Rosa Gray tied her dinghy up on the jetty and looked out across the water behind her, back towards the mainland. It would be so easy to just hop back in the boat and set sail again for mainland Spain. And, actually, it was entirely possible that no one would even miss her. Especially her sister, Anna.

Except that her mother had sounded panicked when she called. Sancia Garcia never panicked. Not when she decided to leave her husband when Rosa was sixteen, not when Rosa’s grandfather died three years ago and left Sancia in sole charge of the luxury island resort of La Isla Marina. Not even when Rosa was eight and had tried a flying dive off the highest point of the island coastline, and almost brained herself on the rocks below.

No, Rosa’s mama was the epitome of laid-back grace. Of letting things work themselves out in time, and trusting the universe to provide.

Until, it seemed, she was faced with the wedding of a New York socialite, and the realisation that the luxury island resort was no longer quite so luxurious.

Rosa stared up the wide, open path that led to the main villa at the centre of the island. Dotted on either side were a few of the low, white bungalows that made up the island’s accommodation, all shining bright in the fading afternoon sun.

It still looked pretty good to her. But then, maybe she had a slightly skewed view of luxury, after a month spent deep in a South American jungle for a job. Or, more likely, St Anna had already fixed whatever she believed was wrong with La Isla Marina.

Anna always believed she could fix anything, if she just made enough lists, worked hard enough, or nagged often enough. But she hadn’t been able to fix their family, had she? Rosa was almost hoping she’d given up trying by now. If she’d learned anything from her mother it was that, at a certain point, the only thing to do was to cut and run. No point flogging a dead horse and all that.

Or, in Rosa’s case, no point dreaming that her family would ever be the sort of Christmas-advert perfect family where everyone was equally respected and listened to. So why hang around and wait for the impossible?

Which didn’t explain why she was on the damn island in the first place. The only thing Rosa could put that down to was that thin thread, the one that started deep down inside her, connecting her to her mother, her sister, even her father. The one she’d never been able to sever, no matter how far or how fast she ran.

Maybe Anna felt the same. Why else would Rosa’s big sister be here fixing everything for the mother who’d run off and left her in charge when she was only eighteen? Unless it was just to prove she could.

Either way, Rosa was about to find out.

Shouldering her rucksack, Rosa set off for the central villa at a steady pace. No point putting it off now she was here: it was time for the grand family reunion.

La Isla Marina was less than a mile across, so it didn’t take her very long to reach the villa that housed the family and staff accommodation, as well as the administrative offices for the island. On the way, Rosa searched for changes that had taken place since she was last there, for her grandfather’s funeral, three years ago. Surely there must be some? But she was hard pressed to find them.

Pausing on the path, Rosa drank in the view of the central villa, surrounded by lush greenery and bright flowers. The large white building, with its graceful arches and turrets, and tiled courtyards within, looked more like a Moorish palace than a Spanish villa, but to Rosa it had always felt like home in a way that nowhere else in the world did. Its twin turrets, housing two bedrooms—one for her and one for Anna—had seemed like the most magical places ever, when she was small. In some ways they still did.

How strange to be back again, without her grandparents there to welcome her home. Three years since her abuelohad died, and another year before that without her grandmother, and Rosa knew that she’d never grow used to it. It was almost as if the soul had left the island when theirs had.

Another reason she hadn’t made it back for so long.

Her fingers itched for her camera, packed safely in her bag, to capture this perfect moment—the villa almost glowing in the sunshine, the azure sky behind it—before any people intruded on the picture and the calm was broken.

She wondered what sort of a welcome would be waiting for her. Sancia would be pleased to see her, as always. Rosa was her baby girl, and for ever would be. She might not be the academic success her sister was, or be the useful, sensible sort of daughter that parents wanted, but Rosa knew her mother would always adore her all the same. And, unlike her father, respect her life choices, which meant a lot.

Of course, it was probably easier for Sancia to let Rosa be Rosa from afar, wasn’t it? When she only saw her for holidays and high days, even before she left to explore the world, as soon as she turned eighteen? That was what Anna would say, anyway. Anna who had taken over to deal with Rosa’s ‘difficult teenage years’, as their father referred to them.

She needed to stop channelling Anna’s thoughts, or she was going to drive herself mad. Except Sancia wasn’t the only family member waiting on the island. She might have called Rosa for help, but Rosa knew she wasn’t Sancia’s first call. That had gone to Anna, the useful, sensible daughter. As always.

And St Anna wouldn’t have made their mother wait two weeks, as Rosa had. Whatever their differences—and there were plenty—Anna would have dropped everything to help Sancia. In her defence, Rosa had been stuck in the middle of a South American rainforest at the time, and contractually bound to stay there until she had the full story and photos she needed for the magazine hiring her. But that didn’t mean that Anna wouldn’t have something to say about that delay. Or, knowing her sister, many somethings.

And nothing at all to say about Rosa’s career successes. Anna probably didn’t even know that Rosa was booked up months in advance, when she wanted to be, by publications looking for her particular style of photo journalism. Rosa was making quite a name for herself in her industry, not that it would mean anything to Anna and their father. Anything that happened outside the dreaming spires of Oxford’s academic elite simply didn’t matter to either of them.

Oh, well. La Isla Marina might not be huge, in island terms, but it had plenty of hidden corners and secret places—and Rosa had discovered all of them over the years. From secret coves for skinny dipping to secluded bars and ‘relaxation zones’ dotted between the bungalows, Rosa could always disappear when she needed to. And if the worst came to the worst, she could pick up one of the island’s boats and head across to the mainland and Cala del Mar for some truly excellent tapas and views.

And she didn’t have to stay long. She never did. Her modus operandi was get in, get what she needed, and move on again. Always had been. It served her well in her work, and she had a feeling it would serve her just as well on La Isla Marina this week. She loved her mother dearly, but it was generally better for everyone if they didn’t spend more than a couple of weeks in each other’s company. They were just too alike—in the same way that she and Anna were just too different—to get along all the time.

It was all about identifying objectives. On assignments, she knew which shots she needed to tell the story that was playing out before her. Here, it was about reassuring her mother, making sure that everything was stable on the island again, then moving on guilt free.

Chances were, Anna would already have done all the hard work for her, and Rosa could be on her way again inside the week. There was a situation in Russia that she’d been keen to get closer to…

A pang of guilt twanged through her as she thought about her sister. How bad had things on the island really had to get for Sancia to call her? And how mad would Anna be that Rosa had left her to deal with it?

The thing was, it wouldn’t have mattered if Rosa had taken the first flight out. Anna, based over in Oxford, would still have beaten her there by sheer virtue of time zones and air miles. Which meant that Anna would have already taken charge, and taken over the island.

Anna had always made it very clear that she expected to do everything herself, her way, and to feel martyred about it afterwards. So really, what point had there been in rushing?

Besides, it wasn’t as if Sancia had dragged Anna away from anything important. Probably. Last time they’d spoken, Anna had been busy living up to their father’s academic ideals, and giving up any semblance of fun or a social life to mother him excessively in Sancia’s absence—despite the fact Professor Ernest Gray was an intelligent, grown man who could clearly take care of himself.

Rosa couldn’t really imagine that that situation might have changed in the last three years.

Three years. Had it really been three years since she last spoke to Anna? Three years since their grandfather died? Three years since she’d yelled back a whole host of home truths at her sister, then left the country? Three years since she’d been back in England, or to La Isla Marina? Three years since…well. She wasn’t thinking about that. About him.

She’d made a point of not thinking about Jude Alexander for a grand total of thirty-six months. She wasn’t breaking that streak now.

It was just that it was all tied up together in her head. That awful argument with Anna, everything that happened with Jude, why she had to get out of the country…and now, knowing she was about to see Anna again had brought it all back.

Well, tough. She was going to rock up to the villa, deal with her sister, hug her mother, accept the inevitable offer of a glass of wine, check that everything was fine now, and make plans for leaving again.

Easy.

Hopefully.

With a sigh, Rosa shifted her bag higher on her shoulder and carried on walking. She’d already lingered on the side of the path longer than necessary. The last thing she wanted was one of the guests reporting some suspicious character with a bag loitering in the greenery.

She frowned. Actually, she hadn’t seen any guests. At all.

It was late May; the island should be teeming with holidaymakers, enjoying all the luxuries the resort had to offer. So where was everyone?

Unless things were worse than she thought…

Rosa quickened her step and, in a brief few minutes, found herself standing in the cool, tiled reception area of the central villa. White arches soared overhead, leading to small, secluded balconies with wrought-iron bars and plenty of brightly coloured cushions on their chairs. Just beyond the main area, through wide open doors, was the central courtyard, with reflecting pool and more lush potted greenery, and plenty of places to sit and take in the view. In high season, it was used as the main restaurant area for breakfasts, and even now it should be buzzing with early evening cocktail seekers.

It was empty. As was the reception desk.

Refusing to ring a bell in her own home, Rosa dropped her bags by the desk, bypassed the winding staircase to the upper levels, and the hidden doorway that led to the private, family quarters. Instead, she moved through the courtyard, and out the other side of the villa onto the sheltered patio that overlooked the beaches and the wide expanse of turquoise sea on the more exposed side of the island.

There, at last, she found signs of life, and her family. If not exactly the ones she’d been expecting.

She froze, her chest tightening, as if she were preparing to run—or hide. Surely her eyes were playing tricks on her?

‘Dad?’ Rosa pulled her sunglasses off to be absolutely sure of what she was seeing. Nope, she hadn’t imagined it. There, looking incongruous in a white shirt and stone-coloured jacket over chinos, and a panama-style hat, sat Professor Ernest Gray himself, a thousand miles and more away from where Rosa had expected him to be, locked up in the ivory towers at Oxford.

Of course, he was playing Scrabble with a dark-haired guy who had his back to her, so he was still finding some way to demonstrate his mental prowess. As usual. Rosa pitied his opponent.

Except now she’d drawn his attention, she’d given him a new target. It could only be a matter of time now before he turned his sharp mind and sharper words onto her—her choice of career, her lack of education, her inability to stay in one place, her unreliability… How could he possibly get through all her faults in one short visit?

‘Rosa.’ Her father inclined his head towards her, without smiling. ‘Your mother told us you’d be joining us. Eventually.’

And that was about all the family love and welcome she could expect from him, Rosa supposed. What was he even doing here? As far as she knew, he’d had as little contact with Sancia as possible, after she left, and they’d been separated ten years or more now. In all that time he’d certainly never visited the island that she’d escaped to. Why would he? Following Sancia to La Isla Marinawould have been tantamount to admitting that he’d made a mistake, given her reasons to leave him. And if Rosa understood one thing about her father it was that Professor Ernest Gray would never admit that he was wrong.

So what could have brought him here now? Were things worse than she thought? Maybe it wasn’t the island that had Sancia panicked. Maybe it was something else. She should have got here sooner…

Her heart raced as all the worst-case scenarios flooded her mind. Rosa grabbed for the memory of meditation practice in India, two years ago, and focussed on her breath until she had it under control again.

No point getting worked up until she had some answers. Which meant asking questions. ‘Where is Mama? And Anna? And the guests, come to that? I was expecting—’

She didn’t get any further, because as she started talking her father’s Scrabble companion turned around and Rosa got a good look at his face, pale and shadowed in the cool of the patio shade but still absurdly perfect, with cheekbones that emphasised the beautiful shape of his face, and the incredible blue of his eyes.

It was too late to run. Too late to hide. And Rosa didn’t even know how to fight this sudden intrusion. Her whole body seemed fixed to the spot as a hundred perfect memories ran through her mind, racing over each other, all featuring the man in front of her.

Whatever she’d been expecting from her return to La Isla Marina faded away. Because there in front of her, on her Mama’s back patio, sat the last person she’d ever expected to see again—and a perfect reason to join Sancia and start panicking.

Jude Alexander.

*

La Isla Marina, Jude had decided within a few hours of his arrival, was the perfect hideaway from the real world. It had sun, sand, sangria and—most importantly for him—solitude. In fact, he wasn’t all that bothered about any of the first three items on the list, as long as he was left alone while he was there.

Fame, it turned out, was overrated. Especially the sort of fame that meant he couldn’t go anywhere without being recognised, or do anything without the world having an opinion about his actions. It might have taken him a while to see the downsides of celebrity, but now that he had…well, Jude was experiencing them in spades.

So it was sort of ideal that his main companion on the island was an ageing Oxford professor who hadn’t got the slightest idea who Jude was. Professor Gray was perfectly content to play Scrabble for hours, or talk about events of the last century, or the one before—without ever asking a question about Jude’s own life. The man’s self-absorption—or perhaps his preoccupation with the historical world—made Jude’s quest to escape the person he’d become all the easier. The professor hadn’t even explained why he was there himself, let alone asked Jude what had brought him to the remote Spanish island.

If Professor Gray didn’t know or care who Jude was, his ex-wife, Sancia, and daughter Anna were too busy to even notice. Apparently there was some sort of event happening at the island later in the month—Sancia hadn’t gone into details—and it was all hands on deck to prepare for it. All hands except his and Professor Gray’s. Jude got the feeling he’d been cast in the role of companion, or perhaps nurse, to the professor since they’d arrived together. Whatever the reason, it was all working out fine for him.

Until a voice he’d never dreamed or hoped he’d hear again spoke.

‘Dad?’ He hadn’t realised what he was hearing, at first. That one word wasn’t enough to make the memories hit—which surprised him, given how many other things seemed to trigger them.

‘Rosa.’ That name, spoken in Professor Gray’s cultured tones. That was his first clue. ‘Your mother told us you’d be joining us. Eventually.’

But still, Rosa had to be a reasonably common Spanish name, right? There was no reason to imagine it was his Rosa. Or, rather, the Rosa who’d made it very clear that she’d rather leave the country than belong to him.

The Rosa he’d known, three years before, was probably still thousands of miles away on the other side of the world, chasing whatever dreams he couldn’t be a part of. Dreams she’d never even told him about, even as he’d spilled every one of his to her.

That Rosa couldn’t be here. That was insane. Maybe the latest events in New York had actually driven him mad after all. It would explain the midnight flight to Spain, anyway.

‘Where is Mama? And Anna? And the guests, come to that?’ But as she spoke Jude realised there was no point denying what he was hearing, not any more. Only one person, one voice, had ever made his heart shudder like that.

There was no point hiding. La Isla Marinawas his best shot at a hiding place, and she was already here.

Time to face his demons.

Jude turned around.

‘I was expecting—’ Rosa cut herself off, staring. ‘Oh.’

She looked just the same—same wild dark hair, same wide, chocolate eyes with endless lashes. Same sweet, soft mouth. Same curves under her jeans and T-shirt, same smooth skin showing on her bare arms. Same neat, small feet shoved into flip-flops.

Same woman he’d fallen in love with, last time they met.

‘Hello, Rosa.’ Jude tried for a smile—that same smile that graced album covers and posters and photo shoots. The one that never felt quite real, any more. Not since Rosa left. And definitely not since Gareth.

There was no answering smile on Rosa’s face though, only shock. Who could blame her? It wasn’t as if he’d planned this, either.

He might have done, three years ago, if he’d known about this place—or rather, known that this was her home. Because now, too late, all the pieces were falling into place. She’d left him to go back to her mother’s family home, for her grandfather’s funeral—and never come back again. La Isla Marina must have been where she’d run to.

If he’d known that then, would he have followed?

Or would he have accepted that she’d not told him where she was going for a reason?

Oh, who was he kidding? Even if he’d known where she was, he’d have sat there waiting for her to come back because he’d had faith in her. Something that had turned out to be seriously misplaced. And the day he’d realised that was the terrible day that everything had happened with Gareth, and he wasn’t going anywhere for a while. Except down, in a despair spiral he almost hadn’t made it out of. And then, suddenly, up the charts, for all the wrong reasons.

After Gareth, how could he have let himself see her again, anyway? He’d broken every promise he’d ever made for this woman, and she’d walked out anyway, leaving his world destroyed and empty.

Of course he hadn’t chased her across the globe. Even if he’d wanted to, and hated himself for that.

So many conflicting emotions tied up in the curvy, petite woman standing in front of him, all tangled and tight around his heart. Would he ever escape those bonds?

Rosa was still staring at him, stunned, and Jude hunted around for something to say. For some of the many, many words he’d wished he could say to her over the last few years. The accusations, the questions, the declarations, anything. But nothing came out.

‘You two know each other?’ Professor Gray was looking between them, confused.

Something about his voice seemed to snap Rosa out of her shock, as she gave them both a lopsided smile that never quite reached her eyes. ‘Oh, Dad, everyone knows Jude Alexander. He has possibly the most recognisable face in the world, right now.’

Professor Gray turned his curious gaze onto Jude, as if searching for fame in his features.

‘Your daughter photographed me for a publication a few years ago,’ he explained, blandly. No hint of the true story between that four-week study when Rosa travelled with them on tour, capturing every moment of their rise to fame. Of Gareth’s last tour. ‘I’m in a band, you see.’

‘A band?’ Rosa scoffed. ‘Jude is the frontman of The Swifts, Dad. Hottest band of the decade, some are saying.’ She raised an eyebrow at him, and Jude tried not to squirm under it. Not just because of the inevitable uncomfortableness that always came when someone referred to him as the frontman, instead of Gareth. But because he had so been enjoying not being that Jude Alexander for a while.

‘You know I don’t follow popular culture, Rosa.’ Professor Gray dismissed his daughter’s words with a wave of his hand. ‘But Jude here is an almost competent Scrabble player, at least.’

Jude watched as Rosa’s gaze flicked over to him at her father’s words, meeting his for just a second. Just long enough for him to feel the same connection he’d experienced the night they’d met. It hit him deep, inside those tangled threads around his heart, a piercing guilt tied up with want and need and lust.

Still. Nice to know he hadn’t imagined it, that connection. Even if it clearly never had the same effect on Rosa as it had on him.

‘I’m so glad you’ve found a playmate, Father,’ Rosa said, her tone scathing. ‘But Jude’s Scrabble abilities don’t answer any of my questions. Where are Mama and Anna? And what on earth are you doing here?’ She glanced at Jude again as she asked the last question, leaving him uncertain as to whose presence she was most baffled by.

Jude didn’t blame her.

Now the initial shock of her arrival had passed, he found himself watching her more closely, looking beyond the familiarity of the woman he’d known so intimately—if, apparently, incompletely—three years ago. There were changes, ones he hadn’t initially spotted. She was leaner now, he realised, harder even. Her mass of long, dark curls had been tamed back into a braid that hung over her left shoulder, and her dark eyes were far more wary than he remembered. Even in her relaxed jeans and fitted T-shirt, her sunglasses dangling loosely from her fingers, she looked poised to run at any moment. As if this beautiful island resort was more of a trap than her home.

What had made her look that way? And why, after all this time, did he even care?

‘Your mother is talking with the cook about dinner, I believe,’ Professor Gray said. ‘And as for your sister, I have no idea.’

‘She went to Barcelona with Leo,’ Jude put in, since apparently he was paying more attention to the professor’s family than he was.

‘Leo?’ Rosa’s nose crinkled up as she said the name. ‘Who on earth is…? Never mind. Dad, why are you here?’

Professor Gray observed his daughter mildly. ‘Why, is it such a crime for a man to wish to spend time with his family?’

From the look Rosa gave him in return, Jude rather thought her answer might be yes.

‘Professor Gray?’ Maria, the only non-family member of staff that Jude had actually met on the island, appeared in the villa doorway. ‘There is a phone call for you at Reception? From Oxford?’

‘Still no mobile phone, huh, Dad?’ Rosa asked.

‘I have one,’ Professor Gray answered, loftily, as he got to his feet. ‘I merely do not see the requirement for it to always be on my person. Or switched on.’

‘Of course you don’t.’

As Professor Gray made his way into the villa Jude found himself staring at Rosa again. What was it about this woman that captivated him so, that he couldn’t look away, even now, after everything that had happened because he’d fallen for her? He wished he knew. Maybe then he could break free of it. As it was…

‘So.’ Rosa moved to take her father’s chair opposite him, and Jude knew exactly what was coming next.

She was going to ask him a question, and he was going to have to decide how much of the truth he wanted to tell her. Given that last time he’d told her everything—opened up every part of himself and shared it with her—and she’d left anyway, he had a feeling that this time discretion might really be the better part of valour.

Or, as Gareth would have said, if he were still alive to say it, Screw me once, shame on you. Screw me twice…

Jude wasn’t going to let that happen. In any sense of the word.

Rosa sat down, and caught his eye across the table.

‘What are you doing here, Jude?’

Jude opened his mouth, and prepared to lie.

 

• Text Copyright © 2018 by Sophie Pembroke
• Cover Art Copyright © 2018 by Harlequin Enterprises Limited
• Permission to reproduce text granted by Harlequin Books S.A. Cover art used by arrangement with Harlequin Enterprises Limited. All rights reserved.