looked up from her Scrabble tiles to take in the sight of him in the sunshine again.
He was too pale, she decided. He couldn’t have been on the island long or he’d have lost that grey pallor that came from too long spent inside with only his guitar for company.
But he was still every bit as gorgeous as she remembered. As she’d tried to forget.
Her fingers flexed, reaching for the camera that wasn’t hanging around her neck for once. She wanted to capture him here, now, in the moment. A comparison piece to the famous, laughing photo of him she’d taken three years ago. One photo in thousands she’d taken that month, but the one everyone remembered most. The one that had made her name. Kick-started her career, when The Swifts had hit the big time.
She’d been assigned to the up-and-coming band by a magazine she’d done some work for before, asked to follow them on tour for an in-depth photo piece with some interviews. Someone high up at the magazine had a feeling about them, she’d been told, and they wanted to get in there first, before anyone else.
Whoever that person was, they’d been right. And they’d changed Rosa’s world with that one commission, in too many ways to count.
If she hadn’t taken the job, she’d never have taken the photo that started her rise to the top of her profession, that gave her the luxury of picking and choosing jobs wherever she wanted in the world.
If she hadn’t taken the job, she’d never have met Jude. And if she hadn’t met Jude, she wouldn’t have spent three years taking any job that kept her away from England, Spain and New York.
‘Three years.’ As if he didn’t already know.
‘You look good.’
‘You look pale.’
Jude laughed, the first true emotion she’d seen from him since she arrived. ‘You never were very good for my ego, were you?’
‘You never needed me for that.’ He’d always had plenty of hangers-on and groupies, ready to tell him how wonderful he was, even back then, before The Swifts took over the music world. Gareth might have been the lead singer, but Jude was the mysterious lead guitarist, and that had its own appeal.
And he’d had Gareth to keep him optimistic. To keep him humble.
How had he coped without him?
She should have called. It was three years too late to be asking these questions. But back then...she couldn’t.
Rosa shoved the last of the Scrabble tiles aside and got to her feet. ‘I really should go and find my mother. Let her know I’m here.’
Jude inclined his head in a small nod. ‘Of course.’
She waited, just a moment, in case he was going to say anything more, but he was already studying his letters again. If those groupies could see him now—wild-child rock-and-roll star plays Scrabble. Wouldn’t they be disappointed?
Was she, though? Rosa wasn’t even sure. Already this trip home was nothing like she’d expected.
But she couldn’t be certain if that was a bad thing or not. Not yet.
She paused as she reached the archway leading into the villa.
‘Jude?’
He looked up. ‘Yeah?’
‘Did you really not know I’d be here?’
‘Honestly?’ Jude gave her a sardonic smile. ‘I would never have come if I did.’
Rosa looked away. Well. That told her.
And really, what else was she hoping for?
Shaking away the conversation with Jude, Rosa headed inside to find her mother. And some answers.
* * *
Jude watched Rosa go, then realised she’d stopped, just inside the archway to the villa.
Not that he cared.
He shouldn’t care.
He absolutely shouldn’t care enough to want to watch her every move.
Except...he did. Even after everything.
Trying not to be obvious about it, Jude tilted his chair just enough for him to see inside the villa, to where Rosa had found her mother. Both women seemed far too preoccupied with each other to be worrying about him, so he took advantage of their distraction to shift his chair around a bit more, so he could watch them properly.
It wasn’t his place to spy on a reunion, he knew. But since his own with Rosa had been so anticlimactic, he wanted to know what a real one would look like.
Inside, Sancia threw her arms around Rosa and held her tight, swaying her back and forth with her outpouring of affection.
Once, Jude had imagined that his and Rosa’s reunion might be full of love, like that. Filled with passion, at least—the same kind of passion they’d shown each other during their brief time together.
Sometimes, late at night, he’d allowed himself to picture it. Rosa coming back, finding him backstage, just as he was finishing a gig. He’d be on a performance high, anyway, and when he saw her...everything would crystallise, fall into place. He’d sweep her up into his arms and never let her go again.
Except she’d never come back, had she?
And then Gareth had died, and he’d been so lost. So hopeless, without his best friend. He’d needed Rosa, then.
But she was long gone. And even if she hadn’t been...how could he let himself love her again, knowing what that love had cost him?
From the moment they’d met, when Rosa had arrived on the tour bus and introduced herself as the person who’d be documenting their every move for the next month, her presence had filled his whole world, pushing everything else to the edges. The connection had been instantaneous, even if the physical side of their relationship had developed more slowly. Rosa had spoken to them all, of course, taking notes, filming them, her camera always to hand. But somehow, when it had been just the two of them, Jude had found himself giving up far more than she’d asked for—details about his life, his mind, his friendships, his heart. Details she’d never used in the article, because they were just for her.
Whenever the music was done, they’d gravitate towards each other, letting the others head out to party while they headed back to the bus or a hotel room. And soon, all those late-night talks had become midnight kisses, and more, as Jude had lost himself in the wonder of Rosa.
Unbidden, memories of their last night came back to him, filling his brain with the images of them together. The hotel room, the champagne, the post-gig euphoria that always came over him—and Rosa. Rosa’s eyes, bright with excitement. Her hair, loose and soft and dark as it hung over her bare shoulders. Her olive skin, so smooth and welcoming under his hands.
The feel of her against him, both of them mindless with the kind of passion Jude knew didn’t come around all that often.
Or
