Harlequin Romance April 2021 Box Set

by Rebecca Winters

  He swallowed hard, picturing his father’s smile, the way it always seemed to stop short. ‘Lars likes success, so he is proud that I’ve done well, but he’s disappointed in me because he thinks I haven’t been loyal.’

  Emilie was frowning. ‘Your father thinks you’re disloyal because you built your own business?’

  ‘Lars likes to get his own way.’ He felt a sour taste gathering at the back of his mouth. ‘He’s determined. Single-minded. He’s probably just pissed that he’s failed to bend my will to his, annoyed that I haven’t put my shoulder to the Larsson Lüning wheel. I’ve probably injured his damn pride or something.’ He could hear the bitterness on his voice, see Emilie’s eyes growing wider. He needed to rein it in.

  ‘You’re determined too, though.’ Her gaze was direct. ‘I mean, going off like that, on your own, sailing all day, when you were how old...?’

  He shrugged. ‘I don’t know, eight, nine, ten.’

  She was shaking her head. ‘I could never have done anything like that. Just the thought of it...being alone on the sea, for hours.’ She shuddered. ‘Maybe you and Lars are actually the same. Maybe you intimidate him—’

  ‘No way!’ His pulse was banging. ‘My father is loud, pushy, bullish. He can be amusing at times, but—’ he felt a shudder travelling up his spine ‘—I’m not like him. Not at all!’

  ‘Except for being amusing at times...’ She was arching an eyebrow, a gentle irresistible warmth in her eyes.

  He felt his tension melting away, a smile tugging at his lips. How could she do that, bring him back with just one look?

  They were coming out of the forest now, walking into a bright blaze of sunshine. He looked ahead, scanning the line of the path which ran upwards, climbing gradually through the cane fields to a lookout point. The distillery guide had said there was a café up there, a great view over the bay. He turned. ‘Do you want to keep going?’

  She was standing a few yards back, rooting around in her bag. ‘I’d love to, but I’m worrying about the time.’ She pulled out her phone. ‘Erris is picking me up from the marina at four.’

  ‘Oh!’ It felt too soon. He liked being with her, just walking and talking, even about his family. Lars. It was liberating, letting off steam to someone who...his breath snagged on the thought...someone who had no connection. He ran his tongue over his lip. Maybe that was why the bitterness he hadn’t fully known was there had seeped out. He blinked. And Emilie had been so gentle with him, so non-judgemental. He drew in a slow breath. She was squinting at her phone, silk billowing around her legs, bag hanging off her smooth bare shoulder. He felt heat flooding into his belly, into his groin.

  All through the distillery tour he’d felt static shuttling between them. Every look, every smile. In the bar, it had taken all his willpower not to step in and pull her close. When he’d thought she was meeting someone, he’d burned with jealousy and now he was burning with longing, but what could really happen between them? A fling? No strings? That was all it could ever be because she was broken and vulnerable, and he was confused, still probing the numb black space inside himself, trying to find the bleeding wound that Astrid and Johan had inflicted.

  He inhaled slowly, stepping back in his head. He wasn’t a fling kind of guy, but at the same time, when Emilie had said she wanted to get to know him, he’d felt a spark of pure joy, a little upward boost as if an elevator had whipped him up a floor. And now he was on that floor, he wanted to stay, wanted her to stay. Would she? He moistened his lips. ‘Come back with me...’

  She looked up, smiling a thin smile. ‘I wish I could, but unfortunately this—’ she tugged at her dress ‘—is not a sailing outfit.’

  Maybe fate was on his side after all. He grinned. ‘I’ve got the powerboat today.’

  ‘Oh!’ Her eyes lit with a smile. ‘How perfect is that? This dress loves a powerboat.’

  A bubble of happiness exploded in his chest. ‘Well, that settles it. What the dress wants, the dress gets.’

  * * *

  ‘Here! Let me help you...’ Joel was on the jetty, holding out his hand. A smile hung about his lips, but his eyes looked cool. Maybe it was just the glow of twilight bouncing off the pale hull of the boat.

  She shouldered her bag and slipped her hand into his. It felt warm and strong. Dependable! She leaned into it, letting him guide her out of the boat and then she smiled. ‘I had a nice time today.’

  ‘Me too.’ His fingers flexed around hers and then he stepped back, busying himself with the mooring ropes.

  She felt the air trickling from her lungs. He seemed preoccupied. Maybe he was like her, wondering how they were going to say goodnight. She felt her belly trembling and turned, looking back across the sea to the winking lights on Tortola. If she’d come back with Erris there’d have been none of this awkwardness...but there’d have been none of the joy either, none of the soaring happiness she’d felt when Joel had said he’d got the powerboat.

  After she’d phoned Erris, they’d walked to the café overlooking the bay, parking themselves outside, drinking iced tea, and then maybe because Joel had opened up a little bit about his family, she’d opened up too, filling in the thumbnail sketch she’d given him earlier, telling the full story of how Tom had persuaded her to leave Le Perroquet so they could strike out on their own and about how Rachel had stepped in to help. She’d told him how Tom had shifted the goalposts, about the scathing review and about how she’d tried to make things work, but she didn’t tell him about Tom and Rachel’s baby. That was too raw, too hard to talk about.

  She’d hoped he’d tell her about Astrid in return, but on the walk back to the distillery he’d seemed intent on telling her about his youthful sailing escapades. He’d made her laugh, mimicking countless body blows from the swinging boom, but then guilt had started pooling around her ankles because she was supposed to have been on Buck Island, cooking for him. He’d picked up on her fretting, brushing her worries aside with a twinkly smile. He’d said there was a great street food place in Road Town she’d like—Clara’s Kitchen—and that he wasn’t taking no for an answer.

  She’d more than liked it! Bare bulb strings looped around the canopied dining area, the rustic tables, the sizzling platters, all the spicy, smoky aromas. And she’d loved the look on Joel’s face, the glow of the sunset on his skin, the way his eyes had been shining. She felt her heart twisting slowly. The light in Joel’s eyes pushed everything into the shadows, but Tom had dazzled her like that once, blinding her. She felt a dry edge in her throat. Had she been walking blind for all this time...? Something to think about, but this wasn’t the time or the place.

  She turned. Joel was bent to one of the mooring posts, tying off a rope, tugging it tight. Did he feel trapped in awkwardness too, or were her own jitters skewing her intuition? It had been a long day, tiring. No wonder her edges were blurring. She took a step. ‘Joel, it’s getting late. I’m going to go...’

  He straightened. ‘I’ll walk you.’

  ‘Oh!’ Her heart dipped. That would only be postponing the goodnight bit. ‘That’s very chivalrous of you but, really, there’s no need. It’s a two-minute walk—’

  He smiled. ‘I think I can spare two minutes.’

  ‘Oh, okay.’ She smiled back. ‘Thanks.’ She started along the jetty, butterflies raging in her belly as he fell in beside her. With every in-breath she could smell the faint musk of his cologne, could feel it spiralling through her veins. They should have come back before the light had started fading, then things wouldn’t have felt quite so...loaded. She glanced at him. He seemed preoccupied again. She needed to say something—anything—to break the silence. She licked her lips. ‘It’s a long time since anyone walked me home.’

  Something flickered behind his eyes. ‘It’s a long time since I walked anyone home.’

  Oh, God! Had he used to walk Astrid home? Was he thinking about Astrid at that very moment? M
aybe that was why he was subdued. She glanced at him again. His jaw looked tight, his mouth firm, as though he was biting on a bullet. If he’d opened up to her about Astrid, then she’d have been better equipped...but now wasn’t the right time for asking.

  She looked ahead. The small solar lights which edged the forest path were crawling with moths and tiny bugs, and the air was alive with the chirrups and the sleepy calls of roosting birds. When the breeze rippled, a burst of heady scent filled her nostrils. She heard Joel breathing it in. She smiled. ‘It’s lovely, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, it is.’ He blinked and then his gaze settled. ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s the Jamaican Caper.’ There was a bush at the side of the path. She went to it, pointing out the white flowers, the sprays of long stamens. ‘See, it blooms at night.’

  His lips twitched. ‘It looks like a sparkler.’

  ‘It does!’ She smiled. ‘It’s so beautiful.’

  ‘It is beautiful.’ Her heart thumped. He wasn’t looking at the flowers. His eyes were fastened on hers. He swallowed slowly. ‘It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen...’

  What was he saying? She felt the path tilting, a rush of dizziness. His cologne was in her lungs and his gaze was soft...hypnotic... She was drifting, looking at his mouth, wanting... No! She turned away, glimpsed pale clapboard through the trees. ‘Look!’ Somehow, her feet were moving, carrying her quickly and then she was dashing on, calling back, ‘We’re here.’

  At the cottage door she stopped, heart drumming. What was she running from? That fond, magnetic light in his eyes or her own fear? Fear of being blinded again, scared of getting caught in a rip tide, of being dragged under and dashed on the rocks... Joel had said she made him feel normal, but what they’d been sharing all day had overshot normal by miles. It had felt special. Joel had made her feel special: jumping to his feet at The Roost with delighted eyes; lining up the rums for her to taste at the distillery; listening so attentively as she’d talked about food and flavours at Clara’s Kitchen...

  She dropped her bag, then leaned, pressing her forehead to the door, guilt curling in her toes. She hadn’t had to cook anything to get Joel’s attention. He’d made her feel important, wanted, for simply being herself. Then, gentleman that he was, he’d insisted on walking her home and what had she done? Left him on the path feeling...what? Bewildered? Hurt? She felt tears stinging her eyes. It was all Tom’s fault. He’d made her like this, not Joel. Joel had treated her like a precious thing. For all she knew, getting closer to Joel might actually be the cure, the way to push Tom’s hurt into the shadows, but it was too late now. He was probably already striding back to the house—

  ‘Emilie.’

  Joel! She felt a sob struggling up her throat, tears sliding down her cheeks. She’d run and he’d come after her. She couldn’t turn round for shame.

  ‘Emilie...’ The deck creaked under his footstep and then his warmth filled the space behind her. ‘What’s wrong?’ His voice was gentle, close. ‘Have I upset you?’

  Air funnelled into her lungs at breakneck speed. How could he even think such a thing? She spun round, wiping her face. ‘No! It’s not you...’

  ‘But you’re crying.’ His eyes were searching, taking her apart, then his hands came up and he was brushing her wet cheeks with the backs of his knuckles. ‘Why?’

  Her belly quivered. Had Tom ever touched her as tenderly as this? She couldn’t remember, couldn’t remember ever feeling so weak, so full of longing. ‘I’m crying because you gave me a lovely day and I left you on the path when you were about to...’ The words dried on her tongue. Maybe she’d got it wrong, misread the whole thing. Oh, God!

  His eyes narrowed. ‘About to what?’

  She felt her neck prickling. She couldn’t not tell him the truth. ‘I thought you were going to kiss me and I was scared because... I don’t know...because of Tom...and because I’m not sure about anything any more.’

  His hands fell from her face and then he swallowed. ‘I was thinking about it, but I’m not sure either.’ Something came and went behind his eyes. ‘It’s probably for the best.’

  She pressed her lips together. Tom was the only man she’d ever been with and she’d never looked past him, but now something was unravelling, taking hold of her senses. What would it be like with Joel? How would it feel? She wanted to know, needed to know. She took a breath, resting her hands on his chest. ‘Kiss me...’

  His eyes darted to her mouth, a landscape of light and shade in his eyes. She slid her hands upwards, to the sides of his neck, and on until she was holding his face. ‘I want you to.’

  An animal noise rumbled in his throat and then his mouth was on hers. She closed her eyes, losing herself in the sweet caress of his lips, the stroke of his tongue, the hot, urgent exploring. She was being gathered in, crushed into the smooth hard planes of his body and it was too much to feel, too much to taste, too much, but at the same time it wasn’t enough, not nearly enough.

  ‘Emilie!’ It was a ragged exclamation, then his eyes were on hers. She felt the warm pad of his thumb moving over her cheekbone, a fresh tug of desire drawing tight in her belly. ‘Have you got any idea what you’re doing to me...?’

  She nodded. Her lips felt used, swollen, still hungry. ‘I do because you’re doing it to me too.’ She wound her fingers into his hair, pulling him in, and for a moment his lips took hers again, but then he was pulling away, stepping back.

  ‘Wait!’ He put his hands on her shoulders, holding her at a distance. His eyes were fire and ice. ‘I can’t... I’m not...’ He was shaking his head. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve got to go.’ His fingers flexed, then his hands fell from her shoulders and he was going, down the veranda step, over the grass, heading back towards the path.

  She touched her mouth, still reeling. She was missing him already, but if they’d carried on, they’d have been—what? Holiday lovers? She blinked. That would confuse things and confusion was the last thing either of them needed. Walking away was the right decision, even if it didn’t feel right. At least this way, they could stay friends. He needed to know that they were still friends. She ran to the edge of the veranda. ‘Joel!’

  He half turned.

  ‘It’s okay.’ She swallowed. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow...?’

  He seemed to hesitate, then he threw up a hand and disappeared into the trees.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  JOEL LOWERED HIMSELF on to the trampoline of the catamaran, rolling back so he could stare at the sky. Sailing was his jam—he always felt loose afterwards—but today, although the conditions had been perfect for flying the hull and he’d raced around the eastern side of Tortola with the sun and spray on his face, he was still wound tight.

  He shifted, rolling his shoulders, stretching out his neck. ‘Kiss me.’ That huskiness in her voice, that bright flame of desire in her eyes. All night, fragments from the veranda had been looping in his head. He couldn’t get over the way Emilie had wanted him, the way it had felt, like firing on all cylinders, his senses exploding and imploding at the same time.

  It was new. Raw. Powerful. Too powerful. He’d had to leave, had to, because hooking up for a night wasn’t his style and he wasn’t in any shape for a relationship. He was caught in the gap, no good for anything, but he couldn’t forget the way she’d tasted, the heat in her mouth, the way her body had seemed to fuse with his. He drew in a long breath, trying to inhale some clarity. Why was he so tangled up? Emilie had shouted after him that it was ‘okay’, so why was he struggling to write off that kiss as a momentary loss of self-control? He was burning up with too many feelings, confusing feelings, and wasn’t he already confused enough about Astrid?

  Emilie! The day before he’d been twitching away at the thought of her being with someone else. That might have been a by-product of the tingling static that had been shuttling through his veins ever since she’d slipped that blindfold ove
r his eyes. He could rationalise that desire had turned him into a hothead, a jealous idiot, but he thought he’d moved on, moved himself into the friend zone. It was what he’d been trying to do, but somehow he’d failed.

  At The Roost, when Emilie had said she was dining alone there’d been something in her eyes that had got him right in the chest, had made him want to be there for her, and when she’d asked him about her portion sizes, all that vulnerability swimming in her eyes, he’d felt that he had to be truthful, because she deserved honesty, friendship, the best of him—and a break from Buck Island! It was why he’d asked her to spend the afternoon with him.

  Being with Emilie had felt so easy. Talking to her had opened him up in a way he hadn’t expected. With her, he hadn’t been ‘the quiet one’ at all. For some reason he’d thrown open doors, pulling out things that he hadn’t quite known were there, resentment about Lars curdling in his belly, giving his voice that bitter edge. It had been a shock, realising how deep those feelings ran, but he’d felt lighter for airing them. Emilie had lightened him, lifted his mood.

  After she’d told him about Tom, about how he’d persuaded her to leave a job she loved only to pull the rug from under her in every which way, he’d been determined to lighten her mood too, make her smile again. On the walk back to the distillery he’d dredged up every amusing sailing anecdote he could think of to make her laugh, to see her eyes shining again. And just when he’d thought he was winning she’d started stressing about how she was supposed to be on Buck Island preparing his dinner.

  Emilie! So driven, so conscientious, so insecure. He’d found it impossible to watch her churning away, being so damn hard on herself, so he’d taken control, told her that he was taking her out for dinner. That was when everything had started to slide.

  At Clara’s he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her. Low sun on her face, the little frowns of concentration as she’d tasted things, the million ways her lips could move. She knew all the seasonings, knew which ingredient had been added in which order. He hadn’t felt hungry. All he’d wanted to do was watch her. And then he’d realised that Emilie was blowing him off course with her smile and with the sweet light in her eyes. On the boat, he’d taken himself in hand, told himself to stop fantasising about Emilie because they were friends and that was all. Friends! By the time he’d been tying up the boat at the jetty, he’d felt sure that he was back on track, then he’d walked her home...