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‘The year I was fourteen I was already nearing six foot—I looked older and thought I acted it. I got into a bad crowd, the kind made up of rich summer boys. They were all older than me. You can imagine how cool I thought I was, with no idea that they saw me as a convenient scapegoat. They were loud and drunk and annoying all summer and I tagged along, grateful to be included. Then one of them took his father’s car out when he wasn’t supposed to and when the police got involved they all blamed me. Of course everybody believed the Treloar boy had been out joyriding. Luckily for me, I got a decent solicitor who pointed out quite clearly that it could have been any of us and got the charges dropped, but everyone immediately knew that I was on the same path as my father.’
Her heart ached for the lonely, misunderstood boy he had been—no wonder redeeming his name was so important to him.
‘Only you weren’t.’
‘No. That scare brought me to my senses—I was lucky not to get a spell in juvenile detention, but worse was the disappointment in my mother’s eyes. I swore then that I never wanted to make her look like that again. So over the next few years I kept my head down, programming and honing my skills until at eighteen I got an offer from a start-up to join them. The idea was that we would build apps for businesses and people with ideas in return for a share in the app. It was a bit of a gamble. For every ten apps we put our time and energy into, nine we effectively built for free, and they’d sink without a trace. But when an app made it, it really did. And after a couple of years I stopped just making a good living and started to get rich.’
‘And that’s what you do now?’
‘Not any more. A few years back I took some of the money I had made and looked for ways to invest it in other start-ups, not just apps. An angel, they call it—again I provide the money in return for a share in the company. I started off backing a small local chain of Lebanese cafés who wanted to expand, an organic skincare brand, a tech concierge service. It’s similar to the apps; there’s a risk that many will fail, others may stay small-time, but the ones that succeed really succeed. I have a team now who scout small businesses with potential for me.’
Rosy leaned forward, fascinated by his drive, his tenacity, his integrity. ‘And this is why the theatre means so much—you want to invest in the village?’
‘And to show the people here who I am now. Make our name respected, not reviled. And to help create something I am invested in, not just give money to others. Show my girls who I am, make them proud.’
‘Of course they’re proud. And you should be too. You’re an amazing father! How many eighteen-year-olds do what you did? You built yourself up from someone who had barely anything to someone who can afford almost anything, but more importantly to being the best father you could be. Your girls are very, very lucky to have you.’
He didn’t answer for a long while. ‘Money isn’t everything. They don’t have a mother; I couldn’t give them that.’
There was a lot going on here, more than Arrosa could unpack right now. She knew, she sensed with every fibre of her being that Jack rarely, if ever, opened up like this. What was it about them that made confidences between them so easy? And yet she couldn’t repay him with any semblance of truth. It wasn’t fair. She couldn’t allow the imbalance to tip any further.
‘I’m sorry.’ She stood up, summoning her best social voice, her best social smile. ‘You came here for some time alone with your thoughts. I should leave you to them.’
‘Don’t go.’
The words were so low she thought for a moment she had imagined them, but then Jack spoke again, his voice almost a guttural growl, reaching out to take her hand. ‘Don’t go.’
His touch shivered through her, every nerve jumping to attention as her whole body responded to the feel of his fingers threaded through hers, her body hollowing out, an insistent sweet ache pulsing low in her stomach, in her breasts. She almost gasped at the sensation, her own fingers folding around his, anchoring her to him as sensation shot through her.
‘I...’ She had no idea what to say, what to do. She was all desire, all need, and all the reasons she needed to retreat had floated away, leaving her standing there staring at him helplessly, looking for answers. Jack rose to his feet in one graceful movement and looked down at her, tenderness and need stark in his eyes.
This is a bad idea, she tried to remind herself, but she couldn’t remember why that mattered. Why anything mattered but the stars overhead, shining on them as if in approval, the glow of the dying fire, the sweet smell of applewood permeating the atmosphere and the fact that Jack Treloar was looking at her as if she were the moon and the stars.
She stared up at him, drinking in the sharply defined lines of his face, the slope of his cheekbones and the curve of his mouth. Her gaze lingered on his mouth, the sensual curl enticing, inviting her, and she stepped closer, as if of its own volition her hand reaching up to trace his cheekbone, the lines of his jaw.
‘Jack,’ she whispered, unsure whether it was a plea or a protest. His skin was rough under her fingers, his stubble grazing her as she continued her exploration, returning along his jaw and up until she reached his mouth. He was motionless, eyes dark and full of a desire she had never seen before, never evoked before, and it filled her with a power she couldn’t resist as he finally, finally tilted her chin and lowered his mouth to hers.
This was no gentle exploratory kiss but a claiming on both sides that shook Arrosa through even as she matched him, moving so close she could feel his every bone and muscle hard against her. She luxuriated in him, in the owning of him as she explored him, her hands running over shoulders and back, neck and chest, touching and teasing and learning. His hands were wrapped in her hair and she welcomed the slight pull as he wound the curls around his fingers. He tasted of wine and salt, smelt of woodsmoke and something uniquely him that she recognised at a molecular level. She wanted no barriers between them, she wanted him naked and in her, fast and hard and sweet and slow and please God could it be now...
And then, as if the heavens had opened and dowsed her in reality, Arrosa stepped back, all the reasons this couldn’t, shouldn’t, mustn’t happen spinning through her.
‘I am so sorry, Jack, I can’t. I mustn’t.’ She reached towards him for one weak moment as she whispered, ‘I wish I could’, before whirling around and running back to her tent.
CHAPTER SIX
DESPITETHEEXCELLENTmattress and comfortable surroundings, Arrosa didn’t manage to get any sleep that night, reliving the kiss over and over in glorious Technicolor until she was both exhausted and frustrated, filled with unsated desire and regret.
What had she been thinking?
The truth was she hadn’t been thinking. Instead, she’d allowed herself to be swept away. Turned out a starlit sky, firelight and a handsome man were her own personal kryptonite. Thank goodness she had come to her senses before she’d lost even more control. At least it was just a kiss.
But, oh, what a kiss. The kind of kiss she would remember until her dying moment. Just the thought of it sent flames flicking through her.
It didn’t help that Jack kissed in a way guaranteed to make a girl’s knees quiver. It wasn’t just that he had felt, had tasted, so good. No, the problem was thewayhe’d kissed her. As if kissing her was exactly what he should be doing, was born to do. And she, God help her, had kissed him in exactly the same way.
The truth was it wasn’t just a kiss. It was the culmination of a promise, a moment they’d been careering towards from the very first second. A moment she should have done her best to head off, not grasping with both hands as if it was her last chance of happiness.
Only maybe it was. After all, just three weeks ago she had practically proposed to someone she had no interest at all in kissing. Had resigned herself to a loveless, lust-less future.
