Chapter One
Wednesday
In a fair and just world, he’d have looked like shit. The years would have ground him down to all but a shell of his former glory. Of course, this hadn’t happened. My luck just wasn’t that good.
“You made it,” he said, walking barefoot down his front steps.
“Don’t sound so surprised. You taught me how to drive.”
Pale blue eyes gazed at me flatly. No visible gray in his dark hair. Not yet, anyway.
“Hi, Pete,” I said.
Nothing.
“I come in peace.”
More of the same.
I climbed out of my car, muscles protesting the movement. My sundress was a crumpled ruin. What had looked hopeful, happy, and bright in the wee hours of the morning didn’t hold up so well under the late-afternoon light. A twelve-hour drive from Sydney to South East Queensland’s north coast will do that to you. I pushed my sunglasses on top of my head, ready to face my inevitable doom. A light breeze smelled of lush foliage and flowers. And the heat and humidity beat down on me, even with the sun sinking over the hills. I’d forgotten what it was like being in the subtropics during summer. Should have worn more deodorant. Should have faked a communicable disease and stayed home.
“What’s it been,” he asked, “seven years?”
“About that.”
“Thought you were bringing a boyfriend with you.”
I paused. Dad must have given him that idea. God knows where Dad, however, had gotten it from. “No. No . . . he’s ah, busy.”
He looked me over; I guess we were both curious. Last time we’d been in the same room was for my eighteenth birthday party. My hair had been short and my skirt even shorter. What a spectacularly awful night that was. As if he too, remembered, he suddenly frowned, his high forehead filling with lines. Victory! The man definitely had more wrinkles. Unfortunately, they kind of suited him. Enhanced him, even. Bastard.
“Better come inside,” he said.
“If you’re still pissed at me, then why am I staying here?”
“I am not ‘pissed at you.’” His tone was light and just a bit haughty. A sure sign he was pissed. “I just was expecting your boyfriend too, that’s all.”
I crossed my arms.
“Look,” he said, “you’re staying here because we’re both doing a favor to your dad. I know you haven’t met her yet, but Shanti’s a nice woman. She’s good for him. They make a great couple and I want their wedding to be hassle free.”
“I didn’t come to cause trouble.”
“But with you, from what I recall, it just seems to magically happen.” Hands on slim hips, he gave me a grim smile. “It’s just a few days, kid. Apparently, your old room is filled with bomboniere, whatever the fuck that is. So you’re staying here with me.”
I’d heard worse ideas in my life, but not many. Also they usually involved the risk of possible loss of limb, death, or incarceration. I’d tried to talk Dad into alternatives, but he’d stood firm, dammit. “That’s kind of you, but not necessary. I’ll go get a room at a hotel, this isn’t—”
“They’re probably booked,” he said. “It’s peak season so even if you could find somewhere, you’d pay through the roof. Anything nearby is going to already be busy with other wedding guests. Look, your dad wants you close so he can spend some time with you.”
I said nothing.
“It’s only five days,” he repeated in the tone of voice he usually reserved for those dancing on his last damn nerve. “Let’s just get through it.”
Great. Awesome.
With a nod, I headed for the back of my car. All the better to hide and take a second to pull myself together.
“Did you bring much stuff?” he asked, following.
“No. I’ve got it.”
Except, of course, I didn’t. As the hatch opened, he was there, reaching for my suitcase. Muscles flexed in his arms, slightly straining the sleeves of his white T-shirt. The man had always been strong, solid. Unfortunately, he hadn’t shrunk any either. I was around average height, but he still had at least half a head on me. Just perfect for looking down and putting me in my place.
“Lock up your car.” He headed for the house, tugging my wheeled suitcase behind him. “We might be in the country, but things still happen.”
“Yeah, I know to lock up my car,” I whisper bitched.
“I heard that.”
“I don’t give a shit.”
He laughed grimly. “Oh, kid, this is going to be fun.”
Out of options, I followed. Up the stone steps and into the house. Pete had never been much of a gardener, but someone had done a wonderful job with the grounds. Not that I was willing to say as much. We were apparently at war, and I couldn’t even blame him since it was all my fault. God, I hated the old familiar feeling of guilt. Life would be so much easier if I could hate him, push some of the blame his way. But the truth was, he hadn’t done a damn thing wrong. Not back then. Not even really now.
My pity party almost distracted me from the house.
“You did it,” I breathed, wonder pushing the no-compliment rule straight out of my head. “It’s beautiful.”
He stopped, blinked. “Yeah.”
“Last time I was here you were still living in the shed,” I said. “It was just dirt with some pipes and things sticking out of the ground. Now it’s finished.”
“Parts of it are still a work in progress.”
I spun in a slow circle, taking everything in, from the polished wood floors to the gray quartz kitchen located off to one side. A television about the size of a football field hung on one wall, with plush-looking navy couches gathered nearby. A large dining table was made out of a solid slab of wood, the natural edges still rough enough to be decorative. I’d already seen the beginning of that work of art, so I knew he’d made it himself. And the rounded center beam was huge, standing in the middle of the room, holding up the pitched ceiling.
“What is that, two stories high?” I asked, staring up.
“Two and a half.”
“Wow. You really did it.”
At that, he almost smiled. Almost.
Hallways ran off opposite sides of the great room and there was a wide verandah running the whole length of the building out back. There’d be a barbeque, another dining table and lots of chairs to laze in, and stairs leading down to the pool. I knew it without looking. Just like I knew there’d be the main bedroom with a bathroom and an office off to the right. Two guest bedrooms, a reading nook, and another bathroom off to the left. A long time ago, I’d helped him design this place. We’d worked on it together, a dream house.
“It’s perfect,” I said quietly.
For a moment, his gaze narrowed. But then his lips returned to their former flat, unhappy state. “Glad you like it. You’re in here.”
I followed his back into the left wing. The house was amazing. Sadly, my gaze slipped from his wide shoulders, down the length of his spine, to find his gorgeous ass had also lost none of its impact. So unfair. But Pete in jeans always had been a sight to behold. God, his loose-limbed stride. A careless sort of confidence had always just seemed to ooze from the man.
Not that I was looking. Looking was bad.
“This okay?” he asked, throwing open a door.
“Fine. Thanks.”
He tapped the top of my luggage. “Where do you want this?”
“I’ll handle it.”
A nod. “Your dad and Shanti will be over for dinner in a couple of hours.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“No, it’s all taken care of.” He scratched at his stubble. “Right. Make yourself at home. I’m going to get some work done. Be in the office if you need anything.”
I nodded too. Nods were so great. Much better than words.
He stood in the hallway, staring at me for a moment. Not saying anything along the lines of how it was good to see me again. Because that would be a lie.
“Okay, Adele,” he finally said, using my name, which was never a good sign. Honestly, I think I actually preferred “kid.” Then, thank you baby Jesus, he left.
Carefully, I closed the bedroom door, slumping against it because excessive drama. I’d known coming back was going to be a certain level of hell, but not one quite this deep.
One hundred and twenty hours and counting.
“You looked?” Hazel hissed into my ear. “I can’t believe you looked.”
I lay mostly dead on the bed, my cell jammed against my ear. “I didn’t mean to—it just happened.”
“Rule number one was don’t look.”
“Yeah . . .”
She sighed. “Okay, it’s done now. We just have to move past it. But out of interest, how was the view?”
“Better than ever.”
“Bastard. How did you look?”
“Sweaty and crumpled.”
“I told you to fly.”
“Yeah, I know,” I groaned. “But then he would have insisted on picking me up from the airport, and being in a contained space for the car ride to his home would not have worked. I would have just wound up having to throw myself out of a moving vehicle, and I don’t think that usually ends well.”
Nothing from her.
“He still hates me.”
“He doesn’t hate you.”
“No, he really does.” I stared at the ceiling. “What’s going on there?”
“Hmm? Everything’s fine.”
“What is that weirdness in your voice?”
“What?”
“Don’t ‘what’ me. What is it?”
My best friend groaned. “I’m not sure you need this news right now, given everything already going on.”
“Just tell me.”
Some swearing. “Okay. But this is not my choice. Maddie and I went to dinner last night.”
“Lovely. Where?”
“The Bombay Diner and it was lovely, but that’s not the point,” she said. “Listen, Deacon was at the restaurant with another woman and they were very much together. Heading into serious get-a-room territory.”
I exhaled. “Oh, I see. Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Well, it’s not completely unexpected. We had a bit of an argument last week. I don’t remember what it was about, but it seemed important at the time.”
Silence.
“What?”
“One of these days, you’re actually going to care about one of the people you date.”
“I care.”
“Beyond the normal non-sociopathic ‘I hope he doesn’t get hit by a car and killed in the street on his way home,’” said Hazel. “Think a more advanced level of caring than that.”
“Well, it’s fortunate I didn’t, seeing as he’s cheating on me.”
“I knew you’d say that.”
I didn’t bother answering.
“Did it ever occur to you that he started seeing someone else because you don’t care?” she asked.
“You think I wasn’t meeting his emotional needs?”
“That’s one of my theories about your dating issues.”
“See, this is why I have a therapist for a best friend,” I said. “You have all the answers.”
She laughed. “Only I don’t get paid to listen to you.”
“Sorry about that.”
“Luckily, you’re normally pretty boring. So I don’t mind this bit of drama.”
“That is fortunate,” I said. “Thing is, Deacon and I had only been out like four or five times. We hadn’t even had sex yet. Can I really be expected to emotionally prop up men after such a small amount of dates?”
Hazel snorted. “You’re willfully misunderstanding me. I give up.”
“Good. How’s Maddie?”
“She’s fine. We’re going to her parent’s place for dinner soon,” she said. “Are you going to survive where you are?”
“No. I’ll probably just die in a really sad and pathetic manner, slowly becoming a smell in the hallway that he eventually can’t ignore. Or not. I haven’t decided.” More sighing from me. “God, I feel so wound up, like there’s something heavy sitting on my chest. Maybe I should just have a mild panic attack and get it over and done with. Tick that box, you know?”
“Panic attacks are nothing to make jokes about,” she chided. “Now go have a drink and calm down. Make peace with your situation . . . if you can’t make peace with him.”
“He won’t make peace with me.”
“Show him what a glorious, mature person you are these days.”
“I’m a glorious, mature person?”
“Sure you are. Or at least you can pretend. Your acting skills are quite good. I believe in you.” Hazel made kissing noises. “I have to go. Will you live?”
“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” I smiled. “Thanks for the pep talk. And the information. I promise to be a mess of tears next time a guy’s cheating on me. Cross my heart. Have a nice night.”
“I’ll believe that when I see it. ’Bye.”
I tossed my phone aside, surrendering to despair. Or just the oppressive heat and general tiredness. That’s when the giant-ass spider ran up the wall directly above my head, long legs skittering as it navigated the edge of the ceiling.
“Jesus!” I scrambled off the bed, heart pounding. “Not cool.”
Footsteps came running from the other end of the house, and Pete dashed into the room. “What’s wrong?”
I just pointed at the wall.
His brows rose. “It’s just a huntsman.”
A huff of breath left his body, and with it all sense of urgency. Given my shriek, he’d probably been expecting a snake. While mostly the local populations were just harmless green tree snakes, occasionally an eastern brown would appear. Those things were aggressive and deadly poisonous.
“It’s the size of my hand,” I complained, trying not to sound defensive. “Ew.”
“Ew? Seriously?” Yet again, he came dangerously close to smiling. Though this time it was more of a mockery-type thing. “You used to deal with these all the time.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t anymore. My spider-catching skills have lapsed,” I said. “On the plus side, I’ve mastered Sydney’s public transport system. Talk about intimidating.”
He just looked at me.
“Can you please get it out of here?”
“Open the verandah door.” With a heavy sigh, he disappeared back out into the hallway, reappearing shortly with a big plastic container and a piece of cardboard.
I stood by the open doorway, watching as he crept up on the ugly, hairy eight-legged monster. Realistically, I knew I’d probably scared it worse than it had me. Huntsmen weren’t even very poisonous, their sting not much worse than a mosquito’s. But creepy-crawlies really weren’t my thing. Not anymore, at least.
Pete stepped up onto the bed, his bare feet spread wide apart as he positioned himself for the capture. The clear plastic container closed down on the creepy thing, as Pete tried for the slow and steady approach. At the last moment, its spider sense kicked in, and it leapt into a mad dash for freedom. I bit back a squeal of fright, but Pete’s reflexes were up to the task. The container knocked against the bedroom wall, all eight legs and any other bits and pieces of the beast safely inside. I tried to avoid any feeling of grudging admiration. It took a fair bit of skill to nab a big, fast-moving one that smoothly.
Pete carefully slid the piece of cardboard between the wall and the container. Lots of spider jumping and scurrying ensued inside the plastic box. Continuing my display of extreme bravery, I stood back out of the way as he carried the thing outside and then took off the cardboard covering. He flicked the container so Mr. Spider went flying off into the garden, to live wild and free. Much better than copping a load of bug spray in the face.
“Happy?” he asked.
“Delirious. Thank you.”
A grunt.
“Remember the first time you taught me to do that? I didn’t get it right and the poor thing lost a leg under the edge of the container. Half of me was petrified, and the other half in tears.” To be fair, huntsmen’s legs were strangely brittle, and you had to be pretty agile to make sure they didn’t lose a leg or two in the process.
Another grunt.
Great. Was this how it was going to be for my entire stay?
“Not that I don’t adore the whole grouchy thing you’ve got going,” I said. “But out of curiosity, should we just possibly talk about the issue and get it all out there? Deal with it, maybe?”
He frowned. “Hell, no.”
“So we’re never going to discuss it?”
“Got it in one.”
I took a deep breath and gave him a thumbs-up. “Okay. Great. Good talk, Pete. Thanks again for getting rid of the spider.”
Another disgruntled look and he was gone, wandering back inside. Off to hide out in his office, no doubt.
Skittering spiders and taciturn men. What the hell had I gotten myself into?