Читать книгу The Wedding Party Collection - Кейт Хьюит, Aimee Carson - Страница 18
ОглавлениеLena woke the next morning feeling clearer-headed than she had in days. Trig wasn’t there—she remembered him rolling over and gathering her close and kissing her temple and then telling her he was heading out to get breakfast. She’d told him she’d come too, but she hadn’t opened her eyes or properly woken up, and when she’d murmured something along the lines of five more minutes he’d told her it was five in the morning and to go back to sleep.
A command she’d been only too happy to follow.
So her husband was an early riser. She’d been an early riser too, back in the day when surfing had been an option, or sea kayaking had been an option. Kayaking might still be an option, come to think of it. Plenty of backwaters not too far away from Damon’s beach house.
Or maybe it was time to get a pretty little cottage of her own, somewhere on the river. A cottage with panelled half-walls, high ceilings and bay windows. A yesteryear cottage that cried out for Persian carpet runners and wide verandahs. Her family would think she’d gone nuts—but she could put an indoor bathing pool in one of the rooms if she got creative enough. She could fit it out like a Turkish spa.
She was still in that lovely dream place where anything was possible when Trig came back with breakfast. Strawberry yoghurt today, and mixed nuts and flaky pastry and some kind of spicy scrambled egg.
She sat up and pushed her tangle of hair away from her face. Every night she plaited it and tied it off with a hairband. Every morning the hairband had disappeared and the plait was a tangle. She hoped Trig liked the dishevelled look.
She should probably let him in on the granny cottage idea as well. ‘Do you think any shops here sell marble water-spouts and feature walls? And tiles like the ones in the pool yesterday?’
‘Why?’ He handed her a cup of tea and bent down to place a fleeting kiss on the very edge of her lips.
‘I want a Turkish bathing room in the cottage we’re buying on the banks of a lazy river.’
‘We’re buying a cottage?’
‘On the banks of a lazy river. So that I can get up and go kayaking and you can get up to no good with a tool belt.’ Trig’s father was a carpenter-builder. His older brother was a builder as well and Trig had spent many a school holiday with a tool belt strapped to his waist. Lena had the niggling suspicion that Trig’s father resented the hell out of the Wests for leading Trig away from the family business.
‘You want me to put on a tool belt?’
‘Only when you’re not out protecting national secrets. And if it’s hot on the banks of that lazy river you can lose the shirt. I might even make a calendar of you looking like that. You could be Mr January all the way through to December.’
‘Don’t you dare.’
‘Oh, I dare. You should know that by now.’
Her husband smiled his wide, happy smile. ‘I’ve missed you,’ he said, and then his gaze slid to the rings on her wedding finger and his smile dimmed. ‘How’s the head?’
‘The bump is on its way down.’ She took his hand and slid it through her hair. ‘Feel.’
He did. Damn but he had a nice touch. She closed her eyes, tilted her head back and let him cradle the weight of it in that big hand of his. ‘Mmm.’
He let her go in a hurry and retreated to the other side of the table.
‘You are the shyest person I know when it comes to physical affection,’ she told him grumpily.
‘Doctor’s orders.’
‘I’m going back there today, just to get that particular directive lifted.’
‘You still can’t remember squat.’
‘I’m remembering a little more each day. I’m on disability leave from work. And I just failed my physical.’
Trig grunted.
‘I was a slow waddling duck for those pickpockets. ASIS isn’t going to put me back in the field. Not sure I want to go back in the field if all I’m going to be is a liability. I need a new focus. Maybe a whole new career.’ She eyed him curiously. ‘Have you ever thought of quitting the business?’
‘Not yet.’
‘But you took a desk job.’
‘You remember that?’
‘Didn’t you?’
‘Yeah.’ He rubbed at his temple.
‘What’s it like?’
‘Lot of analysis.’
‘Frustrating?’
Trig gave a reluctant nod.
‘You could return to fieldwork.’
‘What? And leave you all alone in the little house on the river? Who’d put the Christmas decorations on the roof?’
So he had altered his work focus because she’d been forced to alter hers. The confirmation gave her mixed feelings. On the one hand Lena was grateful that she was so well loved. On the other hand she was dismayed that he’d chosen to limit himself in order to be there for her. She wasn’t that needy. Was she? ‘You want to put Christmas decorations on the roof?’ she asked lightly.
‘I want Christmas decorations everywhere.’
Maybe it was time she expanded her earlier dream. ‘I’m having second thoughts about the little house on the river. I think we need a big old farmhouse instead, with sheds to house all the toys and decorations when they’re not being used. And if we’re living on the river, I want a powerboat. A really fast one. I could take up speedboat racing.’
‘Yeah, that’s really going to encourage me to leave you there by yourself.’
‘You could take up speedboat racing as well. I seem to recall having a quarter share in a plane that I could sell.’
‘Handy,’ he said dryly.
‘Isn’t it? I thought I might ring Jared today. Or Poppy. And I got a phone message in from someone only the name’s not ringing any bells. Amos Carter.’
Trig frowned. ‘Let me see it.’
She handed over her phone and Trig found the message and frowned some more.
‘Who is he?’
‘An old work contact.’
‘Jericho3, Milta Bodrum Marina,’ she said next. ‘Is it a boat or a missile?’
‘Don’t know.’
‘Are we curious?’
‘I’m curious. Leave it with me. You’re concussed.’
Lena sipped her tea. ‘I still can’t remember getting married.’
Trig eyed her sharply. Lena dropped her gaze. She wanted to. She was trying to.
‘I guess what I’m saying is that if that particular memory stays elusive, I’d kind of like to do it all over again. The ceremony. Do you think the families would go for that?’
‘I think your family would do anything for you. And mine could be persuaded along.’
‘Would you do anything for me?’
‘You really need to ask?’ He held her gaze. Lena was the first to look away.
‘So, yeah. That could happen,’ he said gruffly. ‘Get well and anything could happen.’
‘You mean my leg.’
‘Your leg is as good as it’s ever likely to get. The kayaking and the speedboat racing are good options for you. I like that you’re talking about them.’
‘Promise me something. Promise you’ll race me.’
Trig grinned and placed his hand to his mighty heart. ‘Don’t expect any quarter.’
‘I’d take it as a grave insult if you gave me any. So what’s the plan for today? I know you said we should go home if my memory stays faulty, but it is improving. I remembered that your father’s a builder this morning. I remember you working his jobs in order to get the money to buy your surf kites. True or not true?’
‘True.’
‘So I’d like to stay. Maybe we could continue on with our honeymoon plans. Make the most of this time together, regardless.’
Trig looked to be on the verge of protest.
‘After I’ve seen the doctor today and been given the all-clear, of course.’
‘You’re so amenable.’
‘Aren’t I always?’
Trig almost choked on his coffee. ‘Yeah, no. I’m thinking it’s a concussion side effect that has to do with a whole bunch of bad feelings that you can’t remember.’
‘But you prefer me amenable? You like this me better than you like the old me.’
Trig took his time answering. ‘There’s a few old yous. You as a kid. You as a comrade-in-arms. You trying to make your body work the way it did before, scared as hell that it wouldn’t and even more scared of being cast aside by the people you love because of it. I had trouble getting that through to you. Fell in love with you even more because of it though. And then there’s this you who’s a whole lot like the old you—before the shooting—only softer somehow, and more assured. I could get used to this you too.’
‘But which me do you love?’
‘All of them.’
Good answer. ‘So, assuming the doctor gives me the okay, where to next on the honeymoon trip?’
‘Bodrum.’
‘So you do know what Jericho3 is?’
‘No,’ he muttered. ‘But I aim to.’
* * *
Lena got the all-clear to travel from the doctor and permission to back off on the medications. The doctor made a more thorough examination of the bruises on her hip this time around and made her show him what leg movement she had and asked her whether the pain there was any worse than before.
‘No,’ she assured him. ‘That’s about as good as it gets.’
The doctor nodded. ‘You’re on pain medication?’
‘And anti-inflammatories. The leg has improved a lot. It’s been nineteen months. I’m off the painkillers for the most part. I’ll take them occasionally and the anti-inflammatories too if I have a big day of movement coming up.’
‘I didn’t know you were off the painkillers,’ said Trig.
‘Not completely. But on a good day I can get by without. Doctor, what about the sex with my husband? Am I cleared to do that? Because we’re on our honeymoon.’
‘Ah.’ The doctor slid Trig a sideways glance. ‘Again, if you’re sensible and don’t indulge in anything too rigorous you should be fine.’
Lena beamed. Trig frowned.
For a man on his honeymoon he didn’t look altogether pleased about the lifting of the no-sex ban.
‘You want us on the next flight home, don’t you?’ Lena accused as they left the doctor’s rooms.
‘The thought had crossed my mind.’
‘Why?’
‘Because your memory’s still impaired.’
‘It’s not that impaired.’
‘That’s one opinion.’
‘Aren’t we meant to be meeting up with Jared while we’re here? When’s that scheduled for?’
‘It’s not. I haven’t heard from him.’ Trig nodded towards a dark grey saloon that was fast approaching. ‘There’s our driver.’ The vehicle slid to a halt and Trig opened the rear door for her. Traffic backed up behind the vehicle but both Trig and the driver seemed unconcerned. ‘I’m tossing up whether we should go to Bodrum or not,’ Trig said as they got under way.
‘Bodrum is indeed a most pleasant holiday destination,’ offered the taxi driver. The driver’s name was Yasar. Yasar was a cheerful man with many relatives.
‘I promise to rest,’ Lena said. Hopefully this would reassure him.
‘And do exactly what I say,’ Trig said.
‘Was that in our marriage vows? I don’t think it was.’
Trig sighed. ‘You could at least pretend obedience. How else am I going to pretend that taking you to Bodrum is even a halfway good idea? Because it’s not. It’s the worst idea I’ve ever had, with the exception of one or two others.’
‘What were the others?’
‘Imbecilic.’
Lena grinned at him. ‘I’d like to go to Bodrum. It sounds relaxing. I’ll stay out of your way if there’s work there for you that you want to chase up. I’m okay with you multitasking. We could fly there this afternoon after we shop.’
‘Shop for what?’
‘Clothes.’ Lena leaned forward towards the driver. ‘Yasar, are there any big department stores nearby?’
‘Indeed, there are,’ Yasar offered in a voice filled with deep despair. ‘Although why anyone would want to shop there, when for marginally more effort I can take you to any number of specialty stores that also offer discretionary discounting—’
‘Not today, Yasar,’ Trig cut in firmly. ‘Just find us a department store.’
Ten minutes later, Yasar slowed the car to a halt in front of a huge department store.
‘How long are we going to be?’ Trig asked her.
‘Half an hour.’
‘Half an hour,’ said Yasar, looking to Trig. ‘I shall be back in this very spot at exactly ten fifty. Shall I be bearing kebabs and cold beverages for you and your lady wife?’
‘Yes,’ said Trig. ‘Yasar, what are you like at booking flights?’
‘I have a gift for it,’ said Yasar. ‘I also have a cousin who is a travel agent.’
‘See if your cousin can book us on a flight to Bodrum later this afternoon.’
Yasar nodded sagely.
‘Handy guy,’ she murmured as Yasar drove away.
‘He’s a fixer.’
They entered the store and headed past the perfume counters and towards the escalators, where a giant sign told them what items would be on what floor. ‘I propose we divide and conquer,’ she told him briskly. ‘Second floor for you.’
‘Second floor is women’s evening wear.’
‘Exactly. I need a dress to go dancing in. Don’t bring too much sexy back and I don’t do baby pink or ruffles.’
‘But you could.’
‘Yes, and you could do purple spandex but I don’t buy it for you.’
‘Good point. Where are you going while I’m on level two?’
‘Level four.’ She smiled angelically. ‘Lingerie and nightwear.’
* * *
Trig peeled off onto the second floor of the department store with fear in his heart and lust in his soul. When Lena wanted something she had a frightening habit of getting it. Lena was buying lingerie and he’d been sent off to buy her a dress. If Trig wasn’t mistaken, she was gearing up for the full wedding night experience.
With him.
A shop assistant hovered; one with Bambi eyes and more curves than a roller coaster. She looked him up and down, her eyes approving until she saw the wedding ring on his finger and then they turned assessing. ‘May I assist you?’ she said.
‘I need a gown for my wife. She wants to go dancing.’
Twenty-five minutes later, he and Lena met at the entrance doors to the store. Yasar and his taxi stood waiting, two take-away coffee cups in hand. Lena had a wide and wicked smile on her face and carried three shopping bags.
Trig had one bag and a headache.
* * *
‘Yasar, did you know that this is our honeymoon?’ said Lena when she got back into the taxi and accepted the hot tea and kebab that the driver handed her.
‘But, no.’
‘Yes, and I don’t know anything about Bodrum but I do know that I want to stay somewhere magical and luxurious tonight. Somewhere with billowing gauze curtains and velvet pillows. A truly grand establishment where bite-sized delicacies are delivered to the room on a silver platter. It could even be a bridal suite in a fancy hotel.’
Trig stifled a groan. This was going nowhere good.
‘Lady wife of Gentleman Sinclair, I do know of such a place in Bodrum. It is quite famous.’
‘I have a credit card,’ said Lena.
‘Payment at this most exquisite abode may only be made by credit card,’ said Yasar. ‘Indeed, it is not for the financially challenged. I myself have never been there.’ Yasar met Trig’s gaze in the rear-view mirror. ‘There are other options.’
Trig was all for exploring other options.
‘What’s it called?’ Lena asked.
‘Saul’s Caravan. Though it is not a caravan, you understand. It is an old stone residence overlooking the city. It is thought to have once housed a King’s concubine.’
‘Do we have anywhere booked?’ Lena turned to him, her eyes imploring.
‘No. But...’
‘But what?’
‘I think I have a headache. I could be coming down with something. I’m probably not going to be of much use to you tonight, romance-wise, that’s all. We could save ourselves for another time.’
Lena eyed him thoughtfully before turning her attention to Yasar. ‘Yasar, what do you have for headaches?’
‘There is a drink,’ began Yasar, above the wailing of the radio.
Of course there was.
* * *
Lena went ahead and organised a two-night stay at Saul’s Caravan. The hotel accommodation to date had been fine but nothing special, and her encounter with the pickpockets and subsequent visits to the doctor had left her feeling as if they needed some place special in order to get this honeymoon back on track.
A driver from Saul’s Caravan collected them from the airport, his immaculate dark grey suit and the brand-new Mercedes he led them to an indication of what they might expect. The hotel stood high on a cliff face, grim, grey and surrounded by high stone walls half smothered in jasmine.
‘Look.’ Lena leaned across Trig to get a better look as they passed the entry gates. ‘It has a turret. I’ve always wanted a turret.’
‘I’ve always wanted a puppy,’ said Trig, but he smiled as they came to a stop at the hotel entrance.
The carved double entrance doors could have graced the Versailles palace. The mosaic tiles that covered the ground looked as if they belonged in a museum. A staggeringly beautiful woman greeted them and introduced herself as Aylin, the proprietor of Saul’s Caravan. She didn’t bother with check-in, but led them to their suite and showed them inside.
It felt a lot like stepping into Aladdin’s cave. Silver candlesticks and burnished pewter ware glowed atop burnished wooden dressers and sideboards. Gauze drapes hung from the roof above the huge four-poster bed and there was enough exquisite linen draping the bed itself to open a linen store. Old tapestries hung on the walls, half a dozen Persian carpets scattered the floor.
Because why have just one?
The suite had a tiny courtyard garden and sweeping views of Bodrum and the Aegean.
There was an outdoor eating area and a small indoor sunken pool, half hidden behind a carved wooden partition. A life-sized marble lion stretched out next to the partition. He appeared to be protecting a sleeping cherub. A life-sized painted plaster Virgin Mary graced one corner of the room, a jade Buddha sat in the opposite corner, and a trompe l’oeil of what Lena suspected was a Muslim prayer covered an entire wall. The room also contained a harp, a pianola, fairy lights and a gong.
‘Oh, yes,’ murmured Lena.
‘Are we still on the planet?’ Trig clearly doubted it.
Lena headed for the en suite—which was not to be confused with the other bathing pool. ‘Hey, Trig. There’s a surfboard-shaped mirror right here in the dressing room, next to the Tinkerbell lamp. Do you feel at home yet? Tell me you do, because there are costumes here too—that or someone’s left their clothes behind.’ She reappeared. ‘I love this place.’
‘I think it’s mental.’
‘Yeah, but I’m not in my right mind now either and you won’t be once I’m through with you. This place works on so many levels.’
Aylin smiled softly. ‘This room is strategically lit of an evening,’ she offered. ‘There are lights, for example, beneath the bed.’
‘Electrocution as well.’ Trig nodded sagely. ‘Tell me that doesn’t cost extra.’
‘It doesn’t cost extra,’ said Aylin.
Lena liked this woman already. ‘See? What’s not to love?’
Lena was on for the ride, the adventure, the unexpected.
‘One night,’ Trig said.
‘I booked us in for two.’
‘There’s half a winged cherub sticking out of the ceiling.’
Lena looked up. Indeed there was. And it wasn’t his upper half. She chewed on her lip and stifled another smile. ‘Definitely two.’
Trig rolled his eyes, but Lena knew she had him.
‘Two nights,’ she told Aylin sweetly and the woman nodded and stepped aside so that their driver could enter with their bags. A young woman followed in his wake, carrying a silver tray bearing refreshments. Another woman entered with a tray of fresh fruit.
‘You feeling indulged enough yet, princess?’ Trig wanted to know.
‘Is the bed big enough for you?’ she shot back. Because it was the biggest bed she’d ever seen. Antique. Custom made. Ever so slightly daunting. But Trig would fit on it and so would she.
‘We’re on our honeymoon,’ Lena murmured and Aylin looked first at Lena and then at Trig in clear assessment of what he might bring to the honeymoon party. And smiled.
* * *
If there was ever a place for a scarred and insecure woman to seduce a man, this was it, decided Lena as the staff left and she started exploring her surroundings in earnest. The furniture choices and combinations had a whimsy about them—they celebrated the absurd and the unexpected, the ridiculous and the frayed. The blue and white tiled mosaic on the bathroom floor had a jagged crack running through one corner but still dared the viewer to gaze on it and call it anything but magnificent. You could find beauty in imperfection here. An imperfect woman might find courage here and the boldness to seduce a wary man.
Because her husband? Whatever else he was, he was also a wary man. Especially when it came to being physically intimate with her. Kisses, he delivered with impressive thoroughness and abandon. Hugs, touches and full body contact, he could do that too, provided everyone was wearing clothes.
Jump into bed and the man had a habit of leaving the room.
And maybe that had been on account of the doctor’s orders, but Lena didn’t entirely buy into that scenario.
Trig wasn’t pushing the physical intimacy at all.
Take now, for example. They had everything they could possibly need when it came to an afternoon of seduction. They had water and wine, a tray full of finger-food delicacies and even a little hookah with a selection of flavoured tobaccos. And he stood there as if uncomfortable in his own skin, hunching slightly as he looked towards Bodrum with a brooding expression on his face.
He’d been brooding ever since he’d checked his phone—correction, one of his phones, because he had at least two that she’d seen.
He held it in his hand now, big thumb stroking absently over the screen. Whatever his mind was on, it wasn’t on her.
And Lena did most firmly want it on her.
She came to stand beside him, freshly showered and wrapped in an emerald silk robe that she’d found hanging on the back of the bathroom door. ‘That a work phone?’
‘No. It’s one of Damon’s. His are less traceable than the ones from work.’
‘There’s a disturbing thought,’ she said dryly.
‘Yeah.’ He finally turned to look at her and his expression turned even more brooding. ‘Not that I have any objection to what you’re wearing but what happened to your clothes?’
‘They’re coming up. You might have wanted me to take them back off.’ There was that hunted look again. ‘Guess not.’
‘Well, not immediately. I figured you might like to try the food first. And the wine.’ He headed for the table and put it between them. ‘Champagne?’ The champagne cork popped and Trig poured bubbly yellow liquid into delicate crystal flutes engraved with grape leaves and clusters. He poured himself one and drained it in one swift swallow.
Lena sipped at hers. ‘I’ve never seen anyone do champagne flute shots before.’
‘First time for everything,’ he murmured, looking anywhere but at her. ‘And I need to shower now. Right now. A lot. Really not clean.’ He nodded far too enthusiastically and disappeared back inside.
Lena watched him go and sighed. Cleanliness was indeed a virtue, but still...
She found the shopping bag with the dress Trig had chosen for her and peeked inside. She put her hand in and pulled out a mass of cobalt-blue chiffon.
The dress had a fitted strapless bodice and layers of gauzy skirt that flared out gently from the waist and ended in a mass of ruffles.
‘Do I do ruffles?’ she murmured. ‘‘I don’t recall that I do.’
She ditched the robe, slipped into the lilac strapless bra and matching panties that she’d bought earlier, and then slipped the dress over her head. The bodice fitted neatly once she’d found the zip. The skirt fell in soft waves to mid-calf and she grabbed onto a bedpost and swooshed her leg up through the layers, pointed toe and all. It was an altogether feminine creation and gloriously light and soft against her skin.
She did do ruffles.
But she’d forgotten to ask for shoes.
Never mind; they didn’t have to go out dancing tonight. Nothing wrong with dancing barefoot here.
Her body felt good—as good as it was going to get. She reached for her make-up bag and painted her face in a tiny mirror pinned to the wall above three flying plaster ducks. Crowded, this room full of curiosities.
If her husband ran out of things to do to her and wanted to go exploring, he could always start opening drawers. He’d probably fall down a rabbit hole.
Twenty minutes later, Lena had done all the primping she could think of to do and her husband still hadn’t emerged from the bathroom. Lena pounded on the door. ‘Adrian, honey. You’d better not be in there taking the edge off. I have plans for that.’
Trig groaned.
‘Really not reassuring,’ she offered next. ‘Is anything wrong?’
‘Lena, I know what you want.’ He had a great voice and he knew just how to drop it an octave and make it all husky and awkward. ‘I just don’t know that I can deliver the magical wedding-night experience you’re after.’
Lena leaned her shoulder against the door and her hip soon followed. ‘Why not?’
‘Performance pressure,’ came the husky reply.
‘Seriously? You? I mean—you’re the biggest show-off I know and you’re not exactly inexperienced.’ Or underendowed. She looked down at her rings and damned if they didn’t start blurring on account of unshed tears. ‘Didn’t see that coming.’
Trig said nothing.
‘If it helps any, I’m hardly Little Miss Confident when it comes to that area of our relationship,’ she offered haltingly. ‘I have body parts that aren’t all that flexible any more. Not sure how that works when you get thrown into the mix. I mean... It does work between us, doesn’t it? Sexually? You know this, even if I don’t?’
‘Yeah.’ Inside the bathroom Trig stared at his reflection in the mirror and prayed for mercy. ‘Works fine.’
What the hell else could he say? Tell her he had no idea and let her worry about that too?
‘So, are you nearly done in there?’
‘Yeah.’ He’d been staring blankly at the mosaic on the floor for the last ten minutes, with the water beating down on his back and no idea how he was going to get through this night. ‘I’ll be out in a minute, and there’ll be dancing and, y’know, amazing conversation and food and stuff. But not bed stuff. Not yet. I want to woo you first.’ Woo? Woo? Who in this day and age said woo? He was losing his mind.
‘You want another champagne?’ she asked.
‘That’d be good.’ Maybe he could drink his way out of this. Or drink Lena under the table. No sex after that, just hangovers from hell and a Lena who’d know he’d sabotaged the evening deliberately. That was assuming that he could get Lena to drink heavily in the first place.
Bad idea. ‘Actually, I don’t want another drink right now. Maybe later.’
He heard her sigh, clear through the door.
He could always say he’d come down with a contagious social disease. Trig shuddered and thunked his head gently against the mirror. Not sure he really wanted to explore that one.
An argument, then. A rip-roaring quarrel that ended with Lena relegating him to the doghouse. He and Lena had argument down to a fine art. There’d be muscle memory, and synapse memory and maybe she’d regain her memory and then it’d really be on.
But he didn’t want to argue with her either.
‘We should go out tonight,’ he said. ‘We should go out right now and see the sights. You could seduce me while we’re doing that. Or you could, y’know, get interested in the sights and leave the seduction for later. We could dine out, go dancing. Make it like a date. I bet you don’t remember any of our dates.’
Mainly because they’d never been on one.
‘I remember the first time you took me kite surfing,’ she offered.
‘It doesn’t count if your brother was there. Bodrum has a castle. They turned it into a maritime museum. Don’t you want to go and see the castle? I bet it has turrets.’ Lena liked turrets.
‘Would it make you lose the performance anxiety?’
‘Couldn’t hurt. It’d also help if you didn’t mention the performance anxiety.’
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Got it. So...sightseeing and then a dinner date?’
‘Yes.’ Maybe he could tire her out completely. Now there was a thought.
‘Should I wear my dress?’
‘Not for the sightseeing part.’
‘So, we’re coming back here before we go for dinner?’
‘Not sure.’
‘I’m taking that as a yes. We could have dinner here if we didn’t feel like going out again.’
Or not. He could arrange it so that they didn’t come back here. Avoiding that would mean avoiding the problem of Lena’s near nakedness while she got changed, not to mention the wearing of that frothy blue dress the saleswoman had persuaded him to buy this morning.
Lena in that dress in this place was just courting trouble. He eyed his reflection in the mirror and took a deep breath. ‘I’ll be out in a minute. And then we’ll go.’
‘There’s no hurry.’ She sounded a little bit wistful. ‘I still have to get changed.’
* * *
So it took her husband half an hour to shower, shave and throw on a T-shirt and a pair of faded jeans. So she’d changed out of the pretty blue dress and thrown on a pair of grey shorts and another one of those simple cotton T-shirts that her suitcase seemed to be full of, and then she’d helped herself to more nibbles and poured herself another champagne by the time he appeared.
Adrian Sinclair was worth the wait.
Lena watched from the hanging love seat in the courtyard garden as he padded through the room, his bare feet making no sound as he stepped out onto the tiles. She knew those feet, from surfboards of old, and she knew those big hands for she’d grasped them often enough as he’d reached down to haul her into a boat or up a cliff face. She knew what his hair looked like wet because she’d seen it wet a thousand times. She knew this man and loved him. And she knew he loved her.
He didn’t need to have performance anxiety. Not around her. She honestly had no idea why he would.
‘Ready to go?’ he asked, and she nodded.
‘We have a driver,’ she told him. ‘He’ll drop us off and pick us up wherever we want.’
Trig nodded.
‘Did you know that this place is still family-owned? About fifty years ago, the upkeep was sending the family broke and a terrace wall fell down, fortunately not on any guests, but they did find an iron strongbox buried in the footings. It was full of jewellery.’
‘Jewellery fit for a princess?’
‘Better.’ Lena grinned. ‘Jewels designed to placate a royal concubine. They sold three pieces, kept the rest, and it was enough to fully restore this place and run it as a luxury hotel until the hotel became profitable in its own right. Did you know that there are only ten guests here at any one time and eighteen permanent staff?’
‘I do now.’
‘And that they’ll shop for us if we tell them what we want?’
‘What do you want?’
‘Shoes. To go with the dress you bought me earlier. Which is glorious, by the way. I tried it on.’
‘Does it fit?’
‘To perfection.’
‘Not sure I got the colour right.’
‘I love it. It makes me feel like a dancer and I almost have curves.’ She’d never had curves. ‘Do you remember that dress you, Jared and Poppy helped me pick out when I was in year twelve?’
In the absence of a mother’s guidance, Lena had done her best with buying things like make-up and clothes, but the sheer choice that her father’s bankcard had provided had always overwhelmed her, and when it had come to choosing a dress for the school formal, Jared and Trig had just kept saying no. No to the little black dress because she didn’t have enough curves to pull it off. No to the A-line silk tunic with the psychedelic purple swirls because it was far too short and altogether too easy for someone to get their hands beneath it. And she’d been adamantly against any of the more feminine creations Poppy had urged her towards. Hard to embrace feminine clothing when she’d been so set on being one of the boys. She’d finally settled on a glittery red flapper creation with enough crystal beading hanging off it to sink a boat. ‘That dress was so wrong.’
‘That dress did not get my vote,’ said Trig as he slipped on a pair of shoes and pocketed his wallet. ‘It looked like a lampshade and weighed a ton. You could have worn it as a weight belt while diving.’
He did remember it. ‘Did I ever tell you that when I danced in it the beaded fringe flew out and started smacking people?’
‘Maybe you were dancing too close to them.’
‘Nope. Those fringes were really long. People got whacked from half a metre away. I didn’t get up close and personal with anyone at that dance.’
‘Probably because of the dress.’
‘Pretty sure it was because of me.’ Lena smoothed her fingers down the front of her serviceable shorts. ‘No date. No dance partners other than whoever was dancing in the group.’ Lena knew she pursued things too aggressively at times. Sports, adrenaline highs, men...boy, could she scare men away when she wanted to. And Trig and Jared had encouraged it.
Maybe she had been too focused on sex these past few days.
Maybe she needed to cut her husband a break.
‘I remember wanting to ask you to be my partner for that night,’ she said. ‘It would have made it bearable.’
‘Why didn’t you?’
‘You were twelve hundred kilometres away. And Jared said you were busy.’
‘Not that busy,’ her husband said, after a pause.
‘I also wasn’t sure whether I wanted to mess with the status quo between you, me and Jared. I didn’t want you to get the wrong idea—or possibly the same ideas that I had. You and Jared were my friendship group, my safety net, and I didn’t fit anywhere else. If I stuffed that up I’d have no one.’
Trig had his hands in his pockets and a frown on his face but he nodded as if he understood. ‘Weigh your risks.’
‘Exactly.’
He nodded again, his eyes dark with some unidentifiable emotion. ‘So about this date. You ready to go?’
She most certainly was.
* * *
Trig had more than one ulterior motive for having the driver drop them at the marina rather than the castle. This was the marina that Amos Carter had steered them towards. Jericho3 could be the name of a boat. It sounded too easy, but Trig didn’t mind easy. Right now he craved it. His other reason was nastier, because it involved making Lena walk to the castle from the marina—a distance she could have covered with ease two years ago, but this was now and he knew that she’d have trouble even making it to the castle from here, no matter how often she stopped for a breather along the way.
‘Are we looking for anything in particular?’ Lena asked, with her gaze firmly fixed on the half a dozen sturdy wooden tourist yachts bobbing up and down in their moorings. The sterns of the boats were loaded with cushions and lounges. The undercover bow areas contained dining tables and chairs. The boats were manned by young men with flashing white smiles and darkly suntanned skin. ‘Jericho3 perhaps?’
‘Yes.’
‘I knew it.’ Lena slid her hand in the crook of his elbow. ‘I knew you had an ulterior motive for dragging us down here this afternoon. You think it’s the name of a boat?’
‘No harm in looking.’ Trig eyed the people on the nearby tourist yachts.
‘No women,’ said Lena.
‘Maybe they’re below.’
‘Maybe we could do a trip on one of them. Good way to look around, make some enquiries.’
‘You don’t want to go out on those boats.’ The girl who sidled up to them had a bright smile, copper-coloured hair and enough confidence for a dozen street touts. ‘Come back tomorrow morning before ten if you want a day tour.’
‘Maybe we want a night tour,’ said Lena.
‘You might,’ said the girl. ‘But not on those boats. See all the pretty boys? You pay them and they serve you. The bedrooms are below. Sometimes they don’t even bother with bedrooms. These are the night pleasure boats.’
‘Oh.’ Lena coloured.
Trig grinned. ‘We’re not interested.’
‘I know,’ said the girl. ‘You want my boat. Taxi service only. Take you around the castle and then on a tour of the bay. Drop you back here or at the castle marina if you’d rather. Twenty-five lira.’
‘Seems a little steep,’ said Trig.
‘I also saved you from the night boats.’
‘What if we had wanted the night boats?’ Trig asked curiously.
‘Then I would have recommended my friend Akbar’s fine vessel. It is the most orderly of all the pleasure yachts because he does not allow drug taking or unruly behaviour on board. Nor does he drug your drinks and steal all your money, unlike some.’
‘What a gentleman,’ said Lena. ‘And your taxi is where?’
‘Down here.’
The girl’s water taxi was in fact a decent-sized cruiser. ‘I have lifejackets,’ she told them as she hopped nimbly into it, grabbed at a rope and started manoeuvring the cruiser towards a nearby ladder, attached to the wharf. ‘My pilot’s licence is legitimate. Twenty lira, because I like you. And I’ll tell you stories about Bodrum night life along the way.’
Lena glanced at Trig. ‘Means I don’t have to walk to the castle. I’m good with this.’
‘How are you going to get into the boat?’
‘Slowly. Possibly with your help. As in you go first and then when I look like I’m going to fall, you catch me. It’s all part of my asking-for-help-if-I-need-it plan. You like this plan, I hasten to add.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Because you said so.’
‘You remember that?’
Lena frowned. ‘Not as a specific memory. More of a general knowledge thing. Why? Am I wrong? Are you on a quest to make me more independent?’
‘No.’ The girl bumped the boat against the ladder. Trig climbed down and drew Lena down after him, hands to her waist as he lifted her from the ladder into the cruiser. ‘You want help, I’m your man.’
‘Nice,’ said the girl approvingly, and winked at Lena. ‘What’d you do to your leg?’
‘Stuffed it,’ Lena said. ‘And the hip. And parts of the spine.’
The girl started the motor. ‘You should sit. I’ll go slow. Even when I’m out of the marina.’
‘Do me a favour, and don’t,’ said Lena, coming to stand by the girl. ‘I’m thinking of buying a speedboat. I want to feel how my body holds up to a bit of speed.’
‘You got it,’ said the girl, and when they cleared the marina and turned towards Bodrum castle she gunned it. Lena stood beside her, one hand on the back of the pilot’s seat and the other on the top of the windscreen.
She wasn’t even trying to seduce him, decided Trig darkly. She was simply being her old self—the one who saw opportunity at every turn and seized it. The one who only had to look at him and smile in order to seduce him.
She was looking back at him now, her hair whipping across her face. That smile. That one right there.
‘I can do this,’ she said.
‘See how you pull up tomorrow.’
Her eyes dimmed but her chin came up and he loved that about her too. Never tell Lena she couldn’t do something, because she’d do it just to prove you wrong.
‘This is the castle,’ said the girl over the roar of the engines. ‘It was built by the Knights Hospitaller, otherwise known as The Knights of the Order of St John. They called it St Peter’s Castle and it served as a refuge and stronghold for all the Christians in the land and beyond. Later, the castle was surrendered to Sultan Suleiman and became a mosque. That got destroyed by the French in World War One, and then it became a museum. Take a tour. Very special.’
‘What about the things you don’t learn on castle tours?’ Trig asked. ‘There’s a lot of money floating in this bay. Where does it all come from?’
The girl shot him a sharp glance. Trig did his best to look harmless.
‘Tourists,’ she said finally. ‘Hedonists. The pleasure seekers of Eastern Europe. You can indulge in anything here, for a price. Many people come to do just that.’
‘Is the crime organised?’
‘Very.’
‘Who are the main players?’
‘Turks. Russians.’
‘Any Asians?’
‘No.’
‘Ever heard of a boat called the Jericho3?’
‘I got no business with anyone connected to the Jericho3,’ their copper-haired pilot offered grimly. ‘I like to keep it that way.’
‘Know where we can find it?’
‘No.’
‘Wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t need to know.’
‘I can’t help you, man. Little matter of staying alive.’
‘No problem.’ Trig smiled easily. Harmless. See? ‘Tell us about the night life. Tourist stuff only.’
The girl told them about open-air night clubs that backed onto the sea. She told them about the live music and the bars, the street parties and light shows. She dropped them off at the wharf below the castle’s eastern walls and Trig paid her and tipped well, and told her she didn’t need to take them any further and her sunny smile reappeared.
‘You had me worried, big guy.’
‘Don’t be.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘That vessel you mentioned. How much do you know about it?’
‘I have a name. I have a friend who might be on it.’
‘By choice?’
Trig shrugged.
The girl shook her head. ‘It’s a mega yacht, with helicopters, a defence system, and a seventy-strong crew, most of them Russian. Thirty or so guest rooms. Not everyone’s a guest.’
‘I don’t see anything like that here.’
‘It stays offshore. Nice and private out there.’
‘How does it refuel?’
‘Tanker.’
‘Anyone ever come in off it?’
‘A woman and a kid. They go to the hospital here once a week, regular as clockwork.’
‘Which day?’
‘Tomorrow. Look for a power cruiser coming in to this wharf around ten a.m.’
‘Thanks.’
‘You seem nice,’ she said. ‘Don’t be a dead man.’ And then she got under way.
‘Guess that saves us walking past a thousand small sailing yachts,’ said Lena. ‘Really wasn’t looking forward to that.’
Trig snorted. ‘I can’t believe you just admitted that.’
‘What? That walking more than a mile or so wears me out?’
‘Yes.’
‘It’s hardly a secret.’
‘I know. But you usually don’t like admitting it.’
‘I’m older and wiser now. I also don’t mind admitting complete ignorance as to why we’re here. You do realise that I can’t remember anything about why that yacht is so important? Or who you think might be on it.’
‘I realise.’
‘Care to share?’
‘Not really. Honeymoon, remember?’
‘I do remember.’ Lena stared up at the towering castle. ‘That is a big castle.’
‘I know. The view from the top of that turret is going to be great.’
‘Maybe if I had a week,’ she joked dryly. ‘I used to have a healthy relationship with steps. Now they just send me weak in the knees.’
‘I’ll carry you,’ he heard himself suggest.
‘That’ll wear you out,’ she said. ‘Let’s just see a bit of the museum.’
They managed to get through half of one wing of the museum before closing time. They took it easy and avoided steps.
And Lena wore herself out anyway.
‘Aches don’t count if you had fun getting them,’ she told him as they waited for their ride back to the hotel. ‘It also makes relaxing at the end of the day so good. Please tell me it’s the end of the day.’
‘There’s still dinner and dancing to go.’
‘Oh.’ Lena visibly wilted. ‘Right.’
‘Aches don’t count if you have fun getting them.’ Trig grinned. Lena thumped him and for a split second all was well with his world.
The sun had slid low in the sky by the time they arrived back at the hotel. Lena had stiffened up during the drive and Trig watched her take her time getting out of the car. He didn’t miss a wince. Neither did the driver.
‘We have a heated bathing pool that is very relaxing,’ the driver told them as he escorted them to the front of the house.
‘You mean the one in the room?’ asked Lena.
‘In addition to the one in the room.’
‘I love Turkey,’ murmured Lena.
‘Also an in-house masseuse.’
‘Perfect. What’s the dress code for this bathing pool?’
‘Swimwear is, of course, required. But the bathing caps need not be worn. The hair need not need be covered.’
‘That’s a requirement in some places?’
‘In some places it is so. For cultural reasons, you understand. The bathing in such establishments is also segregated. But not here.’ The driver glanced at Trig. ‘Shall I arrange beverages for two out by the pool?’
‘Not for me. I have some calls to make,’ said Trig. ‘But Lena might like something.’
‘What would you suggest?’ Lena asked the driver.
‘For the thirsty I might suggest susurluk ayrani. It is a chilled drink made from yoghurt and garnished with mint. Very refreshing.’
‘I would like to feel refreshed,’ said Lena.
‘You want me to bring your swimmers out to the pool?’ Trig had guilt now. Lots and lots of guilt on account of all the walking he’d encouraged Lena to do today.
‘No, I’ll change in the room. I want to do it in front of the mirror next to the Tinkerbell lamp, just in case the mirror tells me I’m the fairest of them all.’
‘I wouldn’t discount it.’
‘And I wouldn’t want to miss it. You don’t mind me taking a dip and leaving you to your own devices for a while?’ she asked.
‘Not at all. Take your time. Relax.’
‘You know what would make that sentence perfect? If you added, “I’ll order dinner for us and I’ll get them to set it up in our little courtyard garden.”’
‘You don’t want to go back into Bodrum?’
‘I really don’t want to go back into Bodrum. We could dine and dance here. You could put me straight to bed when I fall asleep with my head on your shoulder, having mistaken you for a gently swaying mountain.’
‘Tempting.’
‘I knew you’d see it my way.’
‘Go and bathe. I’ll have a menu sent to you out by the pool. You do realise that I’m indulging you completely?’
‘You’re a good man.’
‘I’ll see what the mirror says.’ He was pretty sure the mirror would call him a fool.
Lena headed towards the suite. Trig headed back out through those massive entrance doors and decided to investigate the hotel perimeter. He was nosey that way, and he needed privacy in order to make a call.
He pulled out Damon’s phone and checked for messages. From Jared. From Damon. From anyone.
Nothing.
He put a call through to Damon next.
‘I’m in Bodrum in a concubine’s lair overlooking the castle of St Peter,’ he said, when Damon picked up.
‘Amen,’ said Damon.
‘That all you got?’
‘I can always put Ruby on. She might have more.’
‘Do that.’
‘No. How’s Lena?’
‘She still thinks we’re on our honeymoon.’
‘Then why aren’t you on a plane?’
‘Because I’m following a lead on Jared. There’s a mega yacht hereabouts called the Jericho3. I need to know more about it. Ownership. Specs. Whatever you can find within the next eight hours.’
‘You thinking of paying it a visit?’
‘No. I’m thinking that would be suicide. My best hope is that Jared’s worked his way onto it. Worst-case scenario—he’s a prisoner on it.’
‘How are you going to find out which?’
‘Hopefully, Jared’s going to show himself.’
‘Assuming he can.’
‘Yeah,’ muttered Trig. ‘Let’s assume that for now.’
‘Are you letting Lena in on any of this?’
‘I’m about to.’
‘Is that wise? She’s not exactly operational.’
‘I can protect her. She’s only after a glimpse of Jared. Proof that he’s alive. We’ll keep our distance.’
‘Does she remember wanting to see him?’
‘She will. And when she does, she’ll have already seen him and won’t feel inclined to go tearing after Jared again. Or would you rather I brought her home and we end up back here in another week’s time doing exactly the same thing?’
Damon sighed.
‘It’s under control. I’ll bring her home as soon as she’s seen Jared. How soon can you and Ruby get to the beach house?’
‘About that. Are you sure you’re going to need us there?’
‘Your sister thinks I married her. You want me to repeat that?’
‘No, I got it.’ Damon’s voice was droll, very droll.
‘I would love to marry Lena, I would. But I haven’t married her yet and she is going to have my balls when she finds out. She’s going to need someone to scream at. That would be me. Then she’s going to need someone to argue with some more, once she’s calmed down. That would be you. And then someone needs to argue my case. That’s where Ruby comes in.’
‘Does Ruby know that she’s arguing your case?’
‘Not yet. Put her on.’
‘No can do. Ruby’s asleep and I’m not waking her up. She’s sleeping for three.’
‘What?’
‘Twins.’
‘God help us.’
‘Your congratulations are most heartily accepted.’
‘Congratulations,’ Trig said quickly. ‘I mean...yeah. Congratulations. Twice.’
Did it make him a bad person that his first thought was not for Ruby and Damon’s happiness but that he was never going to have that? That Lena was never going to know babies the way Ruby would know them. ‘Is everything okay? With Ruby and the babies?’
‘Everything’s good. There’s no real reason Ruby can’t travel. I’m just...’
‘I get it.’ He got it.
‘Lena can come to Hong Kong. You can both come, and we’ll do the not-exactly-married debrief here.’
‘Sold.’ What else could he say? The only reason he’d chosen Damon’s beach house as the debrief venue in the first place was because Lena had spent so much time there and the surroundings would be familiar. They could work around that. Lena’s father lived in Hong Kong. He had a penthouse there. Maybe that would count as home ground too.
‘Better get you that information,’ Damon said. ‘Stay safe.’ And then he was gone.
Trig scrolled through the pictures he’d taken of the castle and picked one that he’d taken from the wharf. He sent it to Jared’s number. He didn’t add words, but he thought them.
We’re here, man. And if we can’t get to you you’re going to have to come to us.
If you can.
