Her Aussie Holiday Page 7

  Cora laughed as Skye swung her arm around Leigh’s shoulders, trying to knuckle his hair. The rest of the guys hung their heads together, talking strategy in a loose huddle. But the heat of Trent’s gaze bored into her, stronger and more potent than the full sun overhead. It was hard to shake the jittering energy that flowed through her veins, anticipation swirling like a tornado through her body. Tearing up her reason and sensibility and logic.

  Trent pulled his T-shirt up, the white cotton making way for toned abs and a broad chest and those delectable vee muscles driving down into the waistband over his board shorts… Well, Cora wondered if maybe there wasn’t really anything so wrong with indulging every once in a while.

  What happens in Australia stays in Australia?

  But she quickly brushed the thought off. Getting involved with another guy would be jumping from the frying pan into the fire.

  More like into the inferno.

  Exactly. A guy like Trent would burn her to ash, and she needed to protect herself right now. Protect her heart and her head, protect all the wounds still raw from her failed-before-it-ever-started marriage.

  She wasn’t ready to open herself up to anybody yet. Not matter how tempting.

  …

  Several hours later, Cora’s statement was confirmed: she was the worst cricket player in history. She hadn’t hit a single thing.

  However, watching her run for the ball, curly hair flying out behind her, smile as wide as the coast, was easily the most beautiful thing Trent had ever seen. When she let go, Cora was joyous. Luminous. She outshone and out-sparkled everything around her.

  Now, the whole crew—joined by a few extra friends—were crowded around a collection of tables at the White Crest that they’d jammed together to fit everyone. Food was being passed around, beer glasses were clinking, and it was as noisy and cheerful as ever.

  “So, tell us again how you forgot to turn off the water mains.” Dean stuffed a chip into his mouth and munched, shaking his head. “Rookie move, bro. Even I know that.”

  “Yeah, even Dean knows that, and he can’t change a bloody lightbulb on his own.” Skye rolled her eyes.

  “Uh, not true. The reason I wouldn’t change that bulb was because there was a giant spider in the fixture.” Dean shuddered. “Huntsmans are the worst.”

  “What’s a huntsman?” Cora asked, looking on from her seat with interest. She’d piled all her hair on top of her head and a few curls, fortified with saltwater, had fallen out around her face.

  An evil grin passed over Skye’s lips. “Should I show her a picture?”

  “Hell no!” Dean thumped a hand down on the table. “If you start pulling out the spider pictures, I am out of here.”

  Trent laughed. “How did you survive living in this country for so long with a fear of spiders, mate? They’re harmless.”

  “He squealed like a little girl when I took the light fixture off and the damn thing went scuttling across the roof.” Skye laughed as her brother rolled his eyes. “I thought he was going to faint.”

  “Oh, well, since we’re sharing family stories, how about I share the time you freaked out when that moth flew into your bedroom?” Now it was Dean’s turn to look evil.

  “Moths?” Trent asked. “Really, Skye? I thought you weren’t scared of anything.”

  “Not all moths, just the big ones. They’re so…erratic.” She shuddered. “I tried to trap it under an empty ice cream container, but its wings were too big.”

  Poor Cora looked like her eyes were about to pop out of her head.

  “Stop it,” Leigh said, shaking his head. “You’re scaring our guest.”

  Our guest. Trent winked at Cora across the table, and her lips automatically curved up into a smile. There’d been no doubt in his mind that his mates would accept Cora into their group, even if she was only around for a few weeks. She and Maddy already had plans to grab coffee so she could show Cora around the bookstore.

  “Maybe they should issue a survival guide when they check your passport at the airport,” Cora said. She’d ordered a Diet Coke and took a long sip on the straw—which made Trent’s mouth suddenly run dry. The sight of her pink, glossy lips wrapping around that straw…

  He dragged his eyes back to his meal. The chicken parma had barely been touched, save for him snacking on a few of the chips piled to one side.

  “Not hungry?” Nick asked with a raised brow. While the statement might appear to be a show of sibling concern, Trent knew better.

  “Yes, I’m going to eat it all. Keep your mitts off.” Growing up had been like that in their house—always fighting for the leftovers, especially when it came to his three older brothers, who all ate like horses. His mum had cursed the lot of them, saying it was like feeding an army every night.

  But that was on her for producing boys over six feet tall. And Liv held her own when it came to her appetite, too.

  “So, Cora is staying at Liv’s, huh?” Nick asked as he sliced another piece of his half-eaten steak. “How’s that working out with you being there, too? Seems odd that Liv would have arranged it like that.”

  “Uh, she didn’t exactly arrange it like that,” Trent admitted.

  “She doesn’t know you’re there, does she?” Nick snorted. “You can’t move into people’s houses without asking first.”

  “One, I’m doing a crapload of work for her…for free, I might add. Two, did I mention I was working for free?” He speared a few chips onto his fork and dragged them through a small mound of tomato sauce. “Oh and three…she’s not paying me.”

  “Well, you refused to take any money from her, so I’d say that’s on you.”

  “She’s working hard for not very much. I remember what that’s like.” Trent’s first few years as an apprentice were tough—minimal pay for long, grinding hours and generally getting treated like a lackey and a grunt. It was worth it in the end, and Liv was the smartest out of all his siblings, but it would still take her a few years to start reaping the rewards and so, in the meantime, if he could help, he would.

  “Okay, so you’re squatting in her house while she’s got a guest staying there.” Nick shook his head. “Classic Trent.”

  Unlike his siblings, Trent was very much a “go with the flow” kinda person. It definitely bucked against the rest of the Walters and their goal-setting, list-making, and rule-following ways. Really, it was one of many ways he was the odd one out.

  “What? Cora and I talked it over. I told her she could go stay with Adam and Soraya, but she didn’t want to.” The conversation on the other side of the table had moved on to more Australian wildlife horror stories, and Kellen was recounting the time he had a close encounter with a red kangaroo. “Besides, she seems…like she could use the company.”

  There was something sensitive about Cora. Something…heavy. Like she was carrying a load on her shoulders.

  “I’ll bet you’re real happy to provide her that company.” Nick chuckled and took a swig of his beer.

  “You make me sound like a creep,” Trent protested. “It’s not like that.”

  Except, in his head, it was definitely like that. Maybe inviting Cora to beach cricket hadn’t been the smartest move, because watching her bound around in skimpy black bathers had given him way too much late-night inspiration. The beach shower last night had been bad enough; now he had more mental images to keep him awake.

  “You know, now that I’m looking at her, she kind of reminds me of—”

  “Don’t say it.” Trent sighed and raked a hand through his hair. “I know, it’s weird. I’m trying not to think about it.”

  Well, that was one way to stop his dick from leaping to attention. Thinking about his ex was enough to kill any attraction or positive feelings dead in the water. Ugh. Time to change the topic of conversation.

  “How’re the plans going for the new development?” Tr
ent asked.

  Nick sighed. “The new villas are coming along, but not as quick as I would like.”

  Nick and his business partners were in the process of seeking approval to build a development of small beachfront properties at the fringe of Patterson’s Bluff. He had grand plans for a collection of villas with shared amenities, which would make the area more accessible to people who wanted a beautiful property by the beach but who didn’t have huge budgets.

  “What’s the problem now?” Trent asked.

  “We’ve generated enough ‘interest’ that we have a group protesting our plans. They think we’re going to destroy the natural bushland and all the old trees in that area, to plonk down our…what did they call them? McMansions.” Nick’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “As if I would ever build a McMansion.”

  “It sounds like they know nothing about what you’re trying to achieve.”

  “They don’t.” He shook his head. “And they’re holding things up.”

  That would have to be killing Nick. The family joked that Nick’s first word was “now” and he’d grown only more impatient ever since. His brain worked at the speed of light and he had a drive and ego to match. He was the family’s “big thinker,” the guy who always had a strategy for everything. Plan B didn’t factor into his vocabulary, because he always got what he wanted first time around.

  “So what are you going to do?” Trent asked.

  “We’re drafting a proposal to send to the council addressing the concerns,” he replied. “But I have no intention of caving.”

  If anyone could figure a way out of that situation, it was Nick. “Well, once you get it all through, you know I’m on board to help with the construction. I think it’s going to do great things for Patterson’s Bluff.”

  “Thanks.” Nick slapped him lightly on the back. “I’m going to need all the help I can get. I’ve got grand plans for this one.”

  “I’d expect nothing less.”

  Trent’s eyes drifted across the table and farther down to where Cora was sitting. She was engaged in an animated discussion with Kellen about something and was gesturing wildly with a chip. That end of the table erupted in laughter, and Cora’s eyes sparkled. For some reason, she looked straight over to Trent then, and it was like being zapped with a live cable. Her cheeks and nose were pink from the sun, making her pale eyes look even more luminous by comparison. Even her teeth were pretty—which seemed like a weird thing to admire about a person. But they were straight and white and when she smiled it was…whoa.

  Words couldn’t do it justice.

  “We need your help to settle an argument,” Cora said, leaning forward slightly so her voice carried over to Trent. The pub was louder now—a footy game on in the background that had a row of patrons at the bar yelling intermittently. “What’s this?”

  She held up a red bottle with a tomato on it.

  “Tomato sauce,” Trent said.

  “See,” Kellen said. “Told you we don’t say ‘ketchup’ in this country.”

  “You called it ‘dead horse!’” she accused, laughing. “And I’m pretty sure neither tomato sauce nor ketchup is supposed to have horse in it.”

  “Ah, rhyming slang. Only used by people over the age of sixty…and Kellen,” Trent teased. “Don’t be fooled by his rippling abs. He’s an old man in a young person’s body.”

  “It’s true.” Kellen shrugged good-naturedly. “I could still kick your ass, though.”

  “So, day two in our fair country. What do you think so far?” Nick asked, leaning forward slightly so he could be heard by those at the other end. “I hope my little brother isn’t giving you a bad impression.”

  “Says you.” Trent snorted. “Who almost took out an innocent bystander by trying to catch a ball today?”

  “All’s fair in love and cricket.” Nick would never risk dropping a ball just to prevent an injury.

  The rest of the table ignored the brothers’ banter—because there wasn’t a day in any year where Nick and Trent weren’t trading brotherly barbs—and turned toward Cora.

  “It’s so different to what I’m used to back home,” Cora said with an almost shy smile. “You have a real slice of paradise here.”

  There was a hint of sadness in her tone, a down note that made Trent’s protective urges swell. Whatever it was that Cora was hiding out from in Australia, he was going to make it his personal mission to show her a good time. To send her home happier than when she came.

  In his mind, life was too short not to enjoy every experience you had. Sure, things didn’t always go according to plan—he knew that better than anyone. Hell, his whole life had been upended, and at one point he’d questioned everything. His family. His home.

  Whether or not he even deserved those things.

  But that wasn’t an excuse to wallow. How many great things would you miss out on if you were being a sad sack and staying home, alone? So not his style. After the breakup with Rochelle, he could have dug a hole for himself, trying to soothe those wounds with solitude and solo drinking.

  Instead, he got back on his feet and found something to keep him busy. More work, more sport, more social activities. More, more, more. That way, he wouldn’t have a quiet moment alone to let anger and sadness suck him down into a black hole. Eventually, the pain stopped knocking on his door, because it knew there would never be an answer.

  Which was why Trent always wore his smile and never let anyone see what was going on inside.

  Chapter Eight

  The following day, Cora took the opportunity to explore Patterson’s Bluff. Liv had offered Cora her car, and while it was hella scary driving on the other side of the road, there was something so freeing about rolling the windows down, blaring music out of the radio, and sucking in ocean air as she drove.

  Talk about nature’s therapy.

  She explored the main drag, popping into the bookstore to visit Maddy, and then settled into one of the cafés facing the beach, where she had three coffees, because they tasted so damn good, and worked on her novel.

  That night, however, there was other work to be done. Craft-related work. Trent had swung past his parents’ house on the way home from the building site and had picked up a bunch of family albums they needed to start Operation Scrapbook Restoration.

  “Do you think we should tell Liv about the…uh, damage?” Cora asked as she eyed the ruined gift, which had dried to a crusty, crunchy mess, with pages rippled by the water and ink bleeding all over the place. “I feel guilty keeping it from her.”

  “Why don’t we tell her after we’ve redone all the work?” he replied. “Better to soften the blow.”

  “You’re very good at handling people, aren’t you?” She laughed.

  You wouldn’t mind if he handled you.

  Great. Now even the most innocent of sentences was setting off the dirty-girl alarm in her head. He was wearing one of those tighter-than-should-be-legal T-shirts that should have had “touch me” written all over it. His hair was still damp from the shower, making it look dark gold instead of its usual sun-bleached shade.

  “I’ve got three brothers. A smart one, a creative one, and an ambitious one. That makes me the charming one.” He sent her a cavalier grin that Cora felt right down to the tips of her toes.

  “How does Liv fit into all this?”

  He chuckled. “She’s the youngest and the only girl. Nothing else required.”

  “Ah, the golden child.”

  “By default.” He winked. “Don’t tell her I said that.”

  Cora made a zipping motion across her lips. “I promise.”

  They settled at the table, and Cora reached eagerly for one of the albums. Maybe it was weird, but she’d always had a strong sense of curiosity about other people’s families. It was almost like studying a foreign species. When she was younger, all she ever wanted to do was watch
sitcoms like Malcolm in the Middle, Modern Family, even reruns of Full House. These groups of people had trials and tribulations—they fought and butted heads. But they always came together in the end to mend hurts and strengthen bonds.

  Her house had never been like that.

  Catriona Cabot had ruled their house with an iron fist, and her cold shoulder was frigid enough to chill the entire Upper East Side.

  “Oh my gosh, look at you all!” The albums were labeled by year and contained such gems as baby “glamour” shots—cue furry mats and blurred edges—gap-toothed school photos, and cheesy family portraits, hair spiked with cement-strength gel. “Is that… Did you have an eyebrow ring?”

  Trent groaned as he settled into the seat next to her. “It was a phase. A bad one.”

  Now that she looked at Trent closely, she noticed the little scar intersecting his eyebrow. In the picture, he sported a silver bar through one brow and a stud in the opposite ear. His blond hair was sun-bleached and spiked, and he wore baggy jeans. “You look like a Backstreet Boys member.”

  “One, seventeen-year-old Trent would be most insulted. It was System of a Down and Rage Against the Machine on my Walkman, thank you very much. And two, yeah… It wasn’t a good look.”

  “Well, I’ll raise your eyebrow ring with a belly piercing.” Cora laughed when Trent’s brows shot up.

  “Seriously?”

  “Oh yeah.” She remembered the pain she’d gone through, hiding it from her mother. That summer she’d developed a preference for one-piece bathing suits and resorted to taping the piercing down so it wouldn’t show through the clingy fabric. Eventually her mother had caught her, of course, and demanded Cora take it out on the spot. “I had a glow-in-the-dark one and everything.”

  He laughed, and it crinkled the corners of his eyes in the most delightful way. “Hot.”

  Flushing, she flipped open another photo album. Trent’s parents were capital-A adorable. His mother had one of those standard eighties perms, her blond hair fluffed out like a golden cloud around her head. She also sported some serious shoulder pads. His dad, on the other hand, had an epic mustache and huge wire-rimmed glasses.