by Robyn Grady
The truth was she would rather remain Nina the Mysterious for now. Lately she’d felt so exposed and raw and vulnerable…She wasn’t certain she could stand to peel off one more layer—even to the man who’d saved her life.
Not that she was embarrassed that she’d taken a waitressing job. She would rather step up any day than lie around fanning herself and hoping for some miracle to materialise and get her out of this jam. If she was embarrassed about anything it was that her performance here could have been better. If she was going to stay—and for now she had to—the other staff were right: she needed to take it up a gear.
As if agreeing to put an end to the identity discussion, he nodded at her foot. “Let’s fix you up.”
He first applied antiseptic to the bump on her head, then to her ankle. A large adhesive bandage was fitted, and a crepe one wound around that. When he was done, she ran two fingers over the joint—which didn’t feel nearly as sore as it had.
“Don’t have much in the way of other provisions.” He pushed on his thighs to stand. “Some bread and spread, if you’re hungry. And I do have a bottle of quite passable red wine.”
Watching firelight flicker behind his silhouette, shifting ever darkening shapes over the roughly hewn walls, she felt she didn’t need another thing other than that fire’s heat, this blessed mattress, and her host’s not unpleasant company. Despite the sexual awareness bubbling away below the surface—or perhaps because of it—she hadn’t felt this stress-free in ages. Being stranded with a gorgeous man clearly worked for her. Why not go for broke?
She smiled on a nod. “A glass of wine would be nice.”
In the kitchen, he opened the bottle of red and dug out a packet of peanuts and filled a ceramic bowl.
“Here’s a not so interesting fact,” he said sauntering back. “When I was a kid I wanted to run a macadamia nut farm.”
“Well, I think that’s very interesting.” She accepted a glass and he poured. “I wanted to own a ballet school. What happened to your dream?”
He hesitated in pouring. “I’m not sure. Maybe I should put it on my ‘to-do’ list.”
He raised his glass, she raised hers, and they sipped. The wine was mellow, and trailed warmth from her throat to her belly. Repositioning her weight, she leaned back on one elbow and sipped again.
“So,” he said, getting comfortable beside her, “you dance?”
She screwed up her nose. “I was awful. I just liked the costumes.”
Grinning, he grabbed some peanuts from the bowl which he’d set between them. “What else do you like?”
“You’ll laugh.”
“All the better.”
“I like boxing.”
He spluttered, and hit his chest to help clear his throat. “Didn’t you see Million Dollar Baby?”
“Not competition boxing. Just mucking around.” She protected her chin and jabbed the air. “At the gym.” She shrugged. “I’m improving.”
Her ankle throbbed once, and pain spiked up her shin. Careful of her wine, she manoeuvred back until she lay on her side, her cheek resting in one palm.
Better.
“What about you?” she asked. “Ever put on the gloves?”
“Nope. But I’ve tried practically every other sport.”
“A figures man crossed with an athlete? I’m seeing that turbo-blasting calculator guy again.”
“Ballet and boxing. We all have another side.”
She took a long sip. We sure do.
“How’s the ankle?” he asked, shaking some peanuts in his palm and throwing them back into his mouth.
“Much better.”
Chewing, he evaluated the weather through the window. “The rain’s set in.”
She finished his thought. “And we should bunk down here for the night?”
“Don’t know that there’s an alternative. The resort doctor can check your head and leg tomorrow.” His grin was crooked, and criminally sexy. “I think you’ll make it past dawn.”
“Thanks to you.”
When she smiled over her glass at him, a double-knot in Gabriel’s chest yanked tight.
More than ever before he was head-down, needing to ensure that the professional gamble he’d taken turned into a goldmine. Nothing at any point in his career had mattered more, and he’d learned that success meant keeping your eye on the ball. Always.
But as he watched his mysterious Nina in the fireglow—shadow and light playing over her heart-shaped face—a distracting something tugged inside of him. Something intense and pleasant and real.
She was beautiful, certainly—although he doubted she was aware of the power of her smile or how expressive and bright her eyes were. Her body was strong, yet wholly feminine. Sensual. She was all woman.
As she looked up from her glass and back towards the crackling fire—her drying hair splayed over her shoulder—more than physical attraction spoke to him. Even as he instinctively hardened in anticipation of enjoying another kiss or three, an added influence whispered in his ear.
He wanted to put a name to it, but the only word that came to mind hardly fitted. Trust was earned over a lifetime. Something he didn’t ask for and rarely gave away.
Still, whatever it was that stirred him up about Nina, it felt good. Even if straight-out lust was way less complicated.
He prised his gaze from her lips and found his feet. “More wine?”
She made a purring sound in her throat, and her heavy-lidded gaze met his. She stretched her good leg straight along the mattress and replied, “Half a glass. Any more after that bath and I might go to sleep.”
Relieving her of her glass, he skirted the bed and found the bottle. He poured her half, filled his up, then found a handtowel to mop up the few drops spilled on the cedar table.
“There’s a creek out the back of here, filled with fish and some platypus. Or is that platypi?” He rounded the bed and, keeping an eye on his over-full glass, sat carefully down. “I was thinking this afternoon when I first saw you that this place reminds me of a spot my aunt took me on vacation once when I was a kid…”
His words trailed off.
Her arm was stretched out over the quilt, one cheek lying on that inside elbow. Her lips were slightly parted. If he spoke loudly enough she would rouse, but her breathing said she was already on her way to dreamtime. An experience like the one she’d endured today would knock it out of anyone. Couple that with a relaxing soak and glass of good wine…
Still, he was disappointed sleep had taken her so quickly.
His gaze slid down her tranquil form and he gnawed his lower lip. What should he do about those legs? The wolf inside wanted to leave them exposed, but the reluctant gentleman said she might catch a chill.
Setting down the glasses, he eased the quilt over her body, covering her legs and those peach-tipped toes. Then, so as not to disturb her, he placed the chair before the fire, which had grown to a vigorous state. Stretching the cranky muscles in his legs, he threaded fingers behind his head and clicked his thoughts over to its usual fare. To work. To that crucial venture.
To this island.
After investing so much in this project, his efforts to set this place back well on its feet couldn’t fail. Anything that didn’t work towards the reestablishment of a healthy profit margin would be culled. Nothing that worked against success would be tolerated. His involvement here must have one outcome and one outcome only.
Absolute success.
He filed figures through his mind—advertising budgets, staff payrolls. Where to cut, where to spend…
But his gaze kept wandering to his slumbering kitten, to the gentle rise and fall of her chest beneath that chequered shirt. He had to let her sleep, and yet with every passing moment—with every whisper at his ear—that new tug inside of him kept willing her awake.
Chapter Five
NINA dreamed of a tidal wave, a colossal giant that made this afternoon’s rollers look like dwarfs.
The wave in her dream curled up
, throwing its enormous shadow over her, before crashing an inch behind her running heels. Having thought she was clear of danger, she cried out when its cold fingers coiled around her ankles and dragged her back. She screamed, but she knew no matter what she did, however hard she tried, this time she was a goner.
As the wave overcame her she was drawn down into the churning, bubbling wash. The motion jerked and pushed her. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t find the surface. Then something gripped her shoulder, trying to lift her out. Needing precious air, she groped above her head, reaching for the wavering reflections dancing on the water’s surface and the shadow waiting beyond that.
Nina’s eyes popped open at the same time as she sucked down a desperate gulp of oxygen.
She felt pressure on her shoulder, took in her shadowy surrounds, then heard her name murmured in a gravelled voice. The floating pieces of the jigsaw clicked together and, heart thumping, she rolled over.
In the dying firelight, Gabriel sat on the edge of the bed, one knee angled over the sheet, concern lining his handsome face. As his gaze roamed her brow, her cheek, she remembered her scream from the dream and knew she must have cried out.
Emptying her bursting lungs, she touched her forehead and patted the damp away. “I dreamt I was drowning and you saved me.”
A sultry grin sparkled in his eyes. “That wasn’t a dream. Here—push up.” He helped her to straighten higher on the bed, eased the sheet up, then pulled the quilt around her neck. “You’re safe now. Go back to sleep.”
In her mind Nina relieved the moment he’d dragged her out of the wash and laid her upon that sandy knoll. Thank God he’d been there.
She hugged the quilt tight.
Thank God he was here now. For the first time in weeks she did feel safe and certain.
Lighter rain pattered on the roof. She rubbed one eye, then glanced out of the window. Still dark, but no morning bird calls echoed through the bush outside. How long had she slept?
Gabriel had moved to the fireplace to stir the embers. The room smelled of firewood warmth—the kind electric blankets and heaters couldn’t compete with.
Over one broad shoulder, his gaze hooked hers. “You’re wide awake now, aren’t you?”
She nodded and shifted higher.
“Are you hungry?” he asked, replacing the poker. “Thirsty?”
She wasn’t hungry in the least, but…“I’d love a glass of water.”
He brought a large glass over, and she drank it down without stopping.
“Better?” he asked when she handed the empty glass back.
“Much. Thank you.”
She wiggled and got more comfortable. She felt positively toasty. A little sore from her struggles earlier, but also beautifully rested. This unpretentious atmosphere certainly helped.
“Why did you rent this place?” she asked as he slid the glass onto the side table.
She’d already surmised that he must like to rough it, and she was aware of this cabin’s charm, but what deeper reason did he have for preferring bare essentials to the luxury available down the way? Had he played Davy Crockett as a boy? Perhaps he longed to be a social hermit, like Howard Hughes? But then why come to this island at all? Australia’s isolated Outback might be a better choice.
He shrugged, and in a trick of the fading firelight his chest seemed to grow before her eyes.
“I had the wedding to come to here, and some business to attend to, but in between I wanted to take the opportunity to really get away. I haven’t done that since I was a kid.” He nodded at the bed. “Mind if I sit down?” He rubbed his butt. “That chair’s not meant for catching zeds.”
Without a second thought she moved over, and the mattress dipped as he joined her. He stretched one denim-clad leg down over the quilt; the other foot he rested on the floorboards.
“What kind of kid were you?” she asked, snuggling back down into the pillows, hands clasped under her cheek.
“Typical, I guess. Sometimes lonely. What about you?”
Definitely not lonely. She’d had plenty of friends. Plenty to keep her occupied. Singing and dancing lessons. An interest in art. “You could’ve probably summed me up as confident.” She wouldn’t say cocky.
His chuckle warmed her more. “I have no trouble imagining that.”
She recalled her idyllic past, how she hadn’t wanted for a thing, but couldn’t settle on the feeling those memories gave her. “It seems so long ago now…like that girl was someone else.” Her mouth tugged to one side and she sighed. That Nina had been someone else.
“Sounds as if you’d like to go back.”
“Yes. And no.” She pushed up onto an elbow. “What I’d like to know is who I’m meant to be now. Who I’ll be in the future.” She relaxed the tension biting between her shoulders, and almost succeeded in keeping the embarrassment from her voice. “Too much information.”
“I’m all for honesty.”
Nina blinked over, and watched him watching the firelight. He liked the truth? Maybe she should give it to him. There was something about the intimacy of being surrounded by lush, tropical vegetation, that gave her the courage to try.
“Those questions never bothered me until recently,” she ventured. “I had a set of goalposts in my mind—” to be a huge success in publishing “—and I was headed straight for the middle.”
“Then something knocked the wind out of you?”
“Exactly.”
She’d lost her job, but she might as well have been ploughed down and kicked in the gut. She’d never felt insecure before that, even when her mother had blown the Petrelle money. She’d been angry, yes, and disappointed at such waste. But ultimately she’d known she had her own abilities to rely upon.
Then her livelihood had been ripped out from under her and her confidence had been shaken to her core. She’d felt physically winded for days. But she’d forced herself out from beneath the covers, had mailed résumés off and returned to the gym. She’d promised herself things would work out. She would get back on her feet and eventually kick a winning goal right through the centre of those posts.
Only those posts seemed so far away now.
“Worse things have happened in my life,” she continued, peering into the flames and remembering her brother’s and father’s deaths. “But I’d always held it together—”
Stinging emotion filled her throat and she had to stop and swallow. She felt his gaze on her.
“Want to tell me about it?”
Her cheeks hot, she shook her head. She’d said enough. If she said any more she might cry, and that wasn’t something she liked to do too often.
“It’s nothing that a million other people haven’t faced.”
“Maybe you’re trying too hard not to disappoint other people?” he said. “Or trying too hard not to disappoint yourself. Cut yourself a break. Give it time. I see a strength in you I don’t see in too many people.”
She coughed out a laugh. “You saw that strength when? While I was trapped and screaming for help?”
He slid down a little. With his forehead near hers, their noses all but touching, he mock-frowned at her. “Did you hear the part about cutting yourself a break?”
Her gaze lowered to his mouth, and her own lips tingled with want. His scent was so intoxicating…the temptation to taste him again so strong…
But he moved away and, resting against the bedhead, threaded his fingers behind his head. Man, he had the best set of biceps.
“You said yourself,” he told her, “most people face a crisis. More than one. But no one knows what their most vulnerable spot is until fate uncovers it. Recovering from a meltdown can take time, but then you shape up even stronger. Whatever it is you’re facing—” he winked across at her “—you’ll be okay.”
It sounded as if he knew what he was talking about, and, despite feeling low a lot of the time here, this experience had toughened her up. She’d found new ways to adapt. New qualities to admire—in others as well as hers
elf.
Still, she couldn’t help wincing as a prickly knot formed low in her stomach.
You’ll be okay.
She sighed. “I wish I could believe that.”
She must have sounded pathetically in need of TLC, because next she knew his arm was around her shoulder and he’d urged her cheek to rest against the slope of his hot bare chest. His fingers trailed up and down her arm before he gave her an encouraging squeeze. “I’ll believe in you.”
She blew out a quiet breath and, happy to surrender, curled in. With him holding her, his warm breath stirring her hair, anything seemed possible.
Now she’d shared so much, would he open up too?
She hesitated then asked, “Can I ask what your crisis was?”
He exhaled slowly. “I lost someone close. Someone who had faith in me when he didn’t need to.”
With his voice rumbling against her ear, her heart squeezed for him. Was there anything more difficult than saying goodbye for ever to someone you loved?
“For a long time I felt stuck, wanting to go back and change things,” he said, and his hand unconsciously tightened on her arm. “I let that person down.”
“I can’t imagine you ever letting anyone down.” Her palm skimmed higher, to rest where his heartbeat boomed. “You should try to remember why that person had faith in you.”
“I never quite worked that one out. But I’ll never forget it.”
His tone was low and painfully earnest. As far as confessions went, that was a doozy. He seemed so capable; someone to rely on. So where had such an admission come from? Had he confessed that to anyone before? Instinct said not.
She pressed her ear to his heartbeat and, closing her eyes, willed her belief in him to soak through.
Then she smiled. “I might have a solution.”
“Tell me.” His words were patient, amused.
“Let someone have faith in you again.” The same way he said he’d believe in her.
But when he stiffened, a shrivelling feeling fell through her middle. He’d opened up, but clearly she’d overstepped the mark. She hadn’t meant to imply he was in any way unreliable, if that was how he’d taken it. So many people must count on him every day in his business life, for starters.
