Читать книгу Once a Rebel... - Nikki Logan - Страница 9

‘COME on, Hayden,’ Shirley muttered.

She banged the door with the heel of her hand to protect her acrylics. She paused, listened. Stepped back and leaned over to look in the window.

Which bothered her more? The fact that he’d actually left his home before dawn to avoid having to see her again or the fact that she could have turned around a dozen times on the drive over here—maybe should have—but she’d decided not to.

Because she wanted to give him a chance. The old Hayden.

No one could be that much of an ass, surely. She stared at the still silent door.

Looked as if he was the real deal.

‘Ass!’ she yelled out to the empty miles around them, then turned and walked away.

The front door rattled as her foot hit the bottom step on his porch.

‘Is that some kind of greeting ritual in your culture?’

By the time she had turned, Hayden was leaning on the doorframe. Shirtless, barefoot. A pair of green track pants hanging low on his hips and bunched at his ankles. Looking for all the world like he wasn’t expecting a soul.

One hundred per cent intentional.

He was trying to throw her.

‘Good. You’re ready,’ she breezed, working hard to keep her breathing on the charts and her eyes off his bare chest. She’d spent years as a teenager secretly imagining what her mother’s star pupil would look like under all his loose bohemian layers. The sudden answer may not have been what her teenage self would have conceived, but it didn’t disappoint. No gratuitous muscle-stacks, just the gently curved contours up top and the long, angular lines down lower that showed he kept himself in good, lean shape.

And he knew it.

She fixed a brave smile on her face and turned to make room for him on the steps. ‘Shall we?’

‘You don’t actually think I’m going like this?’ he drawled.

No. She hadn’t. But she’d be damned if she’d play his games. She kept her face impassive. ‘Depends if you have swimmers on beneath the track pants.’

His grin broadened, dangerously good for this early in the morning. ‘Nope. Nothing at all under these.’

Her pulse kicked into gear. But she fought it. ‘Well, you’ll have to change.’

‘Easily offended, Shirley?’ He dropped his chin so that he peered up at her across long, dark lashes. It was possibly the sexiest thing she’d ever seen. More theatrics. She took a breath and remembered who she was. And who Shiloh had dealt with and bested in the past.

‘The dolphins.’ She lifted her chin. ‘Wouldn’t want them to mistake you for a bait fish.’

An awful tense silence crackled between them and Shirley wondered if she’d gone a step too far. But then he tipped his head far back and laughed.

‘Give me five …’ he said, still chuckling, and was gone.

She let her breath out slowly and carefully. That could easily have gone the other way. Maybe the last ten years hadn’t thoroughly ruined him, then.

Only partly.

When he returned he was more appropriately clothed in a T-shirt, sports cap, board shorts and sockless runners. The covered-up chest was a loss but at least she could concentrate on the road with him fully clothed. The T-shirt sleeves half covered a tattoo on his biceps, but she’d been able to read it briefly as he stretched his arm up the doorframe earlier.

MΩΛΩN ΛABE. Classical Greek.

She turned for the street.

‘I’m not getting in that.’ His arms crossed and his expression was implacable.

‘Why not?’

He eyed her car. ‘This looks like the floor might fall out of it if you put a second person in it. We’ll take my Porsche.’

Nope. ‘Wouldn’t be seen dead in it. This is a ‘59 Karmann Ghia. Your Porsche’s ancestor.’

‘It’s purple.’

‘Well spotted. Get in.’

‘And it has Shiloh plates.’

‘And here I thought your mind was more lint-trap than steel-trap these days.’

He glared at her. ‘I’m not driving this.’

She snorted. ‘You’re not driving at all.’

‘Well, you’re sure as hell not.’

She swallowed the umbrage. ‘Because …?’

‘Because I drive me.’

‘You had a chauffeur.’ She’d seen him in enough Internet photos falling out of limos or back into them.

‘That’s different.’

‘You’re welcome to ride in the back seat if it will make you feel more at home.’ And if you can dislocate your hips to squeeze in there.

He glared at the tiny back seat and came to much the same conclusion. ‘I don’t think so.’

He folded himself into her low passenger seat and turned to stare as she tucked the folds of her voluminous skirt in under the steering wheel.

‘Not the most practical choice for swimming, I would have thought,’ he challenged.

‘It won’t be getting wet.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘Because we won’t or because you have something else?’

She glanced at him, then away. ‘I have something else.’ A something else she never would have worn in a million years if she’d had more than a few hours’ notice that he was coming along. In fact, she would have chosen a totally different box on her mother’s list if she’d thought for a moment that Hayden would actually join her. Something that didn’t involve taking anything off. She’d only asked him along to shake him out of the unhappy place she’d found him. And to get him started on the list.

But parading around in swimwear in the presence of the man who’d made such a crack about her curves—yet who was apparently fixated by them—was not high on her list of most desirable things.

The thirty-minute drive would have been a whole heap more enjoyable if she’d been able to sing to the music pumping out of the phone docked to her stereo. It did prevent much in the way of conversation—a bonus—though it contributed to Hayden’s general surliness—a minus—even after she’d pulled into a coffee drive-through for him. He’d leaned across her to take the coffee from the drive-through window and the brush of his shoulder, the heat of his body and the scent of early-morning man had stayed with her for the rest of the drive. She left her window wound down in the vain hope that the strong salty breeze would blow the distracting masculine fog away.

When they arrived at the beach, Hayden found himself a comfortable spot in the shade to resume napping and she wandered off to change in the public changing rooms.

She peeled off her dark red skirt, top and sandals, stored them carefully in her temporary locker and glanced critically in the mirror at what remained. Black one-piece, sheer wraparound skirt—also black—purple and black striped stockings to her mid thighs.

Swimwear for the undead. If the undead ever went to the beach.

She piled her hair high, smoothed thirty-plus-plus-plus foundation where her neck was suddenly exposed and turned to the mirror.

Pretty good. Nothing she could do about the Boadicean body. She’d had it since she was sixteen and had learned by necessity to love it, even if it wasn’t apparently to the taste of a man more used to size zero. But she still looked like Shiloh. And Shiloh could definitely walk out onto that beach and spend a morning in the water with Hayden Tennant.

Even if Shirley wasn’t certain she could.

Today wasn’t about how good or otherwise she looked in a swimsuit, and it wasn’t even about the man waiting outside the changing rooms. Today was about living another experience that her mother had never had the chance to.

Making good on her promise to her fourteen-year-old self.

She swung away from the mirror and stepped through the door into the light.

‘What were you doing, sewing the—’ His impatient words dried up when he saw her, his mouth frozen half-open. The fascination in his gaze should have annoyed her, not made her pulse jog.

Not everyone appreciated her fashion sense. She understood that. And she got that look a dozen times a day. But somehow on Hayden it rankled extra much.

She walked towards him and retrieved her towel. ‘Ready to go?’

‘You can’t … Can you swim in that?’ he muddled.

‘I’m not expecting to swim, just wade. The dolphins will come to us.’ A blessing, because waist-high water would disguise her worst assets and highlight her best. And the dolphins below the water wouldn’t care about her sporting thighs.

It didn’t take Hayden long to recover his composure and he followed her down to the water’s edge, glancing sideways at her and smiling enigmatically. She kept her chin high the entire way, ready for another crack about her body.

None came.

She smiled at the girl working at the edge of the water and breezed, ‘Hi, I’m—’

‘I know who you are,’ the teenager gushed, ticking off her name on her register. ‘I couldn’t believe it when I saw who was in today.’

Hayden glanced from her to the young girl and back again. Confused. Small revenge for how off-kilter he’d tried to keep her yesterday.

‘I’m looking forward to it.’ Shirley smiled. ‘What do we do?’

The girl stammered less when she was in official mode and so their instructions were quick. Head right out into the low tide, where a distant volunteer was waiting for them, and then stand still when the dolphins come.

Simple.

But not for Hayden. He stood rooted to the spot as she waded ahead of him into the surf, stockings and all.

She turned and looked back at him, the slight waves buffeting her. ‘Coming?’

Or was he going to bail?

His eyes narrowed and he slid his sunglasses down against the glare of the water, then followed her out.

His longer strides meant they reached the volunteer at the same time. The man launched straight into a security drill, although the only emergency they really ever had was if the dolphins got too boisterous and knocked someone down. Then he opened a pouch on his side and retrieved a defrosted treat.

‘Bait fish,’ he announced as he held it under the surface and shook the morsel.

Shirley glanced sideways at Hayden, who was concentrating in the same direction as the volunteer. Except he had the tiniest of smiles on his lips. Exactly the same size as hers.

Within minutes, they found themselves circled by three curious dolphins.

‘They come in every day about this time,’ the man told them. ‘And in the afternoon too, in summer. Three, sometimes more.’

Shirley held her footing against the repeated close buffeting of the soft warm mammals. Hayden did the same.

‘They’re well trained,’ he commented.

‘Not trained. They come in because they want to. We just make sure we’re standing in the right spot when they come.’

Hayden’s snort could have been a puff of air as one of the larger males ran up against him. ‘It has nothing to do with the fish you were waving around.’

Shirley glanced at him. Really? He was going to be like this? When they were here in her mother’s name?

‘We only use one fish to encourage them over. We don’t want them to get habituated,’ the man said.

‘Yep. That would be awful for your business,’ Hayden murmured below his breath.

‘They stay because they want to.’ The volunteer held his own. ‘They find us interesting. This is their routine, not ours. We just bring people here to meet them.’

‘Yet you charge for the privilege?’

‘Hayden,’ she muttered. ‘Do you remember why we’re here? Can you contain your cynicism for a few minutes, please?’

But the volunteer didn’t need her help. He stood taller. ‘Twenty-eight dollars of your entry fee goes directly to cetacean research. The other two dollars helps pay our wildlife licences and fees. All our staffing is volunteer-based.’

‘What would stop me from walking up the beach this time tomorrow and waving my own fish?’

Shirley pressed her lips together.

‘Nothing at all,’ the man confessed. ‘Except that here you’ll learn a whole heap more about these amazing creatures than just how much they like fish.’

Hayden stood straighter and considered that.

Heh. Volunteer: one … Bitter, twisted cynic: nil.

‘What sort of things?’ she asked, moving the man on and giving him her best Shiloh.

Amazing things, was the answer.

He plied them with stories of dolphin intelligence and resilience and sentience and even unexplainable, extra-sensory experiences, and all the while the dolphins wove in between them, trying to trip them up, playing with each other.

‘My colleague, Jennifer, had worked here four years and then one day Rhoomba, the big male—’ he pointed at one of the dolphins ‘—started to nudge her mid-section. Every day he’d shove his snout just under her ribs and stare there intently. He got quite obsessed. One of the old fishermen who knows these waters told her to go for tests. They found a tumour behind her liver. She was away from the beach for over a year with the surgery and her chemo but on her first time back Rhoomba nudged her once, just to check, and then never did it again.’

Hayden lifted just one eyebrow over the rim of his sunglasses. Shirley hurried to fill the silence before he said something unpleasant.

‘How is she now?’

‘Good as gold. No further problems.’

They spent fifteen minutes out in the water, even after the dolphins swam off to re-join their pod. Volunteer talking, Shirley questioning, Hayden glowering. But the chill coming off the water finally got their attention.

‘Make sure you give us a good rap, Shiloh,’ the volunteer said, winding up.

‘No question,’ she assured. ‘It was amazing, thank you so much.’

He turned for shore. So did Hayden.

He had taken a few steps before he realised she wasn’t following. ‘Shirley?’

‘I’ll be a sec.’ She let the onshore breeze carry her words back to him and she stared out into the sea where the dolphins now swam deep. The rhythmic slosh of the waves against her middle was hypnotic. Hairs blew loose from the pile atop her head and flew around her face.

‘Another one done, Mum,’ she murmured to the vast nothingness of the sea after a moment. ‘I would have preferred to do this with you, instead of—’ She cut herself off. ‘But it’s a start, hey?’

There was no response save the beautiful language of air rushing across water. It was answer enough.

Then right behind her, a voice spoke, cold and curious. And male.

‘Why exactly are you so determined to make me start this list?’

I would have preferred to do this with you, instead of—

Him.

If there was any doubt in his mind as to what she meant, it evaporated the moment Shirley spun her horrified face to his. It was more ashen than usual.

‘I thought you’d gone in.’ Flummoxed. Discomposed. The only sign he’d had of the real person beneath the make-up since the barest eyelid flinch yesterday.

‘I bet you did.’

But she didn’t answer his question. She just started pushing towards shore, hurrying ahead of him. He gave her a few moments, mostly enjoying the view as the sea floor rose to become the shore and first revealed the curve of her sodden wraparound skirt and then those ridiculous stockings. Except they weren’t entirely ridiculous; they were also one part intriguing. The way they clung just above her knee. It made the narrow strip of skin above the stocking but below the wrap into something really tantalising. Even though there was much more gratuitous flesh on show higher up.

This was forbidden.

This was private.

And, from the back, it was insanely hot, because even she didn’t get to see that angle.

He took his time following her as his cells blazed.

Onshore, she retrieved her towel and turned back to him, clutching it to her body. It did a reasonable job of helping him focus.

Down the sand, the teenage girl who’d gushed earlier called out, ‘Bye, Shiloh!’, as if they were now best friends. Shirley threw her a dazzling smile in return and waved, making her day.

Gracious.

He should have expected that of a Marr.

The brilliant smile looked out of place with lips coloured like black blood, but he realised that somewhere between yesterday and today he’d forgotten his first impression of her, standing over him with those forever boots, and she’d just become Shirley. Quirky and courageous and fast with a comeback.

She spun back to him and the dazzling smile died.

‘Was she that easy to forget, Hayden?’ Hurt blazed in her pale eyes. ‘Or was it just some kind of dramatic, absinthe-fuelled gesture for an audience? And you expected everyone else to do the hard yards?’

He had pledged. He had vowed.

Then he had done nothing. Not one thing.

But he wasn’t about to cop to it. ‘Why are you so concerned about what I do? How do my choices mean anything at all to you?’

‘Because she gave you her life. She gave you all her days teaching and her nights assessing your work and her Saturday afternoons giving her star pupils extra credit.’

‘Instead of being with you? Is that what you mean?’

She shook her head. But she also flushed. ‘She gave you everything, Hayden. But when she died you just … shrugged and moved on?’

He hadn’t worked at the top of his field without learning a thing or two about subtext. This wasn’t really about him … He just wasn’t sure yet exactly what it was about.

‘Every square next to your name is empty. Others have made progress, or at least a start. They’ve made an effort.’

She was going to ride the denial train right to the end of the line.

‘Shouldn’t you have let it go by now?’ he asked.

She blew air out from between dark lips. ‘Yes, I should have.’

The moment of honesty took them both by surprise. She frowned. ‘If you told me that you’d been busy building orphanages in Cambodia for the last decade I think I could accept that. But you haven’t. You have no excuse.’

He swallowed back what he really wanted to say. ‘I don’t need an excuse, Shirley. I’m not answerable to you.’

She clutched the towel closer to her pale skin. Her eyes flicked away and back again. ‘I just thought you might …’

She didn’t want him to do it because she’d make him feel guilty. She wanted him to do it because he was an all-round great guy deep inside. Secretly. ‘Hate to disappoint you further, Shirley.’

Her shoulders rose and fell just once as she filled her lungs and moderated her exhalation. Just like her mother used to do before starting a tutorial. Her piled-up hair swung around her face in surf-dampened strands like Medusa’s serpentine locks. ‘At least take your name off the list. If you’re not going to do any.’

So that the world didn’t have to look at his disinterest? ‘Why don’t you add yours? To balance out my lousy effort. Show everyone how it should be done.’

‘Maybe I will.’ She turned to go, disappointment at his sarcasm patent in the drop of her shoulders.

Honey, I’ve done a lot worse in my life than let down someone who’s been dead for a decade. Your silent judgement can just get in line.

Then she spun back around. ‘Molon Labe.’

That threw him. ‘What?’

‘Your business name. Your tattoo. Why Molon Labe?’

He shrugged. ‘Military defiance. When the outnumbered Spartans were called to surrender arms they said Molon labe— “Come and take them”.’

‘I know. I saw the movie. But why that phrase?’

His entire body tightened. ‘Because I have a thing for the Spartans. Their courage.’ Their defiance in the face of death.

‘You don’t find the irony exquisite?’

The breath thickened in his lungs. ‘What irony?’

‘You named your business after it. You branded your body with the Greek letters. Yet, in life, you laid down arms at the first hurdle. You dropped totally off the radar.’

She turned and walked towards the changing rooms. Away from him. Away from the disappointment. Away from the crater her verbal detonation had caused.

He forced his lungs to suck in air and his fingers to open and close again. Forced himself to remember she had absolutely no idea what she was dismissing.

How could she?

But he had enough fight left in him not to let that go unchallenged.

‘Shirley,’ he called.

She stopped. She turned. She looked ridiculously natural standing there, dripping wet and defiant. But also so very young.

‘I understand deflection better than most,’ he said without raising his voice across the space between them. Knowing she heard him. ‘Attacking me takes the focus off you. But given there’s only the two of us here and you clearly don’t give a rat’s what I think or feel—’

Her extraordinary eyes flickered.

‘—you might want to ask yourself what you’re trying to take the focus off. And for whose benefit.’

‘Cos it sure as hell wasn’t his.

Her gaze widened and then dropped to the sand. He turned away from her to climb the dunes up to the road, to find his own way home. He wasn’t stupid. No way she was letting him back in her car. No way he’d get in there, even if she did.

Today had been a huge error on his part.

He’d been stupid to think that he could make good on any of his past failings. That just didn’t happen.

And something else he knew.

Her stupid purple and black stockings pressing through the beach sand … That was the last of Carol-Anne Marr’s crazy, high maintenance daughter that he’d be seeing.