Finding Forever on Their Island Paradise, page 7
‘But she did tell you something?’ he asked.
Edna nodded.
‘How do you know it wasn’t the truth?’
‘She said you wanted a debrief after the meeting.’
‘Yes.’
‘She looked too shaken up for that to be true. Why did she look shaken up?’
Because I messed things up.
To Edna, he said, ‘The meeting was taxing.’
‘I thought it went well.’
‘It did. But it was trying for her. She was nervous about getting my team’s support, and the islanders’ respect.’
Edna harrumphed. ‘They respect her.’
‘As an employer?’
‘You’re their employer.’
He tilted his head. ‘I believe that’s the kind of thinking that she was nervous about.’
Edna narrowed her eyes, but there was no retort. He nodded, satisfied that he’d made his point, and waited until she figured out how she wanted to harass him next. What he really wanted to do was leave and do what he had come to the estate to do: check on Morgan’s progress with the mock-up house. But leaving would be rude, and he wouldn’t insult Morgan’s grandmother that way.
Except it wasn’t only Morgan’s grandmother. Behind Edna was Joyce, Edna’s best friend, and behind Joyce her other friends, Clarice and Sharon.
An involuntary shudder went down Elliott’s spine. He’d only met them once, but that had been enough. Now he avoided them whenever he could.
He had no idea how he’d got himself into this situation.
Because you wanted to see Morgan.
He didn’t need to be on site today. Morgan had assured him she had things handled. But he wanted to show her that he trusted her. He wanted to show everyone else that, too. Besides, he had his own company to run. He’d chosen a great team who could manage without his physical presence, but he still had emails to work through and virtual meetings to attend. And he needed to do that now, while he wasn’t needed at the estate.
But he wanted to see her. To assure himself that he’d blown their chemistry out of proportion. Everything that had happened the day before must have been a fluke—especially that kiss.
That phenomenal kiss.
He had never in his life experienced intimacy so potent. It had only been a kiss, but he’d wanted to tear her clothes off. More worryingly, that kiss had made him think about more than just a physical relationship. Which made coming to see her now a stupid thing to do.
‘Leave him alone,’ Joyce said mildly. ‘He clearly doesn’t want to tell you anything.’
Wisely, he didn’t comment on that.
‘But I’ll tell you,’ Joyce went on.
‘You will?’ both he and Edna asked.
‘They kissed,’ Clarice said. ‘Joyce told us earlier.’
‘I wanted to tell them,’ Joyce almost growled.
‘I could tell you were going to make it a whole thing and it was just going to drag out,’ Clarice told her. ‘So, did you kiss?’
That last part was addressed to him. But why was Clarice asking for confirmation when Joyce already sounded so confident? It might have nothing to do with him. Maybe Clarice simply didn’t trust Joyce to tell the truth and was looking for confirmation. But that was unlikely. What was likely was that someone had told Joyce they thought they’d seen Morgan and Elliott on the beach, kissing, but they couldn’t be sure, and now they were looking to him to respond.
All of this was his own speculation, which he would never voice out loud because it would give them exactly what they wanted.
‘Why are you convinced Morgan’s state has something to do with me?’ he asked instead.
Sharon shrugged. ‘Who else would it be?’
‘Thad? He was at the Town Hall last night.’
Edna gaped at him. ‘She told you about Thad?’
Uneasiness crept over him. ‘Yes. Why?’
‘She hasn’t told anyone about Thad. Not even me.’
‘But—’ He took a moment to recalibrate. ‘How did you know what I meant, then?’
‘Oh, that girl was Frenching our mayor all over town that summer,’ Sharon said, rolling her eyes. ‘She thought she was being covert, but she wasn’t. She’s actually really bad at it.’
‘Which is how we know you two kissed,’ Joyce interjected.
She studied him, still waiting for him to confirm. His lips twitched, but he managed to keep them in a line, refusing to give in to the feeling of amusement that had come at her attempt at trickery.
‘You don’t know for sure what upset her, then?’ he asked lightly, though it wasn’t really a question. ‘I think I’ll take my leave.’
He nodded a greeting, then began to walk back to his house. He couldn’t go to the mock-up house now—not with those women watching him. They’d probably follow him, peppering him with questions he didn’t want to answer.
Questions he couldn’t answer.
He was the reason Morgan was, as her grandmother had put it, ‘shaken’. And it shamed him. Angered him. He was becoming too invested in Morgan. Now he wanted to go and see her to make amends for... For whatever it was called when a kiss rocked the very foundation of a professional relationship.
And now he had to worry because he’d told Edna and her friends about Morgan and Thad. There was likely a reason she hadn’t told them. But why had she told him? Surely that meant she was feeling the connection between them, too? She must be; she’d been the one to bring up their attraction in the first place...
This was precisely why he hated personal relationships.
He’d spent almost half his life feeling this kind of uncertainty. His parents had never quite adored him as much as they had Gio. He’d done whatever he could to try and get them to. But nothing he did had been enough. He’d seen that early on, and still he’d tried. Always hoping that maybe this time they’d see him. Really see him. But that hope had been futile, and it had come with the anxiety of wondering if this would be the moment he’d been waiting for. The anxiety of wondering if he was doing enough.
It had taken their non-reaction at him getting into the best university in the country on a full scholarship to realise that nothing he could do would ever be enough for them. Not when Gio was the standard to live up to.
So he’d started creating his own standards. Started focusing on the things he could control—unlike his parents’ affection and pride. He’d chosen each relationship with care from then on, never getting close to anyone so he’d never again have to flounder as he had with his parents.
Morgan was threatening all of that—and he wouldn’t allow it.
CHAPTER EIGHT
MORGAN TRIED NOT to be annoyed. Yes, she had told Elliott that the mock-up house was almost complete. Yes, she’d expected him to see it in person. But she hadn’t explicitly told him to come, and she shouldn’t expect him to read her mind.
She still did. Because her expectations when it came to him were unreasonably high. She didn’t know why—and she didn’t like it. Having high expectations almost always led to disappointment. She had experienced that over and over again, growing up. She’d managed to set them aside, realising that they hurt more than helped when it came to her parents.
Don’t think about it, she told herself, but it was too late. A wave of memories had already washed over her.
Her mother crying on the phone to Grandma Edna, asking for help with Morgan. Her father standing in the corner, looking helpless and angry.
Her mother shaking her head at the end of the call. ‘She says she can come for a while, but it’s not a permanent solution.’
‘Why not?’ her father had barked.
‘Because she lives on an island! Because we’re Morgan’s parents, not her!’
‘So let Morgan live with her on her island.’
Her mother had disagreed. ‘We can’t do that. We are Morgan’s parents.’
‘What’s that going to matter if we can’t take care of her?’
Her father had pushed away from the counter, stormed out of the kitchen, and Morgan had run from her hiding place in the passage to her bed. She’d been there barely a minute when her mother had come in and cuddled her.
She’d been three at the time. She should have been too young to remember it so vividly. But perhaps it was so vivid because of the vow she’d made to herself that day, as her mother’s arms came around her.
Morgan had promised herself she would do everything in her power to make sure taking care of her would be easy for her parents. She’d entertain herself when her parents had to study for their exams, she’d eat whatever she was given, even if it made her stomach hurt, and she’d be the best damn daughter any person could ask for.
And she had been.
Things had become easier a year or so after that conversation. Grandma Edna had made some calls and got Morgan’s father a stable job at a shoe factory, where he’d quickly climbed the ranks. Morgan’s mother had finished school and received a scholarship to study full time, but had got a job anyway.
By the time Hattie had come along the financial situation hadn’t been as dire and her parents had been less stressed, although they’d still been young and trying to get their lives back on the track having Morgan had diverted them from. And so Morgan had helped with Hattie, and then with her brother Rob, and things had been a lot easier for everyone.
Or so she’d told herself. Because at some point she’d stopped expecting her parents to tell her she no longer had to be Hattie and Rob’s third parent. Or her own parent, for that matter.
She exhaled. Shook her shoulders. Tilted her head from side to side to stretch out the muscles.
‘Preparing for a fight?’ a soft voice asked from behind her. ‘I come in peace, I assure you.’
How could something as simple as his voice make her feel so prickly? And then she turned, and her stomach swooped again almost as intensely as it had when their lips had touched three days before.
Three days. This man had waited three days before coming to see her.
She had no right to feel betrayed, but she did. She had no right to expect anything from him—and he had no right to have this effect on her.
He wore his uniform of T-shirt and jeans again, and this time the shirt was white. It made the brown of his skin look rich, full. It clung to his arms, his chest, his torso, and highlighted his strength.
Or maybe she only felt that way because she’d felt his body. Run her hands over those arms, that chest. She hadn’t had the luxury of touching him everywhere yet, not in the way she wanted to.
She took a breath and let it out slowly.
Yes, Elliott was attractive, and she was attracted to him. But her reaction was unreasonable. She needed to control herself.
‘I didn’t see you there,’ she said in a measured voice. ‘It’s been a long day and I was trying to stretch out my muscles.’
The lie slid smoothly from her tongue. Despite it, she thought Elliott knew the truth. His gaze was intent on her, searching. Then it abruptly shifted, taking in the room behind her.
This one had been one of the easier ones to fix, which was why she’d chosen it as the mock-up house. The biggest problem had been some holes in the walls, but those had been easily plastered. The rest of the changes had been superficial.
The walls of each room had now been painted in a shade of white, beige or blue, which matched the handwoven rugs on the floor. The dining and coffee tables were both a light-coloured wood, beautiful and natural—courtesy of “Crafted.”
She hadn’t asked, but Elliott had offered his company’s services and these had been the first pieces to arrive. Along with a ladder shelf that she’d decorated with books and plants, they tied everything in the room they were currently in together.
There were other things she’d added—paintings on the walls in the living room, flowers in the kitchen, candles and cushions in the bedrooms—but those were minor, their purpose to round out the rooms. She’d worked with the interior designer on Elliott’s team, and she thought the outcome was close to what Abel and Son Development had wanted when they’d first hired the designer. Morgan had run everything by Elliott, and she’d been feeling pretty confident about it all.
But that confidence was slowly dissipating with each passing second of silence. Part of her was offended. She hadn’t expected him to drop to his knees in awe, but some reaction would have been better than nothing.
There you go, expecting again.
As annoying as it was, that voice in her head was right. In this situation especially, where Elliott was essentially playing the role of her boss, she needed to have no expectations at all and accept his response. Although that was not very realistic, because even with paying clients she had expectations. She followed their brief, checked in with them multiple times during the process, and she expected them to like what she did. So maybe she was overreacting.
Or maybe he’s broken your brain.
This was exactly why she avoided relationships. They took up too much mental space, too much emotional space, and she had enough of her own baggage to fill up those spaces.
‘It’s amazing,’ Elliott said, saving her from that thought.
‘Yeah?’ She exhaled in relief, as if she hadn’t just told herself to get a grip. ‘You like it?’
‘It’s amazing,’ he repeated. ‘It looks modern, yet somehow retains the traditional feel of the estate.’
‘I’ve kept some of the original pieces.’ She pointed out the paintings, the carpet, a throw. ‘Minor, but they have enough personality to influence the room. Plus, your furniture is gorgeous. If you could have a few pieces in each of the houses and things pick up, it’ll drive a lot of business to Crafted.’
He angled his head slightly, a frown knitting his brow.
‘It’s worth considering,’ she said. ‘These houses are going to act like the best showrooms. People will be able to see your pieces in a home setting, interact with them... Think about how often people hesitate over buying something like a chair because they’re unsure of its quality. And if they’re impressed—which, of course, they will be—they’ll buy from you. The best showroom,’ she said again. ‘Although maybe the costliest, too.’
‘I’m not worried about that.’
‘Of course not, Mr Tycoon,’ she said, rolling her eyes. Then she took a proper look at him. ‘You’re worried about something else?’
He clenched his jaw, then relaxed it. ‘It’s fine.’
When he didn’t offer more information, she sighed. ‘I don’t know why I still try.’ At his questioning look, she shook her head. ‘Forget it.’
‘No.’
‘Are you sure?’ she asked mildly. ‘Because you’re not going to like it when I elaborate.’
He simply watched her.
She took it as a sign to continue.
‘I get it. You’re private.’
‘As are you,’ he interjected. ‘We’ve covered that, haven’t we?’
‘I’d be a little less private if you were too.’ She shrugged. ‘That minefield you talked about? This is a part of it. There are so many things we can’t talk about. I feel like an explosion might go off at any moment during our conversations.’
‘You’d prefer us to be more open about our lives?’
‘I’m not asking you to give me your entire history. Just...’ She trailed off. ‘No, it’s fine. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have... There are things in my life I don’t want to talk about either. Forget I said anything.’
He folded his arms. Studied her.
She did everything in her power not to shift. Not to show him how disturbing it was to have the intensity in his eyes directed at her so completely.
‘I don’t know if my father and brother would allow my furniture in the houses,’ he said, shifting his gaze.
She almost sagged at the reprieve.
‘And I don’t know if I want to ask.’
‘Why not?’ she asked.
When he looked at her this time his expression wasn’t muted. It was sad. Angry. Embarrassed. There were a multitude of emotions she couldn’t read, too. She only felt them deep in her chest. Her heart ached. At him; at his vulnerability. It was as if he had confessed his deepest, most protected secret.
Maybe he has.
She blew out a breath—stealthily, she hoped, because she didn’t want him to think he was affecting her. And she didn’t want him to feel bad about it.
‘The dynamics in my family aren’t easy,’ he said carefully. ‘If I ask, there’s no guarantee they’ll say yes.’
And so he wouldn’t ask, she realised, and wondered what they’d done to make him feel this way.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said softly. ‘If it makes you feel any better...’
‘Yes?’
‘No, I’ve got nothing.’
He stared.
She wrinkled her nose. ‘That’s pretty ridiculous, Elliott. My family is tough, too, but I’m pretty sure they’d help me with my business if I asked.’
‘Morgan...’
He looked so offended that she laughed. And then she couldn’t stop laughing. Because his family was ridiculous, and the fact that she’d told him that was even more ridiculous. She hadn’t said anything remotely comforting when she really should have.
That sobered her right up.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘No wonder you didn’t want to tell me. I handled that horribly.’
But he was smiling.
The first time he’d smiled it had been nice. A small smile—one he hadn’t even noticed he’d been giving. Now he was fully present. Now his smile was wide, genuine, disarming. It changed his face from scarily handsome to unbelievably handsome. Softened the frown lines; curved the usually straight lips.
If she were a warrior princess in need of a deadly weapon, she’d take him along with her and tell him to smile in front of all her enemies.
