Page 5 of Unworthy
“No, they don’t, but I’m not most windsurfers.”
“You’re not to take those types of risks again,” Heath’s voice was tight, and his face was still unnaturally pale.
“I think you’ll find I can do what I bloody well like.”
“That’s ridic–”
“Don’t say it!” Oh crap, I was shouting. Why did I let him rile me up so much? I tried to yank my feet back off his lap, but he grabbed my ankles to keep them in place.
“Let me just sort your feet out, Midge. We can discuss your risk-taking behaviour and your gruesome patchwork of scars after that.”
I sighed and relaxed my legs. When he was satisfied I wasn’t going to pull away again, Heath snapped off his gloves and replaced them with a new pair. He then tilted my foot and used the pod of glue to close the lacerations. I sat in uncomfortable silence as he put dressings over his handiwork, and as soon as he was done I pulled back my feet and tucked both legs up beside me on the sofa, away from Heath’s critical gaze.
Gruesome patchwork of scars – the cheeky bastard.
I knew for a fact that most men did not consider my legs gruesome – not by a long shot. They were toned and tanned and awesome. Not that I was particularly vain. To be honest, my looks were something I had always just taken for granted. I’d been told I was beautiful from a young age, but being a tomboy who tried to keep as grubby as possible I hadn’t always welcomed that news. It was as I grew into my teens and physically developed earlier than the other girls that I really started noticing how differently I was treated. The irony was that, in general, I really didn’t care about my appearance or how people viewed me. I’d never had to make an effort to attract attention, and make-up and hair straighteners did not go well with salt water, so it wasn’t something I had to consider too much. As long as I ran a brush through my curly blonde hair after I washed it, I was golden – that was the extent of my beauty regime. People took me as they found me. But for some reason, with Heath Ididcare. Being beautiful held very little importance to me, but being beautiful to him felt absolutely crucial.
“No sea water for at least two weeks, Midge.” He was packing his bag up now, but paused to give me a stern look.
“Two weeks?” I hadn’t thought about how all this might get between me and the sea. “That’s not going to work.”
“I’m sure you can manage without your ridiculous hobby for two weeks. Maybe you could take up something less dangerous?”
“It’s not just a hobby, you dickhe–”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot – you think of it as aspiritual experience. Isn’t that right?”
He was smirking and my face felt like it was on fire. Oh, how I wished I’d never shared my feelings about the sea with my family and Heath, and left myself open to their relentless piss taking. Everything to them was all so black and white. There was no room for anything fanciful, like spirituality or alternative thinking. I’d been down the road of trying to open their minds so many times and I was sick of it.
I opened my mouth to tell Heath that although, yes, I did consider my time spent in and around the sea something which fed my very soul, that was not the only reason I didn’t count it as just a hobby. Then I hesitated. My beachside well-being centre had been doing well over the last few months, but I wasn’t ready for anyone to know the details yet, let alone my biggest critic. The last thing he saw me as was a businesswoman. And if I ended up leaving the country for a few months like Bodhi wanted, I might have to close it all down or sell it anyway. I didn’t want to give my family or Heath another excuse to call me a flake or a quitter.
“Whatever. The bottom line is that two weeks without sea water is just not going to work for me.”
“You’ll have to make it work, Midge. I’ll not have my handiwork buggered about because you’ve got to get your feet wet. Now I’d better–” He broke off as something caught his eye on my side table. When I realised what he was seeing, I made a lunge for it, but my feet held me back and he was too quick. “What the hell?” he muttered as he looked at the leaflet clutched in his hand. “Brazil?” It was a mock-up Bodhi had printed to encourage me to say yes to his plan. On the front was an image of me on a windsurfer about five feet in the air, a huge smile on my face and my hair flying out behind me. The name ‘South American Windsurfing Tours’ was written underneath. This new business venture Bodhi was proposing would offer a combination of guiding and instructing off the coast of Brazil for the super-rich. I’d basically have to spend a large proportion of my year out there and I hadn’t agreed to anything yet. Not that it was anything to do with Heath.
“That is none of your business, Heath.” I went up onto my knees on the side of the sofa to grab the details out of his hand but lost my balance and fell forward. He caught me before I fell face down onto my coffee table and hauled me up by my armpits so I was standing on the sofa, my chest pressed against his. He made a choked noise in the back of his throat and I used his distraction to make another grab for the paperwork. It took him a few seconds, but he managed to hold it out of my reach with one arm above his head. I grabbed the arm holding the leaflet with both of my hands, but even with all my weight and strength (and years of yoga and water sports meant I was strong) I couldn’t make him bend his arm. Growling in frustration, I yanked on his arm again, struggling against him and trying not to be distracted by how hard the musculature of his chest and stomach felt against my body.
“Give. Me. That. Back.” I grunted out as I tried to climb up Heath’s actual body to get to the papers in the hand of his outstretched arm. I did not want him to know about this. Not this. It was mine, and it was private. He had no right.
“Jesus, Midge.” Heath’s voice was hoarse. “Shit, calm down. Don’t–” He turned us both and flipped me onto my back on the sofa with the heavy weight of his body pinning me down to restrain me. His breathing was heavy, as if he’d just run a marathon and the colour was high in his cheeks. That smell again: clean man mixed with expensive aftershave. Combine that with how the hard muscle of his body contrasted with the soft give of mine, and it was as though one of my obsessive Heath fantasies had come to life – but the reality was so much more satisfying. I was going to embarrass myself if I didn’t extricate myself from this position pronto. I wriggled to get free and Heath stiffened above me.
“Don’t move,” he choked out. When I looked at his face I could see his jaw was clenched tight, the tendons were standing out on his neck. His eyes flew to mine and the fire in his gaze startled a shocked breath out of me. And then, suddenly, his weight was gone. Cool air replaced the warmth of his body and I was left gasping for oxygen, flat on my back on the sofa. Heath had shot around to the other side of the coffee table, a horrified look now replacing the fiery one from a moment ago.
“Shit, sorry, Midge,” he muttered as he grabbed his bag with a hand that was shaking slightly. He looked back down at me, giving me one last quick scan from top to toe before closing his eyes briefly, shaking his head and then striding out of my flat, slamming the door behind him like the hounds of hell were chasing him.
I put a hand over my heart, feeling its frantic beat within my chest, and took a few deep, steadying breaths. By the time I realised Heath had taken the leaflet with him, it was too late.
Chapter 3
Law unto herself
Heath
I rubbed the back of my neck as I took the steps up to Max and my sister’s office two at a time. My night shift had been hell on earth, and I was in dire need of a shower, some sleep, and some goddamn food. The last thing I needed to do was make a pit stop on the way home. It was madness, the state I was in. But I couldn’t get that bloody leaflet out of my head. Why was Yaz on the front cover of a leaflet advertising windsurfing in Brazil? Did she want to move there, leaving her family behind? And how did she even get into something like that? Although I had to admit this kind of stunt was very on-brand for Yaz. Her idea of gainful employment was flaky at best. She certainly ducked in and out of the reception job at Max and Verity’s architecture firm when it suited her.
I didn’t like having unanswered questions about her. In my head she was very much locked away in her own category: irresponsible, alternative, slightly crazy, an exhibitionist.
I’d always known Yaz was different. As a child she’d danced to the beat of her own drum, demonstrating early an obsession with the sea that put pretty much everything else into second place, including school and anything even vaguely serious. Back then I’d thought it charming. Like how I thought her badly hidden crush on me was just as charming – the way Yaz hung off my every word and looked at me like I was the second coming of Christ was a massive ego boost. But as the cute five-year-old grew into the almost outrageously beautiful teenager, things became a little more problematic. I knew I should view her as a little sister, but I defy any straight man, other than an actual blood relative, to not find her attractive. From the age of sixteen, she looked like a surfer chick, make-up-free version of Scarlett Johansson. Try having that level of adoration from a human so beautiful that people often stared at her open-mouthed on the street like they couldn’t actually believe she was real.
