“Sorry, Jake.” It would be so easy, so wonderful to say yes. “Places to be. You know how it is.” She’d had to forfeit her relationship with Jake to save herself all those years ago. She couldn’t face having to do that all again.
“Sure. But I can reschedule my Christmas Gala meeting, if you could reschedule …”
“I’m leaving in an hour.”
“Giselle.” The way he said her name cleaved a valley through her heart. “It’s been twelve years and two months since you left without a word. Give me an hour. I know we live in different worlds now. But even if it’s a goodbye lunch, don’t you think you owe me that much?”
Owe? She didn’t owe anyone anything. She shoved aside the feeling of guilt she had for leaving Jake the way she had. She crossed her arms across her chest. She’d built her singing career through sheer dogged will. On her own terms. No one dictated what she did anymore. She was the boss. People did her bidding. Never again would she be afraid, ashamed, trapped. Emotions she’d buried deep within threatened to swamp her. She bit down on her lip so he wouldn’t see it tremble.
“I’m sorry, Jake. But I can’t. Please don’t ask me to explain. I can’t stay here in town. It’s not a good idea.”
“Perhaps not, but since when did we only do things that were a good idea?” That cheeky expression that had convinced her to break so many rules all those years ago hadn’t changed.
She couldn’t help a small smile. Jake had been the only shining light in a sea of pain. They’d certainly got up to some mischief in their time. Only he’d never known the severe consequences she’d suffered when she was caught being anything but perfect.
“I’m sure even the famous Giselle Harrington can spare an hour for an old friend,” he said.
She hesitated. “It can’t be anywhere public.” What was she doing? “No one knows I’m here and that’s the way I want to keep it.”
“I know just the spot.”
He gripped her hand. His warm, firm fingers sent a flutter through her belly. No one was ever bold enough to touch her like this, unbidden. He led her out the door to his truck. Holding open the door, he ushered her inside.
“Sorry, I know it’s not what you’re used to.” He looked at the Mercedes she’d hired for the trip. “But I’m sure you can slum it for old time’s sake.” He grinned and shut the door.
She leaned back in her seat. One hour in Turtle Beach. What could it hurt? But the nerves she’d taken a lifetime to control crept out and her body quivered with foreboding.
Jake couldn’t help taking fleeting glances at his gorgeous passenger. Giselle Harrington was now an international singing superstar, but he couldn’t mesh the dichotomous personas—the girl he’d loved and lost at sixteen and the glossy music legend sitting next to him in his dusty truck. She may be the darling of the pop world, but to him she was simply Giselle, the girl he’d kissed by the swings in kindergarten. Kissed and loved until that fateful day.
He focused his attention back on the road. Giselle had changed so much. Transformed from an Aussie tomboy into a shimmering international glamazon. Her light-brown hair was now long and platinum blond, making her brown eyes appear even larger. No more chipped nails and denim shorts. She wore tight white jeans, black leather boots with sky-high heels and a black top that was translucent enough to make his groin throb. She was still petite. Probably only a few inches over five feet and clearly she made keeping fit a priority. Tiny waist, nicely muscled arms and hot, trim butt.
When they’d been teenagers, he’d believed he’d loved her, but one day she’d disappeared without a word. Clearly the feeling hadn’t been reciprocated. He’d hated her, but it hadn’t lasted. He’d resented her, but that hadn’t lasted either. He’d tried to forget her, but he’d never quite managed it.
He pulled the steering wheel hard to the left and turned down a dirt track.
“You have to be kidding me?” Giselle said. “We’re not going to the Lake House.”
“Best hiding spot in Turtle Beach. You know that.”
“It’s still there?”
“Was last time I checked.”
“When was that?”
He could feel her probing gaze fixed on his face, but he kept his eyes fixed ahead. He wasn’t about to confess that he visited their secret childhood haunt twice a year. Once on her birthday and once on the anniversary of the day she disappeared. Each time he stupidly imagined she’d be waiting there. Waiting to say that even after all her fame, all her money, all her success, it meant nothing unless he was standing by her side.
“A few months ago,” he said, infusing his words with a casual carelessness.
“You still visit?”
Yes it was stupid to continue to go there. To visit and dream of what might have been. He shrugged. “It’s a quiet spot to think.”
The Lake House was in a beautiful clearing on the far side of Pelican Lake. They’d spotted the small piece of isolated paradise once when rowing across the still water. It was surrounded by thick prickly lantana, but Jake had tunneled through it one summer, creating their own secret sanctuary.
The road deteriorated to a potholed track. He slowed the truck. “We might need to clear the tunnel a fraction, but I’m game if you are.”
“Oh, I’m game.”
“Excellent. No one’s going to see you there.”
“Bet you take all your girlfriends here.”
“I’ve never told anyone about the Lake House.” He aimed to make his voice blasé, but the words came out with more emotional force than he’d intended.
He glanced at her and she met his eyes. A thunderbolt of longing ripped through his body. She held his gaze for a moment then looked away. He waited. For something. For some explanation. For a reason why she’d upped and left. But no confession came. Maybe it was as many had said: she had been a selfish young girl bent on fame. He shook his head. He hadn’t believed it then and wouldn’t now. All the other rationalizations he’d developed hadn’t quite fit either.
Jake pulled up in front of a wall of thick foliage. He handed her the bag of food he’d picked up on the way out of town.
“You take the lunch and I’ll grab the hacksaw.”
Giselle stared at the seemingly impenetrable wall of lantana and down at her white jeans and black boots. “We could sit in the truck.”
“I knew you’d lose your nerve.” Back in the day, Giselle had never backed down from a challenge when they’d roamed the neighborhood. Nothing had scared her except being late home for dinner or for whatever deadline her mother had imposed. Faye had been a stickler for punctuality.
She laughed and pushed open the door. “Never. Lead the way.”
Jake pulled the hacksaw from the back of the truck. Maybe this was a terrible idea. He’d kissed Giselle here once. After that kiss it had felt as though the world glowed, shone, that everything in it was wonderful. He’d imagined a whole future with them together. He’d been so gloriously happy.
Later that night she’d left. He’d searched and searched. He’d wanted to find her, shake her, and make her see sense. The next day his father had flown into an unexplained rage, terrifying him and his little sister. They’d had to call the ambulance and later that week the diagnosis of rapid onset Alzheimer’s had ripped their world apart. Within months, Jake had been forced to take responsibility for the farm, for Sasha and for keeping their family going.
He’d wanted Giselle with an ache so painful he couldn’t sleep, could barely eat or function, but he couldn’t abandon his family. He had obligations. Giselle disappeared and became a superstar and he was left behind to love and care for his family in a small regional town. But not one day had passed when he hadn’t thought about her and what might have been.
Giselle hopped down from the truck just in time to see Jake pull aside a few stringy branches and melt into the thick lantana. The shrub was deceptively beautiful with its tiny, bright, aromatic flowers, but it was a noxious weed. A brilliant barrier for a secret spot.
“Come on,” he called. “It’s not too bad.”
She eased herself through the jungle of spiky bushes, careful not to snag her shirt. They stopped several times for Jake to clear the way, but finally emerged onto a gorgeous grassy verge. She couldn’t believe it. Their special spot hadn’t changed. It was still quiet, lovely and isolated.
“It’s exactly the same,” she said.
Jake threw himself on the grass. He was so unaffected and moved with such confidence. Most people she spent time with seemed to double-check every move they made. Jake carried himself with the authority of a man who was supremely self-assured.
“I don’t know for how much longer. Developers are everywhere. Turtle Beach is being touted as the new Byron Bay.” He sat up straight. “The upgraded freeway put us squarely on the tourist map.”
“You say it like it’s a bad thing.” She joined him on the grass.
“Not at all. Tourism is great.”
Jake moved closer, into her personal space. A tingle of awareness spread over her skin. In her world, people always kept a respectful distance, except for the occasional overly enthusiastic fan and the paparazzi of course. But Jake had shifted nearer as if it was the most natural thing in the world to sit close together, at the Lake House. An oddly pleasant sensation ran through her veins. Her muscles lost some of their tension. She didn’t have to be so guarded here. No one, except Jake, knew where she was.
“Tourism has replaced much of the income from the collapse of the sugar industry,” he said. “But developers don’t understand the town. They need to work in consultation with the community, instead of coming with bulldozers and big-city ideas. It’s why I joined the council.”
She looked out over the lake. She couldn’t tell him the developer’s plans for her mother’s estate. The town had deserted her when she’d needed it so desperately; she didn’t owe them anything. She’d needed help, needed rescuing, but no one had believed her when she’d revealed the ghastliness of her home life.
“So, tell me about you,” she said, not wanting to know any more about the town and its troubles. “You married?” Even as she asked the question, she stupidly wanted the answer to be negative.
He looked at her slowly. His blue eyes bright from the lake’s reflection. “There was a girl once, but she ran away.”
A tingle spread across her chest. Surely he couldn’t still have feelings for her? Jake Carlton would be the best catch from here to the Queensland border. She’d have been long forgotten with the throng of girls after his affections. She searched her mind for a change of subject.
“How’s your dad?” Jake’s mother had died from breast cancer when he was twelve. Jake’s dad had brought Jake up with his sister, Sasha.
“He’s in a home. Alzheimer’s.” Jake offered her a sandwich from the lunch bag.
“I’m so sorry, Jake.” She reached over and placed her hand over his. He felt good, too good. She pulled back and busied herself with her lunch. “Must be such a blow for the town. He was always the big man.”
“Certainly big shoes to fill.” He took a bite of his sandwich.
“So, you’re the big man now?”
He chewed and swallowed. “I wouldn’t say that, just takes a lot to keep a small community like this in business.”
“So, you’re on the council.”
He nodded.
“On at least three sub-committees?”
“Two.”
“And you head up, hmm, three community boards?”
He held up three fingers.
She laughed. Turtle Beach wouldn’t run without a Carlton at the helm. She remembered Brian Carlton doing all the hard yards and her mother being the beautiful Queen Bee overseeing her army of charity workers.
“Actually—” He checked his watch. “—I have a Christmas Gala meeting this afternoon. Why don’t you come along? I’m sure you could contribute some good ideas.”
“Absolutely not.” Her appetite vanished. “Don’t let me keep you.” She stood.
“Giselle, sit down. We’ve only just got here.”
She tried to convince herself he hadn’t meant to give her an order, but the directive heated her skin and fired her blood.
“No, I think it’s time to leave.”
Confusion crossed his face. “Giselle. Come on. Don’t be ridiculous. Please sit down.”
Her hands balled into fists and her nails dug into her palms. Ridiculous. Every person she’d reached out to as a child had delivered a version of that word.
That’s ridiculous.
Don’t make up stories.
You’re just trying to get attention.
She should never have come back here. What was the point? The past could not be wiped away by revisiting it. She should have simply appointed a local agent and stayed in London.
“I’d really appreciate it if you could take me back to my car.” She coiled her voice up tight to prevent it from revealing the dam of emotion being held in by sheer determination.
A pained expression crossed his face. She couldn’t look at him. She didn’t want to hurt him, but Jake Carlton was the heart and soul of Turtle Beach. The very place she wanted to erase from her history.
“No problem.” He stood and collected the remains of their lunch.
Giselle didn’t wait. She pushed through the tunnel. At least this visit had made one thing clear. She would never again return to Turtle Beach.
CHAPTER TWO
Fifteen minutes later, Jake pulled up behind Giselle’s red Mercedes rental. His head ached from the effort of trying to keep the conversation going. Giselle had completely shut down. Any fantasy he’d held about their picking up where they’d left off was just that, a fantasy. The woman sitting beside him was a shell of the passionate girl he’d once known.
“So this is it, then, for another twelve years or so?” he said, pulling on the handbrake a little harder than he’d intended.
“Jake, I …” She drew in a breath. “If things were …” Again she stopped, this time shaking her head. “Thanks for lunch.” She opened the truck door and paused, before turning and focusing her attention on him. “It really was great to see you, Jake.”
Was that regret in her eyes? Was she regretting that she had to leave? He grabbed her hand.
“Don’t you even wonder what could have been?” he asked. Maybe he could live with losing her, if he knew that she, too, had suffered through their separation.
“I didn’t have that luxury,” she said, pulling away.
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
She ignored his question, climbed out of the truck and shut the door.
“Giselle.” He raced after her, but she was already behind the wheel of her car. She turned the key. The sound of the engine felt like the final notes of a grand tragic performance. The curtain was closing on their relationship, and this time, once she left, there was nothing to bring her back. He had to stop her.
The car sputtered and didn’t start. She tried again and again until she’d well and truly flooded the engine. She’d never been good with cars. He’d tried to teach her to drive. They’d done hours and hours around the paddock, but she’d always been hopeless.
He tapped on the window to stop her causing further damage.
“Giselle. Stop. It’s not going to start.”
She rested her head on the steering wheel for a few moments, then lowered the window.
“I have to go,” she said simply. “I have an appointment.”
“Well I would offer to drive you back to the airport, but—”
“I’m due at the hospital in an hour.”
He frowned. “Why? Is someone sick?” He didn’t think Giselle kept up with anyone in town.
“No. I’m visiting the children’s ward. I made an arrangement with the general manager. She’s the only one who knows I’m coming.”
She jumped out of the car, distress marring her brow. “I can’t be late. I can’t let the kids down.” She paced up
and down.
“What are you doing there?”
She walked to the back of the car and popped the boot. His eyes widened. It was stuffed full of bags. DVDs, T-shirts, CDs, bright-red Santa hats. He picked up a small box and shot her a questioning look.
“Makeup,” she said. “I thought the kids and I could dress up and have an impromptu concert.”
Jake smiled. This was no shell of a woman. He’d been completely wrong. “I thought you didn’t want anything to do with this town.”
“I don’t. This is a one-off gig,” she said, gripping one of the bags. “Would you mind calling me a taxi?”
“Don’t be crazy.” He grabbed the remaining paraphernalia and loaded it into the back of his truck. “The show must go on and your chariot awaits.”
Giselle may not be staying more than a few more hours, but he was damn well going to spend every minute he could with her before she left again forever.
“So,” Jake said, turning down the main street toward the hospital. “The singing is going well?” It was such an inane comment, but he hoped to get the conversation going again after its horrible halt back at the Lake House.
“It is,” Giselle said. Her mood returned to all bright and breezy, like an actor entering a joyous scene. “All my albums have hit platinum in the UK, but I’m still trying to crack the US. It’s a tough market. The new single is doing well though.”
“That’s great,” he said, glancing at her.
She gave him a rueful smile. “But it could all be over in a second. There’s nothing as fickle as the music business. One scandal and I could be finished.”
Jake focused on the road as he pulled the truck into Turtle Beach’s new hospital precinct.
“Here we are,” he announced.
It had only been open a few months. The government had invested millions in the facility, but some of the new equipment was due to the tireless fundraising efforts of the town and a massive injection of funds from an anonymous donor.
“Our new hospital,” Jake said.
“It’s wonderful,” Giselle said.
“It took a lot of lobbying and fundraising, but we finally have a hospital big enough and with the right equipment to service our area.”
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