He shakes his head. ‘No.’
His eyes linger on my face. I turn away from him, put a teabag in a mug and slosh in water. I reach for a small pot of milk from the fridge.
‘If you were to buy the resort,’ I say thoughtfully, not sure where the question comes from but knowing I need to ask it, ‘how involved would you be in the running of it?’
I don’t look at him because, as I ask it, I hear the question and I know what it sounds like—as though I’m looking for more from him than either of us ever agreed to.
‘I’ll oversee all aspects.’ Something like hope lifts inside me. ‘From New York.’ He says the last three words quietly, and I’m sure he knows that my hopes have been pinned on him becoming, somehow, for a while, more local, more accessible to me.
I’ve been burned by Gareth, burned by love. I have no way of articulating what I would even do if Jagger were to start spending more time here, in Australia. I know only that the door would be open, that possibilities would be there.
Possibilities for what?
I don’t want a relationship. I have to get my business sorted—the last thing I should be thinking about is any kind of ongoing situation with Jagger.
And yet...
Tomorrow we’ll fly back to Sydney, and then what? He’ll jet out of my life? Sure, we’ll have to negotiate the contracts, but he’ll never touch me again? Kiss me again? Fuck me like his life depends on it?
It makes no sense, even though I know it’s how it has to be.
‘So you’ll have someone here, locally?’
His frown is barely detectable in the soft lighting of the room. ‘I’ll move my global director of operations out here for a few months to get a feel for it.’ He shrugs. ‘She’ll appoint the corporate and management team.’
It’s all so sensible. So final.
I try to take comfort from the fact he’s talking more definitely about the purchase—I will move, not I would move. That bodes well for the sale, at least. If I can’t have Jagger, not that I want him, I can at least comfort myself with the company that has years of my blood, sweat and tears poured into it.
‘Come back to bed.’ He pats the space beside him. I follow his gaze, my heart pumping faster, moving blood around my body as best it can. I have a thousand questions, thoughts that need to find expression, but none are more imperative than my body’s need to be with his. To fuck him, yes, but also to fall asleep tucked in the crook of his arm, so close I can feel his heart beating in time with my own.
* * *
The morning light in this part of the world is different to my own. New York sunrises have more pink and more haze. There’s something dramatic and clear about the way the sun bursts over this ocean, casting glitter and light on its aquamarine surface. As dawn gives way to full-blown morning, I turn to look at her one last time.
She’s fast asleep, her hair curved over her cheek, her breathing rhythmic.
My stomach tightens; our time is almost up.
She’ll go back to Sydney this morning and I’ll head back to the States, to New York, to Brinkley, my life.
I run my eyes over her body, savouring every dip of her flesh, every curve and undulation. I let my mind absorb every detail, committing her to memory, because once my jet takes off and I leave Australian air space, this is over. Done with.
No more Grace Llewellyn.
And I hate that.
I hate the idea of walking away from her. I hate the idea of never seeing her again. And you know what I hate most of all? The idea that some other guy’s going to see her, meet her, make her laugh in that way she has, so sweet and sexy. That some other guy’s going to peel her clothes from her body and make love to her, make her scream his name.
But this feeling of possession is just that—and it’s beneath me, and not worthy of her. She deserves to meet a great guy. Someone who believes in marriage and all the shit someone like Grace should have. Someone who’ll make her realise Gareth was an A-grade arse-wipe to choose someone else over her. Someone who’ll make her feel like she deserves that perfect future.
Someone who believes in perfect futures—the opposite of me, then.
* * *
It’s a sticky, warm day, the humidity causing my cotton dress to stick to my back. I sip my coffee, barely tasting it.
I’m numb.