CHAPTER ELEVEN
KATIESHIELDEDHEREYES against the early-morning sunlight glittering on the turquoise blue of the lagoon. A lagoon which stretched for miles towards the horizon in every direction—literally a vision of paradise.
A salt-scented breeze moved through the palm trees that fringed the beach, adding a hushed rustle to the tranquil day. The translucent sea lapped against the shoreline in desultory waves. Standing on the bedroom terrace of the stunning steel-and-glass structure that was Jack’s house on the island, she wondered where her so-called husband was.
Is he avoiding me?
She’d awoken yesterday, after eleven hours virtually comatose, when the private jet had touched down in Malé at midday. She and Jack had been driven by limousine from the airport through the colonial town to the port, where a motor launch had waited to whisk them across the water towards the Ari Atoll and Wolfe Maldives’ private island.
One thing she remembered clearly was waking up in the plane’s bedroom, alone, strange dreams still intruding on her consciousness—of Jack, his face tense, cautious and wary, shock and brutal sadness clouding his eyes. Even now, twenty-four hours later, she could still feel the texture of his scar against her fingertips, the warm skin ridged and torn. She gripped the balcony railing. Had she touched him in her sleep? Had he carried her into the plane’s bedroom?
The man I thought was my father.
His gruff whisper murmured through her memory, as it had so many times on their strangely stilted journey from the airport to the island, and during the afternoon and evening she’d spent alone in the house after he had disappeared with some excuse about having to work.
Had he actually confided in her? The words had been full of bitterness but tinged with vulnerability—as if his answer had been wrenched from his very soul. Or had she imagined the dream-like encounter on the flight?
She had considered asking him about it during the limousine transfer to the port in Malé and the breathtaking journey on the motor launch across the vast blue sea. But he had been preoccupied ever since they’d left the airport, either talking on his phone, reading contracts or tapping out messages on his laptop. In fact, she’d barely exchanged two words with him since she’d walked into the jet’s lounge area, feeling well-rested but still confused and on edge, to find him waiting for her, his watchful gaze holding so many secrets.
He’d been tense, brooding, the withdrawn quality telling her louder than words to keep her distance. And, even though she had decided any intimacy between them would be dangerous, she had missed the mocking, dominating—and impossibly hot—man who had invited her on this trip in the first place.
When they’d arrived at Wolfe Maldives—which had appeared like a tropical oasis in the midst of the never-ending blue, the main building a white wood-framed colonial palace which blended into the palm trees—Jack had disappeared with a team of his assistants and the resort’s managerial staff.
So this was going to be a working honeymoon, then? Funny he hadn’t mentioned that when she’d been freaking out about it at dinner three nights ago.
After he’d left her, she had ignored the pang of regret and concentrated on the tour she was given of the stunning facilities: two swimming pools, a fully equipped gym and several different dining areas, including one on a floating platform in the lagoon, draped in white linen that billowed in the breeze. There were tennis courts, a spa and a sea-sports area equipped with everything from jet-skis to paddle boards and snorkelling equipment, plus a dive hut where a diving instructor had offered to introduce her to the wonders of the reef that surrounded the island during her stay.
Then she’d been driven in a golf buggy to the Owner’s Cottage on the other side of the island. Whoever had named it a cottage had clearly been delusional. Cariad was a cottage. The two-storey stone and glass structure perched on the edge of a white sand cove was nothing short of a palace.
After exploring the five-bedroom house and its grounds while the staff unpacked their luggage, she had been served a three-course meal on the veranda by the charmingly discreet staff...while Jack had been conspicuous by his absence.
After watching the sinking sun create a sensational light show of pinks and oranges and flaming reds from the jetty, she’d headed to bed, feeling anxious but also lonely.
Where was he?
Did Jack plan to join her in the master bedroom tonight? How would she feel if he woke her? Should she have stayed up to greet him when he finished his work commitments? What was her role here? Because she had no idea.
But, when she’d woken this morning, the bed beside her had been empty. And, after she’d checked the property to find another one of the bedrooms slept in but still no sign of Jack, the bewilderment and loneliness turned to agitation.
She frowned, the stunning, sun-drenched scenery doing nothing to dispel the knots in her belly that had been forming since yesterday.
Now she knew a little of how Mrs Rochester must have felt—the unwanted bride hidden away and going insane in the attic. Albeit this was a luxury paradise attic where every possible amenity waited to distract her from the fact her new husband wanted to have nothing to do with her...
Not that they were a real husband and wife, she told herself staunchly, but still it felt as if she’d been brought to the Maldives under false pretences. What had become of the man who’d teased and tormented her, who had insisted the heat between them needed to be dealt with? And what exactly was she supposed to do about the fact she was starting to want it dealt with too?
She breathed in the clean, salty air, the sun warming her skin. Was it possible that what had happened in the plane’s bedroom hadn’t been a dream? Was it behind his disappearing act? Was Jack running scared now?
And, if he was, what did she want to do about it?
Find him. Because avoidance clearly isn’t working. It’s just making me more insane.
They had six more days together in paradise and six months until the baby was born. She was tired of running—not just from the insistent desire, but the strange connection they seemed to share. She needed to discover if what he’d told her about the scar was true. Because that furious jolt of compassion for him, and the brutalised boy he’d been, was still there throbbing under her breast bone like an open wound.
Maybe the sensible thing would be to forget about what she thought he’d said to her. It would be horribly embarrassing if she’d conjured the whole scenario up from some desperate desire buried deep in her psyche. Always a possibility.
But she’d never been sensible when it came to relationships. She’d always been reckless, impulsive and passionate. It was how she’d survived on her own for years, especially after her grandmother’s death. Why she’d been in Jack Wolfe’s penthouse that night at her sister’s request. And probably one of the reasons why she had agreed to this marriage in the first place.
Her decision to sign on Jack’s dotted line had never been as simple or straightforward as she’d wanted to believe—it hadn’t just been about the unplanned pregnancy or her desperation to get out from a mountain of debt and turn her business into a going concern. It had also been about that fierce, intense desire in Jack’s eyes whenever he looked at her and the strange sense that he saw her in a way no other man ever had.
Maybe that intense yearning was simply about sex for him, but it was about more than that for her. And it was time she acknowledged it and found a way forward.
Striding back into the bedroom, she donned one of the designer swimsuits that had been brought for her. The one-piece had a fifties vibe, cut high on the leg with a criss-cross design across her chest that lifted her breasts, while the vibrant letter-box-red matched the russet tones of her hair. Although the costume didn’t show as much flesh as the bikinis, it flattered her hour-glass shape and gave her a confidence she needed.
She tied up the unruly locks of her hair in a casual knot, slathered all the places she could reach in sun lotion then added a pair of denim cut-offs, some beach sandals and a lose-fitting white linen shirt to her ensemble. She wasn’t about to throw herself at the man if he didn’t want her. But she refused to allow him to dictate all the terms of their marriage. He’d dictated enough already.
After downing a cup of mint tea and a bowl of the home-baked granola and fresh fruit laid out by the invisible staff on the stunning black quartz breakfast bar, she headed out onto the stone pool-terrace.
She squinted into the sunshine. It had to be getting close to ten o’clock. She’d been up for over an hour and Jack was still nowhere in sight.
He’s definitely avoiding me.