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when he’d had coffee and a solid eight hours’ sleep.
‘Wayne … Yeah, I was with Willa when they met for the first time.’ Amy’s voice had a faraway quality that suggested she was recalling memories from long ago.
‘And?’ Jessica’s voice sounded impatient.
Amy took a while to answer and Rob mentally urged her to get a move on.
‘Slick,’ Amy said eventually. ‘Slick as snot. A lot older than Willa—I think he was in his mid-thirties when they first met …’
‘You didn’t like him,’ Jessica stated.
‘Yeah, instinctively didn’t like him,’ Amy agreed. ‘I was just frustrated, I guess. Willa was a kid so desperately in need of fun, a good time, letting her hair down, and I was showing her how to do that … God, we were having a blast! Partying up a storm, flirting up a bigger storm … we ruled the resort.’
‘You mean you ruled and Willa was your sidekick,’ Jessica said, dryly.
Rob grinned at that.
‘Then she met Wayne and she … How do I explain this? She shrank in on herself and became the perfect girlfriend—cool, calm, collected. With him she was eighteen going on eighty. Crazy Willa left the building.’
‘Since she was slamming down those cocktails last night, I think crazy Willa is back,’ Jessica said, and Rob could hear the grin in her voice.
‘Not by a long shot. And she wasn’t anywhere near being drunk, trust me, that girl can hold her booze. When she’s really drunk she ends up singing eighties ballads and taking her clothes off.’
Rob’s eyebrows lifted with surprise. He’d like to see that.
‘She can be a wild woman,’ Amy added.
Rob had the nail-marks on his butt to prove that point.
‘But with Wayne she stopped having fun. I suspect that last night was the first time she’s had some real fun—proper fun—since she got married. She’s a little sad, scared, and a lot lonely. I feel sort of protective of her …’
So did he.
Huh?
Rob looked down at his bare feet and instead of heading for the kitchen—caffeine, shockingly, could now wait—he walked through the sun room and headed for the sunlight-dappled deck: expensive outdoor furniture, a pizza oven built into the wall and an island holding a gas stove and a fridge. A ten-seater wooden dining table with benches on either side dominated the kitchen end of the deck, and cane couches and chairs with blue and white striped cushions filled the rest of the space. The large, rectangular pool looked cool and inviting and he wished he could dive into its clear depths.
He loved to swim—did some of his best thinking in the water.
So Willa had been married … was still, technically, married … to a guy who was a lot older than her and obviously rich. Her eyes held shadows within them that suggested long-term unhappiness; he recognised those shadows—he’d seen them in his mum’s eyes every day she’d been married to Stefan.
Which was all on him. Because when she’d told him that Stefan had proposed, wondering what he thought, he’d said that she should take the plunge. Stefan had been his dad’s best friend—her friend. Their second dad. She’d liked him, they’d liked him … what could go wrong? He’d just wanted her to be happy again, and—he had to be honest here—he’d known he would feel a lot more comfortable going off to uni across the country if he knew that Stefan was looking after Mum and Gail.
That hadn’t worked out the way he’d thought it would.
When he’d finally got to the root of the problem—when his family had disintegrated around him for the second time—he’d felt his heart rip apart. It had been like losing his father all over again, and along with that he’d waved goodbye to his innocence and his faith in people.
And he’d kicked trust over a cliff.
Rob ran his hand along his scruffy jaw. Where was this coming from? He’d been thinking about Willa’s sad eyes and then he’d started thinking of his past and his failure in the interpersonal relationships department.
Huh …
But the fact remained that he didn’t like the idea of Willa feeling sad …
He’d slept with her once and he was already giving her more thought than he’d given all his past flings put together. Something was very wrong with this picture …
Because he didn’t play games with other people—and especially with himself. He had to admit that he kind of liked the fact that Willa was still married, if only legally. It was a minor barrier, but a barrier nonetheless—something to help him keep his emotional distance, to remind him not to become any more involved than he should be. Than he liked to be, wanted to be, could afford to be …
One friggin’ night and she’s turning your head upside down. Get a grip, Hanson! You just want to sleep with her again, his sensible side argued. There’s no need to go all dark and broody and—what was the word Gail had used the other day?—’emo’ about this. It’s just sex. You know that after a couple of days you’ll get bored and want to move on. So ask for another night, or two, or three, but just stop bloody brooding already. And get it into your thick block that she’s no different from the others …
Except that she is, he thought.
Very different … She had to be if he was thinking about her like this.
Rob dropped his long frame into the nearest chair and groaned loudly.
Get the hell out of her house and her life, moron, he told himself. Now. You’re looking for trouble—inviting complications in through the door. The night is over, the sun is high in the sky and if you’re thinking that she is remotely special then your ass should be on fire, trying to get the hell away. Be smart about her, dude. Get your cup of coffee, say your goodbyes, and get the hell out of Dodge. You never stay this long—you rarely spend the night.
Yet despite running through his long list of why he shouldn’t be contemplating another night, a fling, a short-term affair with her, he was unable to walk away.
Rob placed his head on the back on the chair and groaned again. You are utterly and completely screwed, man.
Even that thought wasn’t enough to pull himself out of the chair and out of her house.
Screwed to the max. And still caffeine-deprived.
Rob tapped on the frame of the open bathroom door and grinned when Willa, standing in front of the huge bathroom mirror above the double basins in a pale yellow bra and thong, reached for a dressing gown to cover up.
‘Bit late for that, seeing as I’ve seen and kissed most of you.’
Fighting her blush, Willa dropped the gown. He had seen—stroked, tasted—everything, so it was a silly, pointless gesture. Willa picked up a square black box and, flipping it open, brushed a pale pink blush over her cheekbones. Rob placed a cup of coffee on the counter and went back to lean his shoulder into the doorframe and cross his legs at the ankles, holding his cup in his hand.
‘Thanks,’ Willa said.
‘That was the last of the milk, and there’s nothing but a half-tub of cottage cheese and some yoghurt in your fridge … what do you eat?’
‘Not much,’ she admitted in a jerky voice. ‘I hate cooking for myself.’
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