The Return of Mrs. Jones (11 page)

‘No.’

The strength in her voice surprised him, her conviction ringing true.

‘No. You mustn’t ever think that. What happened was horrible—
horrible
. Your poor parents...I can’t even imagine...’ She shuddered. ‘But it was no one’s fault. Especially not yours.’ She shook her head. ‘And although I feel desperately sorry for your parents I could also shake them. Pushing you away, rather than thanking God every moment that they were blessed with one healthy, amazing boy? That’s their tragedy. And they have to live with it. But you...’ Her fingers tightened on his. ‘You let this go.’

They sat, hands entwined, staring out to sea, neither of them speaking, and gradually, slowly, Jonas felt some of the darkness lift. He would always have to carry this knowledge, this loss, with him, but Lawrie was right. He didn’t have to let it define him—even if his parents had allowed it to define their lives, their relationship with him.

There was nothing he could do about that. His card had been marked from the moment of his birth. He just had to live with that and move on—properly this time.

‘At least...’ he said slowly. ‘At least I know it wasn’t me—some terrible defect in me. I used to wonder, you know...wonder why they couldn’t love me...why I was so damn unlovable.’

‘Lots of people love you.’ Lawrie leant in close, her hair soft on his cheek. ‘Gran loved you—she adored you. When I left—when we split up—she told me I was a fool, that there was no finer man out there. Who knows? Maybe she was right.’

‘She was definitely right,’ he said, and was rewarded with a low laugh. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘For listening.’

She turned to him, eyes serious. ‘You know, I thought coming back here was going to be the most humiliating experience—facing you again, no job, no Hugo.’ She shook her head. ‘And it was pretty awful at first, but in a way I’m glad. That we got the chance to reconnect. To be friends again.’

‘Is that what the kids call it nowadays?’

She smiled, moving her hand up to push the hair from his eyes in an old, intimate gesture. ‘I believe the phrase says “with benefits”.’

He stared deep into her eyes, watched her pupils darken, grow, heard her breath quicken. His hand caressed hers, moving down to circle the delicate skin at her wrist. Right now all he wanted, needed, was to lose himself in this person who believed in him, who had once needed him.

‘I, for one,’ he said, ‘am a great fan of benefits. I think they should be explored in much greater detail.’

Her pulse leapt at his touch. ‘How great?’

‘Let’s go home,’ he said. ‘And I’ll show you.’

CHAPTER NINE

D
AMN
,
SHE
WAS
daydreaming again.

It was this office. Too much space, too many large windows with far too beautiful views. It just wasn’t conducive to concentration. She’d choose her old windowless, airless, tiny internal office over this spacious luxury any day. At least she’d never been distracted there.

And it
was
the view, the sun, the come-hitherness of the summer’s day that was the problem. It was not—most certainly
not
—the last few days.

Lawrie gazed unseeingly at the complicated document in front of her, detailing band schedules, riders, accommodation, entourage lists, her mind churning.

After the initial awful shock, the sudden grief and guilt, Jonas had seemed freed, unburdened. And hellbent on getting as much benefit out of their newfound friendship as he possibly could.

And she was matching him every step of the way.

She told herself it was because she was worried about him, because he seemed to be coping too well, because she could still see the hurt behind the playboy smile, but the selfish truth was that the benefits were working both ways.

Working really well.

It was no good. For once work was letting her down. Maybe she needed to take a break.

Sitting up, she grabbed her phone and flicked to her personal emails—belated birthday greetings from friends who didn’t even know she’d left London, the usual deluge of sales emails offering her shoes, spa days, holidays, clothes. None of it mattered. Not any more.

‘That’s rather a scary grimace. Planning some street theatre?’

She looked up with a start. ‘Some warning would be nice. You shouldn’t sneak in like that.’ It was the shock that had made her heart leap—not the sight of Jonas, immaculate in tennis whites, legs bronzed and muscular, hair damp with exertion pushed back off his forehead.

After all,
any
passable man looked good in tennis clothes.

Still, despite herself, she let her gaze travel from the dark blond tip of his head down over broad shoulders to his chest, clearly outlined through the fine white material, down past the shorts that clung to his narrow hips far too comfortably for her peace of mind and down those rather magnificent legs.

Lawrie swallowed, desperate to moisten her suddenly dry mouth as a jolt of desire pulsed through her, as a sweet, persistent ache settled in the pit of her stomach.

‘You look like you’ve been busy.’

‘Got to make sure all the facilities are in perfect working order.’ He grinned at her boyishly. ‘It’s a hard job, but someone has to do it.’

Sauntering across the room, Jonas perched next to her on the edge of her desk.

Lawrie swallowed, the spreadsheet, her emails all forgotten. There was so
much
of him, and it was all so close. So much toned, tanned flesh, perfectly set off by the white fabric. Too much of the overwhelmingly male scent evoking grass, sun and sea. She licked her lips nervously, unsure whether she wanted to push the self-assured interloper off the desk or push him back and straddle him.

‘And are they? In working order?’

Goodness, why did everything sound like a
double entendre
?

‘Of course.’ He smiled at her, slow and sweet. ‘Want to find out?’

‘No, I haven’t played in years.’ And she looked away from his knowing grin, feeling the heat spreading downwards, pooling in the pit of her belly. She tried again. ‘I don’t really have time to play. I watch a little, though. The firm had a corporate box at Wimbledon.’

He pulled a face. ‘Wining and dining clients, hospitality boxes—it’s all right for some, I suppose. It’s not the real deal, though, is it?’

‘It’s different,’ she said, ruthlessly pushing aside memories of being trapped in conversation with CEOs who knew nothing and cared less about the top-quality tennis being played out before them, who were there solely because it showed that they were
somebody
.

‘But not better?’ He was still sitting by her, disconcertingly close, one trainer-clad foot swinging. ‘Although I hear the queuing facilities are much better now, and people have proper tents and loos and everything.’ He put on a quavery voice. ‘People today don’t know they’re born. In my day a couple of fold-up chairs and a sleeping bag did us.’

‘Men’s quarter-finals day,’ she remembered. The sound of the racket hitting the ball, the smell of grass mingling with traffic fumes and sun cream, the taste of sweet, succulent strawberries, rich cream, and Pimm’s fizzing on her tongue. ‘Seems so long ago. We saw Agassi!’

He laughed. ‘You can keep your Seychelles and your Maldives. A dusty pavement and top-quality tennis is the perfect honeymoon destination in my book. You wanted me to buy you an Agassi T-shirt!’

She laughed with him, couldn’t help it. ‘Well, I
was
eighteen,’ she defended herself. ‘Have you been since?’

He shook his head. ‘June and July are such busy times for me. Pete, our pro, usually goes—takes some of the local kids he coaches—but I haven’t joined them yet. One day.’

She nodded her agreement and tried to think of something else to say. Hard to think with him so close, so casual, so overpowering, so very male. Her mouth was dry, her mind suddenly empty.
Say something, damn it,
she thought. She opened her mouth but no sound came out.

‘I was going to go for a swim,’ Jonas said, seemingly unaware of her awkwardness.

Didn’t he feel the uncomfortable silence? The weight of their past happiness?

‘Fancy it?’

‘Oh, I...well...’ She fumbled desperately for the right words. If she was finding Jonas hard to cope with when he was semi-respectably clad in tennis whites then how would she manage with him wearing nothing but swim shorts? ‘I haven’t brought anything suitable to swim in,’ she finished.

‘Good thing we have a shop,’ he said, and his eyes took on a disconcerting gleam. ‘Or you could just wear nothing at all...’

For a long second Lawrie couldn’t breathe. All she could do was stare at him, hypnotised by the heat in his eyes, the way the blue deepened until she was drowning in their azure depths. The ache in her stomach intensified, moved even lower, and for one hot, blazing moment all she was aware of was him.

Zzzzzzzz.

Lawrie jumped. The buzz of her phone as it signalled the arrival of a text message broke the spell. Blinking her way slowly into reality, she realised in one mortifying moment that she was leaning forward, moving closer to him. With an effort she wrenched her gaze away, leaning back and looking intently at her computer as if all the answers were to be found there.

She summoned up a light, amused tone. ‘I thought this was a respectable family hotel?’

Jonas still looked ridiculously at ease, seemingly unaware of her struggle to stay focused. ‘It is—and I have something a bit more refreshing in mind than a pool full of overtired toddlers and harassed parents. Ready?’

Sensible Lawrie, clipboard-touting, plan-making Lawrie, knew it was a bad idea. She glanced at the spreadsheets still open on her desk. The safe, easy option. The right option.

But not the only option.

Just a couple of weeks left. A short while to be someone else. Someone less measured, less careful, less controlled. Someone free.

And then she would go to New York, Sydney, Toronto—wherever—and this summer would be a dream, a memory.

Someone else.

A smile curved her lips. She took a deep breath, kicked the chair back, away from the desk, and swivelled it towards Jonas, still sitting there on the desk, one bare leg idly swinging, watching her with an impenetrable gaze.

‘Let’s go,’ she said.

*

Lawrie felt like a schoolgirl playing hooky as Jonas led her across a field at the back of the hotel garden towards the path that led down to the cove bordering the hotel property. It wasn’t a private beach, but as there was no public right of way to it, it was used solely by hotel guests and anyone with access to a boat.

‘Feels good doesn’t it?’

‘What does?’

‘Being outside when you should be at work.’

‘But you’re my boss,’ she pointed out as they slowed to a jog. ‘And as I’m not being paid I’m not sure this technically counts as skiving.’

He shook his head, a mischievous smile playing around the sensual lips. ‘Admit it—you still feel half guilty, though, I bet this is the first time you’ve ever bunked off work.’

She didn’t answer, increasing her pace so that she sprinted past him, enjoying the sun on her face, the slight breeze ruffling her hair, the unusually giddy feeling of being free. Jonas gave a startled shout as she raced ahead, before also breaking into a fast run, catching her up with long-legged strides, elbowing his way past her to reach the stile first.

‘Aren’t you glad I made you get changed?’ he asked, glancing down at her shorts and vest top appreciably. ‘Those power heels of yours wouldn’t have lasted five minutes.’

She pulled a face before darting round him and jumping over the stile onto the path that wound round the cliff, sniffing appreciatively. Gorse—how she loved it.

Jonas leant against the stile post, watching her. ‘You look like a Labrador off after a scent.’

‘It just smells so good,’ she explained, knowing how idiotic she sounded.

It was funny... She’d read that smell was the best sense to evoke memories but she had never really noticed it personally before. Yet ever since she had returned to Cornwall she’d found herself reliving, remembering, her memories triggered by the very air about her. A primal creature after all, despite her veneer of city sophistication.

Jonas stepped up beside her and his hand brushed against hers. Such a small touch to provoke such intense memories. Long, lean, capable fingers entwined round hers. She felt the coolness of his palm, the slight roughness of his skin. She was preternaturally aware of every tiny square millimetre where their flesh touched, of little trickles of desire rippling up her arm. Her breasts suddenly felt full, heavy, aching, and an almost painful pressure behind her ribs echoed the intensified beating of her heart. Did he know? Was he aware of the effect his slightest touch had on her?

She didn’t speak. Didn’t look down at their hands. Didn’t acknowledge him in any way. But she didn’t pull away either.

Lost in a haze of feeling, Lawrie was unaware of where they were walking, knowing only the heady joy of touch, smell, sensation until they reached the top of the cliff.

‘Where are we?’ she asked looking about her in some confusion. ‘This isn’t the hotel beach.’

‘Nope, this is the next cove along,’ he explained. ‘The hotel beach will be full of guests and their families, and mini-tot surf schools, sandcastle-building. All perfectly lovely, but a little more crowded than I had in mind.’

He looked back and flashed her a grin of such pure, seductive wickedness that her knees weakened and she nearly stumbled, steadying herself against the sparsely covered cliff-face with one trembling hand.

He means swimming,
she told herself.
Get a grip.

‘Careful,’ he called back as she picked her way down the dirt track. ‘There’re lots of little stones—it’s easy to slip.’

‘I do know how to walk down a cliff path,’ she told him, but she slowed down a little, dragging her mind away from his earlier comments and her own overheated imaginings until she reached the bottom and looked about her.

It was a tiny little cove—a perfect little semi-circle of fine sand leading down to lapping waves, hidden from the rest of existence by the tall cliffs whose arms reached out into the sea on either side. A few rocks clustered at the foot of the cliff.

Jonas was standing by a large flat one and had laid the small rucksack he was carrying on top, was already shaking out the tartan blanket and laying out a couple of towels.

‘It’s beautiful,’ Lawrie said, looking around in delight. ‘I can’t believe I’ve never been here before.’

‘You can’t access it from Trengarth,’ Jonas said. ‘With the hotel so close nobody ever comes here. Which is why I like it.’

Having taken care of the contents of the rucksack he was kicking off his trainers, pulling his T-shirt over his head. She stared, fascinated, at the still slim but perfectly toned chest, at the smattering of golden hair over his well-formed pecs turning into a fascinating line running down his taut stomach and disappearing into the top of his swim shorts.

Lawrie swallowed, an insistent pulse of desire throbbing through her entire body.

‘Come on,’ he teased her, moving from foot to foot.

Reluctantly she tore her eyes from his torso and looked out at the sea. Yes, it was calm, blue, inviting, and it was August, but even so...

He followed her gaze and sighed. ‘Wimp,’ he said. ‘Honestly, when we were kids we swam in just our costumes Easter to October—now it’s wetsuits all year round. Does no one like the feel of water on their skin any more?’

‘You always liked your wetsuit well enough,’ she retorted. But, stung by his words, she reluctantly pulled off her vest top, glad that she had bought a modest one-piece from the hotel shop and not the skimpy bikini he had picked out for her.

‘I like my wetsuit for surfing, when I’m in the water for hours at a time, not for a good swim. The cold’s half the fun.’ He eyed her as she slipped the shorts off, an appreciative glint in his eye. ‘That’s not the itsy-bitsy polka-dot bikini I picked out, but it’s rather nice.’

She looked down at herself. The fifties-style swimsuit suited her, she thought. The nipped in waist added curves to her leanness; the halter-style neckline lifted her breasts. He was still looking at her, his eyes lingering on the hint of cleavage, the exposed tops of her breasts. Feeling suddenly, unaccountably shy she took a step back, towards the sea.

‘Last one in is a rotten egg,’ Lawrie said, and took off, running towards the sea.

Jonas stood still for one disbelieving second before he took off after her, running up behind her, swinging her into his arms and running them both headlong into the sea until he was waist-high when, despite her laughing entreaties, he dropped her straight into the cold, clear water.