Close to You (14 page)

Was she really going to go there? She sucked in a deep breath. Ignored that her insides were performing moves like they were auditioning for
So You Think You Can Dance.
She could solve this for Jackson right now. Tell him the truth. He'd tell Louis and whatever he was up to trying to matchmake the two of them would be over. Allie tried to find the words to explain her sort-of marriage. “It was m—” Suddenly her stomach
let out the kind of roll usually reserved for roller coasters at Six Flags and her hands flew up to her mouth as she cut herself off mid-sentence. Then she was up and running. Heading to the rubbish bin.

A retch and then a . . . Oh dear. A shuddering heave, her entire body arching over as she puked all over the roses. And her own feet.

So much for Kwells.

* * *

T
he last time Jackson had rubbed a girl's back while she puked violently had been . . . never.

Not once. Not his sister. Not a cousin. Not a single girlfriend. And he had the type of fearless stomach that survived eating street food in India, so his own personal experience was of zero help.

So he dug deep and tried to remember what his mom had done the couple of times Beth had the stomach flu. He came up with vague memories of back rubbing and soothing noises.

Here he was, on a boat in the middle of the harbor, awkwardly rubbing Allie's back while she emptied her stomach for what had to be the fifth time. He'd quit with the soothing noises after he decided they weren't so much calming but sounded more like some kind of animal in pain.

The only good news in the whole scenario was that there had been enough of a break between the first and second round for him to grab another trash can, since the first one was already full of the flowers and candles.

Jackson looked up to find the waiter hovering at his elbow. “Is there anything I can get for her, sir?”

Allie pulled her head out of the trashcan and just managed to croak out, “Dry ground,” before shoving it back in.

Jackson looked at the young guy. “How long?”

“We've turned around already, so another five, ten minutes, maybe?”

“Okay. Can you arrange a cab? I need to get her back to the hotel as fast as possible. Oh, and do me a favor and put all that stuff in a bag or something?” He nodded to Allie's sick-coated shoes on the floor, her purse, his jacket and tie. From the state she was in, he was betting he would be carrying her off the boat.

The guy still hovered.

“What?”

“Um, the chef wanted me to check it wasn't anything she ate.”

Allie shook her head and mumbled something that echoed around the tin can that he translated as she got very seasick.

What was she even doing on a boat if it made her that sick?

He looked at her, practically folded in half, clutching her vomit receptacle like it was the last lifejacket on a sinking ship. This was definitely not the moment to be asking that question.

He squatted in front of her. “Allie.” He kept his quads poised, ready to move if they hit another swell. She'd already almost toppled off her seat once, and had been saved only by him grabbing the back of her dress and hauling her back up.

There was no response. “Allison!”

Her head lifted, glazed eyes appearing over the gray rim.

“We're going to dock soon. Do you think you can walk?”

She looked at him like his words were coming at her from the far end of a very long tunnel. After a few seconds, she gave the world's smallest nod.

“Are you sure?”

A few more seconds and an even smaller head shake. For the first time, he noticed most of the ends of the front half of her hair had been caught in the puking avalanche. Poor girl. The decision to release it from her updo had definitely not paid off.

A change in the vibration of the engines and then the feel of the boat nudging up against something. Finally.

The waiter appeared with a bulging plastic bag and an empty trash can. “There's a cab waiting for you on the wharf.”

“Okay, thanks.” Taking the clean bin, he pried the half-filled one from Allie's grasp and replaced it with the new one.

He handed the used one to the guy, who looked less than thrilled. Not that he could blame him. The thing stunk. Bad.

“Allie, we're here. Time to get off now. Can you stand up?” He half stood and looped his arm around her back, tucking his fingers around her rib cage.

Making a valiant effort, she struggled to her feet, the material of her full skirt rustling. To her credit, she did still know what mattered and kept a very firm hold on the bin.

Tugging her arm across his back, he tried to take a couple of steps, but he was pulling deadweight. Oh, this was hopeless. It would take them until tomorrow to get off this blasted boat.

“I'm picking you up. Don't fight me. Seriously.” Nothing.

With a swoop, he swung his free arm under the backs of her knees and lifted her into his arms, the bin balancing perfectly in the L shape made by her legs and torso.

“Can you take that down to the cab for us?” He nodded at the plastic bag. “Having only one good eye and all, I need to concentrate on getting her off without dropping her in the water.”

Given the last few days, he wouldn't be surprised if he did. And in her current condition, the poor girl would probably sink like a rock.

The guy nodded. “I'll get the door.” Striding across the room, he held open the door to the deck.

Jackson hoped he didn't think he was getting a tip, because he had no money. And they were about to catch a cab with a driver who'd expect to be paid.
Didn't think that one through, Jackson, did you?
Fingers crossed Allie had some money in her purse. If not, he hoped his uncle was back at the hotel to foot the bill. It would only be fair, given that this whole debacle was his fault.

He adjusted his hold and Allie mumbled as he resettled her, trying desperately not to notice how perfectly she fit or how good she felt curled up against his chest.

He tilted his head down. “What was that?”

“You smell good.” She nestled further into his chest, too out of it to notice his heart had just stopped.

Fifteen

L
ITTLE GREMLINS WERE TAKING SLEDGEHAMMERS
to the inside of Allie's skull. Her mouth was as dry as Arizona in August. And her whole body about as hot.

“Allie.” The word echoed around in her head, like someone was trying to communicate with her from another planet. “Allie, you need to wake up.”

Wake up, which would require opening her eyes. Way too hard. She hadn't had a migraine this bad since she was fifteen and her father had decided to take the family sailing around the Bay of Islands. She'd spent the entire time feeding the fishes.

Ocean. Boat. Sailing. Sick. Little snippets of recall started rising to the surface of her consciousness, stringing themselves together.

Stranded. Roses. Jackson.

Her eyes flew open. No. That couldn't be right.

“Welcome back.”

Except the man himself was standing in her hotel room, looking down at her.

She screamed. The volume took even her by surprise. He jumped, stumbled back into the ottoman, and went over, legs flailing in the air like those of a dying fly.

Shooting upright, she swung her legs over the side of her bed and froze as she saw bright green splotched with stains.

Why was she still wearing her cocktail dress? And what on earth had happened to it?

A tsunami opened in her mind. The rest of the group sneaking off the boat. Eating dinner with Jackson. Talking.
“The phone call yesterday. It was—”
The next memory she had was of her running to be sick. Very, very sick.

She groaned.

“You okay?” He was back on his feet but keeping a safe distance. Looking very refreshed in jeans, a T-shirt, and some trendy casual shoes.

She scrunched up her face, tempted to close her eyes to try and hide from the mortification overtaking every sense. “How bad was it?”

He kind of opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

Allie buried her head in her hands, then peeked out between her fingers. “That bad, huh?” It must have been downright horrific for him not to be taking the opportunity to give her grief about it.

Jackson shifted on his feet. “Let's just say I didn't know it was physically possible for one small human to expel that much in such a short time.”

“How did we get back here?”

“We caught a cab. Sorry, I had to use the money in your purse. I didn't have any.”

She only half heard him, accosted by a hazy memory of
snuggling into someone's arms. Mumbling something. Mumbling what?

“Did you have to carry me?”

He nodded. “You were pretty out of it.”

“I'm so, so sorry. I haven't been on a boat in years. I had hoped maybe if I took something it wouldn't be too bad.” She ran a hand through her hair. It snagged on something at the end. She held a lock up in front of her face, and the smell of sick wafted under her nose. She'd thrown up on her own hair? In front of
him
? It was almost more than she could bear.

“What are you doing here?”

He unfurled a slow smile at her. The kind that put a slow burn in her stomach. “You asked me to stay.”

“What?” She hadn't. Oh please, please let that not be what she had mumbled. She wasn't that girl. She was so not that girl. She took a quick inventory of her person. Vomit coated. Yes. Disgusting. Very. All clothing present and accounted for? Yes, yes, and yes.

Whatever mortifying things she might have said in her stupor, she could live with. At least she hadn't done anything that was going to haunt her forever. She was already overloaded with baggage in that department.

“Just joking.” He grinned his “gotcha” grin.

Her ramrod posture wilted, a breath she hadn't even known she was holding rushing out. “I . . .” If this had been night one, she would've known there was no way she would've ever said such a thing. No matter what her state. But something had changed in the last few days that scared her and made her feel like whenever Jackson was around, gravity had changed.

Something in his face shifted. “Sorry. That was in bad taste.” Leaning over, he tilted her chin up with the tip of his finger and looked straight in her eyes, causing her breath to suddenly come out staccato. “Just so we're clear. I know you're not that girl. And I am many things, but I am not that guy.”

Thank goodness. She could breathe a bit easier. “So what happened?”

“It was all very proper, I'm afraid. I carried you up here. You got angry at me for trying to put a blanket over you. Told me to leave you alone. I escorted myself next door to my own room, had a very refreshing night's sleep, and here we are. Me, all ready for another exciting day of hobbit adventures, and you . . . well, probably about to start moving really fast any second now.”

The way he said the final sentence triggered something. Hold on. Hold on. “What time is it?”

“Just after seven.”

She was on her feet. “We have a plane to catch in like an hour.” They could not miss that flight. Not when there was a packed schedule waiting for them at the other end. Everything would collapse like dominos if they were delayed.

“I know. That's why I'm here. I figured you might need a wake-up call.”

Her mind was speeding. Ten minutes to have a shower and get dressed. Fifteen to round everyone up and get them in the van. Ten minutes to the airport. They might be able to make it.

Grabbing a pair of jeans and a fresh SLT-branded T-shirt out of her suitcase, she threw them on the bed and started throwing everything else back in.

There was only one thing that was less desirable than miss
ing their plane: dwelling on the disturbingly pleasant memory of being in Jackson's arms.

* * *

W
hat on earth had made him say that? His father would've given him the look he used ever since Jackson had gotten too big for him to turn over his knee.

“You asked me to stay.
”
It had fallen out of his mouth, a joke, but the way her face had collapsed and her eyes been overwritten with fear was far from funny. Even now she remained unbalanced, bouncing all over the room like a careening bowling ball.

“Allie, stop.” Grabbing her wrists, he forced her to a halt. “I've got it. I'll get your stuff together. You go get cleaned up.”

She looked at him, uncertain.

“Go.” He turned her toward the bathroom door and gave her a gentle prod in the small of her back. “I'll get everything out here together and meet you downstairs. Everyone else has eaten breakfast. They're meeting us there in ten.”

“Okay. Thanks.” She grabbed her clothes from the bed and disappeared into the bathroom. He heard the sound of the water turning on.

Stop it, Jackson. Focus.
The last thing he needed to think about was Allie in the shower. He'd already been enough of a cur for one morning.

Tossing her spare room key—which he'd taken, suspecting she might need a personal wake-up call—onto the bedside table, he got to work. Checking the wardrobe and drawers, he shoved clothes into her suitcase and zipped it shut.

He turned his attention to the papers and documents strewn
over the desk, accordioning them into a pile and shoving them into the satchel on the chair that contained her laptop.

He stole a glance at the clock. After quarter past seven already. If they were in the States, they wouldn't have a snowball's chance of catching an eight-thirty flight, but obviously things worked on a different timetable in New Zealand.

Her phone on the nightstand vibrated, doing a little dance across the surface. He let it go to voice mail. Then it started up again, continuing its rumba toward the edge of the table.

Hmm. Maybe it was something urgent. When the phone started up a third time, he snatched it up. Blocked call. Running his thumb across the screen, he put it to his ear. “Allison's phone.”

A pause.

“Hello?”

“Who's this? Where's Allie?”

“She's . . .” His brain caught up with his mouth before he finished the sentence with
in the shower
and possibly got her in a lot of hot water. This guy could be her father, her
boyfriend
. He suddenly realized he'd never considered for a second she might be in a relationship. “She's not here right now. Can I take a message?”

“Yes. Tell her Derek called. I'll try her again later.”

Something about the way the guy issued his directive sent a spurt of uneasiness down Jackson's spine. “Okay. Will do.” Ending the call, he dropped the phone on the bed.

Turning his attention back to closing up the satchel, he realized that the white noise of the shower had stopped. Time to get out of here. The last thing he needed was to have to talk to a fresh-faced and clean-smelling Allie.

He tapped on the bathroom door as he walked past. “Allie. Derek called. He said he'd ring you later.”

Then he opened the door and hauled her stuff into the hallway. Maybe she did have a boyfriend. That would help solve this little problem of not being able to shake the feeling of holding her in his arms. Because if there was one place Jackson Gregory would never go, it was near a woman who was already spoken for. Not ever.