Finding Forever on Their Island Paradise, page 9
He angled his body to shield her from the worst of it. The good news was that it worked: she landed on him. The bad news was that he took the impact from her and from the ground. His breath was stunned out of him, and it took him a long while before he could respond to her panicked words.
‘Elliott? Elliott? Are you okay?’ She was kneeling next to him, frantically patting his body—he assumed to check for injuries.
‘Morgan,’ he managed. ‘You’re touching me.’
‘Of course I’m touching you. I’m checking for—’ She stopped, before catching his face between her hands. ‘You’re talking! That means you’re okay, right? I didn’t kill you?’
He huffed out a laugh, pushing himself up as he did so. ‘You didn’t kill me. Only my pride has died.’
‘Your pride?’ she asked. ‘I’m the one who made you fall.’
‘No, my foot caught.’
Come to think of it, his ankle felt a little unpleasant. He lowered it to check on it, felt a twinge in his back, too.
He groaned. ‘Clearly not in my twenties any more,’ he muttered.
‘You’re not?’ She blinked. ‘If I’d known that, I probably wouldn’t have made out with you.’
He opened his mouth, even though he didn’t know what he was going to say. But she rolled her eyes and gave a small laugh.
‘Don’t look so concerned. It was a joke. Now, put your arm around my shoulders and let me help you up.’
He obeyed, wincing a little when he put weight on his ankle.
‘We need to get you to a doctor.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘I can feel it isn’t that bad. I just need to ice it.’
She didn’t look convinced, but she merely said, ‘I’m assuming you walked here?’ At his nod, she pointed to a green car in the driveway. ‘That’s mine. I’ll take you home, get you what you need, and then leave you to languish in the not so badness of yourself.’
Despite the pain, he snorted.
Didn’t that seem to be the general gist of his experience with Morgan?
CHAPTER TEN
MORGAN HELPED ELLIOTT to his couch, and only then did she allow herself to look around.
Old Mr Barnaby had lived in this house when she was growing up. He’d been a sour man who’d hated children. To him, ‘child’ had referred to anyone under eighteen, so Morgan had never really interacted with him.
He’d died by the time she hit her early twenties, and the house on the hill that she’d personally believed to be haunted had stood empty.
By the time she’d become an adult, settled in her career and able to appreciate the beauty of its structure, the house had been bought. No one knew by whom, as still the house had sat empty. When the For Sale sign had finally disappeared Edna had called Morgan, speaking in excited tones about the possibility of someone new moving to the island.
Of course that excitement had faded once they’d discovered the house had been bought by property developers—Elliott’s family, not Elliott, so she felt less bad about judging it.
There was a part of Morgan that had thought the house would be a ruin. Mr Barnaby hadn’t exactly seemed the type of person to keep things clean and tidy. Besides, the house had sat empty for years.
She had been wrong.
The house was sleek and modern. Natural light streamed through the windows and glass doors, reflected by the white tiles, white walls, the white roof with its wooden panels.
The couch in the living room faced one of the glass doors, overlooking the ocean, and to its left was an electric fireplace. To its right, furniture had been arranged to form a dining room with the most gorgeous table she had ever seen. It was large, oak, and had three chairs on one side, a bench on the other, and chairs at both heads of the table.
She resisted the temptation to examine it, and instead looked at the kitchen, just beyond the dining area. It was white, again, though the appliances—all top of the line; she could tell by how complicated they looked—were black.
There were two staircases on either side of the front door, both leading to upper passages with a glass railing that overlooked the open area below. She could see three or so doors on each side, and imagined they disappeared into modern bedrooms.
She turned to him. ‘This is going to be a problem.’
‘What is?’
‘Getting you up those stairs.’
‘There’s an elevator.’ He tilted his head to one side, where she saw a hidden door she now knew to be an elevator. ‘Goes directly to the master bedroom.’
‘Wow.’ She plopped down onto the couch beside him. ‘This is some house, huh?’
He shrugged. ‘Do you like it?’
She looked around again. ‘It’s...nice.’
‘Nice?’ he repeated with a grim smile. ‘Small word, so much meaning.’
She snorted. ‘No, I mean it. It’s nice.’
He merely looked at her.
‘But,’ she continued with a roll of her eyes, ‘it feels cold. I think that’s because the man who used to live here kidnapped children from town and ate them, so I guess my opinion comes with baggage.’
He stared for a second, shook his head. ‘Sometimes it’s hard to know when you’re being sincere.’
‘I’m sorry.’ She thought about it and winced. ‘My mother hates it. I don’t do it often, but when I do, I really lean in.’
‘You do do it often.’
‘With you, yes. And, no, I don’t know what that means.’
His lips curved. It seemed to come easier now. Because of her? she wondered.
Yeah, yeah, she knew she was crossing a line. She didn’t need the cautionary voice in her head to tell her so.
‘I like it.’
Listening to that cautionary voice now, she didn’t climb onto his lap and begin purring. Instead she made a sound of acknowledgement and looked out of the window. It was evening, with the sky shifting from light blue to navy, the ocean dark but still visible.
‘Do you like the house?’ she asked softly.
‘No.’ His answer came quickly. ‘It reminds me of—’ He exhaled abruptly. ‘It used to feel cold in my house when I was growing up, too.’
It had clearly been difficult for him to say.
‘I’m sorry,’ she offered.
‘Don’t be. It’s done.’
‘But it’s not.’ She took his hand. ‘It’s never really done, is it? My...’ She hesitated, then told herself it was too late to hold back. ‘My house now is the opposite of what I grew up in. It’s...calm. I know that’s a strange way to describe a house, but—’
‘I understand.’ He tightened his grip on her fingers. ‘Your life sounds busy. Helping your siblings.’
‘Busy. Chaotic. More so when I was growing up because I was so young.’
‘Where were your parents?’
‘They had me when they were teenagers,’ she said with a light snort. ‘It became almost natural for me to step in when they needed me to.’
She’d just told herself it was too late to hold back, but she was still doing it. To protect herself, she realised. Not so much from Elliott—although that was certainly a factor, and one she didn’t think she could manage to think about right now—she was protecting herself from herself. If she told him the truth, what she’d buried in a hole deep inside her would come out. She wasn’t ready for that.
‘If you’re looking to make a place that doesn’t feel like your house growing up, it’s an easy fix.’
His frown deepened, but he didn’t push. In fact, he indulged her. ‘Tell me.’
‘Make the place feel warmer. Furniture would be an excellent start. Get some Crafted pieces.’ She paused. ‘Do you know how often I use Crafted for my clients?’
‘Really?’
‘Really,’ she said, looking around. ‘I’ve used other furniture providers, too, but it doesn’t feel the same.’
She looked at him and saw something burn in his gaze. She quickly turned away.
‘Then I’d recommend painting the walls. Maybe even the ceiling. No, those wooden panels look gorgeous against the white. Leave that. But definitely paint these.’ She pointed to the walls. ‘If you change them from white to, say, a cream or a beige—something softer—it’ll help things seem less harsh.’
She turned around, tilting her head from left to right as she considered it.
‘If you add some colour it would make things seem more homely, too. A painting here...some cushions. Maybe fresh flowers every now and then. I hear there are roses available at the estate.’
She was smiling as she turned back to him, but stopped when she saw his face.
‘What?’
‘I can’t do any of that.’
‘Right, of course. This isn’t actually your house.’
‘No,’ he said mildly. ‘Doesn’t mean I can’t be impressed at how easy this comes to you, though.’
‘My job? Yeah, I would hope so.’
He shook his head. ‘You’re good at seeing solutions.’
Seeing solutions?
She was good at that. She did it for her siblings. Helping Hattie raise Georgie...helping Rob with his learning disability. She stepped in when her parents needed help with the house, or with a dinner party they were throwing, or anything they called on her for. She was doing it now with her grandmother’s wedding. With the estate. Hell, with the entire island.
She’d always known that she was good at stepping in when she was needed, but for the first time she saw how that had translated to her professional life. Her entire business was solution-orientated. Someone didn’t like their house? She would fix it! Someone needed to transform a property so it could be rented? She could do that! Someone needed help figuring out who to market their property to? She knew what to do!
Her entire life was built around a skill that sometimes she wished she didn’t have.
No, that wasn’t true. She enjoyed her job. She liked helping people. It was just that the expectation that she would help—at least in her personal life—made her feel...trapped.
It was the first time in her life she’d acknowledged it—and it made her hate herself.
* * *
‘I’ve said the wrong thing.’
It was more an observation than a question. Elliott had been watching Morgan closely. He’d seen the way her lashes fluttered. The way her expression had drawn tight. The way she’d opened up to him and then, after his comment, snapped shut.
He hadn’t meant to make the observation out loud either, and now he felt like a lumbering giant who’d been given a precious human artifact and was struggling not to crush it in his hands.
But Morgan only smiled. A fake smile that didn’t reach her eyes and made him long for the earlier version of her. The one who had smiled easily, whose laughter had lit up her entire face. He had robbed her of that—robbed himself, too. But he understood it. It was more familiar to him than whatever had been unfolding between them before.
He used that knowledge to bolster himself. To soothe the ache he hadn’t given permission to take root in his body.
‘It has nothing to do with you,’ she said. ‘I just...’
She gave him a shaky smile. Again, so different from the ones she’d given him before.
‘Come on, let’s get you upstairs. I’ll give you permission to boss me around once we get you settled in bed.’
In other circumstances he would have enjoyed this. Hell, a mere hour ago he’d thought he’d have the opportunity to get her to a bedroom. It wasn’t even in the realm of possibility now.
She dealt with him almost clinically.
She decided, once she had him seated on the bed, that he’d feel better after a bath. So she ran him one, then helped him to the bathroom, telling him firmly that he could take it from there.
He did as he was told, and the minute he sank into the warm water he sighed in gratitude. The knots in his body eased, and the aches he’d felt subsided to a dull throb. When he was done, he tied a towel around his waist, testing his weight on his ankle. It still hurt. It would probably take anti-inflammatories and ice to get it to a manageable level of pain.
He’d told Morgan where they were, and since he heard sounds coming from his bedroom he figured she was already there, sorting everything out.
He limped out through the door. Morgan had obviously heard him coming and turned.
‘Right, so I’ve got your pills—’
She stopped. Stared.
It was a completely disarming stare. Her lips were parted, her eyes wide. And in them he was able to see a mixture of surprise and...desire. Lust, really. Hot and wild and completely unencumbered by whatever had caused her to withdraw before.
He had never been a vain person, but he couldn’t help the way his posture changed. His chest puffed out, his shoulders pulled back, and his spine straightened. The hours he spent in the gym, trying to relieve the stress of his workdays, trying to forget the pain of the loneliness he refused to dwell on, were finally doing more than simply helping his mental and emotional health.
He was tempting this woman.
His woman.
His woman?
Where the hell had that come from?
But it didn’t matter when she was looking at him like that. When she was walking towards him. He didn’t move, didn’t even breathe, too scared he might do something to mess things up again.
She stopped steps away from him. ‘You’re doing this on purpose,’ she said.
‘What?’
‘Tempting me.’
‘Tempting?’
‘Oh, don’t look so smug,’ she said crossly. ‘You’re well aware—’
And then she stopped, her eyes dipping down. At the same moment he felt cool air over his body. His entire body.
His towel had come loose.
He swore silently—because, contrary to what she believed, he didn’t want to seduce her. Well, he did, but not like this. He didn’t want to worry about what was going on in her head when he kissed her, teased her, claimed her.
He quickly bent to retrieve the towel before his body betrayed his imagination. When he looked back at Morgan she was looking at the ceiling.
‘Are you done?’ she asked in a small voice.
Great. He’d embarrassed her.
‘Yes. I’m sorry. It wasn’t intentional.’
‘Are you sure?’ She quirked her brow. ‘You came out of the bathroom wearing nothing but a towel and then it “magically” fell to the ground...’
There was a beat of silence.
‘I didn’t have any clothes.’
‘That’s what they all say,’ she replied dryly. ‘For the record, there are easier ways of showing me...that.’
Heat stirred in his body, but it quickly cooled when he saw that she’d covered her hand with her mouth.
‘I didn’t mean to say that,’ she said, the sound muffled.
He only looked at her. Then, when her cheeks pinkened, he gave a quiet laugh.
Her gaze jumped to his, accusation bright. ‘Are you laughing at me?’
‘I wouldn’t dare.’
She tilted her head, then stuck her tongue out before slipping her arm under his and helping him to the bed. He kept a hand firmly on his towel this time, not even letting go when he sat down.
‘Let me get you some clothes. Please,’ she added.
He resisted the urge to smile again as he told her where his clothes were, and she left him to get dressed. He did so slowly, trying to figure out why things were so confusing between them. It didn’t help when she returned with a sandwich and a cup of tea.
‘Eat,’ she commanded. ‘When you’re done, take the pills.’ She pointed to the glass of water and pills on his bedside cabinet. ‘You don’t have an ice pack in your fridge, so I put ice in a plastic bag and wrapped it in one of your dish cloths. It’ll have to do for now. I’ll get one on my way into town and bring it for you tomorrow. No point in coming back later, when you’ll be fast asleep because of those pills.’
Confusion gave way to something stronger, though he could still feel it. The foundation of whatever wave of emotion had crashed over him.
She had driven him home, helped him inside. Run a bath for him, got his clothes ready. Made food for him, got him medication. She had taken care of him—was taking care of him—even though he’d said something to upset her earlier.
‘Why are you doing this for me?’ he asked.
She blinked. ‘What do you mean? You hurt yourself.’
‘I would have managed.’
‘Why should you have to if I’m here?’ she asked, brow furrowing.
‘I’ve always managed.’ He knew his reply was terse, but she was making all this seem small, when it wasn’t.
Her eyes flickered. ‘Yeah, well, sometimes you shouldn’t have to. Especially on this island. You’ll always have help here.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
MORGAN SHOULD HAVE known once she told her grandmother about Elliott’s fall that it wouldn’t be a secret for long.
When she pulled in front of Elliott’s house the next day her car was one of several. Dr Sam’s car was right in front, followed by Sharon’s. That meant all her grandmother’s friends would be there, since Sharon was their designated driver.
Plus her grandmother herself.
Edna had insisted on coming with Morgan that morning.
This was all her fault. Elliott probably hated her.
She turned to Edna. ‘Behave when you get inside, okay?’
‘What does that mean?’ Edna demanded. ‘I always behave.’
Morgan looked at her.
Edna looked back.
After a while, Morgan sighed. ‘Fine, you always behave. There definitely haven’t been any times when you’ve said inappropriate things or intervened when you want things to go your way.’
