Stormswept: The Bold and the Beautiful Page 3

  “I remember,” Oliver interrupted dryly. “You guys eventually got back together again.”

  “And we had to wait all that time because Steffy wouldn’t allow the annulment and insisted on a divorce.”

  “Then you got engaged again …” Oliver said, making a rolling motion with his hand.

  “And she—she was with him on our wedding day in Italy.” Hope spoke through clenched teeth. “That hurt so much, when I found that out. Discovering that our marriage wasn’t legal—well, that was just the icing on the cake. I couldn’t stay with a man who’d been with another woman on our wedding day.”

  She looked over at Oliver. He sat with his arms folded on the table in front of him, the fabric of his cotton shirt pulling slightly against his biceps. She was entranced by the crystal blue glitter of his gaze.

  “You got engaged again, but broke it off on your wedding day,” he said.

  “He turned up drunk to our wedding,” she exclaimed. “He’d been out with her the night before. The night before our wedding. Again.” She shook her head.

  Oliver winced. “So when he made this pretty little digital scrapbook, you thought he was what, doing that pre-wedding Steffy dance he seems to do?”

  Hope’s shoulders sagged. “It just seems to me that whenever we’re about to commit, he lets her into our life. For once I would like him to say, ‘No, Steffy, I’m with Hope now.’ Just once.”

  “You want to feel like the love of his life,” Oliver said. His gaze was direct and serious.

  “Exactly.” Relief swept over her. Someone understood. Oliver, of all people, understood. “This is the man I’m supposed to be marrying. There’s not enough room for three in this relationship.”

  “What about Wyatt?”

  “Well, that’s a whole other story,” Hope sighed, shaking her head.

  “Is he part of the equation?”

  Hope hesitated. How much should she tell Oliver? There was so much pain and anger involved—and she was part of the problem, which both embarrassed and shamed her. She liked Oliver. She liked him a lot. She didn’t want to tarnish his impression of her. How insecure did that make her?

  “Come on, spill it.”

  “I started a fight,” she said quietly, and looked down at the napkin she was now twisting in her lap.

  Oliver leaned forward. “With Wyatt?” His tone was incredulous.

  She shook her head. “No, not with Wyatt.” She thought about it for a moment. “Well, okay, maybe a little with Wyatt, but mainly between Wyatt and Liam.”

  “Ah.” There was a wealth of meaning in that one word.

  “When I broke it off with Liam, Wyatt and I got closer, and Liam—Liam still thinks we can repair our relationship.”

  “What do you think?” Oliver asked quietly.

  She shrugged, still avoiding his gaze. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I just know that two brothers who should be rejoicing at finding each other after years of being oblivious to each other’s existence are now trying to tear each other apart—and it’s all because of me.”

  There, she had said it out loud. She’d caused a rift between two brothers. She wasn’t proud of it.

  “You think it’s your fault?” Oliver’s tone was faintly incredulous.

  She finally met his gaze. “When I was engaged to Liam, I knew Wyatt had feelings for me.” She remembered the excitement, the thrill of those secret conversations with Wyatt, the way her heart would race. “I didn’t immediately discourage him. Not enough, anyway, and that’s something I’m ashamed of.” She smiled sadly. “I was flattered, I guess. So when Liam and I broke up, Wyatt and I got—close.” She swallowed. What an understatement. “I shouldn’t have allowed that. It’s caused so much anger and pain between them.” And that haunted her. Without her adding fuel to the fire, they could have resolved their differences, or at least learned to accommodate them. Now they wanted to rip each other to shreds. Over her. Their father, Bill Spencer, made no secret of his opinion—according to him, she wasn’t good enough for either of them.

  She didn’t want to be responsible for a family feud. She didn’t want to cause heartache. She wasn’t worth it. She couldn’t say that to Oliver, though—or to anyone. It was too raw, too personal.

  “What does Wyatt think?”

  She gave a breathy laugh. “Well, Wyatt is pretty direct—he’s a lot like Bill. When he wants something, he goes for it.”

  “And he wants you,” Oliver stated quietly.

  Fire swept over her cheeks. Wyatt’s pursuit of her was like nothing she’d ever experienced. He was bold, he was single-minded, and it was heady, being the object of his affection—and desire. He’d definitely turned her head.

  “I believe so,” she said tentatively.

  Oliver frowned. “You believe so? You don’t sound too sure.”

  She shrugged. “If you tell Wyatt not to do something, he’ll do it to make a point. Tell him he can’t have something? He’ll prove you wrong.”

  “Kind of like his dad.”

  “Yes.”

  “So, you think his pursuit of you has something to do with your being engaged to Liam?”

  She blinked, looking back out over the dark waters. “I’m not sure,” she admitted. Goodness, when she said it all out loud, it sounded just as depressing and messy as it was inside her head.

  Oliver groaned as he covered his face with his hands, and Hope turned to him in surprise.

  “You are gorgeous, smart, funny—and you wonder why guys want to be with you,” Oliver muttered into his hands before burying his face in them. “Of course they’re fighting. They’re not stupid. You’re the real deal, Hope. Any guy would fight dragons to be with you.”

  Her heart warmed at his words and she smiled. “Why, Oliver, that’s so sweet.” He’d done it again. He’d managed to lift her mood, and make her feel good about herself. She cocked her head. “Enough about me. What about the dashing Oliver Jones? Is there a woman on the horizon for you?”

  She’d meant it as a bit of a tease, a friendly inquiry—he’d just listened to her unload, and she wanted to hear about him, but even as she said the words, a little spark of emotion unraveled in her gut. Worry? Trepidation? She told herself it was just curiosity between friends.

  A line appeared on Oliver’s forehead, and he glanced down at his hands. “Uh, no, not really.” His voice was rough, and he cleared his throat.

  She raised an eyebrow. “Well, we’ll have to do something about that. A handsome guy like yourself, surrounded by all these gorgeous Aussie women.” She wagged her finger at him. “I have a feeling that by the end of this trip, you’ll find someone special.” The glint of light on her watch drew her eye, and she gasped.

  “Oh, gosh, it’s getting late. We should get some sleep if we’re going to sail out on that morning tide.” She lifted her purse as she rose from her seat, and Oliver stood too. She took a step around the table and touched her hand to his cheek. A sandy shadow of hair dusted his jaw, and the slight rasp sent a shiver through her, surprising her. She reminded herself that this was good ol’ Ollie.

  “Thank you for the pep talk,” she whispered, and raised herself up on her toes to brush his cheek with her lips. She rocked back on her heels and caught his expression—a mixture of sobering intensity and something that almost looked like longing. It was gone before she could properly identify it.

  “Any time,” he responded, masking his expression with a smile.

  “Goodnight,” she murmured, and left him at the table. She could feel his eyes on her as she left the deck, and kept her shoulders straight, her eyes forward. She clenched the hand that had touched his face. She could still feel the warmth from the contact, and that warmth was spreading.

  She realized that she had been consumed with thoughts of Liam and Wyatt for the last several days, if not weeks, but tonight, right now, it was Oliver’s face that dominated her thoughts.

  *

  Oliver sank back down into his seat, exhaling heavily.
That was—blissful torture. Spending that time with Hope, making her laugh—bliss. Listening to her confide in him about two other guys—torture. He knew both Liam and Wyatt. And as much as it pained him, he had to admit they were good guys. Most of the time he liked them—but when they were with Hope, he hated them. When they caused her pain, he hated them. And when they caused her to doubt her own worth, he hated them.

  A waiter approached. “Can I get you something, sir?”

  “I’ll take a scotch.” He felt the need for something a little stronger after the evening he’d just had. The waiter nodded and left.

  Oliver watched the flames flicker on the candles along the deck. From time to time he’d caught a glimpse of something in Hope’s eyes: curiosity, assessment—and he didn’t think he was deluding himself that he’d seen tiny flares of attraction, which she’d tried to hide. It was that glimmer, that tiny possibility that she could be interested, that kept him at Forrester Creations. He’d turned down a number of job offers in order to remain there. With Hope. He guessed some part of him was looking for redemption, for forgiveness. Moving on to another job, another woman, implied healing. He didn’t think Hope had fully healed—not after tonight’s discussion—despite her relationships since their breakup. And him? Well, he was still stuck on Hope. He would give anything to turn back the clock and take back that stupid, careless interlude that had spawned so much pain and regret.

  He dragged a hand over his face. And she wanted to set him up with another woman. His life sucked.

  “Make it a double,” he called to the waiter.

  Chapter Four

  “Hey, wait up!”

  Hope turned. Oliver was jogging down the dock toward them. The sky was only just beginning to blend from inky black to smoky gray, and his brown hair gleamed as he passed under the lights of the dock. A duffel bag was slung carelessly over his shoulder, and he held camera cases in both hands. He seemed to carry the extra weight effortlessly. As he approached, Hope noticed the two cameras slung around his neck—and his unbuttoned shirt.

  They were standing in front of the boat that was to be their home for the next three days, ready to embark.

  “About time you showed up,” Rick said dryly as Oliver reached them. He was just a little breathless, and Hope watched the muscles of his torso move with his breath, until she realized she was staring and averted her gaze.

  “Sorry. Slept through my first alarm.” He glanced up. “Island Dancer, huh? Nice boat.”

  “Your first alarm? How many do you have?” Thomas enquired as he helped Oliver load the equipment.

  “Two, plus a wake-up call from reception. I’m a heavy sleeper.” Oliver glanced around and frowned. “Where are the others? The models, the makeup artist …?”

  “We’re taking two boats,” Rick informed him, helping Caroline step up onto the deck. Hope went to climb aboard, and a large hand reached out to help her. She ran her gaze along the strong forearm and defined bicep, skipping past the draped cotton and smooth expanse of exposed chest to meet Oliver’s stare.

  She took his hand, his grasp warm and strong, and climbed aboard. “Uh, thanks,” she said, and looked down, concentrating on where she stepped, and avoiding his cerulean blue gaze.

  “The others are taking that boat,” Rick commented, pointing to the motor launch two berths down.

  Thomas whistled. “That’s a beauty.”

  “Are you talking about the boat, or that woman?” Caroline teased.

  “Either way, he’s right,” Oliver said, and Hope turned around.

  A tall, willowy brunette strolled along the dock toward them, wearing navy shorts and a white polo top.

  She gave them a casual wave and grin. “Good morning, folks. Nice to see you so bright and early.” Her accent was broad and relaxed, its drawl almost a sexy croon.

  “Hey, yourself,” a gravelly voice echoed from the depths of the cabin behind them. Hope whipped around, as did the others.

  Two shadowy figures emerged from the darkness onto the deck. An older man, with snowy white hair and an easygoing grin, nodded at Hope. A plump, older woman stood by his side, her smile friendly. Hope relaxed, smiling in return.

  “I’m James Marshall, your skipper. This is my wife, Sandy. She’s our chief cook and bottlewasher. And that minx there is my daughter, Jasmine, captain of the other boat. Are you ready to go, pumpkin?”

  Jasmine groaned. “Dad, stop calling me pumpkin. I’m captain of my own boat, now.” She leaned on the railing. “We’re still loading, but it won’t take us long. I was just coming to check on you, you old salt.”

  “Well, I think we’re ready to go?” Captain Marshall sent an enquiring look around the group, and Hope found herself nodding along with the others. “Great. We’ll start with Whitehaven Beach, shall we?” The older man turned a benign smile to his daughter. “You can choke on my spray, pumpkin.”

  “Dad, you are sailing a yacht. I’ve got a motor launch with ten-fifty horsepower dual engines. You better head off now, because I’ll catch up, and then you can choke on my spray.”

  “Ah, but it’s not the same as having the wind in your sail,” the older man taunted.

  “Speed, Dad. It’s all about speed.”

  Hope watched the easy camaraderie between father and daughter as they discussed winds and tides. There was no denying their deep affection.

  “Okay, I’m off to finish loading, then we’re on our way,” Jasmine said, and with another casual wave, she sauntered down the pier.

  “Right, well, let’s see,” Captain Marshall muttered to himself as he surveyed his passengers. His gaze fell on Oliver’s bags. “You might want to stow that gear below deck. Wouldn’t want any of it to get damaged.” He gestured to Rick and Thomas. “You boys cast off. The ladies might want to go grab their bunks. First in, best dressed.”

  “I’ll start breakfast as soon as we’ve cleared the marina,” Sandy said, beaming. “I hope you’re all hungry.” She disappeared into the cabin.

  The aging skipper moved with an agility and fluidity that surprised Hope, and she stood aside as he made his way to the wheel.

  “Come on, I can’t wait to see inside,” Caroline said, excitement brightening her eyes. Hope followed her, and then halted when she stepped into the saloon. She gazed around the interior.

  “Oh, my,” she breathed. White leather and teak. That was the overall impression. It was luxurious, with deep-cushioned lounges and chrome accents that managed to look both cozy and opulent.

  “Okay. I can live with this,” Caroline commented.

  Hope laughed. “We’ll be comfortable, that’s for sure.”

  A motor started in the depths of the boat, and she felt a slight pitch as the yacht started to move. They selected their cabins and dropped their bags before joining the others on deck.

  Hope took a seat on one of the sun lounges and watched the sky turn a dusky pink as the sun edged over the horizon. She wasn’t sure if it was the early hour, or the stunning beauty surrounding them as they left the marina, but all of her fellow passengers were quiet as the Island Dancer headed out to sea.

  Hope turned at a faint clicking noise. Oliver sat nearby, taking photos of the sunrise. She smiled. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” she said in a hushed tone.

  He swung the lens in her direction and snapped a few shots before lowering the camera. “Yes, it is,” he said. She turned her gaze back to the horizon, a secret smile on her lips. He’s not talking about the sunrise.

  *

  Several hours later Oliver lowered the camera and nodded to Rick. “I think that should do.”

  Rick clapped his hands. “Okay, folks, let’s pack up and get back on the boat. It’s time to head to the next location.”

  Oliver grinned as the models sagged in relief. Hope strode over to the large beach tent they’d erected and grabbed a bottle from the cooler. Oliver followed, just as happy to get out of the direct sunlight.

  “Thank goodness. It’s boiling out there,” she murmur
ed, taking a sip. Her gaze swept over him, and she chuckled. “You look so hot,” she said. Her eyes widened. “I mean, you’re—”

  “Dripping,” he said, setting his camera down on a camping chair. His shirt was plastered to his back and chest, and perspiration dripped down the side of his face. He unbuttoned the garment and stripped it off, using it to mop his face. He moved the camera and sat, stretching his legs out. One of the downsides of a shoot was the physicality of it. Crouching, leaning, standing on tiptoe or climbing stepladders to get just the right angle … He gazed up at Hope. How did she do it? Her cheeks wore a rosy flush, and she didn’t sweat, so much as … glisten.

  “How do you think the photos will come out?” she asked, handing him a bottle of chilled water. He took it gratefully and stood as he twisted the cap.

  “Oh, I think they’ll be fantastic. The light was amazing, and I think the blues and greens of the sea really complemented the outfits—especially with that white sand as a backdrop.” He nodded. “They’ll come up beautifully.”

  She’d come up beautifully. She’d looked stunning, posing with the other models in the HFTF summer collection, like some exotically beautiful castaway. Her hair was plaited in an intricate crown around her head, and she exuded a sexy purity that had been hard to ignore, peering down the lens. An island princess. Oliver took a sip of water, then emptied the rest of the bottle over his head in an effort to cool his flushed skin.

  He shook the water out of his eyes, gasping with relief as the chilled liquid slid down his neck and torso. He eyed the sea, wondering if there was time for a quick dip before they departed.

  Oliver turned to put the empty water bottle into the trash bag when he noticed Hope staring at him. Her gaze followed a droplet of water as it trailed down over his chest. A slight breeze wafted through the tent, and his nipples tightened. His breath slowed as her eyes dipped, watching the beads of water glide over his stomach and continue downward. His muscles clenched.

  She swallowed. What he saw in her eyes sent a wave of hot need sweeping through his body. She looked at him with naked desire, an arousal that darkened her eyes and pinkened her cheeks even further, and that had him wanting to reach out and pull her to him.