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CHAPTER EIGHT

CALLIE, IN A teeny bikini, sat on the deep step of the tepid hotel pool, a virgin mojito by her elbow and her face shielded from the early-afternoon sun by an enormous straw hat. Finn, dressed in a pair of board shorts and holding a beer in his hand, sat next to her, reading a travel magazine.

‘I should be working,’ he muttered as he flipped a page.

‘This is working,’ Callie assured him. ‘You’re researching the hotel’s facilities.’

Finn didn’t lift his eyes from the page. ‘I’ll go with that. Jeez, what a crock!’

Callie leaned into his shoulder. Judging by the mighty mountains in the photograph, she realised that he was reading an article about the Himalayas.

‘What’s the problem?’

Finn flicked the magazine with his thumb. ‘This journalist is writing about Durbar Square in Kathmandu and being factually incorrect—which annoys the hell out of me. If you’re going to write about a foreign place be respectful and get your damn facts straight!’

Callie’s lips twitched in amusement. ‘I’ll keep that in mind if I decide to make a career change.’

‘Smart-ass,’ Finn muttered, but she saw his quick smile before he refocused on the offending article.

Callie heard her mobile ring She reluctantly stood up and went to her lounger to answer it. It would be Rowan, or Seb, or her dad calling to check up on her. She could, she thought with a smile, only tell Rowan that she was having fabulous sex …

‘I’m fine … I’m happy … I haven’t done anything stupid yet,’ she said, her voice full of laughter.

‘Hello, Calista.’

Callie stiffened and her heart started to pound. She recognised that voice—it was the voice she heard in her dreams. Callie checked the unfamiliar number on her display. ‘Who is this?’ she demanded, although she had no doubt.

‘It’s your mother.’

Callie shook her head. ‘Funny, that—I don’t have a mother. She left while I was in hospital, getting X-rays for my broken arm and cracked ribs.’

‘You always were a challenging child.’

Like you’d know. ‘Says the woman who sneaked out through the door and didn’t come back.’

‘I’m back now.’

‘Twenty-plus years too late and I don’t care. Who gave you my number? Seb?’

Silence answered that question. ‘Tell him he sucks. Don’t call me again, Laura, we have nothing to say to each other.’

‘Calista—’

Callie pushed the button to disconnect the call and bit down on her lip, concentrating on that pain in an attempt to ignore the throbbing clenching of her heart. Laura sounded exactly the same: her voice low and melodious. She had a beautiful voice, Callie remembered. She’d loved to hear her sing.

God, she couldn’t think about her—couldn’t start to remember. She didn’t want to remember—didn’t want to open that Pandora’s box. She’d always sung when she was happy … which hadn’t been that often.

One phone call and a host of memories flooded back—her laughter, her scent. Callie banded her arms across her stomach, trying to keep the pain at bay. She didn’t want to remember, to start thinking about her, about everything she’d lost …

She needed something to distract her—something to make her forget. Callie threw her mobile back into her tote bag and looked to Finn. He would make her forget. One touch of his hands on her skin and she would be taken away to a place where no thought was necessary. A place of pleasure and delight …

Callie dived into the pool and surfaced by the step. She tugged on Finn’s big toe and when he looked at her lowered her eyelids in a gesture that she hoped was sexy and alluring. ‘Want to go back to the cabana and play?’ she asked.

Finn pulled his glasses off his face and folded them carefully. He looked at her for a full minute before asking, ‘Who called you, Cal?’

Callie pulled in her top lip and shrugged. ‘No one important.’ Her hand slid up his leg and gripped his knee. ‘Let’s go and fool around.’

‘Nope.’

Callie’s mouth fell open in astonishment. The man hadn’t been able to keep his hands off her last night and some of this morning and now he was saying no? When she most needed him?

‘Excuse me?’

Finn held her eyes, his expression inscrutable. ‘As tempting as that offer is … no, we’re not going back to the room to fool around.’

‘Why not?’ Callie demanded, finding her feet in the pool.

‘Tell me who was on the phone, Cal.’

She didn’t want to discuss her mother—that was the point! She didn’t want to go there. Didn’t want to revisit her bad childhood and her mother issues.

Suddenly she craved the rush of adrenalin, the freedom of doing something extreme, something to get her out of herself. She wanted to be Wild Callie, Free Callie. So if she couldn’t have sex in the middle of the day with her fake husband then she’d do something else to get her adrenalin pumping, to distract her.

A part of her knew that she was lapsing back into old childhood habits—as a child and teenager she’d tried every daredevil stunt she could, either to attract attention or to distract herself from her mother-free life. But, God knew, after hearing her mother’s voice for the first time in over twenty years, she more than needed a distraction.

Patch and Seb would understand why she had to break her promise.

‘Fine.’ Callie tossed her head and glared at Finn. ‘Then I’m going back to the room, getting dressed, and then I am going to go and bungee jump.’

‘Yeah? No. You’re not.’

Now he was presuming to tell her what to do? She didn’t think so!

‘Since I am an adult, and since I am not asking you to pay for it, how do you think you’re going to stop me?’

Finn drained the rest of his beer and placed the empty bottle on the side of the pool. He folded his arms and she wished she could crawl into them, rest her head on his chest and allow the tears that she was holding back to slide down her face. But that was impossible. Because Callie Hollis was a tough party-girl. She didn’t cry.

‘Obviously I can’t stop you, if that’s what you’re determined to do, but yesterday you said that you didn’t want to bungee, to do white-water rafting or the microlight over the Falls experience. You said that extreme sports isn’t something you do any more.’

‘Changed my mind,’ Callie retorted.

Please don’t sound so concerned and worried. If you do, I might break down totally.

‘I can see that. Want to tell me why?’

Callie shook her head. ‘I changed my mind. I’m allowed to do that, Finn!’

‘Stop treating me like an idiot, Callie! Ten minutes ago you were happy and relaxed and then you got a call. Now you’re more wound up than a spinning top! Whoever called you has put you over the edge and now you’re acting like a …’ Finn’s words trailed off.

‘A lunatic? A crazy person? A bitch?’ Callie asked. God knew she felt like all three. But she didn’t owe him an explanation for changing her mind—why couldn’t he respect that? She didn’t owe anyone anything! Besides, in the past couple of days she’d spoken more about her past than she had in twenty years!

‘Now you’re putting words in my mouth.’

How was she supposed to fight with him, argue, when he was so calm, so controlled, so unfazed? It was like arguing with a pile of soil—incredibly frustrating.

‘Did your mum call you? It was her, wasn’t it?’

Oh, God, don’t go there, Finn, please. ‘I’m not discussing this.’

Finn rested his forearms on his knees and Callie could see the disappointment in his eyes, on his face.

‘Okay, Callie, I give up. Go bungee-jumping—do whatever the hell you want.’

‘All I wanted to do was make love with you!’ Callie cried.

If he’d just said yes, like any normal man, they wouldn’t be fighting, wouldn’t be having this torturous conversation.

‘No, you wanted to use me as a distraction from her call, from whatever she said, what she made you feel,’ Finn replied, his tone low. ‘And while I’m happy to have you any time and anywhere, angel, might I remind you that you weren’t prepared to be a means for me to escape the pain of my break-up? Well, ditto back at you, babe.’

Callie squeezed the rope of wet hair that hung over her shoulder. ‘You couldn’t even hear what I was saying, so you’re jumping to some very big conclusions, Banning!’

Finn tapped his sunglasses against his leg. ‘Am I wrong?’

Callie tried to lie—she did—but while her tongue formed the words she couldn’t push them past her lips. Unable to hold Finn’s stare, she looked up at the deep blue sky before whirling around and plunging back into the pool, allowing her tears to mix with the chlorinated water.

Damn him. All she’d wanted was some crazy sex to help her forget. Was that such a big ask?

Okay, so today had been weird, Finn thought, as he left their room at The Thunder, a small, luxurious boutique hotel situated on the banks of the mighty Zambezi River. He was heading for a huge deck suspended above the river, which offered—according to the pile of literature the manager had left for him to peruse—superb views of wildlife coming down to the river to drink and magnificent sunrises and sunsets.

Right now all he hoped was that it held a certain navy-eyed blonde who was currently avoiding him.

Finn ran his hand through his wet hair before jamming his hands into the pockets of his stone-coloured linen shorts. After their argument she’d swum lengths in the pool, only stopping forty-five minutes later, when her breath was laboured and her limbs were shaking. Her eyes had still been tight with tension, red-rimmed either from the chlorine or her tears, and her lips had been a thin line in her face.

Thinking that he’d pushed her enough, and that she needed some time to cool down, he’d avoided her for the afternoon, taking his laptop and notes and finding a secluded spot in the hotel’s library to start work on his honeymoon article.

When he’d surfaced hours later it had been early evening, and when he’d returned to their room Callie’s scattered clothes and her light fragrance in the air had told him that she’d already dressed and left for dinner.

She wasn’t on the deck, he realised, looking over the tables. Twisting his lips, he walked to the bar area—and there she sat, at the end of the bar, a margarita in her hand, holding court. Two guys his age and an older man were hanging off her every word, tongues practically resting on the bar.

On the other side of the bar Finn leaned his shoulder into the wall and watched her, unnoticed by anyone but the barman. Look at her, he thought, so bold, so attractive, such a fake. This Callie, this consummate, charming flirt, wasn’t who she really was. All of who she was.

The real Callie was softer, more vulnerable, a great deal deeper than the person currently charming the pants off her admirers. This woman was harder, phonier, a great deal more Hollywood.

But sexy—always so damn sexy.

The man in him—her lover—got a kick knowing that she would share his bed tonight, be with him tonight. He shrugged. That was his ego talking. It was normal to like the idea of men envying him his woman.

His woman. Wow. Yet for at least the next two weeks she was. Fake wife or not, they were sleeping together, and that allowed him a certain measure of possessiveness. It didn’t mean anything serious.

Did it?

Irritated with himself, Finn peeled himself off the wall and walked up to the bar, deliberately placing a hand low on Callie’s spine. He felt her stiffen and caught the wary look she tossed his way.

‘Evening,’ he said, making eye contact with each of her admirers. Being men, and obviously not stupid, they received his non-verbal back-the-hell-away-from-her message loud and clear. Within minutes they all had somewhere they needed to be, and he was soon alone with Callie.

He ordered a beer from the barman and looked into her lovely face, immediately clocking her sad eyes, her wariness.

‘We still fighting?’ he asked gently.

‘I was fighting more with you than myself,’ she admitted, twisting the wedding ring on her left hand.

‘Okay,’ Finn replied. He didn’t understand, but as long as he was not knee-deep in the brown stuff he was good. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’

‘Not really.’

He should be happy at that answer, since talking always led them into uncharted, emotional territory, but he couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed. He wanted to help her, to work through that brief conversation with her mother that had rocked her world this afternoon.

He was whipped, he decided on an internal sigh. He was feeling protective of her and possessive of her, acting affectionate around her and calling her angel. But he felt as if he’d known her for a lot longer than the few weeks he had, and in a sense he seemed to read her better than he ever had Liz. He knew her instinctively.

He was stepping into quicksand and he should back up before he found himself nose-deep in mud and struggling to breathe.

‘Okay. The sun is about to go down and I think the sunset is going to be absolutely amazing. Let’s go watch it.’

Callie jerked her head in a quick nod and slid off her stool, her long, sleeveless halterneck dress skimming her slim body. The indigo colour lightened her eyes and set off the tan she’d managed to acquire in a few short days. Her naturally curly hair was pulled into a messy plait.

She looked sensational and smelt even better.

Finn picked up her glass and his beer and watched her buttocks sway as she walked towards the open doors and onto the deck. He was pleased when she made her way to a vacant table perched on the end, right over the river and private.

He placed her drink on the table in front of her, pulled out a chair and waited until she was sitting down before settling himself into his own chair. He took a long swig of his beer. He was not going to ask what had gone wrong today.

Finn just sat there, happy to swat mosquitoes away as the sun finger-painted the evening sky with bold oranges and pinks.

A waiter replenished their drinks, brought them a snack of homemade chunky bread and flavoured olive oil to dunk the bread into, and Callie just looked out onto the dark river, her profile exquisite in the low light provided by lamps and citronella candles.

She slapped her bare arm and grimaced at the mess left by a bloodsucking mosquito. ‘I’m being eaten alive,’ she complained, and he was glad to break the silence—even if it meant discussing the mozzies, which were big enough to pick them up and carry them away.

Which reminded him … ‘Did you take your anti-|malaria pill?’

Callie winced. ‘Dammit, I forgot.’

Finn shook his head. ‘Jeez, Cal, you can’t forget. Malaria is not fun. Take it when you get back to the room, okay?’

‘Okay.’ Callie agreed, leaning forward to rest her arms on the table between them. ‘So, today was—’

Finn lifted an eyebrow.

‘—difficult.’

Finn scratched the back of his neck. ‘Difficult? No. Confusing? Hell, yeah.’

Callie broke off a piece of bread, dunked it in the oil and popped it into her mouth. Finn urged himself to be patient. She’d explain in her own time. Oh, wait—he wasn’t supposed to be waiting for her explanation. Remember the point about backing the hell up?

‘Oh, Finn, look! There’s a massive bull elephant coming down to the river. Oh, he’s a big boy.’

Okay, so she still wasn’t ready to talk. Why did he want her to? Why did he want her to trust him with her mind, her feelings, as well as her body?

Callie leaned forward, her elbows on the table and her chin cupped in her hands. Finn couldn’t resist picking up his mobile and aiming it in her direction, trying to capture the look of admiration on her face.

The flash went off, Callie blinked rapidly, and he looked down at the captured image.

Callie’s eyes were scrunched closed and the image was blurry and out of focus. He deleted the image and shook his head. Well, what did he expect? It had been that type of day.

Then again, surely things could only get better from now on, he thought.

Finn leaned back in his chair and his attention was caught by a couple a short distance from them. She had a huge smile on her face and was gesticulating wildly. He just looked shocked. Fantastically happy but utterly shocked. Finn felt dread settle in his stomach. He knew what she was telling him.

The man’s loud whoop and his bouncing out of his chair to lay his cheek on his partner’s stomach was a pretty good clue. She was pregnant and he was excited. Finn swallowed when the guy kissed that still flat feminine stomach and then reached up to cover her mouth with his.

He understood that wave of love. He’d never loved Liz as much as he had when she’d told him he was going to be a father. He’d thought that she’d hung the moon and stars.

Unable to watch them any more, Finn turned his head and stared out onto the river, fighting the urge to tell them not to get too excited, that bad things could and did happen. Happiness could be fleeting.

Caught up in the business of the last week—the elephant rides and the game drives, the amazing sex—he’d managed to shove his grief aside. To forget, just for a little while, why he was here … with Callie. He’d managed to have a break from mourning the loss of his baby, the loss of his dream of having a family, his stepdad—all of it.

Grief, hard and sour, rolled over him and memories flashed on the big screen in his head. He saw his bedroom, the blood, Liz’s white face.

He couldn’t resist looking across the room again at the excited couple. He didn’t know if he could ever be that excited again, ever trust in happiness like that again. Nothing compared to the joy he had felt about becoming a father, and to have it ripped away was an experience he never wanted to repeat.

Maybe in a couple of years, after a great deal of thought, he might be ready to think about another relationship, about trying to create a family with someone again, but not yet—not when he was so raw and his emotions were all over the place.

The waiter put the menu down in front of them and Finn felt his stomach roil at the thought of food. He couldn’t eat—not now. Right now he needed to be alone, to lose himself in his writing, maybe do a couple of chapters of the anecdotal travel guide he was busy compiling.

It was either that or lose himself in Callie’s body. And he couldn’t do that—not since he’d taken the moral high ground earlier in the day. Besides, maybe they needed a break from each other … from sex. God, did he really think that? Shoot him now! But he needed to step away from the quicksand and he couldn’t use her as a crutch. She wouldn’t be around in a couple of weeks and what would he do then? No, he had to backtrack, put some distance between them.

He was going to act like an adult now, not scuttle from the room because a random couple were expecting a baby. That was just stupidly ridiculous. He was going to sit here, enjoy the evening, the balmy night. He was with a gorgeous, entrancing woman who fascinated and frustrated him in equal measure. He was not going to fall into the vortex of grief—not tonight.

‘Are you okay?’ Callie asked, her eyes flashing concern.

‘Sure.’

‘You’re not still mad at me because I acted like a looney tune today?’

‘I was never mad at you.’ Finn saw that she didn’t buy that statement and he smiled. ‘Okay, I was a little frustrated.’

‘You had a right to be,’ Callie admitted. She blew out a long sigh. ‘I can be a very frustrating woman.’

He smiled at her self-deprecation. ‘You’re also a smart-ass and a flirt and as sexy as hell.’

The light dimmed in Callie’s eyes. ‘Yet you turned me down today?’

Finn covered her hand with his, linking their fingers. ‘That wasn’t because I didn’t want you.’

Callie pushed her hair back with her hand. ‘I know; I was using sex as a distraction and that wasn’t fair—to you or to me. I’m so sorry, Finn, it was wrong of me.’

He wanted to tell her that not five minutes ago he’d wanted to do the same thing to her, so he wasn’t exactly a saint. He slid a glance to the expecting couple and sighed. God, he and Callie were a pair. Outwardly successful, talented, in the prime of their lives.

The truth was that they were both pretty screwed up in different ways.

Callie sent him a small smile. ‘You keep shifting in that chair—it looks like you’re uncomfortable. Why don’t you move to this chair?’

Finn looked at the chair to her right and realised that it would put his back to the couple—just what he needed.

Shifting over, he settled his long length in the new chair and immediately felt more relaxed, a lot more comfortable.

Callie pushed her hand under his and slid her fingers between his. ‘We’re really bad talkers, aren’t we? I’d rather literally spill my guts than do it emotionally, and I suspect you are the same.’

‘Yeah.’

‘That being said—and I know that I have absolutely no right to say this—I want you to know that if you want to talk I’ll listen.’

Finn squeezed her hand, shocked at the thought that he was tempted to do just that. But they’d made a decision not to be sucked into anything deep, anything important—not to be seduced by the romance and the company and luxury.

No, he needed to put distance between them, and talking wouldn’t help with that. It would just make him ache for more.

Finn squeezed her hand again. ‘Back at you, angel.’

There he went again with the endearments. God, could he get nothing right tonight?