by Lyn Denison
Her cheeks were flushed and her light blue eyes sparkled. She hadn’t felt so alive in ages. She felt—Fliss swallowed as a pulse throbbed at the base of her throat, the beats echoing inside her. Regardless of what she’d told Marcus, she felt as though she was going on a date. And not with the well-known John Macrae. Her lips twisted self-derisively. There was only one famous Macrae for Fliss and that was Bailey. It always had been that way.
Fliss turned away. Had was the operative word, she reminded herself. Past tense. Bailey Macrae was past tense. And if she knew what was good for her, Fliss told herself, she had to remember that! Once burned by Bailey Macrae was once too often.
With that resolve she picked up her umbrella, the chocolates and the torch and headed out the back door and along the path to the headland.
If it hadn’t been so overcast the sun would have been setting behind Fliss but she needed her torch to light her way along the path. She was breathing a little heavily as she crested the last rise in the path and she paused to catch her breath.
From here she could see the outline of Allendale Cottage on the left. Hardly a cottage, the house stood solidly facing out to sea. But it had been just a cottage in 1860 when Fliss’s great-great-great-grandfather had built it for the English bride he brought out to the new colony of Queensland. Subsequent generations had added to the original two-roomed cottage. Today it boasted two bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs under the sloping roofline, with a large living room, kitchen, powder room, laundry and small bedroom that John Macrae used as his study on the bottom floor.
Tonight no fire had been lit in the original fireplace as it was far too warm, even with the blustery wind blowing off the ocean. Inside the historic cottage, Bailey Macrae waited. Fliss swallowed, fighting the urge to turn and run.
She tore her eyes from the welcoming light as the wind whipped her hair across her face. She brushed it back with her hand and looked to the right, her gaze settling on the wooden seat on the headland. From that bench seat Fliss knew you could sit and watch the Pacific Ocean break on the cliffs below and on the sandy beaches that stretched north and south of the headland.
This part of the island was far rockier than the rest of the island. The rocky shelf had caused any number of shipwrecks in the early days of the colony until a lighthouse had been built on the southern side of the cottage.
It was on the bench overlooking the magnificent view that Fliss had first met Bailey Macrae eight years ago. Met? Fliss could almost see the amusing side to that. They’d hardly been formally introduced.
Fliss shivered. It seemed like yesterday and yet a millennium away. She’d been an innocent eighteen-year-old with her life mapped out for her. She’d finished her secondary schooling and was about to enter university. She planned on getting her business degree and then, well, her life was before her.
That morning, with a couple of months to relax before she started the university year, she’d been almost lightheaded with the joy of living. As a member of the island’s women’s cricket team, each morning she set out on a fitness run. She ran a circuit along the path to the headland, turned north and followed the coastline past the lighthouse before cutting inland and back home.
On that morning eight years ago she jogged up the path listening to music on her Walkman. As she crested this same rise she’d paused, stretched, breathed in the briny air and smiled as the rising sun broke through some fluffy clouds. It was incredibly beautiful and she looked at the vista with heartfelt thankfulness that she lived here on this island.
Then a movement off to her right caught her attention. A flash of red. Someone was sitting up on the backrest of the bench, feet on the seat, gazing out to sea. Longish dark hair was blown out behind the figure by the wind and Fliss realized it was a woman. As Fliss watched, the figure hunched its shoulders dejectedly. Then she raised her hands to cover her face, obviously crying.
Fliss looked around undecidedly. If she approached the woman she’d probably be embarrassed to be caught out crying. She should just continue on her run and leave the woman to have a cry in solitude.
Fliss had started to move forward when the woman climbed down from the seat and took a few jogging steps towards the low fence that ran along the edge of the cliffs to prevent the unwary from coming to grief. Was that what the woman had in mind?
Fliss’s heart leapt into her throat. She took off running, heading for the figure in the red jacket, not realizing the woman had stopped. She had been so sure the woman was contemplating suicide that she simply tackled her and they both fell to the ground, Fliss pinning the woman with her body.
“Don’t do it,” she implored breathlessly. “Whatever the problem is it’s not worth falling off a cliff.”
The woman drew a ragged breath as she pushed against Fliss. “Could you get off me? I can’t breathe,” gasped a husky voice.
Fliss lifted her weight on her hands, not ready to set the woman free, and the woman coughed.
“Don’t do it,” Fliss said again, looking into the beautiful face. Strands of dark hair clung to one cheek still damp from her tears.
“You can let me up,” said the woman. “I assure you I have no intention of throwing myself off the cliff if that’s what you think I intended doing. I fancy that would be quite painful and I’m allergic to that. Pain, I mean. Especially mine.” And then her lips lifted in a faint ironic smile.
Something twisted deep inside Fliss and she stilled. It was a feeling she’d never experienced before. Excitement and terror, all wrapped up together. She felt uncertain and yet all-powerful.
And just as suddenly she became totally aware of the body beneath her and an incredible heat washed over her. Even with the clothes they were wearing Fliss imagined she could feel every soft, so very soft curve and indentation of the woman’s body. Her long legs, the thrust of her hips, her stomach. Fliss’s eyes took in the swell of the woman’s breasts and her own breasts seemed to tingle, her nipples puckering. Her gaze rose to the hollow of the woman’s throat, the firm chin, settled on the full red mouth. Then her eyes met the dark blue, amused eyes of the woman beneath her.
Fliss felt as though she was drowning in their unfathomable depths. She wanted to see deep inside those eyes, learn all about this oh so attractive stranger. Fliss’s lips burned and she realized she had almost lowered her head to kiss that very inviting mouth. She could barely comprehend the terrifyingly unfamiliar feelings.
Blushing profusely she pushed herself quickly to her feet. “I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I thought—”
The woman still lay on the ground at Fliss’s feet, looking up at her. “Why did you think I was going to do away with myself?” she added, making no move to stand up.
Fliss shrugged. “I saw you crying. Well, you looked like you were upset. And then you started running towards the edge.” Fliss waved her hand in the general direction of the fence.
“Actually, I’d stopped crying by then.”
“Oh. I didn’t realize.”
“I thought I saw some dolphins moving north. I was going closer to watch them.”
“Oh. Dolphins.” Fliss took a steadying breath. “I—I really am sorry. I didn’t hurt you, did I?” She looked anxiously at the woman still lying prone on the ground.
The woman made a show of feeling for broken bones and then she grinned. “Don’t think so.” She sat up and held out her hand for Fliss to help her up.
Reluctantly Fliss took the extended hand, feeling that same worrying warmth wash over her again. She pulled and the other woman was standing in front of her, her hand tightening on Fliss’s as she steadied herself.
She was just a fraction taller than Fliss and her body was neat and trim beneath the red jacket and blue jeans she wore. The woman brushed a strand of dark hair from her face and it fell straight and thick to her shoulders. She was so beautiful she almost took Fliss’s breath away.
Suddenly Fliss realized she was still holding the woman’s hand and she blushed again, releasing her grip,
and she shoved her hands into the front pockets of her light windcheater. “Ah, I’ll—I’d better get going then.”
“Wait.” The woman touched Fliss gently on the arm. “You can’t go without telling me who you are. Not after you so gallantly saved my unworthy life.”
“You said you didn’t need saving,” Fliss reminded her and the other woman’s smile widened.
“But I might have. And you were very heroic.”
“It’s Fliss. Felicity Devon. But everyone calls me Fliss.”
“Bailey Macrae.” She held out her hand again and Fliss slowly took it, making sure she released it as soon as they’d shaken hands.
But the warmth of it lingered like an imprint on Fliss’s skin and she guiltily shifted her gaze to the toe of her sneakers.
“I’m John’s sister,” Bailey Macrae continued, indicating Allendale Cottage. “Do you know my brother?”
“Yes, he rents the cottage from my parents. He’s the famous writer.”
“His books have taken off, haven’t they? I knew they would. John’s always been a fantastic storyteller.”
“Are you staying with him?” Fliss couldn’t prevent herself from asking.
Bailey nodded. “For a while. I’m, well, having a short holiday. Do you live on the island?”
“I was born here.”
“Lucky you. It’s so idyllic. I’ve only been here two days and I love it.” She pushed her hair back again as the wind caught it. “So what do you do, Fliss, on the island? Besides running around saving weeping damsels in distress.”
Fliss grinned hesitantly. “You’re my first.” For some reason Fliss’s words seemed to hang between them and a heavy tension filled the air. Fliss’s mouth went dry and she felt the need to fill the silence with words, to say anything to diffuse the strange, unprecedented pull of temptation she’d never experienced before. “Actually, I was on a training run,” she put in quickly. “I play cricket. Women’s cricket. And our team is leading points scorer for the season.”
“For your school?” Bailey asked.
Fliss drew herself up to her full height. “For the island team. I’ve finished school. I’ll be attending university in the new year.”
Bailey laughed softly. “I’m sorry. You look about sixteen and you make me feel like Methuselah.”
“I’m eighteen and you don’t look old, believe me.”
“Thanks, but I’m six years older than you are.”
“Twenty-four isn’t old.”
Bailey pulled a face. “It’s getting there in my business.”
“What do you do?”
“I work for a TV station on the Gold Coast.”
“The Gold Coast station?” Fliss studied the woman and realized she did look familiar. But was that because she bore a slight resemblance to her brother? She flushed again as Bailey regarded her quizzically. “We can’t always get that channel here,” she said quickly. “There are lots of theories about what interferes with the reception.”
“So John tells me.” She shrugged. “Puts everything into perspective.”
Fliss raised her eyebrows inquiringly.
“I guess I’m a bit jaded with everything at the moment. My life. My job. I feel a little melancholy. Hence the tears.” She held up her hand. “But not depressed enough to call it quits,” she added hurriedly.
“My mother says a good cry can do you wonders.”
Bailey laughed softly and rubbed her nose. “Plays havoc with the sinuses, though.”
Fliss grinned back, thinking that throaty laugh was the most exciting sound she’d ever heard.
“Well, I’m keeping you from your run.”
Fliss hesitated, loathe to leave this interesting woman.
“If I promise not to go closer to the cliff edge than where we’re standing will you feel safe leaving me?”
Fliss nodded again. “I guess so.” She started to walk the short distance back to the track and Bailey fell into step beside her.
“Maybe I’ll see you around, Fliss. Hmm?”
A wave of happiness filled Fliss. “Sure.”
“John’s halfway through his new book and is buried in his study and I don’t know anyone else on the island. Maybe you could—” Bailey bit her lip and Fliss could barely drag her eyes away from the sight of those small white teeth resting on the full red lips. “If you have any spare time, maybe you could be my tour guide?”
Fliss smiled broadly. “I’d love to. When would you like to go.”
Bailey was silent for long moments and Fliss noticed the throb of her pulse at the base of her throat. Fliss’s smiled started to fade. Had the other woman had second thoughts?
“How about tomorrow? John said I can use his car.”
“I’m free tomorrow and don’t worry about John’s car. I drive my father’s around when he’s away at sea. He’s a fisherman. When he’s home I use mum’s. She’s always at the gallery and rarely uses it apart from going to and from work.” Fliss stopped, knowing she was babbling. “Um. I could pick you up about ten.”
“Okay. Tomorrow it is then. At ten.”
Fliss took a few steps along the path and then stopped, turned back to Bailey. “Bye. Till ten tomorrow.”
“Yes.” Bailey laughed. “I’m really looking forward to it.”
Now, eight years later, Fliss stood on the same path looking at the cottage. Inside was Bailey Macrae, the same Bailey Macrae Fliss had fallen head over heels in love with. And the same Bailey Macrae who had chosen marriage and her career over Fliss’s love.
Chapter Four
As she continued to stand gazing at Allendale Cottage all her instincts told her to turn and run. She felt her muscles tense, ready to head back along the track, when the door to the cottage opened and a figure stepped out onto the veranda.
John Macrae waved and walked across to the railings, waiting to greet her. Fliss made herself move towards him, through the gate, along the path and up the couple of wooden steps to join him.
“Fliss, good to see you.” He rested his arm casually around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze. “Come on inside.” He motioned for her to precede him through the open door. “Hope you’re hungry.”
Fliss swallowed and stepped into the living room where a tangy aroma teased her nostrils. “Well, if I wasn’t I am now. It smells delicious.”
John looked pleased. “I’ve made one of my specialties and Bailey’s in the kitchen fussing over dessert.”
As she moved into the house her eyes looked for Bailey—and she couldn’t decide if the nervous flutter in the pit of her stomach was the result of not seeing her or the anticipation of seeing her.
She handed John the box of chocolates and he grinned. “Thanks, Fliss. How did you know I was a chocoholic?”
Bailey had mentioned it years ago, she wanted to say, but she just shrugged.
Glancing around she noticed immediately that John had a new lounge suite, all leather and dark wood, replacing the well-worn mismatched chairs he used to have. He saw her looking at the new-look living room and he put his hand on the well-padded chair back and grinned.
“Last month I thought it was time I pensioned off the old stuff. What do you think?”
“It looks wonderfully comfortable,” Fliss said honestly.
“It is. Sends me to sleep in no time.”
Fliss turned and raised her eyebrows at the huge wall-mounted TV screen. “Wow! That’s impressive.”
John laughed. “Absolutely decadent, isn’t it? But it’s great for footie games. Puts you right there.”
“I’ll bet.” Fliss laughed, too. “I think I’d feel I had to stay alert in case one of the players passed me the ball.”
“Exactly. I can’t wait for the cricket season to start,” John added enthusiastically.
“Cricket! Ugh!” Bailey came into the room. “Not my favorite game. And that television set is such a waste. He can’t even get my show on it. What good is it?” she said lightly.
Fliss had turned at the s
ound of her voice and she felt as though all her breath had left her lungs. Here in this cottage, with its bittersweet memories, the familiar smile on her beautiful face, Bailey was quite literally breathtaking.
She wore dark pants in a soft light cotton chambray, cinched at the waist with a drawstring, and the material fell caressingly over her hips to her ankles. The short-sleeved top in a light aqua color clung to the curve of her breasts, the wide, round neckline stopping just short of her cleavage. But Fliss fancied she saw the hint of a shadow and fought an urge to lay her head there, touch her lips to the warm creamy skin.
“I mean, this you-beaut-top-of-the-range, state-of-the-art piece of technology and he can’t even watch his favorite sister’s television show.” Bailey’s short dark hair feathered her forehead and her eyes sparkled as she smiled.
John groaned. “I’ve assured her I’ve got a techie friend working on the problem. And sometimes, when the weather’s just right, you come through loud and clear. I never miss your show then, I promise. Neither does Fliss,” he added, giving Fliss a beseeching look. “Help me out here, will you, Fliss?”
Fliss found the composure to attempt a smile. “We’ve sorted out that particular problem at our place. Paul Hammond, Chrissie’s husband, fixed it for us. I’ll get him to give you a ring.”
John raised his hands and gazed towards the ceiling. “Praise the Lord, in all his forms. You’re a lifesaver, Fliss. Bailey’s been giving my TV set the evil eye since she got here.”
“Evil eye, my foot. I just can’t abide things that aren’t working the way they should. But enough of that. We’re not being very hospitable.” Bailey gave her brother a teasing shove. “How about some of that red wine you’ve got planned for the evening.”
“Red wine coming right up,” he said. “And sit down, Fliss. Try the new chairs.”
He headed for the kitchen and Fliss wanted to call him back. She wasn’t ready to be left alone with Bailey, in this house that seemed to have a memory every way Fliss turned. She could barely look at the fireplace. One night, even though it was really too warm for one, they’d lit the fire just so they could curl up on the rug in front of it, naked skin on naked skin.
