Honeymoon with the Boss

by Jessica Hart

  Held together by an invisible skein, neither of them noticed that the sails were being lowered. They were oblivious to the boat turning or Ali readying the dinghy once more, and only a shout from the captain to a member of the crew jerked them back to awareness of where they were.

  They both looked quickly away.

  Tom cleared his throat. ‘What’s happening now?’

  ‘I’m not sure. We’re stopping for some reason. It’s just a sandbar, but there’s someone there…’ Imogen peered over the beautifully carved wooden rail, not sure whether she was relieved or sorry at the distraction.

  So much for all her stern resolutions this morning about putting last night behind her. All it took was one look in Tom’s eyes and she was lost. Her pulse was thumping and she felt ridiculously shaky.

  ‘It looks as if we’re going ashore,’ she said, forcing a smile, but avoiding his gaze. ‘I’ve always wanted to go on a magical mystery tour, haven’t you?’

  ‘No,’ said Tom, who was way out of his comfort zone. ‘I like to know where I’m going.’

  But he went readily enough when they were gestured to the dinghy, and then ferried across the translucent shallows to the sandbar. Once there, it seemed obvious that they should get out, so Tom helped Imogen jump onto the sand and looked enquiringly at Ali.

  ‘For you,’ he said, pointing them towards a frail elderly man dressed in immaculate white who seemed to be waiting for them.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Tom muttered out of the corner of his mouth as they headed obediently towards the old man.

  ‘I’ve got no idea,’ confessed Imogen, baffled, but when they got a bit closer she saw that a circle had been drawn in the sand and she stopped and tugged at Tom’s sleeve.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘I’m getting a bad feeling about this,’ she whispered.

  Tom glanced at the elderly man and then back at Imogen. He was just an old man, surely? What was so threatening about that?

  ‘I think it might be set up for a wedding ceremony,’ she told him.

  ‘What?’

  Tom’s voice rose and she shushed him quickly. ‘I read about it when I was finding out about honeymoons here for you. You can’t actually get married here because it’s a Muslim country, but you can have a special ceremony to bless your marriage or renew your vows.’

  ‘And you booked one?’ he asked, aghast.

  ‘Of course not,’ hissed Imogen, ‘but what if Julia did? She might have thought it would be romantic. There’s so much organisation that goes into a wedding, it sometimes seems hard for the bride and groom to really enjoy it and think about what they’re promising in the ceremony. This way you’d have had time to relax after the wedding and say your vows again when you could really concentrate on each other.

  ‘I think it’s a nice idea,’ she finished defiantly, reading the scepticism in Tom’s expression without difficulty.

  Now Tom thought about it, Julia had dropped some cryptic comments about their vows but he hadn’t been listening properly. If he had, he would have told her that he couldn’t imagine anything worse.

  But it was too late for that now. ‘If all this was booked in advance, why didn’t they tell us anything about it when we arrived?’

  ‘Perhaps they did,’ said Imogen, remembering how distracted they had both been at the resort. ‘Neither of us were really paying much attention to what the manager was saying.’

  ‘I suppose not. God, what a mess!’

  Tom cast a glance at the old man, who smiled encouragingly and beckoned them closer.

  ‘What are we going to do?’ asked Imogen in an urgent undertone.

  ‘We’d better bluff it out,’ Tom decided. ‘It’s too difficult to try and explain now. You’re sure it’s not a legal ceremony?’

  ‘It’s just symbolic.’

  ‘There you are,’ he said, taking her arm. ‘It won’t mean anything. Better five minutes of mumbo-jumbo than half an hour of awkward explanations.’

  ‘I don’t know…’ Imogen hung back, not at all convinced, but Tom was urging her forwards and suddenly she was looking into the old man’s face. It was very calm, and his eyes were wise.

  ‘Your name?’ he asked her, gesturing her into the circle.

  ‘Imogen.’

  ‘And Tom,’ Tom supplied quickly before he was asked and stepped into the circle facing Imogen.

  The celebrant nodded. ‘You have come to celebrate your love for each other?’

  ‘Er…yes.’

  If he was surprised at their hesitation, he didn’t show it. ‘There are just the two of you. That is good,’ he said. ‘This is about you and no one else. This is your circle. Stand inside it, share it. It binds you together. It represents oneness-your oneness with each other and with the earth. It represents your love.’

  Imogen bit her lip. It felt all wrong to be deceiving him, but it was too late to go back now. It didn’t mean anything, she tried to remind herself, but as the old man’s gentle words of blessing fell, an invisible net seemed to drop over the circle where she and Tom stood in the sand, drawing the two of them tighter and tighter together and cutting off the rest of the world.

  The sun was setting fire to the sea that stretched all around the sandbar. It was an extraordinary, dream-like feeling to stand there in that blazing golden light, to be astonishingly aware of the soft white sand beneath her feet, and of Tom’s hands holding hers in a warm, strong clasp.

  Imogen didn’t want to look at Tom, but she couldn’t tear her eyes from his and she found herself hanging on to his hands as if he was all that could keep her anchored in reality.

  The ceremony was very simple, and very moving. Held by the silver of Tom’s eyes, Imogen heard the old man talking about love, about commitment, about finding completeness together, and every word seemed right.

  ‘Imogen,’ he finished at last, ‘is this man, Tom, the man you love?’

  She swallowed. ‘Yes,’ she said huskily, and her heart rang with the knowledge that it was true.

  ‘Tom, is this woman, Imogen, the woman you love?’

  Tom’s voice was steadier than hers. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Imogen, take Tom’s heart, hold it safe. And, Tom, take the heart Imogen gives you and cherish it. Love each other, be true to each other, find peace in each other. Find joy in each other always.’

  Ridiculously, Imogen felt her eyes sting with tears. ‘I will.’

  ‘I will,’ said Tom after the barest of pauses.

  ‘Promise this with a kiss.’

  Imogen’s eyes locked with Tom’s. She saw something flare in the silver depths, and her breath caught.

  He was going to kiss her. Of course he was going to kiss her. He had no choice but to kiss her.

  At last-at last!-he was going to kiss her.

  The corners of Tom’s mouth turned up very slightly as he let go of Imogen’s hands to cup her face between his palms.

  ‘I promise,’ he said softly, so softly that she wondered if she was even supposed to hear it, and then his mouth touched hers.

  His lips weren’t cool at all. They were warm and firm and sure and so wickedly exciting that Imogen gave a tiny gasp, taken unawares by the intensity of the response that rocketed through her.

  Tom’s hands drifted down to slide beneath her hair so that he could cup her head and deepen his kiss, and Imogen’s world dissolved into giddy delight as she let herself kiss him back the way she had so longed to do. Leaning into him, she slipped her arms around his waist and held tight to the sweetness of the moment.

  It might turn out to be a mistake, she knew, but right then it felt utterly right and she murmured an inarticulate protest when Tom reluctantly broke the kiss and lifted his head.

  Both of them had forgotten the old man, who was still standing there, watching them with a faint smile. Still reeling from the kiss they had shared, they barely noticed as he deftly looped their wrists together with a knotted twine made from shredded leaves.

  He made a beautif
ul gesture with his hands. ‘It is done,’ he said simply and stepped back. ‘You are bound together, and now you are one.’

  ‘What have we done?’

  All smiles, Ali had escorted them back to the dhoni, where Imogen had been greeted with a garland made of frangipani flowers. The heady fragrance was making her feel slightly sick as she and Tom were left alone in the prow at last. Or perhaps it was the way her senses were still spinning from the realisation of how much she loved him?

  How much, and how hopelessly.

  Now, as the sails unfurled and the boat dipped gently into the swell, Imogen held onto the rail, afraid that her trembling legs wouldn’t hold her up any longer.

  ‘We haven’t done anything,’ said Tom, unfastening the twine around their wrists. He hesitated, just for a moment, and then dropped it into the sea. ‘It was a ritual,’ he said. ‘It didn’t mean anything.’

  Imogen watched the loop disappear and wanted to cry. It hadn’t felt meaningless. ‘We made promises,’ she said with difficulty.

  Tom looked away. She was right. And wasn’t he the one who prided himself on always keeping his promises?

  It had been the strangest of experiences, standing in that circle with Imogen. He had been feeling exasperated at the whole muddle, Tom remembered, but the moment he’d taken her hands and looked into those blue, blue eyes an inexplicable sense of relief had swept over him, as if, without knowing quite how it had happened, he’d found himself at exactly the right place at exactly the right time, doing just what he’d needed to do.

  And then he had kissed her, and her sweetness had made him reel. The taste of her, the feel of her, the softness of her lips and the silkiness of her hair around his hands was still thrumming through him, beating insistently along his veins and making him feel…what? Edgy? Apprehensive? Excited?

  Surely not.

  ‘It wasn’t real,’ he said, wishing he didn’t sound so much as if he were trying to convince himself. ‘We’re not really married.’

  They couldn’t be married. Neither of them wanted to be married. It was ridiculous to think anything had happened on that sandbar.

  ‘No, of course not.’ Imogen mustered a smile. ‘I can hardly believe it actually happened, to tell you the truth. It was like a dream.’

  ‘This whole week has been like a dream,’ said Tom, coming to join her at the rail. ‘It’s as if we’re in a kind of bubble with no connection to life at home.’

  She nodded. ‘Yes, that’s exactly what it feels like.’ She managed another smile, a better one this time. ‘It’s going to be a shock to wake up when we go home!’

  ‘We don’t have to wake up just yet.’ Succumbing to temptation, Tom took Imogen’s hands and turned her gently to face him. ‘We could keep the dream going a little bit longer.’

  His fingers were warm and persuasive around hers, and Imogen felt dizzy at his nearness again. ‘The dream?’ she croaked.

  ‘That we’re here because we want to be together,’ he said. ‘We both know it’s not true, and that it couldn’t last even if it were. As soon as we get back to London, everything will be different. The dream will be over. We won’t be able to get it back, and we won’t want to.’

  Was he making any sense? Tom wondered. He wasn’t sure if he understood himself what he was trying to say to Imogen, and part of him was already wondering if he was making the most terrible mistake. But another, stronger part was urging him on.

  ‘We’re not the same people here that we are in London,’ he said. ‘We want different things at home but here…maybe here we want the same. I know what I want. I want to kiss you again. I want to touch you again. I don’t want to spend another night on that damned couch thinking about you alone in the bed and wishing that I could be with you.’

  Imogen was looking pole-axed, the blue eyes wide with astonishment. She opened her mouth to speak, but Tom was afraid to hear what she was going to say and he rushed on before she could start.

  ‘I know you’re still hung up on Andrew. I know you’re hanging out for something perfect that I can’t give you, but I was just thinking that while we’re here, maybe it could be perfect. We both know this isn’t real, but we’ve still got two weeks. Why not make the most of it?’

  ‘You mean as if this really was a honeymoon?’ Imogen found her voice at last. ‘As if we meant those vows we’ve just taken?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Tom. ‘We’re not talking about forever,’ he added quickly. ‘As soon as we get back to London, we can forget about this time. We can pretend it never happened. But for now…now there’s just the two of us, and we can…we can love each other, just like we’ve just promised.’ He paused, looking down into her face, trying not to show how desperate he was for her to agree. ‘What do you think?’

  Imogen’s fingers twined around Tom’s. It couldn’t last, he had said. We’re not talking about forever. She was going to hurt when it was over, when she had to go back to being his PA and greeting him coolly every morning.

  But she was going to hurt anyway, Imogen realised. That was what happened when you fell in love with a man like Tom.

  It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She had wanted the perfect relationship. She wasn’t supposed to fall in love with a man who didn’t do love, who would give her two weeks and no longer.

  But she had done it anyway, and wasn’t two weeks better than nothing? At least when they said goodbye, as they would in two weeks’ time, she would have some memories to treasure. That would be all she would have, Imogen knew. There was no point in hoping that the dream would last.

  Find joy in each other, the celebrant had told them. She could choose that, or she could choose to be sensible.

  Imogen chose joy. It would be temporary, like everything else she did, but it would still be joy.

  And how else was she to resist him for the next two weeks?

  Smiling, she tugged her hands from Tom’s to rest them flat against his chest and looked up at him. ‘I think it’s a very good idea,’ she said.

  Tom stared at her for a moment, as if hardly daring to believe what she had said, and then his eyes blazed and an answering smile illuminated his face. Sweeping her into his arms, he kissed her fiercely, hungrily, and Imogen melted into him, warm and willing, her fingers clutching at his shirt to stop herself from dissolving with sheer pleasure as the heat washed through her.

  Giddy with the glorious relief of being able to kiss each other, touch each other, the way they had wanted to all week, they sank down onto the cushions under the darkening sky, crushing the frangipani garland between them. The fragrance of the creamy yellow flowers enveloped them, while the boat rose and fell, and there was only the shush of water against the hull, the creak of wood and the occasional flap of the sail.

  The crew talked quietly at the back, giving Tom and Imogen complete privacy, but they were aware only of each other in any case. Tom’s body was hard and heavy as he pressed her into the soft cushions, his hands sliding possessively under the yellow dress.

  Imogen wrapped her arms around him and forgot everything else. She was sinking under a tide of heat. Every now and then she would surface, gasping, almost frightened by the need to touch him everywhere, feel him everywhere, and a tiny part of her would wonder if she was making a terrible mistake. But how could it be a mistake when his lips felt this good, when his mouth was this exciting, when his hands were moving over her, tracing wicked patterns of desire, and she was unravelling with the need for more, more, more…?

  The stars were out above Coconut Island when they made their way back along the little jetty. Afterwards, Imogen could never remember exactly how they had got there. Ali must have taken them in the dinghy, she supposed, but all she remembered was the feel of the smooth bleached wood beneath her bare feet and the gentle slap of water against the posts. She was preternaturally aware of everything: of the silky dress whispering against her legs, of Tom’s warm grip on her hand, of her mouth still tingling, her body still thumping with desire.

&nb
sp; It all looked so familiar, she thought as they climbed the veranda steps. It all looked exactly the same when it should be different. Everything had changed since they had walked down these same steps to see Ali waiting for them at the end of the jetty.

  Then they had been boss and PA; now they were husband and wife.

  CHAPTER NINE

  E XCEPT that they weren’t, not really. Imogen’s steps faltered at the sudden moment of clarity.

  Tom was behind her, nuzzling her neck as he guided her through the door and pushed her back against it so that he could kiss her again, his hands hard and urgent. ‘What is it?’

  ‘You…you don’t think we’ll regret this?’ she asked unsteadily, trying to hang on to the last shreds of rationality but it was hard when the feel of his lips on her bare shoulder was enough to make her inhale sharply.

  ‘We’re going to have to go back to working together,’ she reminded him with difficulty as he started kissing his way down her throat. ‘How are we going to do that if we…?’

  ‘How are we going to spend the next two weeks if we don’t…?’ countered Tom, smiling wickedly against her skin. His fingers had found the zip of her dress and were easing it down. ‘Let’s just forget work for now.’

  Imogen shivered at the sureness of his touch. She had a hazy idea that it wasn’t going to be as easy as he made out, but she couldn’t think, not with his hands sliding over her, not with his mouth devastating the last of her defences, not with the heat pooling deep inside her. It spilt feverishly along her veins until she stopped trying to think at all and gave herself up to the deep, dark spool of desire, to the feel of his mouth and his hands and his lean, hard body.

  The bed was wonderfully wide. It was like being cast away, with the deep thrill of knowing that they were completely alone. There was no one to see them, no one to hear them. There was just the two of them, entwined, where nothing mattered but touching and tasting and feeling.