by Fiona Harper
‘Oh, I am a strong swimmer,’ she interjected, then frowned also. That had been a long time ago. When had she had the chance to do any serious swimming in the last decade? Even if they made it to a bit of water as a family, she’d always had a toddler or a fledgling swimmer to take care of. There hadn’t been any time to swim properly herself. ‘At least, I used to be.’
They fell silent, just treading water, and Juliet realised his hands were still at her waist, holding her lightly but firmly, and their faces were only inches apart. Water dripped down his forehead and his lashes were dark and spiky.
‘Thank you,’ she sputtered. ‘I don’t think I was in any real trouble, but it would have taken me a lot longer to break free of the current.’
He smiled at her, and Juliet did her best not to impersonate the jellyfish swimming beneath them. ‘Prego.’
She smiled back. ‘We’d better be getting back to the boat...’
He nodded and they set off swimming in tandem. He was obviously the stronger swimmer—how could he not be with all those tightly bunched shoulder muscles?—but he only pulled ahead slightly, and she guessed he was being chivalrous by keeping pace with her.
When they reached the speedboat, he motioned for her to go up the ladder first. She opened her mouth to refuse, realising he’d have a rather unflattering view of her cellulite, but guessed he wasn’t going to stop being a gentleman now. There was nothing for it but to grit her teeth and hope her baggy beach T-shirt covered the worst of it. How embarrassing.
She flopped down onto one of the hard fibreglass seats and pulled her mask and snorkel off. When her rescuer joined them, he slid into the empty space next to her. They were the last two back on the boat, and the rest of the party was regarding them with interest. A couple of the younger women gave Juliet snooty looks.
When the driver started up the engine, she turned to sit straight on her seat, to keep the wind from hitting her in the face, and found the Italian looking at her.
‘I saved your life,’ he said, a hint of amusement glowing in his eyes. ‘Now you are indebted to me.’
If she’d been ten years younger she’d probably have told him to take a hike, but since she wasn’t she just laughed. ‘No need to be so melodramatic,’ she said, pushing a stray bit of hair out of her eyes. ‘I was hardly in mortal danger, so I don’t think I owe you quite that much.’
One eyebrow twitched up. ‘Then what do you owe me?’
Juliet could hardly believe she was having this conversation. If it had been anyone else, she’d have believed he was flirting with her, but since he was...well, him...she just put it down to neighbourly concern. Either that or he was a con man out to trick a lonely woman out of her travellers’ cheques. Since he’d been so gallant earlier on, she could hardly believe that was the case.
And this was fun. She realised she hadn’t spoken to many people in the last few days. Not proper conversations. Rich people liked to keep themselves to themselves, it seemed. She bit her lip and considered his question, even though she didn’t think for a moment he’d been truly serious. ‘I think I owe you a drink,’ she finally said. ‘I’m sure there must be an appropriately named cocktail on the menu I could thank you with. I’m sure I saw one called The Big Blue, or perhaps a Sea Breeze?’
He laughed. ‘Almost every cocktail that bar serves up is pink. Hardly a man’s drink.’
She kept her mouth closed but chuckled in the back of her throat. ‘I didn’t think you’d be the kind of bloke who’d find his masculinity threatened by a bit of grenadine syrup.’
He shrugged. ‘Maybe this...bloke...would prefer a Piton beer?’
This time she laughed properly, partly because the way he copied her word made it sound exotic and charming, but partly because they both knew this was an all-inclusive resort, that this was a game they were playing, and there would probably be no beer, or even a garish pink cocktail.
But then he held out a hand, his expression mock-serious, and she found she couldn’t refuse it. She placed her hand in his and they shook on it. ‘It’s a deal.’
When she attempted to gently slide her hand away he held onto it. ‘Marco Capello,’ he said, looking straight into her eyes and raising his brow in a question.
‘Juliet Taylor,’ she managed to stutter.
And then, before she realised what he was doing, he lifted her hand, pressed his lips gently to the back of it then let it go. Juliet clasped it in her other hand, not knowing quite what to do with it now it was her own again. Further down the boat one of the blondes who’d had her eye on Marco sniffed and crossed her arms.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
‘I’M HUNGRY.’
‘I’m bored.’
You’re whiny, Gemma wanted to say to the twins, who were moaning at her in stereo. They’d been searching for more than forty minutes and she still hadn’t been able to locate Juliet’s fuse box. For a woman who sorted her spice rack into alphabetical order it was most disorganised, verging on the inconsiderate, in fact.
The kids had enjoyed the ‘adventure’ at first, but after a while Polly had got too bossy and the boys had lost interest and Violet kept sloping off and having to be called back again. In the end, Gemma lit a couple of Juliet’s Christmas candles in the living room, put them high up on the mantelpiece and told the little ones they could have their ‘treasure’. Once the tin of Quality Street had been opened all she could hear was the rustling of sweet wrappers and the odd squabble about who was going to have the fudgy ones.
While they had chocolate to occupy them, and Violet to keep watch, Gemma continued the search on her own. Although she’d looked in the kitchen twice, she decided to return there. It was the most logical place after the hall and under-stairs cupboard, which they’d already peered into it three times.
The kitchen was at the other end of the ground floor from the living room, so it got much quieter as Gemma moved away from where the kids were scoffing chocolate. She heard a creak as she neared the kitchen door and froze instinctively, the hairs on the back of her neck standing to attention. Her heart began to thud a little harder.
Don’t be stupid, she told herself. It’s an old house. They make all sorts of funny noises. You’re only noticing it because it’s so quiet with all the electrical stuff turned off.
Still, she crept into the kitchen in her socks, not making much noise and keeping her breathing light and shallow. When she got a few steps inside the door, she stopped and listened.
Silence. Except for the ticking of Juliet’s over-sized kitchen clock.
She was just starting to smile at herself, to press a hand to her chest and shake her head, when a shadow passed across the conservatory. A chill skittered through her. She peered into the darkness, trying to work out if it was just a trick of the light, but then the shadow moved again, coming closer, solidifying into something very much like a tall, hefty man, dressed in dark clothing. He also had a torch in his hand.
Gemma had always thought she’d have the good sense to run as fast as she could in the opposite direction if something like this happened to her, but she found herself thinking of the four unwitting children at the other end of the corridor, of how she was the only thing between them and this...shape.
She wasn’t really sure what happened next. She must have dashed forward, because she ended up on the other side of the kitchen, and there was shouting and banging. He was closer too, grabbing onto her, sounding angry, and since he was a good six inches taller than her, she decided she had to take the only avenue open to her—she lifted the chunky Thomas the Tank Engine torch above her head and clocked him over the head with it.
Time, which had been racing along at breakneck speed, slowed then. Too much, maybe. Because it seemed to take takes for her to bring her arm down again, and the yelp of pain that escaped his lips seemed muffled and distorted.
H
e was clutching his head, groaning softly.
Good. He’d deserved that. And he’d get more if he didn’t scarper quick-smart.
She was about to back away, to stretch for the phone on the nearby kitchen counter, when he reached out and grabbed her arm. As he did so, Gemma got a whiff of woodsy aftershave that reminded her of someone...
‘I’m calling the police!’ they both shouted at each other.
And then, ‘What?’
Gemma slowly lifted her torch and shone it in his face.
Uh-oh.
This wasn’t some faceless shape, or even an axe-wielding maniac. It was Juliet’s next-door neighbour, and he had a nasty egg-shaped lump on his temple.
‘What are you doing in here?’ she shouted, her voice quavering and shrill. ‘You scared me half to death!’
‘And what are you doing messing around in a dark house?’ he yelled back. ‘I saw the lights out and the torches swinging around inside and thought you were being burgled!’
That made perfect sense, really. But Gemma wasn’t in the mood for hearing perfect sense. She was all full of adrenalin and pent-up fear and she needed to unleash it on someone. ‘And why in bloody hell would you think that?’
Will closed his eyes and rubbed his head. ‘Because there were a whole string of burglaries in this area last Christmas—you know, someone sneaking in and stealing all the presents from underneath the tree.’
‘Oh.’ Gemma diverted the torch beam so it wasn’t shining straight into his eyes. ‘I didn’t know that.’ And then she frowned. ‘If you thought we were being burgled, why didn’t you just call the police?’
Will opened his eyes and looked at her, blinking in the light of the torch. ‘Because I wasn’t sure, so I thought I’d just come round and check, and then I found the conservatory door unlocked...’
Ah. That must have been the boys after they’d been playing in the garden before teatime. She’d meant to check that.
He gave a weary look. ‘So why are you messing around in the dark with torches?’
Gemma shrugged. ‘Fuses blew. And I can’t find the box.’
At that moment, Josh came running into the kitchen, waving one of the other torches around. ‘Auntie Gemma, Auntie Gemma, can I be chief ‘splorer now? Cos I want to go to the North Pole and find Santa.’ Then he noticed Will standing there and his eyes went large and round.
‘Never mind him,’ Gemma said, gripping Josh by the shoulders and turning him one-eighty. ‘It’s just the ugly troll from under the bridge next door, and I’ve already beaten him up.’
Will snorted.
‘You just go and tell Polly that it’s your turn to be chief explorer for a bit, and that she can be in charge of the treasure chest instead.’ Somehow, Gemma didn’t think Polly would mind swapping to the role of ultimate power: control over all the available chocolate in the house.
‘Kay!’ Josh said and sprinted from the room.
‘Careful! You might...’
There was a crash from the hallway.
‘—bump into something,’ Gemma finished lamely.
Now Josh was gone, it just left her and Will staring at each other.
‘Explorers?’ he said, eyebrows raised.
Gemma sighed. ‘Polly was scared when the lights went off and giving her something to do helped take her mind off it, and the boys were much more helpful when we pretended we were looking for buried treasure than if we’d been looking for a fuse box.’
Much to her surprise, instead of making some sarcastic comment about ‘messing around’, he nodded. As he moved, the light shone on the side of his head. That lump looked rather angry.
‘Sorry, about your head,’ she said. ‘I thought you were some deranged attacker.’
Will let out a huff of dry laughter. ‘Is that better or worse than a troll? And what was it you hit me with anyway?’
Gemma waggled her torch. ‘Good old Thomas,’ she muttered.
Will frowned. ‘What is it made of? Cast iron?’
She tried to stop herself smiling. ‘Worse. It’s been designed to survive six-year-old boys. I reckon if there was a nuclear war, the only things left behind would be the cockroaches and this torch.’
Will laughed again, but properly this time, and the sound totally surprised Gemma. She didn’t think she’d ever heard him do it before, and it was warm and rich, not the businessman’s chuckle she’d expected from him.
‘I can’t decide if you were being very stupid or very brave,’ he finally said.
‘I can’t decide that either,’ she said, ignoring the warm feeling creeping up from her knees.
He’d called her brave.
And, because she was totally unused to Will Truman thinking, let alone saying, anything complimentary about her she cleared her throat and changed the subject. ‘I don’t suppose you know where Juliet’s fuse box is, do you? Your houses are really similar and they might be in the same place.’
He was looking at her in the oddest way. It was quite unnerving. As if she was someone he’d never met before. Or maybe it was the same way you looked at someone who had a particularly hairy wart on their nose. Both options unsettled her.
‘Well, do you?’
He blinked and shook his head slightly. ‘Under the stairs? That’s where mine is.’
‘Nope.’
Will frowned and headed off in the direction of hall, holding his torch in his fist, like he was on a cop show. Gemma rolled her eyes and followed him. ‘You don’t believe me?’ she said, as he stared at the door to the under-stairs cupboard. ‘Check for yourself.’
That was where trolls belonged, anyway. Under bridges, or stairs, or stuff like that.
Will glanced back at her over his shoulder, then opened the door and ducked inside. Gemma, not about to be put in her place, bundled in behind him.
‘See?’ she said, shining Thomas around. ‘Nothing here.’
They both stared into the gloom.
‘What about behind that unit?’ Will asked, flashing his torch at a rough set of shelves stacked with cleaning materials and half-used cans of paint, with a neat row of wellington boots—arranged in size order, of course—underneath.
It was a little further inside the cupboard. Will moved towards it, but Gemma ducked in front of him. She’d been searching for this fuse box for almost an hour now. If anyone was going to save the day it would be her.
Anyway, she was shorter than Will and it was easier for her to stand where the cupboard height was reduced by the underside of the stairs. She grabbed one end of the shelving unit and started to wiggle it away from the wall. Will quickly followed suit and it was only a couple of seconds before he was able to shine his torch down the back.
Nothing. Just a patch of wall with some really ugly old wallpaper on it.
They swore in unison, which made her laugh.
She turned to look up at him and found him smiling down at her. She swallowed and looked away.
Okay. That had been a weird little moment. Maybe it was time to get out of here. The paint fumes were obviously getting to her.
She stepped round the shelving unit, which was now protruding from the wall at an angle, and discovered the remaining space had shrunk, meaning she was practically pressed up against him. She should have recognised that aftershave. He always wore the same one.
She’d still been wearing half a smile, but now her cheek muscles relaxed and she closed her mouth, just looked up at him with her eyes wide. He was looking back at her, much the same kind of shock on his features as well. The temperature in the cupboard rose by at least three degrees.
Look away, she told herself. You’re the wrong sister. This shouldn’t be happening. He likes Juliet. Sweet, kind, sensible Juliet. Not you. You’re the anti-Juliet.
She tried to tell h
er legs to move, or her arms—any bit of her, really—but nothing worked. It was all rather worrying. All she could do was look at the angles of his face, thrown into relief by the torch light, and try to remember to breathe.
The seconds thudded by, neither of them moving. His gaze dropped to her lips. Her parted lips.
Gemma held her breath. And as she was asking herself just when she’d started noticing the kind of aftershave Will Truman wore, the lights came back on.
* * *
THEY WALKED OFF THE boat together. Marco jumped out first then offered his hand to Juliet as the small craft knocked against the dock. He also stopped to help all the ladies out of the boat. In a strange way it made Juliet feel less nervous. The other women certainly seemed very pleased about it too.
Once they’d picked up the bags they’d stowed at the dive shack, Marco turned to her. ‘Come. I find snorkelling very thirsty work.’
Juliet’s eyes widened. ‘You mean now?’
Marco shrugged and gave her that sexy half-grin again. ‘What other time is there?’
That sounded like the kind of thing Gemma would say.
‘Oh...okay...’ She glanced down at her ratty hair and her sodden T-shirt, which had only been partially dried by the wind and late-afternoon sun on the ride back. ‘Let me get changed and I’ll meet you at Pelican Joe’s.’ Thankfully, as always, her beach bag was fully kitted out and there was a large restroom near the main pool where there’d be space to change.
She gave herself a long, hard look in the mirror after she’d put on a sundress and was running a comb through her hair. He was just being friendly, that had to be it. Because there was no way he could be interested in this slightly wrinkly, salty-haired creature with the last tinges of sunburn on her cheeks and nose.
What Juliet wouldn’t give for her sister’s easy manner right now. She only knew how to make people like her by doing things, being the one they relied on, but Marco didn’t want a waitress or a housekeeper. He wanted an exciting companion for drinks, and she was supposed to be it. She searched her features, noticing just a touch of desperation in her expression.
