curse.
Would he ever be able to put the memories behind him?
Rolling jerkily off the lounge, he laid a towel over the sweaty plastic before he resumed his position, hat over his eyes to block out the violent sunlight. Not bad, the deal Anson made with him. For the hardship of hiding out under an assumed name—finally being the beach bum pilot his cover had always been—he got a massive payout and all operations paid for, past, present or future. Only two left to go to finish the muscle layering on his leg, and one to inject more collagen and massive doses of vitamins beneath the slow-fading scars on his face.
After the last op, he’d be almost as good as new…ready to face Mum and Dad with his new look. He couldn’t go home yet. The folks had all been through enough with Kathy’s sickness and death. Sending a few postcards from nonexistent Navy ships in different “postings” was better than telling them the truth.
The squeaking sound of feet shuffling over the hot, creamy-white sand gave him thirty seconds’ warning. Someone was here. Time again for the stares, the sidelong looks and whispers. “The poor thing, he must have been so handsome once…”
To add another twist to the rack, the stranger had a CD player on—there was no radio station on this remote island—and of course, it was that song.
“‘I never thought we’d break up, at least not for good. When it came to goodbye, I never thought we would. But I was wrong about you, you found someone new, and you were wrong about me, I found someone too…’”
“Farewell Innocence.” Her song…perhaps their song. Would he ever know? The jackhammer hit his guts with the first wistful refrain. Words and voice, so strong and incredibly pure, woven together like the strands of harp and violin and transposed into human sound. Sheer perfection. There was no way in hell he’d ever forget that voice—or the girl who’d owned it.
Had they made a new version of the song, without background music? Seemed even more haunting without harmony. She sounded so scared, so lost. As she had ten years before when—
He couldn’t escape her, no matter where he went. Even without the constant dreams of her, with constant radio airplay of her nine worldwide hits from three albums, avoiding the memories was the impossible dream. Her first smash hit—“Farewell Innocence”—had taken up permanent residence inside him from the first time he’d heard it…wondering every time if she’d written about their life and his betrayal of her ten years ago.
Mary-Anne, oh, honey, it wasn’t like that!
The singing stopped the same time the foot-squeaking ended. “Hello, Tal. Nice shorts—more casual than the Flying Doctor, Navy or Nighthawk getup. You do get around, don’t you?”
Great, now he’d upgraded from dream to hallucination. Her songs did that: he’d spend the next few hours creating scenarios where they’d meet again. So many years wasted in insane hope, hearing her voice, turning around so damn fast he got dizzy only to meet emptiness, the darkness of ghosts taunting him.
She’d never come to him. They were both different people now. He sure as hell was different—as was she. A reversal of lives. The cruelest joke ever played on a man.
But it didn’t stop his body from lighting like a blowtorch, filling with instant heat, his heart bounding up into his throat with useless, stupid hope against hope. From praying that this time it would be real—it would be her, his Mary-Anne, standing in front of him, with that sweet, high-lipped smile of hers.
Can it, O’Rierdan. She’s never coming back to you.
“Well, I see you’re as rude as ever. Don’t you say hello to old friends anymore?”
Well, that was new to his reunion scenarios…. In his dreams she’d been furious, smacking him as he deserved, or running into his arms and kissing him senseless. But the gentle amusement in this voice confused the hell out of him. He really was losing it…
“Aunt Sheila would be ashamed of your manners—and Uncle Dal would clip your ear, boyo.”
He frowned, blinked slowly beneath his hat. He’d all but forgotten that silly joke of hers. “Mary-Anne?” he croaked.
“Either that or your worst nightmare, O’Rierdan.”
The silver-gold shimmer of laughter rocked his soul. Now that his prayers had finally come true—she was here—what did he do, yell at her for taking so long, or pin her beneath him and love her until he’d slaked half a lifetime of aching fantasy?
Uh-huh. One look at the scars on his face and leg and she’d be begging him. Yeah, that was gonna happen.
“G’day, Mary-Anne.” He didn’t have to lift his hat to see her: she was a tattoo burned on his brain, seared on his soul with a branding iron. She’d lived and breathed, gasped and moved beneath or above him in his dreams every night in hot, vivid color, since he was sixteen. He lifted his knees to hide his hard, primed body, ready for her to say the word. Man, he hurt already, and she’d only been here a minute. “So Anson’s bringing out the big guns to make me answer his summons? He must be desperate to convince you to come to me.” He heard the guttural rasp in his voice, the hot, essential male-to-female thrust-and-parry he’d only ever known on this gut-deep level with her.
Another soft ripple of laughter, full of heart and soul and fire. “That’s what I said, but even though we’ve never worked together, we both know Nick. Never say die.”
“Yeah.” He grinned beneath his hat. Man, he loved her laugh—almost as much as he’d loved the gentle touch of her silky-soft fingers on his skin, as innocent and sensual as the kisses they’d shared as boy and girl. The unbidden fantasy was so intense he almost felt the tender glide of her hands…the kisses so saturated in love they filled all the empty places inside.
Can it, O’Rierdan. It wasn’t going to happen—and he didn’t want her here, re-igniting hungers that he’d never explore. Who are you kidding? They’re in permanent ignition, ready to explode. “Tell him you tried. Want a drink before you go?”
He could hear the grin in her voice. “I’m booked in at the local B and B for three days, so cut the rude stunts. I outgrew being hurt at them by the time I was about twelve.”
Despite the roaring inside him, the exploding Molotov cocktail of fury at his life and her expected rejection, he chuckled. Ah, it felt so good to talk to her outside the bondage of sleep. Never, in all their long history, had she let any of his gauntlets lie unchallenged, defusing his quick rages with a smile. It was refreshing after a year of overdone kindness born of pity and the sidelong glances of people unable to handle imperfection. And having her finally here, with him in the flesh, made him feel like more of a man than he had in years.
And what good is that going to do me? He’d spend the whole time she was here in knife-edged, gut-gnawing hunger. Variety might be the spice of life, but right now this particular life had all the pepper it could handle.
So find out why she is here and get rid of her. Fast. “So spill. What does he want from me? Whatever it is, the answer’s no, but what the hell, I can listen for a few. Entertainment’s kinda self-made in these parts.”
He heard the shrug in her voice. “Sure. But I’d like that drink. In private. I’m booking your services for the afternoon.”
His laugh sounded rusty from disuse…and its feel-good release unleashed
