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The look on his face when he’d seen the destruction of the reef haunted her. It was as if he had lost something important to him. She didn’t want him to leave here thinking that the reef was a lost cause. That nothing they could do could restore it. She wasn’t sure why it was so important to her, didn’t want to look too closely at her motivations, but the fact remained that she was compelled to do something.
And it was time that she went to check on her other transplants anyway. They had been in the water for two years now and were growing better than anyone had hoped. Other sea life had returned to the area and a young, vibrant ecosystem was growing up again around the reef. She wanted Guy to see that. To understand that they didn’t have to resign themselves to losing the reef by Le Bijou.
Was that the only reason? she asked herself. Or was the reality of the situation that she just wanted to see him again? That she had enjoyed spending time with him? Had enjoyed the sight of his bare chest, studying the shape of his calves, the blond hair on his arms.
She shook her head. She shouldn’t be thinking that way about him. About anyone. Thinking that way about men had never led her anywhere good in the past.
So what if her body wanted him? She had been there before, she assumed, and listening to her body then had left her miscarrying alone, afraid of what would happen if her family or their friends ever found out what had happened. She had to be smarter than that. She had to second-guess what she thought she wanted before her desires led her into any more trouble.
She didn’t want to spend her life alone. And she assumed that at some point down the line maybe she’d meet a nice, sensible boy and have a nice, sensible marriage, just as she knew was expected of her. Her body had betrayed her in the past, her passions had left her hurt and alone, and she couldn’t risk that happening again.
She chewed at her thumbnail as she listened to the phone ring. Maybe she’d get voicemail, she thought—hoped—and wouldn’t even have to talk to Dev.
‘Hello?’
The greeting in English threw her momentarily.
There was only one person who would answer the phone in English.
‘Guy?’ The last thing that she had expected was for him to answer his own phone. ‘Where’s Dev?’
‘Meena?’ She resisted a thrill at the thought that he had recognised her voice and forced down the sensation it had triggered in her belly.
‘Guy, sorry, I wasn’t expecting you.’
‘You just called my office.’
‘Yes, but...’ But she’d been hoping she wouldn’t have to speak to him? She knew how stupid that would sound and caught the words before they left her mouth.
She shook off her embarrassment and surprise and remembered that she was a professional. ‘I’
m diving at a reef today where we transplanted in some coral a couple of years ago. I wondered if you would like to see it. It’ll give you an idea of what we might be able to achieve at Le Bijou with some careful conservation.’
She could imagine him in his office, looking at a packed schedule, amused that she thought that he could simply drop everything and head out to look at some coral. The silence at the other end of the line spoke volumes and she was about to die of embarrassment and hang up when he said, ‘I can clear my day from four. Would that work?’
Clear his day? She’d been expecting another snatched hour at most. Hopefully by four the fierce lunchtime heat would have started to abate and being out on the water in her boat would be a little more bearable.
‘That works for me,’ she said, hoping that she was adequately hiding her surprise. ‘Should I meet you there?’
‘I’ll pick you up,’ he said. ‘I prefer to dive from my own boat. Where shall I collect you?’
She hesitated, but then gave him the details of the marina, bristling at his overbearing tone. ‘I’ll see you in a few hours, then,’ he said, sounding distracted, and then hung up.
The hours passed slowly, but as the clock ticked towards four she headed out to her boat to check and gather her diving equipment. Cursing herself for looking out over the water, she tried to catch sight of Guy’s boat. She wasn’t sure what to expect. The marinas around the island were peppered with super-yachts and speedboats more luxurious and expensive than she could possibly dream of owning. Judging by his taste in speedboats and snorkel equipment, she shouldn’t expect Guy to have skimped.
She looked at the worn wooden boards and tired paintwork of her own vessel. She was proud of how she had kept it afloat all these years, having rescued and restored it when she’d been at university before she had gone to Australia. She wouldn’t have made the strides she had in her education without it. It had allowed her to carry out the research that had won her a scholarship for her postgraduate study at the world-leading university in marine biology.
It had kick-started a career that had fallen by the wayside since her accident. After that had happened, she had needed to keep things simple. And sanding and oiling the board of this boat had brought her hours of pleasure. It had always been the plan to go back to Australia to work, to continue her research, which would have a far wider effect than saving a coral reef or two here on the islands. But after her accident she’d lost the drive to return. Had stayed home, and safe, instead.
A luxury yacht cruised into the marina and, though she could only see crew on board, she had no doubt that it was Guy’s boat. It didn’t have the company branding—it was clearly for pleasure, rather than business—but it had an unmistakable air of Guy Williams class.
She looked down at her humble, though no longer leaky, little boat. She couldn’t summon any jealousy for the larger craft. Sure, luxury must be nice. She had heard, anyway. But she liked her own hands on the tiller, setting her own course. Liked being able to navigate around the coral and into the smallest lagoons. She wouldn’t swap the freedom of taking out her own boat alone, on her own whim, for the convenience of a couple of luxury cabins and a well-stocked bar. Well, not for more than an afternoon or so, anyway.
She watched the yacht slow to a standstill, and then launch a speedboat from the aft deck. Of course. She smiled. Of course.
As Guy drew closer she waved from her own mooring and saw the change in his posture when he spotted her. Creasing her eyes against the glare of the sun, she wished she could read him better. She sensed there was more to him than just the brusque businessman he presented to the world. Certainly, in her dreams there was a lot more to him.
It was just fantasy, she reminded herself. However real those dreams felt. However often she was having them—and she was having them a lot—they weren’t real. She didn’t know him better because she had dreamed of his hands on her body and his whispers in her hair. And she would do very well to remember that.
