by Nina Milne
‘Rubbish. You didn’t love Joe. You wanted to hang onto his board shorts and be carried to fame and fortune. And you didn’t care what happened to the twins as long as you got what you wanted.’
‘That’s not true. If he’d loved me he would have put me first. That’s what love is. I was trying to show him how to be happy.’
‘Joe asked you to marry him. Spend your life with him. If you loved him wouldn’t you have at least thought about it? Even if it was just to help him with the twins?’
Leila threw up her arms. ‘Those damned twins.’
‘They were people, Leila. Children—grieving children. How could Joe have lived with himself if he’d abandoned them?’
‘Hooey.’
‘Hooey?’
‘Yes. Hooey.’ Leila nodded in emphasis. ‘Joe and I could have had a wonderful future together. He would have made a fortune—not just from surfing but from advertising and endorsements. We would have been as big as any of these football celebrity couples. We could have had it all—hell, by now we could have been on reality TV, with millions in the bank.’
‘Is that what Joe wanted?’
‘Of course. He loved surfing—and I’d have handled all the other stuff. But then he went and blew it.’
Anger was on a slow burn now, along with a feeling of wonder as to why Joe thought he owed Leila anything. ‘It wasn’t his fault his parents died.’
‘No, but he didn’t have to let it change everything.’
‘But it did change everything!’
OK, so she’d yelled, but it had been either that or give in and shake some sense into Leila.
‘Leila, you need to wake up and smell the coffee—or iced tea, or whatever. Just for a minute can you please try and look at this from a different perspective?’
For a second guilt prodded Imogen. Less than an hour ago she’d been just as bad as Leila, willing to condemn Joe because of her own fears and inadequacies. She had judged him unfairly. Now she could make amends. By standing up for him. And maybe she could achieve something more. Because whether he liked it or not Joe had been affected by his relationship with Leila. Maybe this was Imogen’s chance to achieve closure for him. And if that meant bursting Leila’s bubble then she’d enjoy every second.
‘If Joe had done what you wanted and surfed off into the sunset with you what would have happened to his sisters?’
‘Well … they … they would have been fine. He could have visited them, kept in touch. They could have come to stay with us every so often.’
‘Visited them where, Leila?’
Red stained the blonde’s cheeks. ‘There must have been other relatives.’
‘Nope.’
‘The care system. Or …’ Discomfort creased Leila’s face.
‘You didn’t think, did you?’ Imogen leant forward and slammed a palm down on the table, hearing the frustration sharpen her voice. ‘Or rather you just thought about yourself. If it had been me all those years ago I’d have married him to help him through. I’d have stood by him. He’s a good man. Who feels terrible about the way he behaved to you all those years ago. He believes he blighted your life. Did he?’
The green eyes skittered away. ‘I would dream about his anguished face … his words of anger would echo in my eardrums.’
‘Leila. This is real life. Please. There is a good man up there, beating himself up because he thinks he did you damage. A man who gave up his dream to look after his sisters. A man who built a new life for them and him.’
A man she had accused unfairly and owed an apology to herself. But that could come later—now her chest ached as she held her breath and hoped that her words had had some effect.
There was a long silence as Leila’s glossy painted mouth opened and closed, and to Imogen’s surprise she saw the green eyes swim with tears.
‘Oh, hell,’ Leila said. ‘Double hell. Now my mascara is running.’ A small sniff and suddenly she looked a whole lot more accessible. ‘You’re right.’ She gusted out a sigh. ‘I’m behaving appallingly. I’ve always felt terrible about the way I left Joe. I was young and shallow and, truth be told, I don’t believe Joe and I really loved each other. I loved being a surfer chick and he loved having a hot blonde girlfriend.’
‘That’s OK.’ Surprise and a sudden leap of elation at the knowledge that her instincts had been right after all fizzed in Imogen’s tummy.
‘But that doesn’t mean I should have deserted him. And now—because I don’t want to face what an outright bitch I was, and I certainly don’t want Howard to know—I’ve rewritten history to suit myself. Without giving Joe a thought. I’m sorry.’
Imogen shook her head. ‘It’s not me you owe the apology to.’
‘You think I should talk to Joe?’
‘Yes, I do.’ Imogen smiled—whatever her faults, it had taken guts for Leila to acknowledge the truth and want to make amends. ‘That way you can both have closure.’
‘And I can get on with doing what I’m best at. Being adored and fêted and looked after.’
‘I think that’s the bride’s prerogative. Truly, Leila, I wish you and Howard very happy.’
‘We will be, darling. And, Imogen?’
‘Yes?’
‘I’m sorry I tried to put you in the villa and gave you all those evil vibes. I know what it looks like, but I’m really not interested in Joe. I love my husband. It’s just …’
‘Just what?’
Leila sighed. ‘I suppose I was so caught up in this story I’d concocted, about being the woman Joe would never be able to get over, that it was a bit of a shock to hear about you and then see that he is genuinely happy. But I’m glad he’s found real love—truly.’
‘Leila, I—’
‘No, really. I know he doesn’t love easily, but I can see how much he adores you. I’m glad he’s found the happiness that I have. I do love Howie, so very much. And that’s why I’ll tell him the unvarnished truth. After the honeymoon!’
Leila winked and rose to her feet, and Imogen couldn’t help but smile as she followed her out of the room.
Once back on deck, Imogen found a secluded spot and leant against the railings as Leila approached Howard, had a quiet word with him, and then kissed him with a long, lingering embrace before she headed over to Joe. Minutes later the two of them headed off the deck.
Imogen turned and faced out to sea, hoping that the long overdue conversation would help Joe to cut himself a little slack. The sound of the waves lapping against the yacht made her heart suddenly ache. Giving up surfing must have been tough for Joe, and it made his insistence that she try out that art lesson make way more sense.
For a while she lost herself in a daydream, trying to imagine a younger, more carefree Joe, master of the waves, travelling to different competitions, sponsored, fêted, and doing something he loved.
But he’d given that dream up—and done so without martyring himself or making his sisters feel bad. He’d done what Eva Lorrimer had been unable to do—how could she not admire him for that?
The hairs on the nape of her neck rose to attention: a sure sign that Joe was in the vicinity.
‘Hey.’
The warmth of his body was right next to her as he leant back against the rails so he was looking directly at her.
‘Hey.’ She smiled at him tentatively ‘How did it go?’
Joe opened his mouth and closed it again, poleaxed by the sheer beauty of her smile. The reddish-orange of her kaftan dress was vivid in the dusk, her eyes bright with a warm, questioning look.
‘It was … great.’ He felt as though he’d shed a weight he’d barely even known he carried. ‘Thank you. Leila told me what you said in there. If you hadn’t championed me we’d both have gone on looking back from a skewed angle. Now we’ve sorted out the good memories and got the bad ones into perspective—and that feels good. So I’ll say it again. Thank you.’ He paused. ‘I take it I’m off the Katrina hook as well?’
‘Yes.’ She blew out air and b
rushed her fringe from her forehead. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just that’s exactly what Simone did to get Steve back. Turned up at some party with another man on her arm. He made a beeline for her. Worst thing is, I trusted him—thought he was aiming for closure. Turned out the only place he was aiming for was the bedroom, and I didn’t realise. He two-timed me for months and I didn’t have a clue. When Steve finally told me the truth he told me I was monochrome, grey, whilst Simone lit up his world.’ Slim shoulders hitched. ‘But it doesn’t mean I should have painted you the same colour!’
‘Then he must have been blind. You aren’t grey and you aren’t monochrome. You’re Imogen Lorrimer, smart and beautiful—hell, you practically light up the yacht. I promise.’
For a long moment she stared at him, and his heart twisted as he saw doubt wrestle with her desire to believe him. His feet itched with the urge to get hold of Steve and kick him round the town for what he’d done to Imogen, undermining whatever self-belief her mother had left her with.
‘Thank you.’
‘You’re very welcome.’
Awareness flickered into being. The strains of music and the raised voices faded and all there seemed to be in the world was Imogen—so beautiful, so damned kissable. Snap out of it, Joe.
He forced a smile to his lips. ‘Hey, we could start a mutual admiration society.’
Imogen blinked as if to break the spell. ‘I’ll drink to that.’
‘I can take a hint. Hold that thought.’
Joe glanced around and waved at a passing waiter, who came over with a champagne-laden heart-shaped tray, decorated with a photograph of Leila and Howard, arms around each other on a beach.
Seconds later they clinked crystal flutes. ‘To mutual admiration,’ Imogen said.
A silence fell. Not awkward; more thoughtful.
And then … ‘Joe?’
‘Yes.’ His gaze skimmed over her pensive features, over the delicate curve of her neck, the glorious thick dark hair that waterfalled past her shoulders.
‘Why didn’t you ever mention that you were a surfing champion?’
He stilled. Even knowing that Leila must have mentioned it, he still didn’t want to talk about it. ‘It’s never come up in conversation.’
‘It must have been tough to give it up.’
‘It was.’
‘Like shutting down a fundamental part of yourself?’ she asked, quoting his own words back at him.
Dammit. That was what happened when you started to care about other people. It came back to bite you on the bum.
‘Yes.’
‘Do you regret it?’
‘No.’
Clearly the monosyllabic answers weren’t doing the trick. Her expression showed a mix of compassion and admiration, and Joe didn’t want either.
‘I mean it. Holly and Tammy are way, way more important to me than being a surfing pro. It was never a question in my mind that there was any choice. And I’ve never regretted it. Not once. My sisters are two wonderful people, we’ve built up a cache of incredibly happy memories over the years and we’ll continue to do so. I have a career that I love and that I believe has value. Maybe I lost something, but I gained more. Life is what you make it.’
He’d known that all those years before—been determined never to look back and have regrets.
Blue-grey eyes surveyed him and then she stepped for ward. Standing on tiptoe, she brushed a feather-light kiss across his cheek before almost leaping backwards.
‘I was right. You’re a good man.’
Emotions mixed inside him—the desire to pull her into his arms and kiss her properly along with a residue of embarrassment.
‘Hey, there were days when it was hard. Don’t make me into a saint because I’m not.’
Days when, surrounded by the collapse of the family business, facing the fact that his parents had not been the people he’d believed them to be, trying to help the twins through their grief, all Joe had wanted was his old life back. He had craved the feel of the waves under him, the powerful exhilaration of meeting the challenge of the swell. He’d yearned for the freedom of the sea instead of the net of responsibilities that had sometimes threatened to drown him.
‘When did you last surf?’ she asked.
‘Just after my parents died.’
Her hand rose and one slender finger twirled a tendril of hair. ‘I’ll do you a deal,’ she said.
‘What sort of deal?’
‘I’ll go to that art class tomorrow if you’ll go surfing.’
Whoa. ‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea.’
‘Why not?’
‘I haven’t been on a board in years. I drew a line under it long ago.’
‘Then maybe it’s time to rub it out. I understand why you gave it up years ago, and I understand how back then you were scared to surf because it would be too painful. But maybe now you could take it up again.’
I’m too old and too unfit to go back to a professional surfing life, even if I wanted to. Which I don’t.’
‘Then what’s the problem with just surfing because you enjoy it? For you?’
She laid a hand on his arm, her touch heating his skin even through the thick material of his tux.
‘It’s OK to feel sad that you had to give up something you loved, lived and breathed. It doesn’t make your love for the twins any less, and it doesn’t make you a bad person if sometimes you resented what fate did to you. Going surfing won’t turn you to the dark side.’
How did she do that? Understand those deep, dark feelings of guilt and helplessness he’d experienced back then. Discomfort touched him. This was too much, too close, too … something. He needed to make a choice. Imogen had offered up a deal: art class in return for a surf session. So he needed to put his man pants on and get on with it.
‘OK. Deal. I’ll go surfing tomorrow and you’ll go to the art class.’
‘Deal,’ she said.
Joe felt a little light-headed as silence blanketed them once more. This time it was a different silence. The kind that bound them together somehow. His muscles ached with the need to hold her in his arms.
As if on cue, behind them the strains of the music changed from an electro carnival beat to the pure sound of a haunting, melodic song of love and yearning.
The hell with it. He gazed down at her and the words fell from his lips: ‘Let’s dance.’
It was an awesomely bad idea, but for the life of him he couldn’t bring himself to care. No more thinking—right now he wanted to dance with this woman and no other under the starlit sky. Stupid? Probably. But that was the way it was.
Without a word she pushed away from the railings, stood up straight and stepped towards him.
It felt ridiculously right to tug her into his arms, bringing her lush curves flush against him. Biting back a groan, he slid his hand round the slender span of her waist to rest on the flare of her hip.
A shiver ran through her body and she pressed against him, her breasts against his chest, her hair tickling his chin. As lyrics about desire and vows and promises were crooned onto the evening breeze they swayed together, their bodies a perfect fit.
Imogen looped her arms around his neck, her fingers brushing his nape, and this time he couldn’t hold back the groan as his pulse-rate rocketed. His hands rested on the curve of her bottom and she looked up at him, lips parted, eyes wide and dark with desire.
How he craved her—with a longing that hollowed his gut in an intense, deep burn of heat. There was only so much flesh and blood could stand, and his had stood it.
‘Let’s go,’ he said.
Rational thought tried to intervene.
‘Unless you want to stay for the photographs? The paps will be here soon.’
‘I don’t care. Let’s go.’
There was no hesitation in her voice—just an acknowledgement that her need was as great as his.
She swallowed. ‘Though we should say goodbye to Leila …’
‘We’ll write a thank-yo
u note.’
Impossible to wait, to make the time to find the bride and groom amongst the crowds. He clasped her hand, interlaced his fingers in hers and pulled her towards the steps leading off the yacht.
Imogen pushed the door of the yurt open, her heart hammering against her ribcage and her whole body one great big mass of need. Following behind her, Joe shoved the door closed and she turned to face him, terrified he’d change his mind even as she knew he wouldn’t.
He was no more capable of stopping this—whatever this was—than she was.
Every one of her senses felt heightened. Dizziness swirled in her head, and her legs were like blancmange. Staring at Joe, she thought he looked so defined, so focused, against the backdrop of pink canvas. The strength of his jaw, the angle of his cheekbones, the sinful line of his mouth …
Two steps and she was right up close as he leant back against the door and pulled her into his arms. Reaching up, she cupped his jaw, the roughness of his six o’clock shadow tantalising her fingers.
His hand was thrust into her hair and he angled her face for his kiss before his lips locked over hers in fierce demand. A demand she met without hesitation—met and matched—her entire being consumed by a need only this man, only Joe, could fulfil.
Her greedy fingers tugged at the buttons of his shirt and they pinged to the canvas floor. Not that it mattered. All that mattered was that she could now run her hands over the sculpted muscles of his chest.
He groaned as she stroked his skin, ran a thumb over his nipple. ‘I want you, Imo. So bad.’
Joe broke their lip-lock to trail a sizzling stream of kisses along her neck, unerringly finding the sensitive spot that drove her frenzied. She arched her back to give him better access, and then gave a gasp as he scooped her up and resumed their kiss.
He tantalised and tormented her with his tongue as he strode over to the bed and lowered her down, stood above her. The sinful smile that tugged at his lips made her ache with a sudden poignant want as she etched this moment onto her memory. Joe looked younger, carefree, gorgeous, with his brown hair spiked and mussed from her fingers, his eyes dark and dilated with a heat that made her squirm.
As if her movement spurred him on, he shrugged himself out of his shirt, shucked off trousers and boxers.
