Sympathy for the Devil (International Bad Boys Book 4) (12 page)

She knew this place, and once upon a time she’d known the people.

Not that she spotted many familiar faces as she drew closer.

She headed for Cutter over by the drinks table and handed him a liter bottle of wine with a smile and no shortage of determination. If he could be gracious with her about old betrayals, she could at least make the effort to be appreciative. “Hey.”

“Hey, Bree.” His smile came quick and warm. “Shall I pour one for you?”

“Please.”

“Your boy is around here somewhere. Try over by the BBQ.”

“How is he?”

“Bruised. But then you already know that because your father dropped by.”

“Sadly, my father respects patient confidentiality. Apparently, it goes with the job.”

Cutter smirked. “I hear that about those doctor types.”

And then his gaze slid past her and his eyes grew carefully guarded even as he cobbled together a smile. His gaze dropped lower and his smile grew more genuine. “Hey there, tyke.”

Zoey looked around to see a young boy tugging on a woman’s arm as he hurried towards them, making a beeline straight for Cutter. The woman had an even smaller boy in the crook of her other arm and he clung to her side like a little monkey.

“And the tykelet as well,” Cutter said next as they approached. “Hey, Gemma.”

Plenty of tension between Gemma and Cutter, for some reason. And a name that Bree had heard a few days back in her mother’s kitchen as her mother had talked of Caleb’s conquests when it came to married women.

“Is Caleb around?” Gemma asked quietly.

“Somewhere. I thought you were in Sydney.”

“It didn’t work out. Next stop Darwin.” Gemma’s smile didn’t match the weariness in her eyes or the thinness of her already slight frame. “I was going to call rather than drop in, but then we were driving right by and the kids needed a pit stop and I figured why not? I forgot it was Friday.”

“Nah, it’s fine. Give me the kids. I’ll set them up with juice and a soccer ball. Caleb’s here somewhere.”

Gemma smiled and handed the little guy straight across the drinks table and into Cutter’s arms. The bigger kid needed no encouragement, he just ducked under the table and wormed his way up beside his brother, one hand on his brother’s stick-thin leg, while his mother disappeared.

“Don’t worry about that,” Cutter offered awkwardly. “That’s just . . . old business.”

“Aren’t we all?” Bree felt as if someone had taken to her with a gutting knife. She knew that Caleb was no saint. She knew he had history with a lot of women, but this one . . . Gemma . . .

“Bree.” Cutter’s voice came at her low and insistent. “Caleb’s no angel when it comes to women; never has been. You’ll find old flames aplenty if you go looking for them, but Gemma Brucker’s not one of them. She’s a friend of Caleb’s—occasionally she’s a friend in need, and she doesn’t have a lot of people to turn to, so just . . . let her go and talk to him, okay? Wait this one out for a while.”

God.

Yeah, she could wait. Provided she could get her rampant insecurity and jealousy under control. “Okay.”

“Go find Zoey. Get her to show you some of her costumes.”

“Okay.”

She turned to go.

Home.

She couldn’t do this. She’d already had enough conflict and uncertainty for one day.

And then Zoey was there with eyes that were too understanding, her coronet of twigs now tipped with silver and harboring something that looked a lot like tiny, painted gum-nut babies. “I, er, like your hat.”

“It’s a work in progress,” offered Zoey. “I’m not sure where I’m going with it yet.”

Straight to the asylum was one guess. “Are you going to model your costumes for me too?” asked Bree, by way of distraction.

“Me? No.” Zoey looked startled. “Can’t we find someone pretty?”

“Pretty’s boring. I can make you look stunning.”

“I have a sister. She’s stunning.”

“Bring her along, I’ll do you both.”

“Come and I’ll show you the gowns I want photographed.”

“I’ll tell Caleb where you are,” offered Cutter.

“I’m being railroaded, aren’t I?” This family, and the way they covered for each other, wove in and out of each other’s lives, it was really something. “You do know that collectively you Jacksons are kind of intimidating?”

Zoey laughed and grabbed her hand and together they wove through the crowd and past a yacht that was up on the slipway getting its barnacles scraped and then to the stairs that Bree knew very well. Eli and Zoey’s apartment was up there. So was a crowded little store-room full of bells.

Or maybe that had changed.

Bree didn’t see Caleb or the fragile Gemma along the way. If she had, she wasn’t sure she’d have stayed.

“You can
not
be insecure around Caleb,” Zoey told her when they reached the top of the stairs. “He’s beautiful. Women look and then they want.”

“I know.”

“They see the devil in him and they think they want to walk on the dark side. Gemma Brucker got to see his honorable side, which makes her kind of special, but not in the way you’re thinking. Caleb got drawn into the Brucker mess through Gemma’s eight-year-old, Toby, when he started hanging around with some of the surf-lifesaving kids Caleb was teaching. Caleb noticed his bruises. There were always new ones before the old ones faded.”

“White knight.” Bree took a deep breath. “I hear what you’re saying, and I—thank you. I just—sometimes around Caleb I’m not all that resilient when it comes to our past. And it could be that I’m more than a little worried about our present. And my place in it.”

Zoey patted her arm. “You want me to show you some costumes now or should I keep talking resilience and staying confident when it comes to Caleb?”

“Keep talking.” Zoey Jackson was rapidly becoming her favorite person. She had a warmth about her, a zest for life that was contagious. “And show me your work. I can multitask.”

“Can you, really?”

“Put it this way, if I don’t have something to distract me in the next, oh, five seconds, I’m going to flee.”

“Leave it to me.” Zoey dragged her past the open-plan living room with the little galley kitchenette, past the big bed with all the pillows and on to a work area containing a sewing machine, two large tables, several dressmaker’s dummies and dozens and dozens of bolts of all different kinds of fabric, standing up in rows, each row ruthlessly color coordinated by hue, saturation and lightness. Zoey’s fabric collection was art in its own right and displayed a deep appreciation for texture and color and Bree felt the faint stirrings of interest. “Behold my work area,” offered Zoey.

“It’s very orderly. And very beautiful.”

Zoey smiled as if surprised by the compliment. “I try. Doesn’t always work. But back to the information you need. Gemma’s husband beat her so badly that she finally pressed charges and away he went to jail and a whole lot of people breathed a sigh of relief. Now they’re saying—the powers that be—that there’s been a stuff-up with the hospital report and it looks like he’s going to be released.” Zoey grimaced. “Caleb’s not sorting out his love life down there, just so you know. He’s more likely to be talking to Gemma about her next moves and making sure they’re good ones.” Zoey headed towards a big old camphor-wood chest and hefted the lid. And then she lifted out a gown the likes of which Bree had never seen. And Bree had seen a lot of gowns and photographed her fair share of them. Couture gowns from Paris, New York, London and Sydney. Gowns for film and for theatre. Gowns for singing in.

The gown Zoey held up for her perusal was more beautiful than any of them.

There were only two main colors—bronze and deepest charcoal grey, but, oh, the fabrics and the textures, the incredible attention to detail when it came to piping, pleating and embroidery . . . and not just in those areas that first drew the eye. Bree had never seen better artistry. Ever.

Okay, maybe in a museum.

“
You
sewed this?”

“All me. My fingers will attest to it.”

“Who’s it made for?”

“Me.”

And that was exactly what Breanna wanted to hear, because she could already see Zoey in this gown, and knew exactly what she would suggest when it came to make-up and hair. “Do you have
any
idea how talented you are?”

“Really?” Zoey looked delighted. “So you’ll take the job? Because we really need to discuss price before I start getting excited. I checked out some of the price lists for the photographers you recommended and, frankly, I can’t afford them. I can’t afford anywhere near the amounts they’re charging for pictures. I’m a little short on finances and I’m trying not to borrow from Eli.”

“If you make me one dress, just one, then I’ll consider us square.” Bree couldn’t resist reaching for the gown. “May I touch?”

Zoey’s smile blossomed. “I’d be insulted if you didn’t.”

Velvet, and satin, leather piping and tiny antique bronze chains. Textures seduced her fingertips and Bree was already halfway gone when it came to wondering how best to capture the beauty of this creation, what camera setting to use and how best to light Zoey.

“I wanted gold chains at one stage but finances dictated otherwise.”

“You let me photograph your work and get them in front of the right people and you will have your gold chains. You are going to be
huge
. You could go
anywhere
with this. Anywhere you want to be.”

“I just want to be an artisan and do what I do. Have a little more money to do it with, maybe.” Zoey stroked her hand over the boned and velvet beribboned bodice. “I’ll let you in on a little secret, I love my life—the fabric and the boats, the water on my doorstep and Eli in my bed. There’s no other life I’d rather lead. Every minute of every day—there’s so much love and beauty in it that I couldn’t imagine living any differently. This is it for me. It’s all I’ll ever need.”

“I get that,” Bree said softly, stroking one of the wider velvet panels of the skirt. “Sounds like a fine place to be.”

“What about you? Would you ever consider living in the bay again?”

“I wonder about it,” said Bree. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately. And then I think that if this thing with Caleb heads south there won’t be enough to hold me.”

“Why would your relationship with Caleb head south?”

“He doesn’t exactly have a reputation for sticking to the one woman. He likes to move on.”

“Well, for what it’s worth, it seems to me that he’s found what he’s looking for. I don’t think he’s looking to move on from you at all.”

“We’ll see.”

“Confidence, remember? Confidence is key.”

“Got it. I am as confident as can be.”

“Still feel like fleeing?”

“Why would she flee?” said a voice from the stairway and it was Caleb and his eyes were wary.

“We were just talking about you,” said Zoey.

“I know.”

How much had he heard?

Bree couldn’t stop looking at him. And Caleb made no bones about his focus being completely on her.

“I’m just going to . . . go,” said Zoey. And with a quick, reassuring squeeze for Bree’s hand she headed for the stairs, slipped past Caleb and was gone.

The tension in the room thickened.

“Gemma’s with Cutter,” Caleb said finally. “They’re going to give the kids half-an-hour to play, Cutter’s going to feed them and then they’ll be gone.”

“They don’t have to do that. Not on my account.”

“They were only passing through.”

“Yes, but you didn’t have to cut them short on my account.”

“I know what I have to do, Breanna, and I’ve done it. One day I’ll introduce you to Gemma and you can get to know her, but not today. Not on our first date. Cutter’s got this.”

Brothers.

Or maybe it was just this family.

“C’mon,” he murmured, holding out his hand. “I want to show you something.”

He led her to the little door at the other end of the landing at the top of the stairs. The one Bree had been resolutely ignoring ever since she’d got here. The room behind the door was still tiny, and cobwebby and perfect. There were more bells and several more ships wheels. There was a big old brass bed, fully dressed, in the place old deck cushions had once been.

It was the only thing that wasn’t dusty.

“This is my bolt hole,” he offered gruffly. “It always has been. I have a place in town but occasionally I sleep here if the trawler gets in at all hours or if I have an early dive. I don’t bring women here, so if that’s what you’re thinking, don’t. There’s only ever been one woman here in this room with me.”

He stood there in his jeans and T-shirt and he’d never looked more serious or so beautiful. “Will you come in again?”

Bree felt time shift as she stepped into the room that had dominated her dreams for over ten years. She crossed the threshold and her world tilted sideways, just that little bit out of step with the party below. There was only this room and Caleb and the promise of doing something right this time.

He headed towards the big brass bed and she stayed back, happy for the moment just to watch the play of sunlight on him through dusty slatted window panes. There was a small table by the bed with a lamp and a clock on it and books piled up beneath. Several books on shipwrecks, a book about the oceans and several on underwater photography. Which reminded her . . .

“These are for you.” She reached for her shoulder bag and put it on the end of his bed and then reached in and drew out a large envelope and withdrew the stack of photos within.

She watched him take them warily and begin to shuffle through them. Photos of him and his brothers and his father as they unloaded bins of fish from the trawler. Good pictures, chosen for what they conveyed about family dynamics and relationships. A father’s pride as he watched his sons work. The competitiveness between brothers that got pushed aside effortlessly when one of them needed a hand. Textures and movement and strong hands on the ropes. Weathered smiles and reckless ones.

And then he got to that one of him alone. Looking at her.

And didn’t say a word.

She headed for the slatted glass windows and it was then that she noticed the dusty bottle of scotch on the sill. Not the same brand as the one they’d drunk all those years ago, but close enough.