More Than a Fling? (15 page)

ELEVEN

The following
morning Ally was sitting on Ross’s veranda, working
on her laptop, while Ross surfed on the beach below the house. She wasn’t making
a lot of progress because she kept thinking of their conversation the night
before and how Ross had made sweet, tender, passionate love to her
afterwards.

She didn’t have much time left in this country; the shooting
for the commercials was finished and the studio shots were scheduled for
tomorrow and the next day. She was due to fly back to Geneva on Thursday and
then this...this thing with Ross would come to a slamming stop. Just the thought
of leaving made her want to dry heave.

When had he become so important? When had she lost her grip on
her emotions and her distance? The first time she’d met him? The second? From
the moment they met he’d challenged all her preconceptions about her career, her
life. He made her think and, worse, he made her dream.

Was he right? she asked herself, lifting her cup of coffee to
her lips. Was she wasting herself, wasting her life, spending all her time at
work, keeping herself closed off and living scared?

She wanted to live a more balanced life, she admitted. Dammit,
she wanted to have a life. But she didn’t want a life that didn’t have Ross in
it. She couldn’t imagine a life that didn’t have Ross in it.

She wasn’t sure what love felt like, what love was, but she’d
never felt like this before. Safe and thrilled in equal measure, challenged and
accepted at the same time. Ally pushed her hair back from her face and, as
always, logic floated to the surface.

Was she just feeling...
attached
to
Ross because he was the first to give her a taste of what she was missing from
her life: fun, a man, passion...fun? Was she projecting her feelings on him
because he’d breached her defences? Was she feeling affection because the
thought of throwing herself back into dating made her want to break out in
hives?

Ally dug deep, thought of going back to Geneva, and her heart
belted away into the deepest, darkest corner of her ribcage. She couldn’t
imagine not talking to him, not making love to him, not having him in her
life.

Maybe this psychotic, thrilling, heart-thumping feeling in her
stomach and heart and throat was love. It sure as hell was something...

Ally heard the doorbell ring and frowned. Standing up, she
peered over the railing and looked out to sea. Immediately she saw Ross sitting
on his board, waiting for a wave. Okay, so she’d answer his door.

Ally walked back through his lounge, moved a pair of his
trainers out of her path—the man left shoes and clothes everywhere—and touched
the wooden statue of a monstrous head at the door before yanking the door
open.

Ross’s face in thirty years stared back at her. ‘I’m looking
for Ross Bennett. I was given this address.’

Ally held out her hand. ‘I’m Ally, Ross’s...’

Ross’s what? Girlfriend? Lover? Temporary fling? Colleague?

‘Ross’s friend. Come on in. He’s out surfing but he should be
up soon. Would you like some coffee?’

On the deck, Ross rinsed his board, pulled off his vest and
draped it over the railing, then wrapped a towel around his wet board shorts.
After rinsing off his feet he slid open the door and walked into the house,
looking for sex and food. Or food and sex.

Either would work.

‘Jones? Get off your computer, sweetheart, and let’s make
breakfast and fool around.’

Ross stepped through the doorway to his kitchen and raised his
eyebrows as he saw someone sitting at the breakfast bar, Ally on the other side
of him. He sighed...company... Dear God in heaven—the company was his
father.

What the hell...? Ross sent Ally an accusing look.

She lifted her eyebrows and her hands. ‘What? He rang the
bell!’

Ross folded his arms across his chest and asked the only
question he could. ‘Jonas, what are you doing here?’

‘I was hoping to talk to you...face to face.’

‘Why? What can you say to me that we didn’t cover on the phone
the other day?’ Ross demanded, feeling the old feelings of disappointment and
resentment bubble up. ‘You want me to come back to Bennett Inc. I would rather
chew my wrists off. You wasted a trip.’ He sent Ally a cold look. ‘You saw him
in—you can see him out. When I get out of the shower, I want him gone.’

Ross turned around and ran up the stairs to his bedroom and
headed straight for the shower. All he’d wanted, he thought as hot water pounded
his head, was sex and food.

Trust his father to kill his appetite for both.

When he walked out of the bathroom, a towel around his hips,
Ally was sitting on the edge of his perfectly made bed—of course she couldn’t
leave it in a tangled mess—looking stubborn.
Here comes the
lecture
, he thought.

‘I don’t want to hear it,’ he told her, heading for his
dressing room and grabbing a pair of jeans and a T-shirt.

‘Tough,’ Ally said as she crossed her legs. ‘He flew out here
to talk to you. That took courage and determination and the least you can do is
hear him out.’

‘It’ll be the same old story.’

‘Maybe, but you can’t assume that.’

Ross pulled on his underwear and jeans, quickly buttoning the
fly. After pulling on the T-shirt, he ran his hands through his short hair.

‘Why the hell did I cut my hair? He
hated
my long hair!’

Ally grinned. ‘You sound like your sixteen-year-old self. Trust
me—knowing you, I’m pretty sure you’ll find something to say to annoy him.’ Her
smile died and her eyes darkened with pain. ‘A day doesn’t go by when I don’t
wish I could see my dad again, Ross, as difficult and reserved as he was. Go and
talk to him. Please?’

He twisted his lips. ‘Dammit, but you are pain in my ass.’

Ally stood up and kissed his cheek. ‘So you keep telling me.
I’ll hang on up here for a while to give you some privacy.’

* * *

Ross couldn’t stop staring at Jonas. ‘What the hell do
you mean, you’re selling Bennett Inc.?’

They’d moved to the veranda, where Ross felt he could
breathe.

Jonas sat in one of the plump couches, his coffee on the table
in front of him, his eyes on the view. ‘Hell of a place you have here, son.’

He couldn’t remember when his father had last called him son.
Ross, normally the brightest lightbulb in the room, was struggling to keep up.
‘Whoa, back up! You’re selling the company?’

‘Yep.’

‘Why, for God’s sake? You
love
Bennett Inc.’

Jonas slanted him a look that he couldn’t interpret. ‘Well, you
don’t want it, and Hope isn’t interested either. What’s the point of carrying on
with it? I only built it for the two of you, and neither of you want it, so it
can be sold.’

‘But...but what are you going to do?’

He couldn’t imagine his father not working. It was like trying
to imagine a rap star without bling.

‘Your mother and I are buying a boat and we’re going sailing.
Do you know she already got her skipper’s licence?’

What? The? Fudge?

‘Uh...no...’

Jonas stretched his arms out along the back of the couch and
grinned. ‘Last week—the day before we spoke—she told me that, with or without
me, she was going sailing. I could either go along or stay. I’m choosing to
go.’

Ross just stared at him, mute with shock.

‘I’ll give you the account number and the access codes for the
bank account I’ve set up. Then you can bail your mother out when she ends up in
a foreign jail for chopping me up with an axe,’ Jonas joked.

Ross just stared at him. Who was this man who was cracking
jokes and looking relaxed? It sure wasn’t the uptight father he remembered.

‘Your mother made me choose. The company or her.’

Go, Mum
, Ross thought, as proud as
hell of his tiny mother.

‘After our last discussion I realised that I’d sacrificed
everything important to me—you and your sister, possibly your mother—for a
business nobody cares about. It was suddenly too big a price to pay.’

Holy crap
, Ross thought.

‘Close your mouth,’ Jonas suggested. ‘There are flies about.
And talking about money...’

‘I don’t want a damn cent,’ Ross said, pushing the words out
between his teeth as Jonas pushed his favourite button.

‘Tough!’ Jonas said on a sharkish grin. ‘I’ve reinstated your
trust fund and when the sale goes through it’s going to be seriously fat. Use
it...don’t use it...give it away. I don’t care.’

Jonas leaned forward and his face was suddenly serious
and...
sincere
. Ross almost didn’t recognise the
expression—had he ever seen sincerity on his father’s face before?

‘All I care about is whether you’ll accept my apology for being
a...how did your mother put it?...a total dipstick.’

‘Uh...’

Jonas rubbed his hand over his grey hair. ‘I was hoping to
avoid this part. Okay, if I have to say it, then... Hell.’ He pulled out a piece
of paper from his shirt pocket. ‘Your mother made me write it down.’ He opened
up the paper and extended his arm to squint at the words. ‘I’m sorry for being a
crap father, for not allowing you to follow your own path, for—’

Ross laughed, snatched the paper from his hand, crumpled it and
tossed it over his shoulder. ‘I think that’s more than enough of Mum’s
soppiness.’

‘Thank God. But I am very proud of what you’ve achieved...on
your own.’

Jonas smiled and Ross ignored the sheen of emotion in their
eyes.

‘Well, so...I really like this house. I can see myself spending
some time here. I also like the idea of Crazy Collaborations. Need some help
with that?’

Ross thought for a moment. He didn’t have enough time to spend
on his think tank project and it could only benefit from his father’s excellent
business brain. It would also give Jonas something to do instead of driving his
mum nuts on the boat.

‘I’d be grateful for your long distance away, e-mail-based help
on one condition.’

‘What’s that?’

‘You keep your nose out of RBM.’

‘Deal,’ Jonas quickly agreed.

Ross, his brain working overtime at the thought of having his
father back in his life, guilt-free, sat down on the chair opposite Jonas and
placed his bare feet on the table. He smiled when Jonas slipped off his shoes
and copied his actions.

‘So, tell me about Ally. How long have you been together?’
Jonas asked.

Ross slanted him a look. While he was thrilled that he and his
father seemed to have turned a very steep corner, he wasn’t anywhere near able
to discuss his love life with him.

‘Don’t get excited, Jonas. She’s temporary—a fling. We’re just
having a bit of fun until she goes home. She’s not important.’

Ross felt his stomach clench at the lie and realised that
speaking the words didn’t make them true. Ally was getting to be just the
opposite; she’d slipped under his skin and he had no idea how he was going to
find the strength to wave her goodbye.

There was nothing they could do, he thought, and it was never
going to work out. Her career, her life was in Geneva, and he could never ask
her to give it up and move to Cape Town to be with him. After what she’d told
him last night that would be too big an ask of her.

And
he
couldn’t give up RBM. He’d
worked so damn hard, and he had people relying on him—clients, customers, staff
who’d relocated, changed their lives to work for him.

Love, he realised as regret clutched his heart and squeezed,
couldn’t conquer everything.

* * *

She’s temporary—a fling. We’re just
having a bit of fun until she goes home. She’s not important.

She hadn’t been eavesdropping—well, maybe a bit.

Ally had instinctively backed away from the door leading to the
veranda and when she was certain that Ross wouldn’t hear her footsteps had
dashed up the stairs to Ross’s room.

She’d had to leave—needed to be out of his house before he saw
her wet eyes and her obvious distress. Now, a couple of hours later, back in her
apartment at Camps Bay, she kept calling herself a fool. She’d been thinking
about how Ross had changed her life, how awful it would be when she left and how
much she’d miss him—and all the time he’d considered her to be nothing more than
a casual fling.

If there were awards for chronic stupidity she would be a right
up there in the running. So they’d shared a couple of confidences? It seemed
that meant nothing in the scheme of things; Ross wasn’t on the same page as
her.

Hell, he wasn’t even reading the same book.

Ally heard the entry buzzer, walked into the kitchen and looked
at the small screen above the intercom. There was Ross, looking dark and
dangerous on his solid black Ducati. She pressed the button to allow the gate to
slide open and realised that she had about a minute to get her crazy, bruised
emotions under control. She couldn’t allow him to know that his words to his
father, so casually uttered, had made her feel as if he’d scraped out her
insides with a teaspoon.

She hauled in a deep breath and pushed her hair off her face.
She would be cool and in control; she would not melt into a puddle at his feet.
This was the problem with feelings, she thought, they were wild and upsetting
and left you feeling out of control.

Her father had been right all along: it was better to keep them
all locked down. It didn’t hurt that way.

‘Hey,’ Ross said as he walked into the airy, light-filled
apartment.

Ally knew that he was walking over to kiss her so she popped
around to the other side of the dining room table, which she was using as a
massive desk.

‘Hi,’ she replied, staring down at her screen. ‘Bert sent me
the photographs of the office shoot...they’re good. Do you want to take a
look?’