Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Claire
What the hell am I doing?
I should just say my farewells to Bryce, and then we should go our separate ways. A story to tell about the time a famous surfer pretended to be my boyfriend, then took me swimming.
But there was something in his eyes as he held me in the water, a sort of yearning as he gazed up at my home on the cliff.
And something stirred in me, beyond the arousal I felt with my legs locked around him and his arms around me.
Something deeper – a warmth like I felt last night when he stepped in to protect me from Simon.
I don’t want this to be the last time I see him.
So I invite him up to see the house. I’m shocked when I do it, and even more shocked when he says yes.
He follows me, his board strapped to the roof of his car, as we drive the short distance along the coast road to my driveway.
As we both pull up to the back of the house, my heart is pounding.
I’m being ridiculous. He might kiss me again, but it won’t mean anything.
I’ll just be another one in the long line of girls he’s been with.
So why the fuck do I want that?
I don’t, really. But I do want him. It’s a strange feeling, like a sort of flame burning in me. I liked Simon. I even thought I loved him for a while, thought he was handsome. But he pales into nothing next to the heat of Bryce Maylands.
He’s already out of his car. He got changed at the beach, peeling off his wetsuit while I tried not to look, shimmying into shorts and pulling a sweatshirt over his chest and abs, which are even more ridiculously perfect than in his photograph.
Now he’s standing with his hands on his hips, his damp hair tousled, gazing up at the gum trees.
There are a few cockatoos up there, shrieking and flapping the way they usually do.
He watches them for a few moments, a smile on his face.
I watch him too, then blush when he catches me staring. I get out of the car.
“This place is awesome,” he says. “Can I?” He jerks his head towards the edge of the deck, the blue glimmer of the pool visible around the side of the house.
“Go for it.” Excitement curls in my stomach. I try to ignore it. “I’ll meet you inside.”
Bryce heads off towards the deck. I go to the back door, which is huge and made of timber, pivoting on a single point to open. My parents were so thrilled by the architect’s design, the way such a heavy piece could move so smoothly, and I think of them every time I use it.
But when I get to the door, I stop dead, my good mood sliding away. There’s a bunch of flowers there, lilies and banksia, green-blue stems of eucalyptus leaves, all tied with a ribbon. And a note. I pick them both up as though they’re a snake about to bite me. I know who the gift is from.
Fucking Simon. He must have climbed up the cliff path.
I really need to get it gated properly. I walk around the side of the house, to the deck.
Bryce is leaning against the railing, staring out at the view.
He starts when I go past him, flinging the flowers over the edge.
I know it’s a waste, but I don’t want the flowers in my house, don’t want anything Simon touched near me.
The note I crumple up and put in the copper firepit.
“Everything okay?”
“Just clearing some stuff out.” But I’m shaken by how close Simon can get to me still, despite all the measures I’ve taken to keep him away.
Bryce goes over to the unlit firepit and pulls out the crumpled note. “D’you mind?” He looks over at me, one eyebrow raised.
I wrap my arms around myself. “Go for it.”
He opens the note and reads it. His expression darkens. “That guy really is a dickhead.”
“Yep.”
He crumples the note again, dropping it in the firepit. Then he takes a match from the pack on the nearby table, lighting it, and sets fire to the note.
We both watch it burn.
“Did you say something about coffee?”
He comes closer, smiling at me, and it’s like the sun coming out. Again there’s that throb of anticipation, Simon and his bullshit antics dissipating like smoke.
“Oh, yes! Hang on a sec.” The sliding doors are locked so I go around to the back again, letting myself in.
Once inside I hastily fill the kettle and turn it on, then quickly tidy away my breakfast dishes, casting an eye over the huge open plan living area.
God, I hope I haven’t left anything embarrassing out.
But Bryce is already at the sliding doors, hands cupped around his eyes as he looks in at me. I can’t leave him out there. I run over and open the huge doors, pushing them back, letting in the fresh air and sound of the sea. And Bryce.
“This place is stunning,” he says. “Like, totally beautiful. Look at that view. And the craftmanship on these doors.” He runs his hand down them, looking up. “I can see the love in this place.” His voice is soft. “And why it would be so special to you.”
“Yeah. They really did love it here.”
“What about you? Do you love living here?”
I don’t know how we got so deep with our conversation already, but I don’t care. It feels normal to talk to him like this, just like it did when I told him about my parents on the beach. Like it was something he needed to know about me, no secrets, nothing hidden.
“I do,” I say, heading back into the kitchen area and switching off the kettle. “Like I say, I couldn’t stay in Melbourne. There are memories here too – we used to spend summers on the coast while this place was being built – but they’re happy ones.”
I pull out the French press and the bag of ground coffee, pausing to breathe in the scent before putting a few scoops in the press. I top it up with hot water and leave it to sit, taking mugs out of one of the large drawers in the kitchen island and putting them on the counter.
“I get it,” Bryce says. “Home can be…”—his brows draw together and he rubs a hand over his face—“like the best and most painful place on earth, all at the same time. It can be tough to stay, sometimes.”
“Did you grow up in Melbourne?”
“Yeah. Richmond. You?”
“Camberwell. Do you… Do you go back often, then?” I’m cautious about asking, shadows shifting in his gaze. But it also feels natural, like he won’t mind at all.
“Not as often as I should. I’m supposed to head there later today, though.”
“Oh, okay.” So that’s it, then. I don’t know why I feel so disappointed. Or why I feel the need to hold on to every minute with Bryce. “How do you take your coffee?”
“Black,” he says. “With honey, if you’ve got it?”
“I do.” I head into the small pantry area off the kitchen. I take a moment in there to catch my breath. Bryce Maylands in my house is doing things to me.
When I come out, he’s sitting on one of the tall stools at the side of the granite island. I put the honey down, and hand him a spoon, then pour the coffee into the mugs.
I pass one to him, but he seems deep in thought.
“You okay?” I hope I haven’t upset him, asking about home.
“Yeah.” He grins at me, but seems somehow nervous. “I was just wondering… How would you feel about being my girlfriend?”
Bryce
I didn’t mean to just blurt it out like that.
But as soon as I saw her hurl those flowers over the edge of the deck, and read the note that asshole left for her, the idea that had been simmering at the back of my mind came to full boil.
I want to help her.
You might have a boyfriend now, but he won’t last. You’re mine, and I won’t give up until you’re back with me again. Remember, I love you.
What an absolute dickhead. I’m glad I didn’t show her the note; she doesn’t need that kind of shit in her life.
I’ve seen what it can do to people, being the target of someone’s obsession, the dark paths they can go down.
And Claire, with her ocean eyes and soft kindness, is the last person I want that to happen to.
Maybe it’s a bit selfish of me as well. I know Jeff will be happy if I can pull this off, not to mention my sponsors. And it’ll take some of the heat off me while I sort out the things I need to do here.
Plus, I want her.
But this is going to be a relationship of convenience. Surface level only.
If she agrees to it, anyway.
At the moment she’s standing stock still, staring at me, her pink lips half-open, eyes wide. Shit. Maybe she’ll tell me to get the fuck out of her house. Maybe she thinks I’m a nutcase like Simon.
“Let me explain,” I continue, before she can show me the door. “I have … stuff going on in my life at the moment. And if I can appear to have a girlfriend, it will help me. But more than that, it might help you … with your current … er, situation.”
“Your girlfriend?” She still looks stunned.
“Just for show. Social media already thinks we’re together anyway, thanks to Simon’s little stunt at the pub last night.”
“Social media?”
“We’ve gone viral. Have you checked your phone lately?”
She shakes her head, then digs in her bag, which is on the granite countertop. She takes in a short breath as she scrolls through what are no doubt lots of notifications and messages.
“Shit.” Her head comes up. “I mean, I figured you were well known but this is…”
“Yeah. Sorry.”
I give her a moment. Just to process things. It feels incredibly delicate, like we’re balancing on the edge of a knife, and things could go in any direction.
“When you say ‘girlfriend’ you mean…”
“I mean for appearances only. I’m here for the next month, enough time to show up for you whenever you need me. And in return, you’d need to come to some stuff with me.”
She frowns slightly, looking down at her phone again. “Appearances only?”
“I mean … we’d probably have to be affectionate in public. But only what you’re comfortable with.”
“And it would be for the next month? Until Christmas?”
“Yeah.” I realise I’m holding my breath. Christ, I want her. I want her in my life, even if it is just for show.
“And you wouldn’t be … dating anyone else in that time?” She still isn’t looking at me, so I have no idea what she’s thinking.
“That’s right,” I say. Fuck. A month without sex. Can’t remember the last time that happened. Or if it’s ever happened. But I’ll do it, if it means I get the chance to know her.
She blinks a few times, still staring at her phone. Then she lifts her head, finally, and looks at me. I still can’t read her, still don’t know what she’s thinking. But there’s a tremor in her voice when she speaks.
“All right. Let’s do it.”