Anything But Love

by Abigail Strom

  In a way, she’d been glad of that. There were a lot of reasons she didn’t want to have anything to do with those kinds of feelings. She’d dated in high school and college because it was expected of her, and because not dating would have made her stand out. Given that, it probably wasn’t a surprise that most of her relationships had been uninspiring, with more than one boyfriend breaking up with her because she didn’t really seem “into” them.

  That, she’d figured out eventually, was a euphemism for not enjoying sex enough.

  Eventually she’d decided they were right. She didn’t particularly enjoy sex. Her hormones didn’t seem to function the way her friends’ did, and there wasn’t much she could do about it.

  The one time she’d experienced typical teenage hormones was around Ben Taggart, and there had never been a possibility that she would act on her attraction to him.

  But when she’d agreed to take this trip with him, why hadn’t she realized that those feelings might still be there? Under the surface, ready to throw her off balance?

  Because so much time had gone by. Because they hadn’t seen each other in so long. And because she’d gotten used to her apparent immunity to physical attraction.

  Last night had been full of warning signs she hadn’t heeded. Warning signs that her female hormones might not be as dormant as she’d thought.

  But she’d been able to hide her feelings when she was a teen. She was twenty-eight now, and a master at concealing things. All she had to do was act as though the problem of their sleeping arrangements was merely logistical.

  She took a deep breath and let it out. “What do you suggest we do?”

  “I suggest we call the front desk and switch rooms.”

  “They’re all booked up. I told you that.”

  “Fine. Let’s get a cot in here.” He gestured toward the sitting area, which featured two armchairs and a small loveseat. “I’m six foot two, Jess. That’s not going to cut it.”

  “We’re in the honeymoon suite. We can’t ask for a cot.” She thought about it. “If I put the chairs together I could—”

  “No way. You’re sleeping in the bed. If you don’t want to request a cot, I’ll sleep on the floor.”

  “That’s not a good solution,” she objected.

  He shrugged. “It’s the best solution we’ve got. It won’t be so bad.”

  “No.” He’d come with her to Bermuda to support her, and she wasn’t going to let him sleep on the floor. “I suppose there’s no reason you and I can’t do what Tom and I were going to do.”

  Ben stared at her in disbelief. “You mean share that bed?”

  “Yes. Why not?”

  “Do you need me to go over the part where I’m not gay?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Come on, Ben. We’re both adults. Are you telling me you’ll be overcome by lust or something?”

  “Of course I’m not saying that,” he practically growled. “But it’ll be . . .” He paused. “Awkward.”

  She shrugged. “Only if we let it be. I don’t have a problem with it,” she went on, glancing at the bed again.

  A sudden image of the two of them in it together flashed through her mind, followed by a rush of heat.

  “No problem at all,” she repeated more firmly.

  “Fine,” Ben said after a moment. “Let’s share a bed for ten days. That won’t be weird at all. Why did I even think it might be?”

  “It’ll be fine. It’s a really big bed,” she pointed out.

  He sighed. “Yeah, it is. But can we at least get rid of the rose petals?”

  That made her smile.

  “Definitely.”

  Ben glanced out the window. “How about we do that after going for a swim? I’ve never in my life seen water that gorgeous.” He opened his carry-on and pulled out a pair of dark green bathing trunks. “Do you need the bathroom? If you don’t, I’m going to change in there.”

  She shook her head. “I’ll change out here.”

  Once the bathroom door closed behind him, she opened her suitcase and pulled out her own bathing suit. She changed quickly and called out, “I’ll meet you down there, okay?”

  “Okay,” Ben called back.

  She slipped on a pair of beach sandals, put a pair of sunglasses and a bottle of sunscreen into a tote bag, and went through the cottage’s back door. It opened onto a patio and a private path down to the water.

  She put the thought of sleeping arrangements out of her head. This trip was supposed to be an escape, and what better escape than swimming? She’d loved the ocean for as long as she could remember, and she had ten days of it to look forward to.

  That’s what she needed to focus on.

  It was a good thing he had a firm handle on his masculinity, because if he didn’t, being told by a beautiful woman that sharing a bed with him wouldn’t be the slightest bit awkward might have been a blow to his ego.

  As it was, thanks to the firm-handle-on-his-masculinity thing, there was no problem at all.

  Never mind that at his first glimpse of that king-size bed, all he’d been able to think about was him and Jessica in it together.

  He’d pictured her lying naked on those silk sheets with him above her, ready to bury himself inside her. Not since he was a teenager had he been so overwhelmed by the visceral power of a sexual fantasy.

  At least until Jessica had made it clear that he was the only one with that problem.

  There was nothing like a woman’s total lack of interest to calm a guy’s libido. With Jessica completely unaffected by the thought of their sleeping together—sleeping next to each other, anyway—he should have no trouble tamping down his own feelings.

  No trouble at all.

  Then he went down to the ocean and saw Jessica in her bathing suit.

  There were dozens of vacationers on the beach. Among the women, the preferred suit choice was a bikini. Bikinis with straps, bikinis without straps, bikinis of all colors, styles, and varieties. And given Jessica’s predilection to be fashionable as well as to showcase her beauty, her suit should have been an unerring combination of classy and sexy.

  But she was wearing a Speedo. A racing Speedo with thick cross straps—the kind worn by serious swimmers.

  There was nothing enticing in the design of that suit. It conformed to Jessica’s slender body, but not with any intention to be provocative.

  He was surrounded by women in skimpy bikinis, and there, standing at the water’s edge, stood a woman in a plain black one-piece.

  And she was the woman he couldn’t take his eyes off.

  He’d accused her of being too skinny in high school. She was still too skinny as far as he was concerned, even though he knew society would consider her proportions perfect.

  She was too skinny, she was wearing a boring-ass bathing suit, and she’d informed him a few minutes ago that sharing a bed with him would be just like sharing a bed with her gay friend.

  And he was staring at her like a starving man at the first meal he’d seen in weeks.

  Her skin was the most touchable he’d ever seen—smooth and creamy and begging to be kissed. And even though he thought she should put on a few pounds, Jessica’s slim curves were undeniably appealing—including an ass so luscious it made his palms itch.

  She was standing with her back to him, her hands on her hips, gazing out at the wide expanse of ocean. The beach was crowded and there were kids playing in the sand nearby, but she only had eyes for the vista before her.

  He came up beside her. “Hey,” he said.

  She turned her head, surprised. “I didn’t see you.”

  “I know. What were you thinking, just then?”

  She looked back at the water. “Just that it’s beautiful.”

  He stood there with her for a few minutes, drawn in by her fascination to be still and observant himself.

  The sound of the ocean waves filled the air. The horizon seemed endless; the colors were deep and beautiful. The briny tang of the sea was all around them
.

  He nudged her elbow with his. “Happy you came?”

  She kept her eyes on the ocean, but she was smiling. “Yes.”

  A memory of the last time the two of them had been swimming flashed before his mind’s eye. “Do you remember the pool at Shipley?” he asked.

  Unexpectedly, her smile dimmed. “Don’t remind me.”

  Her response confused him. “But you loved that pool. You went swimming every chance you got.”

  “Yes, I did. Looking like a whale.”

  “Hey!”

  She looked at him, startled. “What is it?”

  He held her eyes with his. “I hereby establish the first ground rule for this trip. You’re not allowed to body-shame yourself like that, even if it’s your past self. You were beautiful in eighth grade, Jess. You’ve always been beautiful.”

  He could see her resistance to that notion in the ripple of tension that passed over her face, but he kept his gaze locked with hers.

  Finally she shrugged. “Fine. But if you get to establish a ground rule, then so do I.”

  “Fair enough. What is it?”

  She blinked. “Well, I haven’t thought of it yet. But I will. And when I do, you have to obey it blindly.”

  That made him smile. “Okay,” he said. “I will.”

  She looked back at the water again. “I’m going in.”

  She walked out into the waves, striding forward until she was waist deep. Then she dove in gracefully, swimming underwater long enough that Ben started to feel anxious. He breathed a sigh of relief when she popped up much farther out, swimming strongly.

  He was so focused on watching her that he forgot he’d intended to swim himself. But before he could rectify that, he felt a hand tugging on his.

  “Hey, mister? Will you play with us?”

  “Huh?”

  He blinked down at the kid who’d accosted him. He was about nine or ten years old, and he wasn’t alone. Another munchkin, maybe a year or two younger, was standing next to him.

  “We want to play Frisbee in the water, but Gram says we can’t until our dad gets back. So will you play with us?”

  The grandmother in question was relaxing on one of the lounge chairs higher up on the beach. Ben glanced out to where Jessica was doing an impeccable crawl and then back down at the little boy looking up at him so hopefully.

  “Let’s go check with your Gram,” he said resignedly.

  The elderly woman smiled when he introduced himself. “Have at it,” she said, waving her hand toward the water. “Just don’t go in too deep,” she added to her grandchildren.

  They started a game of Frisbee with elaborate scoring rules he never quite understood. The kids, of course, were tireless, and so distracting that he didn’t notice that Jessica had swum up next to him until he heard her voice.

  “Wow, that was fast,” she said, sounding amused.

  “Hey,” he said, swiveling his head and consequently missing the Frisbee that had just been thrown at him.

  He fished it out of the water and tossed it to one of the kids. Their father had joined them a few minutes before, so he took the opportunity to excuse himself from the game.

  He kept his eyes on Jessica as they headed toward the shore. She looked like a mermaid with her fine blonde hair dripping down her back and droplets of water clinging to her pale shoulders.

  “What was fast?” he asked her.

  She gestured toward the boys he’d been playing with. “You’re such a kid magnet. It never fails. Give it five minutes, and every kid in the vicinity will be hanging off you.” She grinned at him. “Maybe they sense you’re a softy.”

  He hadn’t seen her smile like that in years—like she didn’t have a care in the world.

  “You think I’m a softy, huh?”

  She ran her hands over her wet hair, twisting it into a long rope and wringing the water out. “Are you kidding? You’ve been a sucker for kids your whole life—not to mention stray animals and lost causes. You have a savior complex.”

  They crossed the sand toward the lounge chair where she’d left her bag.

  “I like kids, sure—that’s why I became a teacher. But you’re the one who’s a sucker for animals, and I don’t have a savior complex. And where are you getting the lost-cause thing?”

  “Well, what do you call me?”

  He stopped walking. When she realized it, she stopped, too, and turned to look at him.

  “I don’t think you’re a lost cause,” he said. “I’ve never thought that.”

  She looked skeptical. “Really?”

  “Yeah. Really.”

  “You thought I was so pathetic that you put your life on hold to come with me on this trip. You think I need saving, Ben.”

  “Even if I did, that wouldn’t make you a lost cause.”

  “Okay, then. What makes you think I’m not a lost cause?”

  He ran a finger along one of her Speedo straps. “This.”

  She stared at him. “What?”

  “This bathing suit. It’s old and a little bit frayed here and there. It’s not fashionable. The only reason for you to wear it is because it makes you happy. Swimming makes you happy. And as long as there’s one thing in this world you do because it brings you joy, then you’re not a lost cause.”

  Her gaze fell. She looked down at her toes curling in the sand, and didn’t say anything for a minute.

  “You’re right,” she said finally.

  “About what?”

  “Swimming. I do love it. As long as I can remember, it’s been the one thing I do just because I enjoy it.”

  “Okay, then. There’s your blueprint.”

  She looked up again. “My blueprint? My blueprint for what?”

  “For the rest of your life. Your life post wedding.”

  “Post getting jilted at the altar, you mean?”

  He grinned at her. “Exactly.”

  She folded her arms. “All right, then. Tell me about this blueprint.”

  “You carved out a tiny space for yourself with swimming. Something that’s an honest reflection of who you are, something you actually enjoy doing for its own sake. Now all you have to do is make that space a little bigger. For the rest of this trip, focus on doing things just because you want to do them.”

  “And how will that help me?”

  “On the plane you said you don’t know who you are. You need to figure that out. This will help.”

  She froze for a second, and then she turned away and finished the walk to her lounge chair. She’d left a beach towel there, and now she draped it over her shoulders.

  “I pissed you off,” he said, coming up behind her. “I’m sorry.”

  She kept her back to him. “You didn’t piss me off. It’s just . . . I don’t need you to fix me. Okay?”

  He walked around to the other side of the chair so he could look her in the eyes. “Okay,” he said.

  A few seconds ticked by. Then:

  “I’m going to go back to the cottage,” she said. “Would you mind staying out here for a bit? I’d love some privacy. If you give me an hour, I’ll return the favor.”

  “Sure, I’ll stay out here for a while.” He smiled. “I hear they have a hot tub next to the bar. I’ll be fine.”

  “All right. Thanks, Ben.”

  As he watched her pack up her tote bag and go over to the spigot where you could wash the sand from your feet, he wondered what had just happened.

  There had been a genuine moment of connection.

  Jessica had seemed physically softer, as though the tension she always carried with her had lifted briefly. As though he’d found a way past her defenses.

  Then he’d pushed her too far.

  Maybe Jessica was right. Maybe he did have a savior complex.

  He shook his head slowly. He should do what he’d told her to do: focus on having a good time for the next ten days.

  It was time to visit the open-air bar and order the Bermuda rum swizzle he’d heard so much abo
ut.

  CHAPTER SIX

  It felt luxurious to have the room to herself.

  If she’d been braver, she could have come to Bermuda alone—and this beautiful suite would have been all hers. No awkwardness about sleeping arrangements . . . and nothing else she didn’t want to deal with, either.

  You said you don’t know who you are. You need to figure that out.

  But did she want to figure it out?

  She’d never wanted to before. Because at the very core of herself, there were things she didn’t want to face.

  Maybe that was why she’d let Ben come with her. Because when you don’t know yourself—or when you’re afraid to know yourself—the last thing you want is to be alone. That was one of the reasons she and Tom had decided to get married, after all. Because neither one of them wanted to be alone.

  Being alone meant looking inside. And that, to her, was far more dangerous than spending ten days on an island with Ben Taggart.

  Or so she’d thought.

  You said you don’t know who you are. You need to figure that out.

  No, she didn’t. What she needed to do was figure out a way to get through the days . . . to get through her life . . . now that her partner in cowardice had deserted her.

  And she needed to get back to her mission statement for this trip: getting away from hard questions and painful memories and having a good time.

  A few hours later, waiting for Ben in the hotel lounge, she decided that alcohol would help with that mission. She downed two martinis in quick succession, and waited for the warm flush of relaxation to follow.

  But before the vodka had a chance to fully kick in, Ben joined her at the bar.

  He was dressed, she was glad to see, in a charcoal-gray suit and maroon tie. He’d shaved, too.

  After they were shown to their table—a spot next to a window with a view of the ocean—she said, “You’re wearing a suit for the second time in two days.”

  He smiled. “Yeah. And both times because of you.”

  “I’m amazed you even brought a suit—and that it came out of your carry-on looking so good.”