by Kwan, Coleen
“Yes. Hard to believe, huh? Just about everyone I know does the obligatory backpacking trip through Europe or Asia in their twenties, but not me.”
“Why’s that?”
Shrugging, she pushed her hands into the pockets of her shorts. “I wanted to pay off my student loans as soon as possible so I could start saving for my own home.”
“Is that important to you? Having your own home?”
She paused for a moment, scanning the neatly tended bungalows scattered among the trees. “I know that doesn’t sound very exciting or inspiring, but it is to me.”
He wanted to ask her why, but something about the expression on her face made him hesitate. She seemed so wistful, as if a home of her own was an unobtainable fantasy.
“What kind of house do you have in mind? A seaside cottage? A Victorian terrace?”
“In Sydney? Not likely.” She snorted, her dreamy air disappearing. “I’m a pragmatist, not a millionaire. I’m aiming to buy a one-bedroom apartment in Surry Hills. That’s the suburb where I’m currently renting with a friend of mine.”
He remembered the house he and Becky had shared for just over a year. Becky had wanted a view of Sydney Harbour, so he’d bought her a palatial French Provençal–style mansion in the eastern suburbs. It had seemed faintly ridiculous to buy such a vast house for just two people, but that was what Becky was accustomed to, and he’d wanted her to be happy.
“I’ve sold off all my real estate,” he said, “and I prefer not owning a home. It’s liberating.”
“I’m the opposite. I like stability.” She hesitated. “Maybe because I never had any as a child.”
He leaned closer, aware of the sudden intimacy between them. Grace had never talked about her childhood before, and he wanted to know more. “What do you mean?” he gently asked.
“When I was growing up, I never lived in the same place for more than a year,” Grace mused, her gaze trained on the children playing on the deck of the nearest house. “My mother was always moving us around. She’d break up with her boyfriend, or she’d throw in her job, or she’d just get sick of the place we were living. Either way, we were always moving to a new house, a new suburb, and I’d have to start at a new school.” She fingered her bottom lip, deep in contemplation. “You know, sometimes I didn’t even bother unpacking my boxes because I knew we’d be moving soon anyway.”
“That must have been tough for you.”
She gave her shoulders a quick shake, as if she wanted to shrug off her memories. “Oh, don’t feel sorry for me. I’ve got a good job, and I’ve almost saved up enough for my deposit.” She started to walk again, swinging her legs in big strides, as if she was in a hurry to get back to Sydney and snap up that dream apartment.
“You know, Tupua’s taken Mary and the kids to visit some relatives on another island,” he said as he caught up with her.
“Yes. Mary told me this morning. I’ll make myself an omelet or something.”
And he’d be on his own, too. Somehow the idea of them each eating in solitude seemed wrong. “I’ve got a better idea,” he said before he could think any further. “Come over to my place, and I’ll cook dinner for both of us.”
Her pace slackened as she widened her eyes at him. “You? Cook?”
He chuckled at her incredulous expression. “You think I can’t cook?”
“No, it’s not that.” She smiled ruefully. “Okay, I guess I am just a bit surprised.”
“I don’t require an army of domestics to take care of me these days.” He paused as they reached the fork in the road where their paths diverged. “Come by in an hour’s time. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”
…
At the bottom of the stairs leading to Jack’s deck, Grace stopped and smoothed down the skirt of her dress. The air was mild, but her skin felt shivery, and her stomach muscles were tensed. She almost felt as though she was on a first date. Which was completely ridiculous. This wasn’t anything like a date. This was just Jack being nice, taking pity on her. Nothing more. So why had she put on a crisp blue sundress, washed her hair and brushed it loose around her shoulders, and lathered gardenia-scented lotion all over her arms and legs? Because she wanted to feel like her normal self. Not because she wanted to remind Jack she was a woman.
She inhaled a deep breath, tightened her abdomen, and mounted the stairs. She searched for a doorbell, but there was none, while the door stood ajar. Realizing islanders were less paranoid than city people about security, she pushed through the open door. An enticing aroma of garlic, chilies, and ginger greeted her as she entered the house. Jack turned from the stove where a large pot was simmering.
“Take a seat. You’re just in time.” He brought two bottles of beer to the table. “Is beer okay? I’ve got some white wine if you prefer.”
“Beer is great.”
He popped the bottle tops, poured the beer into two tall frosty glasses, and passed one to her. “A beer and curry night. What more could you ask?”
A beer and curry night after a hard day’s work. So she was just one of the lads to him. She shouldn’t have worn her low-cut sundress or her nice sandals. She shouldn’t have left her hair all long and loose.
She took a sip of beer. Jack leaned his elbows on the table and studied her over the froth of his glass. His heavy-lidded eyes disguised his expression, and she wasn’t sure what he was thinking. He, too, had washed his hair, and under the light it gleamed like polished dark teak. He’d changed into a clean shirt and shorts, but his feet were bare and his jaw unshaven. He hadn’t primped himself up, like she had.
She cleared her throat. “Do you need any help with your curry?”
“I’m fine.”
His eyes seemed riveted to a spot just below her neck. Was her cleavage too obvious? She shifted her chair so she wasn’t in the spotlight as much. A moment later, Jack got up to serve the dinner. When he set the steaming bowl in front of her, she squinted at it in surprise.
“Laksa?”
“Yep.” He sat down opposite her, passing her a plate of lime wedges. “I’ve been fine-tuning my recipe for some time. I think I’ve finally got it just right tonight.”
She studied the aromatic bowl piled high with noodles, prawns, and tofu, and garnished with spring onions, coriander, and fried shallots. It smelled heavenly. She dipped her spoon in and sipped at the piquant coconut soup.
All the time Jack had been watching and waiting. “Well?”
Her first taste of the spicy concoction unlocked deep-buried memories. She nodded and set down her spoon. “Just like Chang’s. Better, even.”
He gave her a broad smile. “Better than Chang’s, huh? That’s quite a commendation.”
Chang’s was a hole-in-the-wall shop tucked into a back alley in Chinatown, a ten-minute walk away from the Macintyre’s head office. Every day at lunchtime, queues of office workers lined up, hungry for Chang’s laksa soup. Grace had discovered the place in her student days, and when she started at Macintyre’s, she’d formed a habit of ducking over there every Friday at lunchtime. One day, she’d brought her laksa back to the office to eat at her desk, and Jack had surprised her there. She’d thought he’d complain about the pungent smell, but instead he’d wanted to know what that heavenly aroma was, and soon he was accompanying her to Chang’s on Fridays.
During those lunch trips they’d chat about books, music, and television shows, but their talks were never long. Chang’s was always noisy and bursting at the seams, with a constant press of hungry people waiting for tables. It wasn’t exactly a restaurant for lingering over a meal or intimate tête-à-têtes.
Their lunches had been perfectly innocent. Not once had Jack ever given a hint that he saw her as anything more than his employee. But she’d never mentioned their shared lunches to anyone for fear of sparking gossip. She’d cherished those brief half hours alone with Jack and didn’t want anyone else laying innuendos where none were warranted.
“So do you still go to Chang’s ever
y Friday?” Jack asked.
Her throat tightened at his question. After Jack had left Macintyre’s, she hadn’t been able to return to Chang’s on her own. Looking back, she realized she’d missed Jack more than she’d been prepared to admit to herself, and that returning to Chang’s without him had been unbearable.
“Now and again,” she lied. She couldn’t confess that going to Chang’s without him just wasn’t the same. He’d assume she was infatuated with him, and that wouldn’t do. Maybe she did still have a thing for him. But she was an adult, a professional, and she didn’t want him thinking she’d been pining for him.
“But mostly not. I’m too busy these days,” she tacked on.
He speared a piece of tofu and chewed on it thoughtfully. “What about boyfriends? Are you too busy for them, too?”
She choked on a noodle. “What made you bring that up?”
“I just realized I know nothing about your personal life. For all I know you could be married with children these days.”
She stuck out her ring-free left hand. “No husband, no children, no boyfriend.” She took a swig of beer. Boy, when she put it so baldly, her life sounded rather…empty.
Jack shook his head. “No boyfriend? I find that hard to believe.”
The glass of beer shook in her fingers before she lowered it to the table. Had Jack just paid her a compliment, or was she reading too much into it?
“I had a boyfriend, but we broke up last year,” she finally said. “Daryl was a lovely man, but we weren’t compatible.” She hesitated. It had been a while since she’d thought about Daryl. “We just…just wanted different things.”
“Like what?”
In the beginning she’d thought Daryl was the man of her dreams. He was a chartered accountant, and weren’t accountants meant to be steady and reliable? But after a year and a half of dating, Daryl had grown restless and dissatisfied.
“He wanted to chuck in his job and ride a motorbike across the length of Africa,” Grace said, “and he thought I should go with him.”
“Sounds like quite an adventure.”
“Yes, but it wasn’t for me.” She frowned at the dregs of her laksa. “I didn’t want to give up my position at Macintyre’s to go mucking about through dangerous countries on a motorbike. And I didn’t want to squander all the money I’d been saving up for my apartment.” She bit her lip at the memory of her final argument with Daryl. She wasn’t sure why she was confiding in Jack. Maybe she’d downed her beer too quickly, but it seemed she couldn’t stop talking. “Daryl didn’t see it that way. He said I was boring, and he was bored of being with me.”
Suddenly her eyes were smarting, and she didn’t know why. She’d gotten over Daryl without much fuss. So why was she on the verge of tears over a man who meant nothing to her anymore? Dashing the back of her hand across her eyes, she caught sight of Jack’s face, and his rigid expression stopped her short. Damn. No man wanted to have a blubbering woman on his hands, especially one crying over her lousy ex-boyfriend.
She straightened her back, tossed her hair over her shoulder, and lifted her chin. “Shoot, everyone knows I’m not the most adventurous person in the world. He wasn’t telling me anything new!”
Two lines bracketed Jack’s mouth, and his fingers were gripped tight around his beer glass. “He was lacking something in himself and took it out on you. You know that, don’t you?”
She sucked in her cheeks and nodded, touched by him jumping to her defense. “I guess. I haven’t thought about Daryl much recently.”
“Good. You’re better off without him.” He reached out and put his hand over hers for a second. The moment was fleeting, finished before it began, but the brief contact had her pulse leaping. “And since him?” Jack asked.
She couldn’t let her brain spin out simply because he’d patted her hand, even though the warm imprint of his palm lingered on her skin.
“Oh. Well, I’ve dated a few times, but there’s no one special.” She waved nonchalantly. “I prefer to concentrate on my career at the moment.”
“Right. Your career.” He withdrew his hand farther, the warmth in his eyes cooling, as if the mention of her career had reminded him of her current assignment—him.
Deciding she should change the subject, she drained her beer glass and pushed to her feet. “Since you cooked dinner, I insist on doing the dishes by myself.”
He looked like he was about to say something, but then he changed his mind and simply nodded as he slid his empty bowl toward her. She took her time over the washing up, preferring to have some space between her and Jack. He’d had no problem asking her about her love life, but she didn’t feel she had the right to reciprocate. More than three years had passed since Becky died, and Jack was a healthy, virile man. Just one look at his sensuous eyes and mouth told her he wasn’t a celibate. She’d bet he didn’t lack for bed partners.
But what would it take to be more than just a fling to him? What kind of woman would make Jack risk his heart again? Someone incredible, she felt sure. Someone amazingly individual, talented, spirited, and vivacious. Someone who wouldn’t think twice about racing across Africa on a motorbike, with or without a boyfriend.
…
Jack walked Grace back to Tupua’s house, despite her objections. He knew she had nothing to fear, that crime was virtually unheard of on the island, but still he insisted. As they strolled back through the milky darkness, she talked about the villagers with a bit too much emphasis, as if she wanted to avoid any more personal subjects.
“Do the children have a school on the island, or do they have to go somewhere else?” she asked.
“There’s a school here, but they’re on holiday at the moment. Sefina is their school teacher.”
“Sefina? But she barely looks out of school herself.”
“Appearances can be deceiving. She’s a qualified primary school teacher.”
“Oh.” Grace sounded surprised. After a moment’s hesitation, she said, “Sefina likes you. A lot.”
It was his turn to be surprised. He walked a few meters in silence. “I like her, too, but not that way. She’s like a sister to me.”
Grace had never felt like a sister to him. Grace was…different in a way he couldn’t explain and had never cared to examine closer. He’d never told anyone about the laksa lunches he used to share with her. More specifically, he’d never told Becky. Not that Becky would have minded or felt the least bit threatened, because she hadn’t been that kind of person.
When he’d cajoled Becky into trying laksa soup, she’d abhorred the flavor. Instead, she’d hankered for clam chowder the way it was made in Rhode Island, her home state. He’d never been able to find the right clam chowder for her in Sydney, just like he’d never been able to assuage her homesickness.
The more she’d missed Providence, the more attention she’d craved from him. She couldn’t understand why a wealthy man like him should work so hard. As heiress to the Kirschner marshmallow fortune, she’d never worked a day in her life. Nor had her parents or any of her friends. Before they married, Becky had assumed his job at Macintyre’s was a sinecure. She hadn’t expected him to leave her to her own devices so often, and she’d grown to dislike him talking about his job.
So he’d never told Becky about Grace and their Friday lunches at Chang’s. Not because he had anything to hide, but he’d thought it more tactful not to mention work-related topics. At least, that’s what Jack had always told himself.
They stopped at the gate to Tupua’s house.
“I’m glad this is my first trip overseas,” Grace said, eyes lifted to the enormous star-spangled sky. “It was worth waiting for.”
She’d spent the last two days slogging beside him in the stultifying heat, with nothing to do in her downtime except help Mary around the house, and she was glad she’d come? Not many people would think this was worth waiting for.
But then, as he was beginning to discover, not many people were like Grace.
As he studie
d her, a force as palpable as gravity pulled him toward her. He bent forward to catch her subtle scent that had been teasing him all night. She smelled of gardenias, and as he looked at her hair rippling over her shoulders, he was slammed by a sudden impulse to run his fingers through that silkiness, to bury his face into its shininess and breathe in her fragrance. An urge to touch her, to peel back her reserve and free the sensuality simmering just below the surface, sprung upon him.
“Thank you for dinner…” She trailed off as she met his eyes. From her expression, he knew something of his inner turbulence must be showing.
A glimmer of light from an outside lamp bobbed across the contours of her silken shoulders. The compulsion to slide the thin straps of her dress off those shoulders and press his mouth against her velvet skin throbbed in him, as insistent as the croaking of the frogs in the undergrowth. Heat pounded in his groin, and before he knew it, he was powerfully erect. And he hadn’t even touched her! Just the sight of her body was enough to arouse him to fever pitch.
The darkness of the night cloaked him, disguising the raw urges rushing over him. Hell, what was the matter with him? He’d only had one beer, for chrissakes, and he couldn’t control himself. He sucked in a lungful of air, clenching his fists.
“So when are you leaving?” His voice was harsher than he’d intended, snapping the tingling connection between them. Her smile vanished.
“I didn’t realize…” She collected herself, leveled her shoulders, and drew in a quick breath. “I thought I was being useful these past few days.”
“You have been useful.”
“But?”
But she was also distracting him in new and dangerous ways, and he wanted her gone before he succumbed. If he kissed her like he so desperately wanted to, his resolve to get her off the island might crumble away, endangering his primary determination to remain on the island.
“You’re delaying the inevitable.” By sheer force of will, he kept his voice deliberately cool and unsentimental. “The sooner you leave, the sooner you’ll be able to tell my grandfather the bad news.”
