Chapter Twelve #2
‘What, like this?’ Jordan suddenly shoved Chantelle away so hard she landed bum first onto the sand.
‘Ow! Why did you do that, you moron?’ She winced as she got to her feet, dusted the sand from her bikini bottoms and scowled at him.
‘Because I hate liars.’ He glared at her. ‘You did hit her, didn’t you? Admit it. And don’t call me a bloody moron.’
‘I am not a liar. I told you she tripped and fell back on the sand.’
The whole thing suddenly started to become very public. Daniel, Spence and Ed, who had been shadowing him, stood there smirking at Chantelle as Jordan’s tirade continued. They were soon joined by several more of his friends, turning the whole thing into a real spectator event.
‘You’re a liar, Chantelle Mason, and there’s no place for liars in my life,’ Jordan shouted, and gave her another shove which sent her sprawling. Signalling to his friends, he turned to leave.
‘Jordan?’ Chantelle shot to her feet, taking a moment to dust the sand off once more before she chased after the group. She eventually reached him, grabbed his arm and pulled him to a halt. He swung around to face her, his expression hardening as he looked down at her.
‘I didn’t lie.’ Oh God, Cat thought, she’s gone back to whiny again. That’s bad news.
‘I don’t care if you did or not.’ Jordan shrugged. ‘I want you out of my life.’
‘What? You can’t do that.’
‘Of course I can. Didn’t you know? I can do anything I like,’ he said, as he brought his face close to hers. ‘Now piss off, Chantelle. I don’t want to see you again. It’s over.’
Cat watched the girl’s shoulders sag. She bit her lip, holding back her tears, as Jordan and his small group left the beach and headed back towards their jet skis.
She sniffed and, wiping away the wetness with her fingertips, turned and made her way back to her friends.
As she passed Marika her eyes narrowed and she waved a threatening finger at her.
‘I know your game,’ she hissed, sending Marika into a fresh flood of tears.
‘But he’s not for you. So back off or else. ’
Her threat delivered, she marched back to where her friends were seated. Within moments she was sitting in her chair, shades on, busy texting as if nothing in the world was wrong.
Nathan rummaged in his shorts’ pocket and found a handkerchief to give to the sobbing waitress.
Marika muttered a thank you and dabbed her eyes.
She began to shake uncontrollably, which prompted Nathan to begin helping her back to the beach bar, hoping Chantelle and her crowd didn’t decide to start anything else.
Thankfully, as they approached, the girls gathered up their things and left.
He eased her down into a nearby chair and, as if by magic, Benita arrived with a glass of cold water. Marika brushed her hair from her eyes and thanked her as she took it. Nathan squatted in front of her, waiting patiently while she took a few mouthfuls. ‘Better?’ he asked.
‘A little,’ she said, handing him back the glass.
‘I think we’d better get you back to the hotel.’ His eyes strayed across to Cat who nodded in agreement. ‘I’ll have a word with Anton,’ he said, ‘tell him you’re not well enough for your evening shift. It won’t be a problem.’
‘Thank you.’ She managed a weak smile. Cat watched her tuck her hair behind her ears noticing the skin where Chantelle had supposedly struck her was clear and unblemished.
Had Chantelle been telling the truth? Did Marika deliberately set this up to get her into trouble?
Arriving on the jet ski behind Jordan meant one thing.
She already knew him. What better way to get rid of the opposition than to cause all this trouble and then play the injured party?
Well it seemed her plan had succeeded. Jordan had dumped Chantelle in front of a beach full of people leaving the way clear for Marika.
But did the silly girl have any idea what she was getting herself into?
Tonight Cat was cooking for Luke. The challenge, for that’s what it was, came about three nights ago as they were in The Smugglers having a drink and he asked her whether she ever cooked for her father and brother.
‘Not very often,’ she’d replied, realising for the first time how work consuming their lives were. ‘Dad’s often out to meetings – Rotary, local hoteliers, Chamber of Commerce – and, as you know, most of Nathan’s evenings are taken up with Ship2Shore.’
‘So you never get the opportunity to sit down for a decent meal with wine?’
‘Oh sure we do, but Franco organises that.’
‘Franco being your head chef?’
‘Yes, but it doesn’t mean I can’t cook,’ she’d protested, as she saw the disbelief in his face. ‘Oh come on, give me a break, Luke. I. Can. Cook. Suggest something and I’ll do it … go on.’
She’d noticed a gleam in his eye she didn’t much like and immediately wanted to take back her words. In rising to the bait she knew he’d got her exactly where he wanted her and she was about to get completely stitched up with some gastronomic meal way beyond her capabilities.
‘Now, let me think.’ He’d hesitated, deliberately taking his time, no doubt working out the most difficult task to hit her with. ‘Jake,’ he’d called out to one of the fishermen drinking at the bar, ‘if you could have a free meal out, what would you like to eat?’
Cat relaxed. Fishermen were hardly gourmet diners if the pub grub they ate in The Smugglers was anything to go by.
She’d tried not to smirk. It looked as if this was going to be easier than she imagined.
Luke had either accidentally misjudged the whole thing or he was letting her down easy.
She’d waited for the little man’s reply.
This was going to be a walk in the park.
Jake Kerrow scratched his beard and screwed up his weather-beaten face as he’d stared at Luke. ‘Anything, you say?’ he’d asked in his deep raspy growl. ‘Well, let me think. I like … well I’ve always fancied …’
Come on, come on, Cat’s inner voice demanded, say something for goodness’ sake. But when Jake did it came as a complete surprise. ‘I think I’d like to try Beef Wellington.’
‘Beef Wellington?’ Cat stared at him. Where had that come from? Her gaze moved from Jake back to Luke and she couldn’t ignore the slightly smug expression he wore.
‘You set this up.’ She turned on him, annoyed there might have been some collusion going on between the two of them.
‘No.’ He’d shaken his head in denial. ‘I asked a question and Jake responded. Are you saying you’re not up to this challenge?’
‘Certainly not.’ Damn him, he’d turned the tables, wrong-footing her. There was pride at stake here and no way was she backing down.
‘Next Saturday then and Jake will be our dinner guest.’
‘What?’ She was expected to cook for three of them?
‘I’d like some nice veg with it too … and mashed potato.’ She was aware of the little fisherman’s cautious voice, convincing her even more of Luke’s involvement in all this. ‘Oh and if there’s pudding, I’d love a trifle.’
‘Yep we can do trifle,’ Luke had answered for her. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll sort everything out. You need to be at mine for seven thirty.’
And now here she was in Luke’s kitchen wrapped in an apron, sleeves pushed up to her elbows, rolling pastry.
None of the ready-made shop bought stuff, Luke insisted, everything must be home-made.
She stopped for a moment and lifted her hand to brush a stray curl of hair from her eyes.
Franco had been an angel, taking time out to run her through the whole preparation process and so far today everything was going to plan.
The pastry sat in a neat oblong, all she needed to do now was to seat the chilled prosciutto-wrapped steak with its layer of mushroom stuffing onto it and fold the ends over.
After brushing beaten egg over the pastry and scoring the top with a knife she looked down at the roulade shaped package with a sense of achievement.
She lifted it onto a greaseproof covered baking sheet and slipped it into the fridge to chill just as she heard the front door slam.
Moments later, Luke appeared shrugging off his jacket.
‘How are things going, Nigella?’ he said with a grin as he slipped it over a nearby chair.
‘Fine. A piece of cake actually,’ she said breezily, ignoring his attempt at humour.
‘Are you still mad at me?’ Hands pushed into the pockets of his jeans, he watched as she began to clear away, ready to wash up.
‘Mad at you? Of course not. I love a challenge.’ She turned to face him with a confident smile.
‘Ah …’ Luke tilted his head, amused. ‘I see you’ve managed to give yourself a good dusting of flour while you’ve been busy.’
‘No I haven’t, where?’ She looked down at her apron, then at her hands.
‘Here, let me show you.’ He walked over to where she stood, resting his hands on the worktop, gently caging her in.
As he leaned towards her she was immediately aware of his body heat and that oh so familiar ripple of pleasure vibrating through her, making her want things she shouldn’t … couldn’t have.
‘You have flour here,’ he said as he raised one hand and ran a finger gently over her cheek, ‘and here.’ The warmth of his thumb across her chin made her shiver. ‘But worst of all, here.’ He ran his finger over her nose and grinned.
She expected him to take a step back then, to continue his teasing banter, but he didn’t. Instead he stared at her thoughtfully for a moment, his eyes darkening. ‘Oh, Cat …’ he managed, and the next moment she felt the soft teasing brush of his lips against her own.
It had been a wonderful but all too brief moment, Cat reflected later. For as her arms automatically wound their way around his neck, pulling him against her as he deepened the kiss, she heard a voice in the hallway.
‘Anyone home? It’s only me.’
Luke pulled back with a curse. He’d obviously not secured the front door properly when he’d come in.