They’re reunited on Wedding Island...

But will they ever say “I do”?

When Rosa Gray returned to La Isla Marina to help with the island’s first wedding, the last person she expected to see was brooding rock star Jude Alexander—the man she once ran from, even if her heart never quite caught up with her feet! They may have unfinished business, but this time will they risk it all—for forever?

SOPHIE PEMBROKE has been reading and writing romance ever since she read her first Mills & Boon at university, so getting to write them for a living is a dream come true! Sophie lives in a little Hertfordshire market town in the UK, with her scientist husband and her incredibly imaginative six-year-old daughter. She writes stories about friends, family and falling in love—usually while drinking too much tea and eating homemade cakes. She also keeps a blog at sophiepembroke.com.

Also by Sophie Pembroke

Newborn Under the Christmas Tree

Wedding of the Year miniseries

Slow Dance with the Best Man

Proposal for the Wedding Planner

Wedding Island collection

Look out for the previous book

Baby Surprise for the Spanish Billionaire

by Jessica Gilmore

Available now

Island Fling to Forever

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Island Fling to Forever

Sophie Pembroke

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-07746-0

ISLAND FLING TO FOREVER

© 2018 Sophie Pembroke

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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To Jessica,

for making this book twice as fun to write.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

CHAPTER ONE

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 abuelo had 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 Marina would 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 Marina was 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.

CHAPTER TWO

HE WAS GOING to lie to her.

Three years, and Rosa could still see the tell in the way Jude glanced to the side before speaking.

She supposed she couldn’t blame him. She hadn’t exactly done much to earn the truth from him.

But on the other hand, this was her home, her place—and she’d never told him about it. Had he been stalking her, searching for her, these last three years? Had he come here to find her? And if so, why on earth now, not three years ago?

No, that was ridiculous. She hadn’t known she was coming herself until two weeks ago, and she had a hard time believing that Sancia and Anna had teamed up to come up with some outrageous story to get her there, just to help Jude out.

Unlikely as it seemed, this had to be some kind of crazy coincidence.

Rosa wasn’t entirely sure if that made it better or worse.

‘Believe it or not, I came here to work on some new music,’ Jude said. Just the words conjured up memories of watching him composing, trying out new melodies on his guitar at the back of the tour bus, folded up to sit on the narrow bunk she lay in. Some of the most precious moments they’d spent together in that too-short month were times like that, when no one else was there or awake, when it was just them and the music.

But she couldn’t think about that now. Memories weren’t going to help her figure out what the hell was going on here.

‘So you had no idea that this was my mother’s family home?’ Rosa asked, her eyes narrowing. It didn’t hurt to double check these things, right?

‘None at all.’ That, at least, seemed to be the truth. So where was the lie? He was a musician, of course he’d come here to work on music. Except where was the rest of the band, in that case? Or what was left of it.

The memory hit her harder than she’d expected. An article online she’d caught by chance, that had left her crying in a foreign airport for a man she’d known and grown fond of. For another star gone too soon. And for Jude, left behind—the only time she’d let herself cry for him at all.

The band she’d known, when she’d toured with Jude that summer, wasn’t the same band he was with now. Not without Gareth.

No wonder he hadn’t come after her. He’d been dealing with his own tragedy, while she’d left to attend her abuelo’s funeral and had her whole world changed.

But that didn’t change the truth of him being here, now. ‘So you expect me to believe that this is just a bizarre and unfortunate coincidence?’

‘If you like.’ Jude gave a small, one-sided shrug, but the smile on his lips told her that wasn’t entirely how he’d put it. ‘To be honest, it doesn’t much matter to me what you believe, any more.’

It had once, though. For one brief, shining month in time, what Rosa had believed had mattered to Jude Alexander. And what he’d believed about her had mattered to her, too.

Which had only made it harder to let him down when she’d walked away.

Of course, that was how she knew it was the right decision, too. But that didn’t mean there hadn’t been moments since, days when she’d been lost and alone and confused, when she’d wondered how different things would be if she’d gone back to him when she’d left La Isla Marina, instead of hightailing it for the Middle East, then Australia, then the Americas.

A whole life she’d thrown away and never lived. Of course she thought about it. She just didn’t let herself imagine it too often, or in too much detail. She didn’t want the regrets—not when she’d done the right thing, and found the life she’d always promised herself because of it.

She wondered if Jude would understand that, if she told him. Or maybe he’d been relieved when she hadn’t come back. After all, he’d chased and caught his own dreams, too. But they’d come at a high price.

Rosa picked up a few of her father’s Scrabble tiles, and began rearranging them on the rack, spelling out Spanish words he’d never use, for her own amusement, trying to find the words she needed to say.

In the end, she settled for blunt. It was her style, after all.

‘I heard about Gareth. I’m sorry. You know how fond I was of him.’ It had been hard not to adore Gareth. His optimism, his openness, the joy he’d found in the world... It was hard to imagine the band without him.

Hard to imagine Jude without his best friend.

Jude looked away. ‘Yeah.’ The curt word told Rosa her sympathies weren’t enough. Of course they weren’t.

Nothing could make up for Gareth’s death. Certainly not anything she had to offer.

It wasn’t her place to ask what happened, to tell Jude he could talk to her, if he needed to. Wasn’t her place to comfort him for a three-year-old tragedy that obviously still cut him deep.

She’d given up that place when she left.

Time to move on. She was never good at the touchy-feely stuff, anyway.

‘So, where are the others?’ Always a good way of figuring out whether a person was lying to her—ask a question she already knew the answer to. ‘Jimmy and Lee and Tanya?’ The rest of The Swifts. After all, Jude hadn’t got this famous all on his own, whatever the gossip magazines seemed to think.

And right now, the gossip sites didn’t seem to know what to think. Rosa didn’t make a point of following Jude’s every career move, or anything—in fact, she made a point of not listening to his music any more than she had to, which was made more difficult by the fact it seemed to be playing everywhere at the moment. Even in the rainforest, someone had brought speakers and been playing The Swifts when they’d set up camp the other week.

But even she hadn’t been able to avoid the news that Jude Alexander had dropped off the face of the earth. The rest of the band had been photographed out and about in New York City, but there had been no sign of their lead singer.

Not that Rosa had been concerned about that. Much.

‘New York, I think.’ Jude looked away again, down at his own tiles. He wasn’t lying, so maybe just hiding something? Rosa couldn’t tell, any more. ‘I’m working on some...different stuff.’

‘Solo stuff?’ Because that she hadn’t read anywhere online. ‘You’re planning on leaving The Swifts?’

‘No,’ Jude said, too quickly. ‘I’m not. I couldn’t. I just... I needed some time away, is all.’

‘And you picked La Isla Marina?’ Because, really, that was too much of a coincidence to not bear some investigation.

‘I heard someone talk about this place once. I can’t remember who, exactly. One of Sylvie’s friends, maybe.’

Sylvie. That would be Sylvie Rockwell-Smythe, Rosa’s ever-helpful brain for useless knowledge filled in. Jude’s beautiful, red-headed, heiress and model girlfriend. Exactly the sort of woman a celebrity like Jude should be dating.

Except, if he was here in paradise, and she was still in New York... ‘How is Sylvie?’

‘We split up,’ Jude said, shortly.

‘Ah. Sorry.’ There was that old talent for putting her foot in it, rearing up again. One day she’d learn not to just say the first thing that popped into her head. Maybe.

Jude shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t be.’

‘Like that, huh?’

‘Pretty much.’

Rosa sat back and surveyed him, taking in the changes the last three years had wrought on a face she’d known so well, once. He looked thinner. No, not thinner, exactly. Leaner. As if some stylist had decided to play up his pale and interesting aspect. But they couldn’t style away Jude’s broad shoulders, or the muscles in those arms.

But he looked tired. Worn down, maybe.

‘So. How’s fame going?’

‘Overrated.’ Jude met her eyes. ‘Haven’t you heard the latest? The entire of the continental US is talking about it.’

‘I’ve been kind of out of touch,’ Rosa admitted. ‘I was working on a story down in South America...wait.’ Hadn’t she read something about a book, somewhere? A kiss-and-tell sort of a book, all about Jude? Maybe Sylvie had something to do with that... ‘Is this about the book?’

‘Jude: The Naked Truth.’ Jude shook his head in disgust as he quoted the title. ‘That’s the one.’

Whoever had written it should have come and found Rosa. She could have told them plenty of secrets about Jude Alexander.

She wouldn’t have, of course. That was just one of the many differences between her and Sylvie. That and the fact that the other woman was a supermodel. And at five feet three and with too many curves, Rosa would definitely never be that.

‘I haven’t read it.’

Jude didn’t respond, and Rosa resigned herself to looking him up on the internet once she’d got her laptop hooked up to the island Wi-Fi. It wouldn’t be the first time, anyway. And Jude didn’t have many secrets from the media these days, it seemed to Rosa. She could probably download the eBook and know everything she wanted to about him in a couple of hours of reading.

Except she didn’t want to. Those books never told the whole truth, anyway. And she knew more about him than any pages could contain.

Or she had. Once.

Before.

She turned back to her father’s Scrabble tiles, and ignored the letters ‘s’ ‘e’ and ‘x’ to find something else to think about.

‘So. Been a while,’ Jude said, and Rosa looked up from her Scrabble tiles to take in the sight of him in the sunshine again.

He was too pale, she decided. He couldn’t have been on the island long or he’d have lost that grey pallor that came from too long spent inside with only his guitar for company.

But he was still every bit as gorgeous as she remembered. As she’d tried to forget.

Her fingers flexed, reaching for the camera that wasn’t hanging around her neck for once. She wanted to capture him here, now, in the moment. A comparison piece to the famous, laughing photo of him she’d taken three years ago. One photo in thousands she’d taken that month, but the one everyone remembered most. The one that had made her name. Kick-started her career, when The Swifts had hit the big time.

She’d been assigned to the up-and-coming band by a magazine she’d done some work for before, asked to follow them on tour for an in-depth photo piece with some interviews. Someone high up at the magazine had a feeling about them, she’d been told, and they wanted to get in there first, before anyone else.

Whoever that person was, they’d been right. And they’d changed Rosa’s world with that one commission, in too many ways to count.

If she hadn’t taken the job, she’d never have taken the photo that started her rise to the top of her profession, that gave her the luxury of picking and choosing jobs wherever she wanted in the world.

If she hadn’t taken the job, she’d never have met Jude. And if she hadn’t met Jude, she wouldn’t have spent three years taking any job that kept her away from England, Spain and New York.

‘Three years.’ As if he didn’t already know.

‘You look good.’

‘You look pale.’

Jude laughed, the first true emotion she’d seen from him since she arrived. ‘You never were very good for my ego, were you?’

‘You never needed me for that.’ He’d always had plenty of hangers-on and groupies, ready to tell him how wonderful he was, even back then, before The Swifts took over the music world. Gareth might have been the lead singer, but Jude was the mysterious lead guitarist, and that had its own appeal.

And he’d had Gareth to keep him optimistic. To keep him humble.

How had he coped without him?

She should have called. It was three years too late to be asking these questions. But back then...she couldn’t.

Rosa shoved the last of the Scrabble tiles aside and got to her feet. ‘I really should go and find my mother. Let her know I’m here.’

Jude inclined his head in a small nod. ‘Of course.’

She waited, just a moment, in case he was going to say anything more, but he was already studying his letters again. If those groupies could see him now—wild-child rock-and-roll star plays Scrabble. Wouldn’t they be disappointed?

Was she, though? Rosa wasn’t even sure. Already this trip home was nothing like she’d expected.

But she couldn’t be certain if that was a bad thing or not. Not yet.

She paused as she reached the archway leading into the villa.

‘Jude?’

He looked up. ‘Yeah?’

‘Did you really not know I’d be here?’

‘Honestly?’ Jude gave her a sardonic smile. ‘I would never have come if I did.’

Rosa looked away. Well. That told her.

And really, what else was she hoping for?

Shaking away the conversation with Jude, Rosa headed inside to find her mother. And some answers.

* * *

Jude watched Rosa go, then realised she’d stopped, just inside the archway to the villa.

Not that he cared.

He shouldn’t care.

He absolutely shouldn’t care enough to want to watch her every move.

Except...he did. Even after everything.

Trying not to be obvious about it, Jude tilted his chair just enough for him to see inside the villa, to where Rosa had found her mother. Both women seemed far too preoccupied with each other to be worrying about him, so he took advantage of their distraction to shift his chair around a bit more, so he could watch them properly.

It wasn’t his place to spy on a reunion, he knew. But since his own with Rosa had been so anticlimactic, he wanted to know what a real one would look like.

Inside, Sancia threw her arms around Rosa and held her tight, swaying her back and forth with her outpouring of affection.

Once, Jude had imagined that his and Rosa’s reunion might be full of love, like that. Filled with passion, at least—the same kind of passion they’d shown each other during their brief time together.

Sometimes, late at night, he’d allowed himself to picture it. Rosa coming back, finding him backstage, just as he was finishing a gig. He’d be on a performance high, anyway, and when he saw her...everything would crystallise, fall into place. He’d sweep her up into his arms and never let her go again.

Except she’d never come back, had she?

And then Gareth had died, and he’d been so lost. So hopeless, without his best friend. He’d needed Rosa, then.

But she was long gone. And even if she hadn’t been...how could he let himself love her again, knowing what that love had cost him?

From the moment they’d met, when Rosa had arrived on the tour bus and introduced herself as the person who’d be documenting their every move for the next month, her presence had filled his whole world, pushing everything else to the edges. The connection had been instantaneous, even if the physical side of their relationship had developed more slowly. Rosa had spoken to them all, of course, taking notes, filming them, her camera always to hand. But somehow, when it had been just the two of them, Jude had found himself giving up far more than she’d asked for—details about his life, his mind, his friendships, his heart. Details she’d never used in the article, because they were just for her.

Whenever the music was done, they’d gravitate towards each other, letting the others head out to party while they headed back to the bus or a hotel room. And soon, all those late-night talks had become midnight kisses, and more, as Jude had lost himself in the wonder of Rosa.

Unbidden, memories of their last night came back to him, filling his brain with the images of them together. The hotel room, the champagne, the post-gig euphoria that always came over him—and Rosa. Rosa’s eyes, bright with excitement. Her hair, loose and soft and dark as it hung over her bare shoulders. Her olive skin, so smooth and welcoming under his hands.

The feel of her against him, both of them mindless with the kind of passion Jude knew didn’t come around all that often.

Or ever, for him, it seemed, unless it was with Rosa.

It was crazy. He’d been with supermodels, Hollywood actresses—some of the widely acknowledged most beautiful women in the world.

And they’d never made him feel an iota of what he felt in one night with Rosa.

He pushed the memories aside. It was that passion, that uncontrolled connection, that had made him forget the promise he’d made to Gareth after his first close call. Jude had sat beside that hospital bed looking at his best friend—too pale, too lost, so close to being utterly ruined by the drugs and the alcohol and the life it was so easy to live as a band on the road. And he’d made the most important promise of his life—he’d promised to keep Gareth safe from then on. To be the one Gareth could rely on to steer him away from temptation, to remind him how much he had to live for.

But then he’d met Rosa and let that promise slide, too distracted by passion and infatuation to notice his best friend slipping again.

Until it was too late.

Shaking his head, he looked away as he saw Sancia putting an arm around Rosa’s shoulders as she led her further into the villa. He had to stop living in his memories.

He needed to focus on what this meant for his future.

He’d made a new promise, when Gareth died—an echo of the one he’d made him a year before, except this one he’d kept, would keep on keeping. He’d live life for the both of them. He’d have the success that should have been theirs, chase the fame Gareth had always wanted. Live the life Gareth should be there to enjoy.

The Swifts’ success wasn’t his. It wasn’t even Jimmy’s or Lee’s or Tanya’s. It was all for Gareth.

And that was why he could never walk away from it. He owed his friend, for the life he got to live, without him, and for the promise he should have kept.

But even then, he couldn’t stay in New York for the publication of that book.

He’d come to La Isla Marina with a very firm objective in mind—to stay out of the public eye for a few weeks, long enough for all the fuss about The Naked Truth to fade away again, and to give him time to think about his next move, musically.

But Rosa being here...that could change everything. He mustn’t forget that he’d actually met Rosa when she was photographing the band for some British music magazine. What were the chances she was still doing that sort of work? Just because he hadn’t seen her at any of his gigs since didn’t mean she wasn’t still in the game.

And even if she wasn’t, she was a freelance photojournalist. A few shots of Jude Alexander hiding out on a remote Spanish island, when no one else had been able to get a hint of where he was...that would pay big money. Enough for a struggling freelancer to not have to worry about bills for a while, anyway.

Would she sell him out?

Three years ago, Jude could have answered that question without hesitation: never. Rosa wasn’t that sort of person. He might have only known her for four weeks, but he’d learned more about her in one month than he’d known about his own parents in a lifetime.

And maybe it still meant something. After all, she hadn’t used his secrets in the eventual article that had been published about that month-long tour. And there was no mention of Rosa—or any of the secrets only she knew—in That Book. There were whole chapters on Gareth, his death, Jude’s guilt over it, and everything that happened next, but no mention of the part Rosa had played in everything that happened.

Of course, probably the author just hadn’t known to look for Rosa. If they had...

No, she still wouldn’t have talked. She wasn’t that sort of person, he was sure.

But that didn’t mean it wasn’t worth making sure she was on the right side of his hide-and-don’t-seek game with the press, before she let something slip to the wrong person.

The last thing Jude wanted was to have his hiding place uncovered now, just when his last remaining secret had walked back into his life.

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