by Anne Oliver
But he’d thrown it out there to test her commitment. Her sense of responsibility. To see if she was as good as her word.
So she’d given all the right reasons, all the logical reasons why she should say no. She’d struggled for independence most of her life and Lissa’s Interior Designs was her passport.
But deep inside, where reason didn’t exist, she’d wept.
Gathering up her shoes, she climbed the stairs. Blake’s bedroom door was part-way open.
Suddenly unsure, she tapped before entering and was met by a brooding man with a surly tone. ‘Morning, party girl.’ He wore the same black jeans and ratty T-shirt he’d had on the night he’d landed on her deck. His hair had grown in the weeks since, and was furrowed now, as if he’d been running his hands through it. There were dark smudges beneath his eyes.
‘I texted you,’ she said.
One glance at the bed and she saw he was packing. Packing? Now? Swift and devastating pain stabbed at her. She’d known it was coming, but today?
‘Yeah. Thanks for letting me know.’ He folded T-shirts, laid them in his bag. ‘So, you and Maddie got it all sorted?’
She barely heard him. ‘You’re leaving.’
‘It’s time. You’ve got what you wanted and my boat’s been ready for a week. I’m picking it up tomorrow. I wanted to wait until the launch was over. Didn’t want to spoil the fun.’
Her brain whirled with the shock and the details that needed sorting. ‘Your loan. We have to arrange—’
‘I don’t need the money, Lissa. Keep it as a gift. I’ll arrange for the paperwork.’ He moved to the wardrobe and pulled shirts off hangers.
‘I can’t do that, it’s not right. And it doesn’t sit well with me. You know it doesn’t.’
‘Then donate it to the charity of your choice.’
‘What about the house?’ She’d need to find somewhere else to live.
He didn’t look at her as he folded each shirt with the same precise care, laid it on the pile. ‘There are no bookings for the next couple of months. I’ve just emailed the agent and informed him you’re here for as long as you need to be. Till you find somewhere decent that you can afford.’
‘I can’t stay here.’ You’re all around me.
‘Then do me a favour and house-sit for a while. It’s always safer when someone’s living in a place. And for God’s sake stop telling me you can’t. I know you can, and it’s really not a word I want to hear right now.’ Jaw tight, he slammed the bag’s lid down, wrenched the zip closed.
He looked at her and his eyes did that magic thing she’d seen on rare occasions. They turned from hard flint to the softest tropical blue, just for an instant before reverting to hard once more. ‘I need to leave. And it has to be now.’ His voice was scratchy and raw, as if he’d swallowed sandpaper. ‘Do you understand?’
No. ‘No. I don’t understand.’ The full impact had taken a few moments to sink in and now shock turned to desperation. But she kept her voice steady. ‘I do understand you need time to heal. But I can help you with that. Now you’ve talked about it, we can work on strategies together. If you want, we can see a counsellor …’
He shook his head. ‘It was always temporary, Lissa. We knew that.’
‘So that’s it, then.’ No tears. Her eyes were as dry as dust and she was grateful for it. A swift clean break now would allow her to focus on her new career. She’d be so busy she wouldn’t have time to miss him.
‘Why don’t you go make us some breakfast?’
She couldn’t seem to drag her eyes away from his face. This was what he wanted and she so wanted him to be happy. He deserved to be happy, to live his life in peace and solitude if that was what he wanted. But why did it have to hurt so much? Why did it feel as if her very soul were being torn apart?
‘So you’re walking away.’ She’d sworn she’d not say it but it was as if someone else were speaking through her. ‘After everything I’ve just said. After all we’ve been through. What we’ve come to mean to each other. You can pack up and move on just like that?’ She clicked her fingers in front of her face.
And for one thudding heartbeat she thought she saw the same emotions rip through his gaze, but maybe she was hallucinating because when she blinked her vision clear there was nothing but that flinty-eyed, self-contained remoteness.
‘On second thought, forget breakfast, it’s best if I just go,’ he said, with that same wretched aloofness. ‘You’re dead on your feet and you always did have that flair for the overly dramatic.’
He crossed to her, took her hands in his and she wanted to pull away from his touch, to prove she could, but her hands were numb. ‘It’s not the end of the world, Lissa, it’s just the beginning. You’ll thank me later. A good eight hours’ sleep and everything will fall into perspective. You’ll wake rejuvenated and ready to take on the next challenge in your life.
‘We want different things. You need stability. A home, family. I want to feel the salt air on my face and drop anchor wherever I please. And that’s not the kind of man you need. We had some good times but we always knew it was just a fling.’
She flinched at his tone and the word. Fling. It sounded almost sordid, an abomination for what she thought they’d had. Had she been the only one to feel that intensity? Or the only one dumb enough, naive enough to let it matter?
‘You know something? I don’t need a man in my life. Why do you men always think you’re so indispensable?’
‘I guess we’ve said it all, then.’ He picked up one of his bags, slung it over his shoulder.
‘I guess we have.’ Damn him, she wasn’t going to watch him walk away. Their talk had drained every last drop of energy from her and she didn’t know how much longer she could remain standing. ‘I hope you enjoy your freedom. And I’ll always be grateful for your helping hand when I was down, so thank you for that.’ She stepped away. ‘I think I’ll go take that nap. You’ll probably be gone when I wake up, so. I’ll say goodbye now.’
He nodded once, then tore what was left of her heart out when he kissed her cheek lightly and said, ‘I’ll see you around some time.’
Not in this lifetime, she vowed later sitting on the couch with her arms around his pillow watching the afternoon shadows creep over the pool.
And she’d been left to explain why he wasn’t going to be coming to brunch with her family. She’d opted out too, pleading fatigue. She squeezed her eyes shut to stop the tears.
In one evening she’d been handed her dream career, her independence, her new life. And lost the man she loved.
The shop opened on Monday. Jill, one of Maddie’s staff from the Noosa branch, had come down to help for a couple of weeks with a view to looking at relocating there to be closer to her family. Older than Lissa and with a few years’ experience under her belt, Jill was bright and enthusiastic and Lissa hoped she’d stay on.
People dropped in to wish Lissa well and share the bubbly Maddie had sent. She didn’t think about Blake at all. No way. Not for a minute.
She did not imagine him sharing the excitement of her first day or seeing him walk in at closing, eyes hot for her, hair glinting under the rings of fire when he came to whisk her away for a celebration dinner.
Then mid-morning a massive floral arrangement arrived. Three dozen fragrant yellow roses spilling from a ginormous glass bowl. ‘Someone loves you.’ Jill grinned as the black-capped delivery guy in his crisp black shirt with its gold logo set it on the coffee table in the display area.
A little tag gave instructions for care of cut flowers and a hand-written explanation that yellow roses celebrated success and new beginnings.
‘My brother.’ Lissa smiled back, tugging at the attached envelope. ‘He’s always.’ Her voice trailed off, her smile dropping away as she read the card inside.
Congratulations! Thinking of you today. Blake.
The surprise caught her off-guard. Her nose stung, her eyes brimmed and something huge and heavy lodged in her throat. He’d thoug
ht enough to choose the exact right flowers and, what was more, he’d wanted her to know. ‘They’re from my. They’re from Blake.’
‘You mean that dishy navy guy from Saturday night?’
Lissa heard Jill’s appreciative murmur and shuffled the card quickly back in its envelope. ‘He’s left the navy. Bought himself a yacht. He won’t be coming back any time soon.’ She turned her back on the flowers and headed for her desk, aware of Jill’s gaze boring into her neck.
But she slept in his bed that night. The following night she moved her stuff there. Just for the short time until she found her own place. She told herself she liked the view of the river from there.
In the evenings after putting in hours of overtime at Lissa’s, she sketched. She finished the piece she’d been working on. After all, she knew every plane and angle of his face. A portrait of Blake. She’d give it to him some time when he was passing through.
She put on some music and danced in the living room until she was physically exhausted, then tossed for hours, unable to sleep. Citing work as the reason, she put off visiting her family.
Work, work, work. It gave her a reason to get up in the morning. She enjoyed the long hours. She loved seeing the process move from plan to finished perfection. The income allowed her to start repaying the debt into the bank account Blake had set up.
To her surprise, over the next few weeks she discovered she could live without Blake and not fall to pieces every time she thought of him. She knew she could lead the fulfilling, independent life she’d wanted.
But now she knew Blake as well as anyone could, she’d always feel as if a part of her were missing. One day she might even be able to think about dating again. It was ironic that it had been Blake who’d given her back that confidence.
She’d not heard a single solitary word from him, nor had she contacted him. She told herself it was better that way. One email or text, one phone call and she’d want more.
Blake didn’t.
Blake cradled his mug of tea while he watched the sun lift out of the water. It swam on the horizon, a ball of fire shimmering in the early morning haze. Fingers of crimson spread along the yacht’s decking and stroked his skin with sultry warmth. The air was thick with humidity and the smell of the ocean, the way he liked it.
To his right, tropical rainforest capped a steep peak, then dipped all the way down to a golden ribbon of sand. If he looked to his left he could see the conical shape of one of the Barrier Reef’s unspoiled islands rising out of an indigo and turquoise sea.
This was paradise.
Who wouldn’t give their all to be in his place right now? He breathed deep as he watched a flock of seabirds dip and dive, and took a bite out of his toasted bacon sandwich. The water lapped at the hull, the sails flapped lazily.
This was freedom.
He could take the time to enjoy the wind in his hair and the sun on his back. No one to tell him what to do and how to do it. No one to tell him when to get up, where to go.
No one.
He shook off the edgy feeling. He wasn’t lonely. He could drop anchor at the nearest marina any time and chat with the locals at the yacht club. He didn’t need company.
Why waste time building relationships that always ended? Why build a home, settle in one place when he could take his seafaring home anywhere he wanted?
This was living the dream.
All he needed was a seaworthy boat, food on his plate and a comfortable bed. He curled both palms around the railing. All he wanted was peace and solitude and a blue horizon.
The hell it was.
One night after she’d closed up, Lissa looked at a tiny apartment that was becoming available at the end of the following month. No sea views but she couldn’t afford to be choosy. She drove home feeling happier than she had in a while.
As she pulled into the driveway she saw a stretched limo out the front of Gilda’s house. Off to one of her charity events, no doubt.
It wasn’t until she was walking along the path to the front door that she heard the footsteps behind her.
‘Ms Sanderson?’
‘Yes?’ She turned as the uniformed driver approached and it occurred to her that she’d felt none of that tingling alarm that had dogged her for so long.
‘Good evening.’ He took off his chauffeur’s cap. He was medium height with an easy smile and greying hair and he handed her his ID. ‘My name’s Max Fitzgerald and I’ve been asked to give you this package then wait until you’re ready. I’m to transport you to your dinner meeting.’ He handed her a large flat box.
She frowned at the ID. He appeared to be who it said he was. Should she be suspicious? ‘I don’t have a dinner appointment,’ she said. ‘I bought a frozen meal on the way home.’
‘You didn’t receive a text message explaining?’
Oh? ‘I haven’t checked, I’ve been … busy …’ She fished in her handbag for her phone. The screen lit up at her touch and she opened the text.
Lissa, you can trust Max. It’s time we discussed moving on with the rest of our lives.
She recognised Blake’s number.
For a few stunned seconds she couldn’t move. Then her heart flipped over and dropped like a stone. Now he wanted to talk? Just when she was getting used to not having him around?
He probably had tenants waiting to lease the house and wanted her to vacate. He wanted to get on with the rest of his life.
Or did he think that he could just turn up out of the blue and whistle—or text—and she’d come running? Other women might but not Lissa Sanderson. He couldn’t even be bothered inviting her personally to have this discussion or collecting her himself?
‘I’m not free tonight,’ she told Max, slipping her phone back into her bag. ‘I’ll text him. Thanks, you can leave.’
‘He told me you might say that. He asked me to beg you to reconsider.’
‘I don’t—’
‘Please, Ms Sanderson.’ Max ran his fingers over the cap in his hand. ‘He asked me to get down on one knee if I had to and I’m getting too old for all that.’ His eyes lit with humour. ‘My joints aren’t what they used to be.’
Lissa stared at him. Blake had begged? Pleaded? He wanted to see her that badly? A glimmer of something like hope flickered inside her but she pushed it down. ‘There’s no need for that.’ She looked at the smooth, white, expensive-looking box in her hands. ‘Why don’t you come inside and I’ll just see what’s in this package.?’
‘I’ll wait in the vehicle, if that’s all right with you, ma’am. Take your time, I’ll be here till dawn.’
‘Dawn?’ Was he serious?
‘Mr Everett explained you like to party on occasion.’
‘Did he?’ she murmured. Obviously he thought she’d got on with her life. She didn’t know whether to be amused or offended. ‘Okay, Max. I’ll be sure to let you know my decision soon.’
The moment she was inside, Lissa pulled the string off the box. Her heart raced as her fingers scrabbled through the mountain of tissue paper.
A slimline gown of the palest aquamarine. It shimmered in the light as she drew it out. Or maybe it was the tears that sprang to her eyes making it seem so.
‘Oh, my … goodness.’ She’d never seen anything more exquisite.
Her arms shook as she held it against her. It flowed to the floor like a slender stream of clear spring water. Shoestring straps and a low back that dipped to her waist.
As she raced upstairs to try it on she didn’t let herself think, dared not allow herself to hope.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
MAX was out of the limo the moment she stepped through the front door twenty tension-fraught minutes later. ‘Very becoming,’ he said, nodding as she approached. ‘You look lovely.’
‘Thank you.’ She smoothed a hand down the slippery fabric. It fitted like a dream. She wondered if that was what this was. Just a dream. Like the ones she’d had so many years ago.
He reached into the vehicle and withdrew a small b
ouquet of creamy gardenias and presented them to her as he opened her door.
‘Oh …’ She inhaled their delicate green fragrance. ‘Thank you, again.’
She slid inside and set the flowers beside her on the soft leather seat. Through the speakers, Robbie was singing about angels. A bottle of champagne chilled in an ice-bucket beside a crystal flute.
‘Can I pour you a glass of champagne before we leave?’ Max asked.
‘Oh, no.’ She pressed a hand to her jittering stomach. ‘I really couldn’t.’
As they drew smoothly away from the kerb she tried to remember the last time she’d refused champagne. But right now her insides simply wouldn’t tolerate it. And she needed a clear head to face Blake.
This might seem like a dream but she couldn’t be sure it was the dream she wanted. Wouldn’t allow herself to think beyond the next step. According to his text, he was expecting them to have a discussion. Over dinner. Maybe he liked women to look sophisticated when he dined. Or maybe. She shook her head and looked out at the darkening tropical sky with its anvil thunder-heads building over the hinterland. She refused to contemplate any more maybes.
The journey took only a few minutes. At the Mooloolaba Marina she stepped into the deepening twilight, clutching her flowers and her bag.
Then Max was accompanying her through the security gate and towards a luxury yacht that dwarfed every other watercraft in the vicinity. Light spilled from the main deck and shimmered on the inky water. This wasn’t the simple sailing boat she’d seen in Blake’s brochure, even though that, too, had been a luxury in her eyes.
This was a floating palace. With its sleek white lines, it reminded her of a powerful beast waiting to be unleashed. She could visualise it slicing through the water with Blake at the helm. And that was probably where he’d be tomorrow, or the next day when his business with her was concluded.
And then she saw him. On the deck. In slim-fitting dark trousers and a white shirt open at the neck with the cuffs rolled back. Her heart stopped, then beat at double time. Their gazes met. Held for what seemed like eternity while the water lapped and the foody aroma from the nearby waterside restaurants wafted on the air. She could do this. She could.
