FOUR
Avery woke to an insistent buzzing. Groaning, she scrunched one eye open to find herself in a strange room. A strange bed. Peering through narrowed eyes, she saw the pillow beside her was undisturbed. That was something, at least.
She let her senses stretch a mite and slowly the day before came back to her... Green Island. Jonah. Sunburn. Jonah. Cocktail. Jonah. And lusting. Oodles of coconut-scented lusting. And Jonah.
And she rolled over to bury her face in a pillow.
When the buzzing started up again, she realised it was the hotel phone. She smacked her hand around the bedside table till she found it. “Hello?” Her voice sounded as if she’d swallowed a bucket of sand.
The laughter that followed needed no introduction.
“Don’t. Please. It hurts.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Jonah rumbled, his voice even deeper through the phone. “How long till you can be ready to leave?”
“A week?”
She felt the smile. Felt it slink across her skin and settle in her belly. “Half an hour.”
“I’ll meet you in Reception in forty-five minutes. And don’t forget the sunscreen. Australian. Factor thirty. Buy some from the resort shop.”
“Where are we going?”
“Home,” he said, then hung up.
Avery heaved herself upright and squinted against the sunshine pouring through the curtain-free windows. The scent of sea air was fresh and sharp, the swoosh of the water nearby like a lullaby. It was a fantasy, with—thanks to rum—glimpses of hell. But it sure wasn’t home.
Home was blaring horns and sidewalks teeming with life, not all of it human. City lights so bright you could barely see the stars. It was keeping your handbag close and your frenemies closer. It was freezing in New York right now. And heading into night. The storefronts filled with the first hints at hopeful spring fashion even while the locals scurried by in scarves and boots and coats to keep out the chill.
As soon as she turned on her phone it beeped. Her mother had sent a message at some point, as if she could sense her beloved daughter was about to have less than positive thoughts.
Hello, my darling! I hope you are having a fabulous time. When you get a moment could you please send me Freddy Horgendaas’s number as I have had a most brilliant idea. I miss you more than you can know. xXx
Freddy was a most brilliant cake-maker, famous for his wildly risqué creations. Avery pressed finger and thumb into her eye sockets, glad anew she wouldn’t be there when her mother revealed a cake in the shape of her father’s private parts with a whopping great knife stuck right in the centre.
She sent the number with the heading ‘Freddy Deets’ knowing the lack of a complete sentence would make her mother twitch. It wasn’t a no. More like passive aggression. But for her it was definitely a move in the right direction.
Forty minutes later—showered and changed into the still-damp bikini she’d found on the bathroom floor—she made a quick stop to the resort gift shop where she picked up an oversized It’s Easy Being Green! T-shirt, a fisherman’s hat, and flip-flops to replace the shoes she’d somehow lost along the way, and slathered herself in Australian sunscreen and handed her key in to the day staff at Reception.
The girls behind the desk chattered about the shock of Claudia’s and Luke’s parents suddenly heading off into the middle of nowhere, and asked how Claudia was coping. Avery said her friend was coping just great, all the while thinking shock and coping were pretty loaded words. Making a deal with herself to pin Claude down asap, Avery still knew the moment Jonah had arrived, for she might as well have turned invisible to the two women behind the desk.
“Hi, Jonah!” the girls sing-songed.
“Morning, ladies,” he said from behind her, his deep Australian drawl hooking into that place behind Avery’s belly button it always seemed to catch. Then to Avery, “Ready to go?”
And the girls’ eyes turned to her in amazement and envy.
Avery shook her head infinitesimally—I get the lust, believe me, but don’t panic, he’s not the guy for me.
Then she turned, all that denial ringing in her head as it got a load of the man who’d arrived to take her away.
It shouldn’t have been a surprise that Jonah was still unshaven, and yet the sight of all that manly stubble first thing in the morning did the strangest things to her constitution. As did the warm brown of his skin against the navy blue shirt, and the strong calves beneath his long shorts, and the crystal-clear grey eyes.
“Shall we?” he asked.
We shall, she thought.
“Bye, Jonah!” the girls called.
Avery, who was by then five steps ahead of Jonah, rolled her eyes.
When they hit sunlight, she stopped, not knowing which way to go.
“What time’s the boat?”
“No boat today. Not for us anyway.” And then his hand strayed to her lower back, burning like a brand as he guided her along the path, leaving nothing between his searing touch but the cotton of her T-shirt and her still-damp swimmers.
“This way,” he said, guiding her with the slightest pressure as he eased her through a gate marked Private then down a sandy path beneath the shade of a small forest, and back out into the sunshine where a jetty poked out into the blinding blue sea. And perched on a big square at the end—
“A helicopter?” A pretty one too, with the Charter North logo emblazed across the side.
“It was brought here this morning on a charter. They don’t need it back till four. Quickest way off the island.”
“No, thanks,” she said, crossing her arms across her chest, “I’ll wait for the boat.”
“You sure?” he asked, his eyes dropping to where her crossed arms had created a little faux cleavage. Her next breath in was difficult. “It’ll be a good eight hours from now, the sea rocking you back and forth, all that noise from a bunch of very tired kids after a long hot day at the beach—”
Avery held up a hand to shush him as she swallowed down the heave of anticipatory post-cocktail seasickness rising up in her stomach. “Yes, thank you. I get your point. So where’s our pilot?”
At the twist of his smile, she knew.
Before she could object, Jonah’s hands were at her waist, shoving her forward. Her self-preservation instincts actually propelled her away from his touch and towards the contraption as if it were the lesser danger.
When he hoisted her up, she scrambled into her seat with less grace than she’d have liked. And then suddenly he was there, his silhouette blocking out the sun, the scent of him—soap and sea and so much man—sliding inside her senses, the back of his
