just so cut up….” She realized she’d misted up.

  “You must have been a tough little kid,” he said.

  “Not as tough as you, I bet,” she said, desperate to lighten the mood.

  He reached out and rubbed a thumb across her cheek. “Let’s go back to the room,” he said.

  She nodded, and he broke contact to signal for the bill.

  They walked through the soft, dry sand down toward the water, and Marc rolled his trouser legs up so they could wade their way back to the stretch of beach in front of the hotel. Not talking, they slowly made their way back onto the hotel grounds, back to their villa.

  She let Marc lead her outside to their private pool courtyard, and she let him undress her, his touch gentle, almost reverent as he slid her dress from her body. She watched as he undressed, and then he drew her into the water. It was pleasantly tepid against her naked skin, and she felt the silky slide of it as it embraced all of her.

  He pulled her close, buoyancy sending her bobbing against him, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. They kissed. Deep, soul-searing kisses.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he said as he looked down into her face.

  She felt beautiful, too. Beautiful and desirable and so in love that it hurt.

  He moved toward the shallow steps behind them until her back was resting against the smooth tiled surface. He ducked his head and suckled on her nipples, and she threw her head back and felt the sharp tug of desire between her thighs. She could feel his hardness pressing against her belly already, and she shifted minutely so that he could slide into her.

  He
moved inside her, the sensation exquisite. She watched his face intently, loving the heat and passion in it. Then he stilled, a frown forming.

  “We shouldn’t,” he said, and she knew he was talking about protection.

  “It’s okay,” she assured him as he began to withdraw. “I know my cycle. We’re safe.”

  He hesitated still, and she tightened herself around him. He groaned, and then he was moving inside her again, long, slow, voluptuous slides, the water lapping at their bodies, their soft sighs echoing across the water. His hands came up to cup her face, and his gaze was dark and intent as he stared down into her eyes.

  “Anna,” he said, and she knew it was impossible for him not to see that she loved him. But she wouldn’t ruin it, she couldn’t. So she stared back, her heart in her eyes, trying to deny the intensity and sincerity in his gaze even as she reveled in it. They came together, gazes locked, truths revealed.

  As soon as her passion ebbed, Anna felt the reality of her situation creeping in. Keeping her face carefully neutral, she feigned a shiver and slid from his embrace.

  “I’ll get you a towel,” he said, and she admired the grace of his body as he rose from the water. He was magnificent, with long, clean, muscular limbs, a flat belly and broad, strong shoulders. He strode into the house, careless of leaving a wet trail, the arrogance of a successful man in every step. He came back in his robe, with hers in hand, and she stepped from the water into its enveloping embrace. She smiled faintly at him, afraid that if she didn’t find some way to protect herself, she’d be crying all over him in about thirty seconds flat.

  “I’m going to go up to bed,” she muttered as he tied the cord on her gown snugly.

  “Sure,” he said, and she realized with dismay that he was going to come with her.

  Still wrapped in the gown, she slid into bed, and she felt the mattress dip as he got in beside her. Instinctively she curled away from him, even though she knew it would invite his embrace. A form of self-torture, she thought as his body pressed against hers, his arm coming possessively around her and his mouth finding the nape of her neck.

  She squeezed her eyes shut tight, rocked with emotion. Sliding her hand over his arm, she held him tightly, fiercely. She loved him. And this was the most she could ever have of him. A tear slid down her nose and onto her pillow, and she bit her lip. She would not, could not expose herself to him like this.

  After a brief battle with herself, she regained control of her emotions. She could hear his breathing deepening behind her, and she smiled stupidly to herself. He could sleep through anything. God, she loved him.

  Which was going to make it very hard to do what she had to do.

  HE WASN’T IN THE BED when she woke the next morning, and she sighed with relief. She needed some time to get her head together, come up with a game plan.

  Remembering the intent, gentle look in his eyes last night, Anna dug her nails into her palms. Because she couldn’t deny it any longer, even just to herself. He had made love to her last night. It hadn’t been just sex, the simple slaking of a need. It had been two people worshipping each other with their bodies. Beautiful and perfect.

  They cared for one another. If Marc didn’t love her, he was well on the way.

  And she had nothing to offer him.

  That was the horrible, honest truth she’d been hiding from herself. It was why she’d been so intent on not getting involved, why the very thought of falling in love, of committing to a relationship made bile burn in her throat.

  Of its own accord, her hand found the discreet scar beneath her breast.

  She was thirty-two years old. Her mother had died at thirty-five.

  She felt as though she was staring into the deepest, darkest abyss in all the world as she faced her oldest fear head-on. She didn’t want to die. Not the way her mother had. But, more than anything, she didn’t want to hurt Marc. There was no guarantee that her cancer wouldn’t come back. It was the knowledge that had been driving her for months now, pushing her to change her job, to find the fun in life, to live more, to experience things. She was living on borrowed time, and she had to make the most of it.

  She could hear Marc moving around downstairs. She wanted nothing more than to run down into his arms and pour out all her hopes and fears. To ask him to reassure her, to promise that things would be okay. But he couldn’t promise her that, and she had no right to even ask him to. This was her battle. The kindest, most generous thing she could do was extract him from the equation before their feelings deepened further.

  She could still remember the heart-wrenching sound of her father sobbing at her mother’s funeral. A part of him had died when she did, and Anna would never knowingly put another human being through that pain and loss. Not when she loved him, and she could prevent it by being cruel to be kind now.

  Resolve hardened her jaw. She threw back the covers and strode into the bathroom. Ten minutes later, she’d made a phone call and was dressed in swimsuit and shorts and padding down the stairs.

  He was lying by the pool, a newspaper crumpled on his chest. A half-eaten croissant was testament to the fact that he’d already raided the temptations of the breakfast buffet. He opened an eye as she approached.

  He looked absolutely gorgeous, relaxed and fit and sexy. Her stomach clenched, and she forced a smile.

  “Right, what are your plans for the day?” she asked him brightly.

  He frowned. “Same as usual. Did you have something else in mind?”

  She shrugged, digging her hands into the back pockets of her shorts so she wouldn’t grab him and hang on for dear life.

  “I’m going parasailing,” she said. “Then there’s a guy who teaches introductory scuba and takes you out to a nearby coral reef.”

  “Right. That all sounds very…energetic,” he said.

  “And tomorrow I was thinking of maybe doing a bungee jump. There’s a brochure for a tour operator who takes you up north, and you jump off a bridge.”

  “Bungee. Right.” Marc folded the newspaper and swung his legs over the side of the sun lounge so that he was sitting upright. “What’s going on, Anna?”

  “Nothing. I’d just planned on doing this stuff, and time’s getting away from us…. So…”

  He eyed her steadily.

  “Is this because of last night?” he asked directly.

  She kept her tone light, her eyes veiled. “Of course not. Last night was amazing. You can do me in the pool any time,” she said breezily. “I just want to have some fun, that’s all.”

  His eyes narrowed, and he was silent for a long moment. Finally he stood. “Fine, let’s go then.”

  She stared at him in dismay. “I thought you’d probably just want to hang here, relax,” she said.

  “You thought wrong,” he said.

  She could see he wouldn’t be moved. And even while it wasn’t quite what she’d planned, it was better than sitting around staring into each other’s eyes. She had to keep him at a distance. Start putting back the barriers between them. For his sake and hers.

  WATCHING ANNA GET strapped into the bungee harness, Marc felt a large, fierce hand clutch his heart and squeeze hard. His gaze shot to the platform where another tourist with a death wish was stepping tremulously to the edge. With a smothered howl, the young guy leaped off, and Marc watched him plunge fifty meters toward the ground before the bungee cord halted his fall.

  He turned back to Anna, determined. “This is stupid. Don’t do it,” he said.

  She frowned, shook her head. “It’ll be fine. They’ve been doing this for years.”

  “Anna, one of the guys at the hotel said a woman ruptured her bowel doing this last year.”

  She just shrugged. “I’ll be fine.”

  He regarded her broodingly. She’d been like this since yesterday morning. On the surface she was the same old Anna, but something vital had been withdrawn from public display. She’d thrown herself into the scuba and parasailing, insisting on doing the most extreme version of e
ach activity, pushing their guides to made it faster, harder, scarier.

  In bed, she was intense, driven, wild—incredibly sexually satisfying, but the woman he’d made love to in the villa’s private pool was AWOL. And he wanted her back.

  “I don’t understand why you’re doing this,” he said, angry now.

  “It’s on my list,” she said. “I want to do it.”

  “What list? What are you talking about?” But she just shook her head again. The guide was preparing to lead her toward the jump-off point, and Marc grabbed her arm.

  “Anna—please, don’t do it. For me?”

  She stared at him a moment, and he saw something dark and scared in her eyes. Then she seemed to shake it off.

  “Relax. I’ll be fine,” she said.

  He set his jaw as she shuffled toward the jump-off point, furious with her and himself for letting this happen.

  She glanced across at him once before she moved to the very edge of the platform, offering him a thumbs-up. That was supposed to reassure him, he assumed. He turned his back deliberately, but he couldn’t not watch.

  Knuckles white as he gripped the balustrade of the viewing area, Marc felt his heart stop as she leaped out into space.

  “Jesus,” he hissed under his breath as she plunged down into the ravine.

  If ever he’d needed a revelatory moment, this was it. He loved Anna. Yes, he was a mess, but he’d been half in love with her for weeks and just because he hadn’t said it out loud to her didn’t make it any less true. He should have said it that night in the pool. The words had been in his mind. But the shadow of Tara’s infidelity and the failure of his marriage still hung over him. You never asked why, Marc. He needed to know why his marriage had died. He needed to understand before he could offer a future to Anna. But he should have said something. She deserved it. He’d wasted enough time. He made a silent promise to himself that the second he was alone with her he’d tell her how he felt.