Читать книгу Australian Escape - Amy Andrews - Страница 10
ОглавлениеA car honked long and loud and Avery came to. Heat landed in her cheeks as she and her still wobbly legs made their way across the road.
She wished her entrance could have been more elegant, but since in the past half an hour she’d near drowned, passed out, woken up looking into the eyes of a testosterone-fuelled surfer who made her skin itch, she had to settle for still standing.
Avery walked up the grassy bank to the front path of the resort where Claudia near ploughed her down with a mass of hugging arms and kisses and relieved laughter. When Avery was finally able to disentangle herself she pulled back, laughing. Compared with the stylishly subdued Mr Hargreaves, Claudia with her bright blue eyes and wild shirt was like sunshine and fairy floss.
“What happened to you?” asked Claudia. No hellos, no how was your flight. The best kind of friendship, it always picked up just where it left off.
“Just been out for a refreshing ocean dip!”
Avery shot a telling glance at Luke. Claudia crossed her arms and steadfastly ignored the man at her back. Avery raised an eyebrow. Claudia curled her lip.
They might have lived on different continents their whole lives but with Skype, email, and several overseas trips together, their shorthand was well entrenched.
Finally Claudia cocked her head at the man and with a brief flare of her nostrils said, “Luke, you remember Avery Shaw.”
Luke looked up at the sound of his name. Avery held her breath. Luke just blinked.
Rolling her eyes, Claudia turned on him. “My friend Avery. The Shaws stayed at the resort ten odd years ago.”
Still nothing.
“They booked out the Tiki Suite for an entire summer.”
“Right,” he said, a flare of recognition finally dawning in his seriously lovely brown eyes. “The Americans.”
Claudia clearly wasn’t moved by it. Something he’d said, or the way he said it, had Claudia bristling. And Claudia wasn’t a bristler by nature; she was as bubbly as they came.
Avery didn’t have a problem with him seeming rather...serious. Serious was better than hives, any day. And like the worrying of a jagged tooth her mind skipped back to the scratch of the other man’s leg hairs on her inner thighs. To the hard heat of his hands gripping her waist, calloused fingers spanning her belly, big thumbs digging uncomfortably into her hips. Those cool grey eyes looking right through her, as if if he could he would have wished her well away...
She shook herself back to the much more pleasant present where Claude snuggled up to her with love. Waiting till she had Luke’s distracted attention, she brought out the big guns—a smile that had cost her parents as much as a small car. “Nice seeing you again, Luke. Hopefully we’ll bump into one another again. Catch up on old times.”
He blinked again, as if he thought that was what they’d just done. But it was early days. She had time. To do what, she was as yet undecided, but the seeds were there.
“I’m off duty as of this second, Luke,” Claude said, not even deigning to look his way. “We’ll talk about that other stuff later.”
“Soon,” he said, an edge to his voice.
Claude waved a dismissive hand over her shoulder, offloaded Avery of half her gear as they headed up the stairs into the resort.
“Are you sure?” Avery said. “You must be so busy right now, and I don’t want to get in the way. I can help! Whatever you need. I have skills. And they are at your disposal.”
“Relax, Polly,” Claude said, using the nickname she’d given Avery for when she got herself in a positivity loop. “You are never in my way.”
“Fine, Julie,” Avery shot back. Claude’s nickname had sprung from an odd fascination with The Love Boat that Avery had never understood. Though when Claude instantly perked up as a seniors tour group from the UK emerged from behind a pylon—amazingly remembering everybody by name—it couldn’t have been more apt.
Cyrus—who’d been leaning on the desk staring out at nothing—straightened so quickly his pirate hat flopped into his eyes.
Claudia frowned at Cyrus, who moved off at quite a pace. “Welcome to Crescent Cove,” she said to Avery, “where heat addles the hormones.”
“Is that in the town charter?” Avery asked, grinning. “Did I read it on the sign driving in?”
“Unfortunately not. Do you think it would work? As a marketing ploy?” Claude looked more hopeful than the idea merited.
Avery, whose business was public relations and thus who was paid to create goodwill, gave Claude’s arm a squeeze. “It couldn’t hurt.”
They reached the Tiki Suite and Claudia dumped Avery’s stuff on a white cane chair in the corner, oblivious to the bucketload of sand raining onto the floor. “Now, refreshing dip, my sweet patooty. What happened to you out there?”
“You should see the other guy,” Avery muttered before landing face down on the bed.
Claudia landed next to her face up. Then after a beat she turned on her side, head resting in her upturned palm as she loomed over Avery, eyebrows doing a merry dance. “What other guy?”
Avery scrunched up her face. Then rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. “My leg cramped, and a guy on a surfboard dragged me out of the ocean. I’d have been fine, though. I am a very good swimmer.”
Claudia landed on her back and laughed herself silly. “I’ve been locked inside with Luke all morning, forced to listen to him yabber on about figures and columns and hard decisions and I missed it! Who was the guy?”
Avery opened her mouth to give his name, then realised he hadn’t given it. Barbarian. “I have no clue.”
Claude flapped a hand in the sky. “I know everybody. What did he look like?”
Avery tried a shrug, but truth was she could probably describe every crinkle around those deep grey eyes. But knowing she would not be allowed to sleep, till Claudia knew all, she said, “Big. Tanned. Dark curly hair. Your basic beefcake nightmare.”
Claudia paused for so long Avery glanced her way. Only to wish she hadn’t. For the smile in her friend’s eyes did not bode well for her hope that this conversation might be at an end.
“Grey surfboard with a big palm tree on it? Magnificent wolf dog at his heels?”
Damn. “That’s the one.”
Claude’s smile stretched into an all-out grin. “You, my sweet, had the pleasure of meeting Jonah North. That’s one supreme example of Australian manhood. And he rescued you? Like, actually pulled you out of the ocean? With his bare hands? What was that like?”
Avery slapped her hands over her face to hide the rising pink as her skin kicked into full-on memory mode at the feeling of those bare hands. “It was mortifying. He called me honey. Men only do that when they can’t be bothered knowing your name.”
“Huh. And yet I can’t even remember the last time a guy called me honey. Raoul always called me Sugar Puff.”
“Raoul?”
“The dance instructor I was seeing. Once upon a million years ago.”
“Well, Sugar Puff is sweet. Toothache inducing, maybe, but sweet.”
Truth was Avery usually loved an endearment. They always felt like an arrow to the part of her that had switched to maximum voltage the day her parents had told her they were getting divorced. Like me! Love me! Don’t ever leave me!
Maybe the fact that she’d responded unfavourably to the barbarian meant she’d grown. “Either way, the guy rubbed me the wrong way.”
“I know many a woman who’d give their bikini bottoms to have Jonah North rub them any which way.”
“Are you one of them?”
Claude blinked, then laughed so hard she fell back on the bed with a thump.
“That’s a no?”
Claude just laughed harder.
“What’s so funny?” Honestly. Because even while it had been mortifying, it had been one of the more blatantly sensual experiences of her recent memory: the twitch of his muscles as she’d slid her foot across his flat belly, the scrape of longing she’d felt when she’d realised he was holding his breath. Talk about addled.
Claudia brought herself back under control, then shrugged. “Aside from the fact that Jonah really learned how to pull off ‘curmudgeonly’ the past few years? He’s a born and bred local, like me. You know what it’s like when you know a guy forever?”
“Sure. Pretty much everyone in my social circle will end up with someone they’ve known forever.”
Claudia’s eyes widened. “That’s...”
“Neat?”
“I was going to say ‘demoralising,’ but neat works too.”
“It’s the Park Avenue way. Dynastic. Families know one another. Finances secured. Much like if you and Luke ended up together. It would keep the resort all in the family.”
Claudia flinched, and shook her head. “No. Don’t even... But that’s my point. Anyway, I don’t want to talk about Luke. I don’t like him very much at the moment.”
“I have no idea why. He’s grown into quite the dish. And he seems perfectly nice.” There was that word again. It had sounded quite wonderful before, all poignant and time-gone-by lovely. This time it fell kind of flat. But that was just semantics. She’d find another word.
In the meanwhile Claude shot her a look that said she’d quite like to lock the man up and throw away the key, but not before she’d lathered him in pollen and set a pack of bees on him. She might look like rainbows and sunshine, but there were clever, cunning, dark places inside Claude. Places she tapped into if those she loved were under threat. While Avery had shut her touchy tendencies away in a box with a big fat lock, oh, about ten years ago, in fact.
“Well, then,” said Avery, finding her smile, “how do you feel about my getting to know him a little better while I’m here?”
“Jonah? Perfect! He used to be such a cool guy, so chilled. But he’s been so damn broody nowadays. Laughs at my jokes only three times out of ten. Go shake him up, for all our sakes.”
“Actually...” Avery said, then cleared her throat. “I meant Luke.”
Claude’s eyes snapped wide, then settled back to near normal. “Hargreaves?”
“Yes, Hargreaves.”
Claude thought about this a moment. A few moments. Long enough Avery began to wonder if Claude’s irritation with the man was the flipside of something quite the other. In which case she’d back-pedal like crazy!
Claude put her mind to rest when she said, “You do realise he has a stick up his backside? Like, permanently?”
“So says you.” Avery laughed. “I thought he seemed perfectly—”
“Nice? Okay, then. You have my blessing. Shake that tree if it floats your boat. Just don’t get hurt. By the stick. Up his—”
“Yes, thank you. I get it.”
“In fact have at them both if you so desire. Neither Jonah Broody North or Luke Bloody Hargreaves are my type, that’s for sure.”
Avery swallowed down the tangled flash of heat at thought of one and focused on the soothing warmth that settled in her belly at thought of the other. “So what is your type these days, Miss Claudia?”
Claude’s hand came to rest on her chest as she stared at the ceiling. “A man who in thirty years still looks at me the way my dad looks at my mum. Who looks at me one day and says, ‘You’ve worked hard enough, hon, let’s go buy a campervan and travel the country.’ Who looks at me like I’m his moon and stars. Hokey, right?”
Avery stared up at the ceiling too, noticing a watermark, dismissing it. “So hokey. And while you’re at it, could you find me one of those too, please?”
“We here at the Tropicana Nights always aim to please. Now,” Claude said, pulling herself to sitting and reaching for the phone, “time to tell me why you are really here. Because I know you too well to know an impromptu month off had nothing to do with it.”
Then she held up a finger as someone answered on the other end. And while Claudia ordered dinner, a massage, and a jug of something called a Flaming Flamingo, Avery wondered quite where to start.
Claude knew the background.
That after the divorce Avery rarely saw her dad. Mostly at monthly lunches she organised. And thank goodness they honestly both loved baseball, or those meetings would be quiet affairs. Go Yanks!
As for dear old Mom, she’d turned on Avery’s father with such constant and unceasing venom when he’d left it had been made pretty clear to Avery that once on her mother’s bad side there was no coming back.
In order to retain any semblance of the family she had left, what could Avery do but become the perfect Park Avenue daughter?
Until the moment her mother had announced her grand plans for her Divorced a Decade party. And Avery—being such a great party planner—of course was to be in charge of the entire thing! After a decade of smiling and achieving and navigating the balance between her less-than-accommodating parents, Miss Park Avenue Perfect had finally snapped.
“You snapped?” Claude asked as Avery hit that point of the story, her voice a reverent hush. “What did Caroline say when you told her no?”
Okay, so this was where it kind of got messy. Where Avery’s memory of the event was skewed. By how hard she’d worked to retain a relationship with her distant dad. And how readily her mother had expected she’d be delighted to help out.
“I didn’t exactly say...that. Not in so many words.”
“Avery,” Claude growled.
Avery scrunched her eyes shut tight and admitted, “I told her I couldn’t help her because I was taking a sabbatical.”
“A sabbatical. And she believed you?”
“When she saw the mock-up I quickly slapped together of my flight details she did. Then I just had to go ahead and call you and actually book the flights. And let all my clients know I was on extended leave from work and couldn’t take any new jobs. And close up my apartment and turn off my electric and water and have my mail diverted for a couple months. And voilà!”
“Voilà!” Claude repeated. “Good God, hon! One of these days you’re going to have to learn to say the word no!”
Avery pish-poshed, even though she and Claude had had the same argument a dozen times over the years.
“Starting now,” said Claude. “Repeat after me—No.”
“No,” Avery shot back.
“Good girl. Now practise. Ten times in the morning. Ten times before bed.”
Avery nodded, promised and wondered why she hadn’t brought up the fact that she hadn’t had a problem saying “no” to Jonah North. And that saying “no” to him had felt good. Really good. So she had the ability. Buried somewhere deep down inside perhaps, but the instinct was there when she really meant it.
But Claude was right. She should have told her mother “no.” Well, considering there were more venomous snakes in the world’s top ten here than any other place on earth, if she was ever going to toughen up, this was the place.
* * *
The Charter North Reef Cruiser was on its way to Green Island. In the engine room everything looked shipshape, so Jonah headed up the companionway to the top deck.
The crew ought to have been used to him turning up on a skip unannounced; he did it all the time. There was no point having a fleet of boats with his name on them if they weren’t up to his standards. Besides, his father had been a boatman before him and he knew an extra pair of hands was always welcome.
But the moment he entered the air-conditioned salon, the staff scattered. He caught the eye of one—a new girl, by the starched collar of her Charter North polo shirt, who wasn’t as quick off the mark as the others. With a belated squeak she leapt into action, polishing the silver handrails with the edge of her sand-coloured shorts. Odd. But industrious.
So he walked the aisles. The passenger list was pretty much as per usual—marine biologists researching the reef, Green Island staffers, a group of girls who looked as if they’d closed one of the resort bars the night before, a toddler with a brown paper bag under his chin.
His gaze caught on a crew of skinny brown boys, skateboards tucked on their laps, eyes looking out of the window as if urging the island nearer. Part of the Dreadlock Army who lived in these parts, kids who survived on sea water and fresh air. A lifetime ago he’d been one of them.
Fast forward and this day he’d been awake since five. Gone for a five-kilometre run. Driven the half-hour to Charter North HQ in Port Douglas. Checked emails, read the new safety procedures manual he’d paid a small fortune to set up, negotiated the purchase of a new pleasure cruiser he had his eye on in Florida. No time for sticking a toe in the ocean, much less taking it on.
As the captain began his spiel over the speaker system about the adventures available once they hit the island, Jonah slid his sunglasses in place and headed aft.
A few customers had staked out prime positions in the open air, laughing as they were hit with ocean spray. He didn’t blame them. It was a hell of a day to be outside.
When they said Queensland was beautiful one day and perfect the next, they were talking about Crescent Cove. The Coral Sea was invariably warm, a slight southerly bringing about a gentle swell. The sky was a dome of blinding blue with only a smattering of soft white streaks far away on the horizon. And soon they’d hit the edge of the Great Barrier Reef, one of the natural wonders of the world.
He was a lucky man to have been born here. Luckier still to remain. He breathed deep of the sky and salt and sun. He didn’t need surf. All he needed was never to take the place for granted again.
He nodded to the staff keeping watch on deck and made to head back inside when someone caught his eye. Not just any someone, it was his waterlogged mermaid herself.
She lifted a hand to shield her eyes and turned her gaze to Crescent Cove. She had nice hands. Fine. Her nails were the colour of her dress—a long flame-orange thing flapping against her legs—and her hair was twisted up into a complicated series of knots atop her head making her look as if she were about to step out onto the French Riviera not a small island on the edge of the Pacific.
Jonah glanced at his own hands knowing they’d be less than fine. Burly brown with many a war wound, and motor oil under his chipped nails. He rubbed his fingers across his rough chin. How long since he’d shaved? Three days? Four?
He shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his long shorts, his forehead pinching. What did he care about all that?
Unfortunately, in the time he’d spent caring, she’d turned to face him, all elegant stance and plaintive eyes.
Caught out, his breath found itself caught somewhere in the region of his gut.And then her eyes narrowed. As if he’d done anything to her other than save her ass.
Then the boat hit a swell, the bow lifting and crashing to the water with a thud.
Squeals of excitement ricocheted through the cabin. But, facing him, his mermaid had no purchase. She lost balance, knocked a hip against the side of the boat, and began to topple—
From there everything happened in slow motion—Jonah’s leap over a bench, his canvas shoes landing on the slippery deck then sliding him towards her. He reached for her hand, grabbed, caught, and dragged her back to safety and into his arms.
Her hands fisted into his shirt, the scrape of nails through cotton hooked his chest hair, pulling a couple right from the roots. At the sharp tug of pain, he sucked in a breath. And her eyes lifted swiftly to his. Those odd mismatched eyes. Seriously stunning in such an otherwise quiet face.
“Seriously?” he growled. “I’m going to start thinking these moments are all for my benefit.”
She gave him a shove. Strength in those lean arms. “Seriously?” she shot back. Then heaved up a hunk of her skirt, flapped it at him accusingly and shot him a look that said that if she had the superpower, she’d have set him on fire. “All that I know is that thanks to you, I’m soaked!”
“Stick around here, princess, and chances are you’re gonna get wet.”
She opened her mouth...but nothing came out. Instead high spots of pink burned into her cheeks creating hollows beneath her elegant cheekbones, pursing those kissable lips, and bringing wild glints to those eyes. Not such a quiet face after all. “Maybe next time you decide to go all He-Man, try not to rip the victim’s arm from its socket.”
She rubbed her arm as if to prove as much, only bringing his attention to the fact that her skin was covered in goosebumps. With the temp edging into the high thirties, that was some feat. Only one other reason Jonah knew for a woman to go goosey when locked in a man’s arms...
Testing his theory, Jonah leaned an inch her way, caught the intake of breath, the widening of her eyes, the fresh pink staining her cheeks. Seemed Miss Yankee Doodle Dandy here wasn’t as unaffected by him as she was making out.
She swallowed and shoved, with less oomph this time. “Oh, go peddle your He-Man act to someone else for a change.”
“No one else seems to need it.” The fact that nobody else had ever brought out the urge he kept to himself.
Yeah, he’d heard the chatter since he’d come home; heard himself called hell-bent, a lone wolf. But the truth was even before that, as a kid with all the freedom in the world, he’d known he could count the people he could truly depend upon on one hand. He was glad of that instinct now. Less chance he’d make the mistake of counting on the wrong someone again.
And yet, with this one, it took someone else to wrench him away.
“Mr North?”
Jonah turned to find one of his staff standing in the doorway, wringing his hands, swallowing hard, as if his head might be bitten off for disturbing the boss.
“Sir,” said the kid, “we have a Code Green.”
“Right.” Awesome. He’d asked the crew before they’d taken off to grab him in the event of any major incidents so that he could watch any of the new policies and procedures in action. Code Green was otherwise known as Puke Patrol.
“I’ll be there in a sec.”
The kid disappeared so fast into the salon he practically evaporated. Leaving Jonah to turn back to Avery, whose eyes were locked onto his chest.
“Twenty minutes till touchdown, Avery,” he said.
She blinked, looked up, then pinked some more. He’d never much been one for girls who blushed, but it suited her. Took the edge off her sharp tongue. Heaven help the guy who fell for one before he was witness to the other.
“You might want to get out of the sun. Get something to drink. Complimentary sunscreen’s inside. Whatever you do, get something between you and the big blue. One of these days I won’t be around to save you.”
Not intending to stick around to see how that went down, Jonah slipped inside.
It was a little under twenty minutes before Green Island came into view: a sliver of land on the horizon that grew into a small atoll of forest-green with a long crooked jetty poking out into the ocean. The cruiser slipped through the reef to park and the passengers staggered off; some clutching snorkels ready for a close encounter with tropical fish, others planning to head straight to a bar.
Jonah caught a flash of orange out of the corner of his eye and turned to find Avery now with a huge sunhat covering her face. Lifting her long dress, she stepped onto the gangplank, her shoe caught and she tripped. Jonah near pulled a muscle in an effort not to grab her. Chin tilted a mite higher, she walked steadily along the jetty, where all sorts of adventures awaited.
Adventures...and dangers. Things happened to tourists all the time—swimming too far, diving too deep, getting knocked off by ingenious spouses.
“Avery!” he called.
She turned, surprise lighting her features. “Yes, Jonah?”
She knew his name. A thick slide of satisfaction washed through him—then he remembered the Code Green. Down boy. “Take care.”
She blinked, those odd eyes widening, then softening in a way that made him want to howl at the moon.
Hence the reason he added, “Don’t get eaten.”
The next look she shot him might as well have said, Bite me. But when she realised they had an audience, she found a sweet-as-pie smile, and said, “Oh, don’t get eaten. Thanks for the advice. I’ll keep it in mind.”
And he found himself laughing out loud.
With a frown and twitch of her mouth, she disappeared into the crowd.
Leaving Jonah to use the respite to remind himself that despite the lush mouth, and the bewitching eyes and the rich vein of sexual attraction she’d unearthed, he didn’t much like her.
Because he’d known a woman like her once before.
He hadn’t realised why Rach had stood out to him like bonfire on a cloudy night from the first moment he’d seen her until it was too late. Turned out it was because despite her attestations that a sea change was exactly what she needed she’d never left the city behind enough to really fit in. Too late by the time he’d seen it to stop her leaving. Too late to convince himself not to follow. Until he’d woken up in Sydney, cut off, miserable, realising what he’d given up for her, and that he’d lost her anyway.
Returning to Crescent Cove after that whole disaster had been hard. Returning to find he no longer quite fitted in the place he’d been born had been harder still. He’d had to remake his life, and to do that remake himself. As if the cove had needed a sacrifice in order to take him back, in order to make sure he’d never take her for granted again.
So no, for however long Avery Shaw flitted about the periphery of his life she’d mean no more, or less, to him than a pebble in his shoe.
Because this time his eyes were wide-open and staying that way. This time he wouldn’t so much as blink.
