A Secret Between Friends: A New Zealand Sexy Beach Romance (Treats to Tempt You Book 6) (5 page)

“I am sorry. Sorry that you had to go through it. It couldn’t have been nice, and then you had all the stuff with Ciara to deal with.”

“It’s not been an easy six months,” he admitted.

“Jonah said you went away over New Year.”

“Yeah. I spent Christmas with Mum and Dad, but it was just awful and I couldn’t bear the thought of seeing in the New Year with them. I went to Melbourne—a mate of mine has a house on the beach, and he was going to stay with his girlfriend’s family, so I house-sat for a few weeks.”

“I bet that was a nice break.”

“It was good to get away, I suppose. Odd though, being alone. I’m not sure it was the right thing to do.” He looked sad, and Genie’s heart went out to him. He was usually so carefree, so light of spirit—it was odd to see this other side of him. It was unsettling, and yet it also made her glow inside that he’d allowed her in for once.

She held her hand out to him. He studied it for a moment, then he placed his in it. His fingers were warm, his grip tight as he squeezed.

“It’s good to have you home,” he said. “Whatever else is going on, I’m glad you didn’t die as well, Gin.”

“I’m glad I’m not dead, too.”

Niall laughed. “I bet.” She grinned at him, and he felt a surge of fondness for her.

While he’d been on his own in Melbourne, he’d dealt with a rollercoaster of emotions, most of them concerning Genie Sharpe, which had frustrated him even more considering he’d just broken up with his long-term girlfriend and his sister had died. Shouldn’t he have been thinking more about them than the sassy chick who’d made much of his youth a misery?

But the truth was that Genie lay at the root of all his problems, the way plants failed due to bad soil. If she hadn’t convinced Ciara to go into the Army, Ciara would still be alive. But an even bigger personal problem was that if he’d been able to get her out of his head, he’d be engaged to Tamsin now, settling down without a care in the world.

He’d passed a good portion of the three weeks he’d spent in Melbourne cursing Genie, convincing himself he was mad at her, and that she was to blame for all his unhappiness. Being here with her now, though, he could no longer maintain that anger.

In the past, when she’d come home on leave, she’d brought the Army with her. She’d always worn her hair tightly pinned up, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her in a skirt. Tonight, even though she wore jeans and a plain vest, for the first time in ages, years maybe, her hair fell in soft waves past her shoulders. She was such a pretty girl, with strong, well-defined features. When she smiled, her eyes creased at the edges and almost disappeared.

But she wasn’t just pretty on the surface. It was such a cliché, but the phrase about being beautiful inside really was true for her. Yes, when she was younger she’d irritated him on a regular basis, and even as an adult she’d made it her goal in life to goad and tease him. But like a pair of black panties worn beneath a white dress, Genie’s true nature always shone through. He’d missed her, but it was only now he realized how much.

She’d tipped her head onto the back of the sofa and was humming something, more relaxed than she had been when she’d first walked into the bar. He took another swallow of the whisky, letting the heat melt away his tension, as if he’d stepped into a warm bath.

“Are you going to show me your war wound?”

She lifted her head to look at him. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. I’d like to see it.”

Lazily, she gestured at her jeans. “They’re too tight to roll up.”

“So take ’em off.”

She rolled her eyes and swung her legs around so she could sit up. “I don’t think so. But I will change into something more comfortable.”

“A lacy nightie?”

“A pair of sweatpants, more like.” She pulled her bag toward her, unzipped the top, and rifled around in it. Not finding the item, she proceeded to slide open the zippers on one side of the bag, then the other. “Jeez. I can never find anything in here.”

He watched her with amusement. “I don’t get chicks’ bags. A guy would have a rucksack with one clip at the front.”

“We’re organized—we like to separate our stuff. Although I’m beginning to see your point.” She undid the zipper at the end of the bag and rummaged around the bottom. She exclaimed when she found the sweatpants she’d been looking for. Then she frowned and pulled out an envelope that had been tucked underneath them. “What’s this?” The flap was unstuck and she slid out the contents, which consisted of two sheets of folded A4 paper. Her jaw dropped.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I’d completely forgotten.”

“What?”

She leaned back, still holding the papers. “It’s our bucket lists. Ciara’s and mine.” Her eyes glistened and her lips curved a little as she looked into the distance, obviously seeing another time and place. “We made them for a joke one night last year. We’d had a few to drink and we weren’t dating anyone, and we were feeling sorry for ourselves. I said we should come up with a list of things we could look forward to doing—things that would make us happy.” She gave a small, wry laugh.

Of course, it had been her idea. Niall could picture his sister staring up at her, eyes wide, nodding enthusiastically at this new and wonderful scheme.

He watched Genie read briefly through the lists. “What do they say?”

She didn’t reply. Then, to his surprise, she stood, picked up the sweatpants and her cane, and limped off to the spare bedroom.

He stared after her for moment. Was she upset? She’d never cry in front of him. What had got to her—was it the memory of making the lists with Ciara, or was it something in particular on the lists?

Picking them up, he separated them and examined them. They were handwritten, and it would have been obvious which one belonged to which girl even if they hadn’t put their names at the top. His sister’s handwriting was small and neat, the tails of the “y”s and “g”s forming tiny loops she’d occasionally colored in. Genie’s writing was larger and rounder with distinctive flourishes. A graphologist would probably say it denoted a bubbly personality. Niall smiled.

He looked at Genie’s list first. Instead of being written in list form, it consisted of bubbles drawn all over the page at different angles as the ideas had hit her. Most of it was what he’d expected—physical goals such as bungee jumping in Queenstown, sky-diving, taking skiing lessons, and leaping off the Sky Tower in Auckland. A few things surprised him—learning Italian was one, as she’d never shown much interest in languages when she was younger, and flower arranging, which made him laugh, as he couldn’t imagine her standing still for long enough to arrange a vase of flowers. But most of them summed her up perfectly, illustrating her desire for adventure and activity, demonstrating her restless spirit.

Turning to his sister’s list, he stretched out along the settee to peruse it. The list also exemplified Ciara’s personality on paper. The items weren’t numbered and didn’t seem to be in any particular order, but they were in list form from the top to the bottom of the page. Crochet squares for a blanket for charity. Visit the Tower of London. Take a boat trip down the Nile. Read the top hundred most popular books. Learn more about classical music. Take cooking lessons. Learn how to embroider.

Some of them were more active—cycle from Cape Reinga to Invercargill, learn how to serve better at tennis, take up yoga—but they didn’t have the risk element that Genie’s had.

A couple of them made him smile wistfully—dance with a man in Central Park, find a guy to kiss on New Year’s Eve. He put down the list and stared up at the ceiling. She’d never be able to fulfil any of these now. Would never kiss a guy on New Year’s Eve again.

Was that what had upset Genie? The realization that these wishes would forever remain unfulfilled?

He sat up—there was still no sign of her. Leaving the lists on the coffee table, he got up and walked across the room to the bedroom. The door was slightly ajar, but he knocked anyway.

“Come in.”

He pushed it open. She stood on the opposite side of the room, staring out across the bay. She’d switched on the bedside light, and the window showed her reflection rather than the glittering lights of Paihia in the distance. She’d changed from her jeans into her sweatpants and she’d brushed her hair, which curled in a twist across one shoulder. She still held the brush, as if she’d got halfway through before being distracted. Her cane lay on the bed.

He leaned against the doorjamb. “You okay?”

She glanced over and cleared her throat. “Sorry. I was just thinking…about how she’ll never be able to do any of those things…” Her voice tailed off and she looked back out of the window.

He walked across the room to stand beside her. She wasn’t crying, but she was breathing quickly, fighting against a swell of emotion.

“Show me your knee,” he said.

She looked down at it, hesitated for a moment, then pulled up the leg of her sweatpants. Niall dropped to his haunches beside her and examined the wound.

His initial reaction was one of shock, but he fought not to let it show and bent to inspect the puckered skin of her once-smooth and shapely leg. The scar ran from above her knee, over the joint, and down her leg. The wound didn’t look infected, but it was still raised and red, not yet having faded to the silvery line that indicated an old operation. The leg looked a little swollen—she’d been on it too long, and needed to put it up and rest it.

What shocked him more were the myriad of scars around the knee, presumably caused by the explosion rather than the operation—tiny nicks and gashes on her leg. Was she like this all over? His heart raced as he pulled down the leg of her sweatpants. For the first time, he fully comprehended what she’d been through.

He pushed himself to his feet and looked down at her. Then, without another word, he put his arms around her and held her tight.

Clutching hold of his T-shirt, she buried her face in his chest.

“I’m sorry.” He kissed her hair and rubbed her back. “It must have been awful for you.”

“I miss her,” Genie whispered. “I miss her so much.”

He continued to rub her back, wishing he could help her. Ciara had been his sister, but although everyone assumed a blood link was the strongest, in every other way Genie had been closest to her.

Beneath his fingers, her muscles were tense and knotted, her whole posture resonating anguish and grief. And yet she still didn’t cry.

“I was so relieved to hear you’d survived the crash.” He said the words, thinking maybe she needed to hear that he didn’t resent her being alive while Ciara wasn’t. She didn’t say anything, but she turned her head and laid her cheek against his chest.

He took a deep breath. “Gin, I’m sorry I didn’t call you in the hospital.”

She went still. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay. I was trying to deal with my parents’ grief as well as my own, and I was confused and angry, but that’s no excuse for not talking to you. We’ve known each other a long time and it was unforgiveable. I want you to know I’m sorry for that, and I am really, really glad you survived.”

Placing her hands on his chest, she pushed herself back a little so she could look up at him. Her blue eyes shone with unshed tears, and her bottom lip quivered. Unable to stop himself, he lifted a hand and stroked his thumb across it. Her lips parted, and she inhaled. He slid his hand along to cup her cheek, unable to tear his gaze away from her mouth. He wanted to kiss her, but he knew it was inappropriate, and he’d be taking advantage of her heightened emotions.

Just then, she moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue, a small, innocuous gesture that nevertheless told him she wanted the same.

Lowering his head, he touched his lips to hers.

He closed his eyes, enjoying being near to her and sharing this intimate moment. Her hands splayed on his chest, and she sighed, but she didn’t pull away. He pressed his lips to hers a second time, then a longer third, before lifting his head.

Her lips curved up, a light flush touching her cheeks. “Thank you.”

That made him laugh, and he hugged her again. “You’re very welcome.”

She slid her arms around him. “You’re a good kisser.”

“Well, thank you for that.”

“And thank you for saying you’re glad I survived.”

“I am. I missed you, you know.”

She swallowed. “I missed you too.”

He sighed. “You want me to go?”

She gave a little shake of her head.

He smiled. “Come on then. I’ve got an idea.”

Niall held out a hand, and Genie gave a shy smile and slid hers into it. He waited while she picked up her cane, and then she followed him across the bedroom and back into the living room.

She thought she was being amazingly calm considering inside her fireworks were going off all over the place. She tried to calm herself, knowing it hadn’t been a romantic embrace. It had been born out of a need to comfort, out of grief and sadness. They were practically siblings, and it was little more than the kind of kiss a brother would give his sister if she were on the verge of tears.

Only it wasn’t, of course. She’d have thrown up if Jonah or Beck had kissed her like that, on the mouth, with such tenderness and affection that it had turned her insides as gooey as a melted Malteser.

That didn’t mean it was a romantic kiss, though. She was sensible enough to see the truth. They’d both been sad, and he’d wanted to comfort her, to tell her he loved her—the way one sibling loves another—and that he was glad she’d survived the accident.

And yet…

“Sit down,” he said, jolting her out of her musings, and she sat on the sofa. He walked across to the slim black box beside the TV, picked up the two controllers, and pressed the button to turn the console on.

“Gaming?” She raised an eyebrow, not sure if she was in the mood. “You want me to beat you again at
Call of Duty
?”

He grinned. “Hold on.” He ejected the current disk, selected one from the pile next to the console, and inserted it. Then he flicked on the TV and came to sit beside her.

He gave her one of the controllers. She laughed as the screen came on to show
Little Big Planet.
“Seriously?”

“There is a method to my madness.” He loaded up the game, and when it came to selecting characters, took her controller and scrolled down the little sack figures until he came to one dressed as Wonder Woman. Genie pressed the fingers of her free hand to her mouth. It was Ciara’s character. Last time they’d been home on leave, the two girls had played this game with Niall and Jonah, and Ciara had fallen in love with the tiny sack figure with its blue costume and red cape.

“I’ll take yours,” he said, choosing the one in the Jack Sparrow outfit. “Come on.”

He started up a chapter, and they proceeded to take the characters through the adventure, laughing as they fell off cliffs, got burned on hot coals, and electrocuted on wire fences.

“Do you do this often?” She negotiated a jump, failed, and fell into the flames. “Damn it. Take Ciara’s character out, I mean.”

“I’ve done it a couple of times.” He tried the jump and made it. “Ha. Sucker. I don’t know why, but it feels like a connection to her. Is that stupid?”

“No, not at all. I guess it’s no different than wearing a loved one’s sweater.” Still, his sensitivity surprised her. He was right—it did feel like a connection to Ciara.

It was difficult to concentrate—her brain wanted to think about the kiss, how it had felt and what it meant, but she forced the thoughts away to dwell on later when she was alone.

Instead, she started thinking about the lists on the table. All those things that Ciara had wanted to do… It made Genie immeasurably sad that she would never be able to fulfil those dreams. She had to find a way to deal with her grief rather than dwell on it, or her damned knee was never going to heal.

They played for a while longer, until they reached the end of the level, and then Niall switched it off and they finished off their final drinks.

“I’ve been thinking,” Genie said.

“Uh-oh.”

She stuck her tongue out at him, and leaned forward to pick up Ciara’s bucket list. “While we were playing, I was thinking about what you said about having a connection to Ciara. You were right—I need that at the moment. I suppose I’m not quite ready to say goodbye to her yet.”

“Perhaps it’s because you missed the funeral,” he suggested.

“Maybe.” She ran her fingers over the list. “I’m not an idiot—I know we have to move on, and we can’t spend the rest of our lives grieving. But it’s only been six weeks, and I need to carry that connection on for a while, you know?”

He nodded, and she wondered if he was thinking about Sinead, who clearly wasn’t able to move on yet either. “So…” he said.

She tapped the list in her hand. “I thought I might do some of Ciara’s bucket list, as she can’t do them herself.”

“That’s a great idea.”

“Not all of them, that would be silly, but I might pick a few. I thought it might make it feel as if she’s not that far away, you know?”

He smiled. “Sure. I’ll tell you what—I’ll do it with you.”

She stared at him. “Seriously?”

“If you want,” he added. “If it’s something you’d rather do on your own, I’d understand.”

She had thought to do it on her own, but equally she could see he wasn’t ready to let his sister go yet either. And it could be fun to have a go at a few of the things together.

The kiss fluttered through her mind as if a gust of wind had whipped the torn up shreds of the memory into an eddy, but she pushed it away. This was about Ciara, not about trying to get into Niall’s boxers. “Of course not. It would be fun.”

He grinned. “So what’s our first task?”

Genie sat up straight and glanced through the list. “We’ll choose at random, shall we? If it’s anything too strenuous like the bike from Cape Reinga to Invercargill, we’ll choose again. And we both get one veto.”

He laughed. “Okay. Go on then, pick one.”

Her heart racing a little, Genie closed her eyes, circled her finger over the paper, and plonked it down. She read out the result.

“Take cooking lessons.”

Niall pulled a face. “I hate cooking.”

“Even more of a reason to take lessons then.” She winked at him. “You can veto.”

“Not this early on in the game. I have to keep that in case there’s something I really don’t want to do.”

“Like what?”

“I dunno. Learn Irish dancing or something.”

She chuckled and leaned back. “You don’t like dancing?”

“I don’t mind the odd waltz or foxtrot, but I wouldn’t tap dance if you paid me.”

She hadn’t known he could do the waltz. The thought of him in a suit, spinning her around the dance floor, gave her a little glow inside.

He raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“I’m just thinking about you in a suit.”

“Ain’t never gonna happen, girl.”

She waved the list. “There’s one on here that says go to a movie premiere—you’d have to wear a suit then.”

“Nope. I’d refuse and wear jeans, and we’d get escorted off the premises, and you’d be terribly embarrassed.”

She leaned her head on her hand, tiredness finally beginning to take over. “Didn’t you wear a suit to the funeral?”

Looking down, he rested a hand on her leg, just below her knee, the warmth comforting on the wounded limb. “I wore black trousers and a black tie with a white shirt. It was too hot for a jacket.”

Sadness filtered through Genie at the thought that Ciara had been cremated without her being there. “I never said goodbye,” she whispered.

“That’s why we’re doing this.” He gestured at the paper. “This can be your goodbye.”

“So we’re really going to do it?”

“Of course. Look, Kole has a mate who’s a chef.”

“Oh yeah, I met him once. Um…Fox, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, that’s the one. Nice guy. He runs cooking classes occasionally. I’ll call him and see if he’s got anything on at the moment.”

She nodded and nestled into the sofa cushion, struggling to keep her eyes open. “Are you going now?”

“You want me to?”

She shook her head.

He rubbed her knee gently. “Then I’ll stay for a while.”

Her eyes drifted shut, but he continued to stroke her leg, soothing and comforting, as if he was aware of the ache inside her that wouldn’t go away, and wanted somehow to ease her pain.

*

When Beck came in around two in the morning, Genie awoke to discover that Niall had left. It was warm in the house, but he’d removed her shoes and placed a sheet over her. His thoughtfulness made her smile.

“Come on, sleepy.” Beck led her through to the room she always stayed in when she returned home, kissed her forehead, and went out, closing the door behind him. Genie stripped, leaving just her knickers on, and climbed beneath the cool sheets. She turned onto her side, noting with surprise that for once there was no twinge in her knee, and looked out at the stars.

Now she was alone, she let her thoughts drift to the kiss. Deep down, she was certain it had been an affectionate gesture, born out of sadness and a need to comfort one another. And yet… The way he’d brushed across her bottom lip with his thumb, and the light in his eyes when she’d looked up at him, every cell in her body longing for him to kiss her… She could have sworn it was more than a consolatory act. It had been so innocent—not a hint of tongue, and while his hand had cupped her cheek, the other hand had stayed very properly on her hip without straying. And yet it had felt incredibly erotic, so intensely intimate. Was it all in her imagination, or had he felt it too? Was he lying awake now thinking about it, or had he put it from his mind the moment he walked out of the room? There was no way to be sure.

But as sleep overcame her once again, the memory of that tender, chaste embrace blew a soft breath across the embers of the feelings that had never completely died.

*

The next day, Genie was having breakfast out on the deck—two poached eggs, toast, and coffee—when her mobile jangled to indicate a new text. It was from Niall.

You around at one-ish?

Her heart rate increased as she read the words. “For God’s sake,” she scolded herself out loud. She’d dreamed about him all night, too, or at least it had felt like it—every time she floated near to waking, it had been with the memory of his lips on hers, the scent of him wrapping around her, fresh and summery and clean.

“What’s up?” Beck came onto the deck carrying a bowl so full of muesli it was nearly overflowing.

She ignored the question. “Got enough cereal there, dude?”

“I’m hungry.”

“Clearly.”

Undaunted, he grinned, sat opposite her, and dug his spoon into the oats. “How are you feeling?”

Yawning, she pushed her plate away, leaned back, and stretched. “Better. I slept well.”
Apart from the erotic dreams.
She didn’t add the last bit.

“Good. You looked tired last night. You didn’t even make it to the bedroom.”

“I dozed off. Niall put the sheet over me.”

“Ah, right. You and he okay?”

She picked up a piece of crust and concentrated on mopping up the last of the egg yolk. “I think so. He apologized for not calling me in the hospital, and he said he was glad I’m home, so that’s something.”

Beck nodded, chewing his muesli. “I’m sorry about Sinead. I thought that was uncalled for.”

Genie shrugged. “Me too, but there was no point in making a fuss about it. I can understand why the Brennans want to blame someone for Ciara’s death. It just hurts that they’ve chosen me.”

“It’ll pass. Give it time.”

“Yeah.” Genie wasn’t so sure, but there was no point in discussing it.

“So what are you up to today?”

She looked at the text again. “Niall wants to see me.”

“What for?”

“Dunno. Probably something to do with cooking lessons.” Beck’s eyebrows rose in query, so she told him about Ciara’s bucket list and what she and Niall had decided to do.

He laughed. “Great idea.”

“I thought it might be a nice thing to do.”

“It is. Sinead might be pleased when she finds out.”

“I have to admit, that has crossed my mind.” She had to find a way to convince Sinead that she was as devastated as the rest of them that Ciara had died. Maybe then Sinead would accept Genie wasn’t responsible for her daughter’s death and would forgive her. It was a long shot, but with her own mother dead, Genie couldn’t bear the thought that Ciara’s mother would never speak to her again.

Her throat tightened so she pushed the notion away. “The first thing we’re going to do is cooking lessons. Niall has a friend who’s a chef…”

“Fox?”

“Yeah. I’m thinking he’s probably spoken to him and organized something.”

“I’ll be going into town around ten if you want me to drop you off.”

“Nah, it’s okay, I’ll take Charlie.” Charlie was a red Mitsubishi Airtrek that Genie had bought the last time she was home on leave. The first initials of the licence plate were CHL, hence the name.

Beck hesitated and stirred his muesli. “Have you been cleared to drive?”

She paused in the process of lifting the coffee mug to her lips.
Shit.
She’d completely forgotten about her knee. Her eyes met Beck’s, and she saw the flicker of pity that passed through them. After sipping her coffee, she cleared her throat and replaced the mug on the table. “No, not yet. Maybe I’ll come in with you then.”

“Sure.”

She picked up her phone. Her knee, which had been great all night, twinged, and she winced and rubbed it absently. She’d have to make an appointment with the local surgery—the Army doctor had been very clear that she had to have someone check the wound while she was on leave, as well as insisting she saw a psychologist.

Swiping her thumb across the phone, she leaned back to read the message again. She hit reply.

Sure. Where shall I meet you?

Another message came back almost instantly.
By the pier. Should have finished last trip by then.

She replied with a
Cool, see you then,
and put the phone away. He’d be busy all morning taking tourists out to the Hole in the Rock and finding pods of dolphins for them to photograph.

Unbidden, her cheeks grew warm. She finished off the rest of her coffee and stood to carry the mug back to the kitchen. Blushing? She never blushed! Hopefully, Beck hadn’t noticed. If any of the guys got wind of the fact that she was soft on Niall, she’d never hear the end of it.