Chapter 9
Toni was charming company. That shouldn’t have been news. He’d been chatting with her for over a year online, always looking forward to her responses – the wry observations about her colleagues and bottomless curiosity about his island.
What was surprising was just how much he was…
charmed. When she exclaimed over the fresh focaccia, olives and his home-made sour lemonade with rosemary, the effects of her delighted approval could have powered his house for a week.
She devoured three figs and an apricot and declared them better than chocolate, which he’d politely disagreed with, earning him a smile.
Although her eyes told another story, her smile was bright and open. It was those eyes that made him want to give her everything she needed this week – everything she wanted, even if what she wanted was for him to keep his distance.
He could read between the lines. She didn’t want the attraction.
He didn’t either – in theory. But she had such beautiful shoulders, soft skin.
Her olive-green swimsuit had a pretty wrap-around shape that hid more than it revealed but revealed enough to make his pulse spike.
She understood he was lonely, even if he hadn’t shared much and didn’t intend to.
Dangerous things were always the most fun.
‘Now, unfortunately, you cannot go in the water for another two hours,’ he informed her gravely.
‘What? Why not?’
‘It is a strict law in Italy. If you do, a nonna somewhere will appear and shake her finger at you.’
‘As utterly terrifying as that sounds, I’m sure two whole hours is a bit much. But maybe I’ll manage an hour. I’m supposed to finish a book.’
‘“Supposed to?” Or you want to?’
With a jerky shrug, she answered, ‘A bit of both, I think. I’ve got this single week away from my usual responsibilities and my mum was insistent I make the most of it.
’ She stood and stretched; the flowery covering she was wearing picked up in the wind.
When she settled into the lounger, he adjusted the parasol so the shade over her was complete.
Toni taken care of, he stretched out on the picnic blanket, his toes pointing to the sky, and it wasn’t long until he dozed off.
Only to be awoken by a shriek of alarm.
Disoriented and hazy from sleep, he hauled himself upright, taking a moment too long to process the fact that Toni was no longer on the sunlounger – or anywhere else he could see.
‘Toni?’
‘Yow! I’m over here,’ came the response from behind a boulder to his right – the side of the beach with the fallen rocks that gave the cove its name, Ripa Barata. ‘Crap, I’ve hurt myself.’
Her calm, detached tone didn’t stop the shot of panic up his spine.
He leapt up, ignoring the spike of pain in the soles of his feet as he raced over the stones, following the sound of her voice.
Striding through the water with a frustrating slowness, he finally found her hunched on the loose rocks – her hands covered in blood.
He nearly swooned.
‘I don’t even really know what happened. I slipped and then suddenly— Are you all right?’
Forcing his eyes open, he nearly closed them again immediately when the sight of the blood confronted him. While his vision blurred at the edges, he swallowed his racing heart that had leapt into his throat and tried to find his rational brain.
Her hands were not bleeding. They were only smeared with blood. She was clutching her shin and – there it was. An ooze of red that made his stomach turn. He crouched down in front of her.
‘Of course I’m all right. Let me see.’
She moved her hands slowly away to reveal a gash on her leg.
‘Cristo santo,’ he muttered, taking a deep breath.
‘Oh, shit,’ was her contribution. ‘I still have a skinned knee to deal with and it’s my own.’
Looking up into her face, he was puzzled that she seemed only mildly put out while her leg appeared to be haemorrhaging and her life draining away. Groping for the neckline of his T-shirt, he dragged it off and fumbled to wrap it around her leg, pulling it tight.
‘Ow!’ She gave a cry that he felt as a stab in his chest.
‘Ecco,’ he said, gesturing wildly for her to lean forward. Sliding an arm under her knees, he hefted her with an, ‘Oof.’
‘Yikes, Gabri, what are you—?’ She clamped an arm around his neck as he splashed back to the beach. His brain was still a fog of worry, but her hand clutching him, needing him, was an adrenaline surge he hadn’t felt in… long enough.
Holding her against him got his heart pounding. Too much skin.
Setting her down carefully on the lounger, he took a bottle of water and braced himself to look at the wound again.
‘I don’t think it’s too—’
‘We’ll wash it.’
‘I can do it.’ This time, the doubt in her voice couldn’t be ignored. ‘It’s a cut. Maybe a little deep, but it’ll be okay.’
He stilled, the red stain on his shirt at odds with her steady words.
‘I’m okay – really. Although thank you for the lift back over here.’ If she was smiling, she must be right. It was just a cut.
‘We should still wash it to make sure there’s nothing in the wound,’ he insisted and she extended her leg obediently – with rather indulgent obedience, he suspected.
Unwrapping his blood-stained shirt, he couldn’t entirely control his revulsion when he saw the jagged cut one more time, but the bleeding was slowing already. ‘I’m sorry, this will hurt.’
She nodded bravely, but her hiss when the water flowed over the wound pricked him again.
‘Here.’ He took her hand and placed it on his shoulder, gratified when she squeezed at the next painful splash of water. At least he could feel some of it with her. ‘What were you doing? I thought you had a book to read!’
Glancing up, he found her biting her lip in a sheepish expression. ‘I think… that was too ambitious for today.’
‘Too ambitious? So you went off to explore the rocks instead?’
He wondered if she had had a little too much sun after all.
‘I don’t think I’m good at it – this relaxing,’ she mumbled.
He took the opportunity of her distraction to fold his shirt and wrap it around her leg again, with more care this time.
With the wound covered, he could breathe again – at least until he looked up into her face and found her expression grave, her gaze out to sea.
‘You won’t understand what it’s like, being a single mother. ’
‘Hmm,’ he prompted, uncertain whether he truly wanted the explanation.
‘I haven’t had a week away like this in… ever. Everything I do, I have to think of Cilli first and I can’t just switch that off in a day.’
‘Cilli. That’s your son’s name?’
‘Cillian,’ she said in a tone of voice he hadn’t heard yet. It almost made Gabri want to know more about this boy who defined her life. ‘I miss him.’ She sounded more upset when she said that than she’d been when the blood was dribbling down her shin.
‘Of course you do.’
Shaking her head, she continued. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been looking forward to a break. Every day is full-on, getting him to school, going to work myself, homework, dinner, fruit and vegetables, brush your teeth, an emotional breakdown or two.’
He stifled his wince but suspected she still noticed.
‘I suppose it’s just hard to go from that to concentrating for a whole hour on reading a book.’
‘I—’ Swallowing, he reconsidered what he’d been about to say.
‘What?’
‘I don’t have kids, but it makes sense.’ At least what she described reminded him viscerally of a time in his life he’d rather forget. ‘The anxiety doesn’t just go away by magic.’
The way her eyes widened made him think she was dismayed that he’d put a name to it. ‘How does it go away then?’
‘I’m not the right person to ask.’
‘You’re not the right person for a lot of things,’ she said hesitantly.
The breeze blew a strand of hair into her face.
Without thinking, he smoothed it back, his thumb brushing her cheek.
So easily, he could imagine closing the short distance between them and pressing a kiss to that cheek – those lips – making her close her eyes so she wouldn’t look at him like that any more, as though she could see through to the heart in pieces beneath his ribcage.
He was burning to know about her husband, to examine her pain so he might feel differently about his.
‘You’re right,’ he said instead of following any of those urges. ‘I’ve learned to be selfish.’
‘But is it selfishness or self-preservation?’
The question reminded him of their online chat. When he’d complained about difficult customers, she’d always taken his side – even when he’d been at fault. ‘Selfishness,’ he insisted. ‘You’re the proof of that, Mrs Goschl.’
She froze when he called her that – a barrier raised. Good. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You were pushed and you grew stronger, accepted your life. I was pushed and I broke and ran away, made a new life where I don’t have anyone relying on me.’
Her hand shifted on his shoulder, bringing back that ripple of deep knowledge – instinct – that she could grow to rely on him. But prolonging the touch, drawing closer, would definitely be selfish when she wanted a friend, not a flaky lover.
‘I only have a week with no one relying on me.’ Her voice was husky and soft and he felt it in his stomach.
‘But putting pressure on yourself won’t help,’ he insisted.
‘Maybe it would be better to start with just twenty minutes of reading, rather than a full hour. Or maybe just do what you want this week – with or without me. I won’t be offended.
’ He might be relieved for the time away from this relentless pull.
‘I should be making the most of this downtime.’
‘There’s no “should”, Toni.’
She smiled. How she had the grace – and strength – to do so, he had no idea. ‘I know. I shouldn’t feel guilty either.’
Her sigh was so deep and long, it tickled the hairs at his temples. He was kneeling in front of her, his hand behind her knee, and he didn’t want to move away. When he lifted his gaze to her face, he found her studying her own hand on his shoulder. Her fingers moved experimentally.
When was the last time she’d kissed someone? Been intimate with them? It was none of his business.
The murmur of voices and the swish of undergrowth made them snap away from each other, as though caught in a compromising position. A moment later, a family wearing caps and sun shirts appeared at the edge of the forest, making their way carefully down the steep rock.
Toni’s exhale was choppy – gratifyingly so – as Gabri hung his head and tried not to think about what could have happened if they’d been alone a moment longer.
This wasn’t what he’d wanted. Friendship was simple, beautiful, wholesome.
He needed to ignore the undercurrent of wanting and focus on Toni and what she needed this week.
Respite. Good food. His soothing island.
‘I see other people do know about this place.’ Her light tone matched a small smile.
‘It’s not a secret,’ he replied.
Leaning on her knees, she stared out at the water. Her hair was in her face again, but he forced himself to ignore it.
‘It’s not our beach any more.’