Главная страница | Современные любовные романы | The War Hero′s Locked-Away Heart

The War Hero's Locked-Away Heart
Louisa George


Reaching for the stars – with Nurse Skye… Haunted by the ghosts of his fallen comrades, ex-army medic Adam Miller hopes to find salvation in beautiful Atanga Bay. Yet despite his intense attraction to feisty nurse Skye Williams, Adam’s determined never to get close to anyone ever again. But with Skye by his side maybe it’s time to put the past to rest for good…










This Christmas, we’ve got some fabulous treats to give away! ENTER NOW for a chance to win £5000 by clicking the link below.

www.millsandboon.co.uk/ebookxmas (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk/ebookxmas)







Praise forLouisa George:

‘A most excellent debut from Louisa George.’

—www.GoodReads.com on ONE MONTH TO BECOME A MUM




‘Adam? Adam? Look at me.’ Skye’s lips were close to his and her blurred face swam in and out of focus.


‘I’m okay. Fine.’

‘I know you are.’ She breathed into his ear, her words a salve to his racing heart-rate.

She placed a hand on his cheek, her soft fingertips stroking the unscarred side of his face. Her eyes burned into him with a blatant message of desire.

That simmering connection buzzed between them again. Focusing on her face took some of the terror away. Before he could open his mouth to speak her soft lips pressed against his. A sweet kiss, an affirmation, kindness. Not what he’d expected. Or should even think about. But exactly what he needed. And she knew it too.

He knew they were heading for uncharted territory. But in the midst of the chaos inside him she held him steady.


Dear Reader

People often ask where writers get inspiration from. For me, my stories begin with a single image rattling around my head. For my first book, ONE MONTH TO BECOME A MUM, it was a car crash scene; for my second book, WAKING UP WITH HIS RUNAWAY BRIDE, it was a woman painting over a stain on a ceiling. For this story it was the image of a lone man standing on a jagged outcrop staring out to sea. From there I asked a series of questions: What event has led up to this moment? Who is he? What does he want? What does he fear? The answers to these questions form the backstory and personalities of my characters and the plot usually takes off from there.

Adam, the man on the outcrop, was a different kind of hero for me to write: scarred and brooding and with a frozen heart. He fought hard, determined not to fall in love at all—and definitely not with a girl desperate to leave the place that had begun to help him heal.

Skye first appeared as a minor character in WAKING UP WITH HIS RUNAWAY BRIDE, but this feisty woman soon made it clear that she wanted her own story. And I felt she deserved it. If only she’d known the journey in store for her!

Beautiful Atanga Bay, with its white sandy beach, dramatic dark crags and stunning waterfall, is the perfect place to fall in love. But both Skye and Adam have personal demons to conquer before they can commit to or even believe in a happy-ever-after. With the clock ticking and both denying their attraction they have a rocky road ahead of them.

I hope you enjoy reading Skye and Adam’s story, my third Medical Romance™! I love to hear from readers, so please visit me at www.louisageorge.com

Warmest wishes

Louisa George x




About the Author


A lifelong reader of most genres, LOUISA GEORGE discovered romance novels later than most, but immediately fell in love with the intensity of emotion, the high drama and the family focus of Mills & Boon


Medical Romance™.

With a Bachelor’s Degree in Communication, and a nursing qualification under her belt, writing Medical Romance seemed a natural progression, and the perfect combination of her two interests. And making things up is a great way to spend the day!

An English ex-pat, Louisa now lives north of Auckland, New Zealand, with her husband, two teenage sons and two male cats. Writing romance is her opportunity to covertly inject a hefty dose of pink into her heavily testosterone-dominated household. When she’s not writing or researching Louisa loves to spend time with her family and friends, enjoys travelling, and adores great food. She’s also hopelessly addicted to Zumba


.

Recent titles by this author:

WAKING UP WITH HIS RUNAWAY BRIDE

ONE MONTH TO BECOME A MUM

Also available in eBook format from www.millsandboon.co.uk



The War Hero’s Locked-Away Heart




Louisa George







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


With special thanks to:

Nigel and Gina, Mel and Mel, Nicki and Shaun, Simon and Christine, Gaynor and David. For your support and the laughs and your enduring friendship.

Nas Dean—promoter extraordinaire! For navigating me through the jungle that is a virtual blog tour! You’re amazing!

This book is dedicated to my boys:

Warren, Sam and James.

Thank you for supporting me, loving me and making me smile every day.

I love you.




CHAPTER ONE


‘FOUR. More. Weeks. Four. More …’

Skye Williams repeated her mantra with every muscle-screaming step on the last five hundred metres of her beach run. In four weeks she would hit Europe a dress size smaller if it killed her. And judging by her raging heart rate and throbbing joints, it probably would. She hated running, but it was a necessary evil.

As she dug deep for the home stretch a westerly wind whipped hot sand across her face with a ferocity that bordered on microdermabrasion. She brushed a hand across her stinging cheek. At least I won’t need that facial now. More dollars for the travel fund. ‘London. Paris. Athens. Rome.’

The thought of her newly bought plane ticket spurred her on. Freedom. A new beginning. Finally. After too many false starts.

By the time she reached Atanga Bay she’d almost doubled over, hauling in every blessed lungful of oxygen she could. Stretching out her hamstrings, she glanced over to the rocks and the ocean beyond, waiting for the endorphin rush to kick in.

It didn’t.

Instead a mix of frustration and inquisitiveness piqued her.

He was there again.

The stranger. Staring out across the roiling water, standing tall against the horizontal wind. Hands stuffed into jacket pockets, immovable on the outcrop of jagged rock.

A stranger with a death wish.

Yesterday she’d left him to his fate, but evening westerlies brought huge freak waves. The all-too-familiar tug of responsibility fired her into action. Responsibility—her byword. The weight of it had dragged her down too much, too young. Too soon. She’d had enough to last her a lifetime.

And yet she still couldn’t resist.

‘Hey. You. Yes … you. Excuse me … Hey!’ She tried to make her voice reach him through the wind as she forced her aching muscles to work. She strode closer. Not too close. The waves had doubled in size in the time she’d been out for her run. ‘Those rocks are treacherous. You need to get down. It’s not safe.’

The stranger turned slowly to face her, as a wave battered the rocks at his feet, his face made up of shadows and half-light. ‘You talking to me?’

His voice, deep and soft—sad almost—curled something in Skye’s gut. It threw her off centre. She frowned, and refocused. This wasn’t the time for thinking about sad voices, she’d had enough of her own.

She suffused it with urgency. ‘It’s dangerous. Didn’t you read the sign? Please, be careful.’

There she was, sounding like the mother hen she’d become. At twenty-eight with no kids of her own, but with honours in mothering skills.

‘And why should you care?’

‘I don’t. I’m just trying to help. The waves can knock you off balance. I either holler at you now, or I call Search and Rescue out to look for you in an hour. They’re busy people. They have lives.’ He didn’t look as if anything would budge him. Not least her flimsy voice, whipped half-away in the battering gale, or her appeal to his better judgement.

But the stranger stepped across the rocks, jumped down the last three feet and thudded onto the hard sand. Not so much next to as above her. She scanned up his body until her neck almost hurt.

God, he was tall, with wide shoulders strung back in an at-ease stance. His chestnut hair stood up in tufts, buffeted by the wind. A craggy scar sliced his cheek, like a cleft in a cliffside. He had a man’s face, not pretty but real, handsome. Close up what remained of those shadows now edged his startlingly blue eyes. ‘Do you force advice on everyone, or just people you don’t know?’

‘Pretty much anyone who’ll listen. I’m well practised, I have three younger brothers. You looked like a willing victim.’ She countered his gruffness with a smile. Dragging three boys up had taught her that meeting rudeness with rudeness never brought about harmony. And being overly cheerful usually took them by surprise, knocked the corners off their mood.

She hoped it might work with Mr Charmless here, then she could go home with a clear conscience. One more needless accident prevented. ‘Seriously, I’m trying to help. You’re safer on the pier. There’s a sign, over there. It says—’

‘I know what it says. Keep away from the rocks. Yeah. Yeah.’ He stuck his hands back into his pockets again. He might as well have had his own sign up flashing, Keep away.

Good idea. Drop cheerful. Adopt aloof. ‘I should mind my own business. Sorry. But I haven’t seen you before and we prefer to keep our visitors alive around here.’ What she really needed was to shut up and go home, but now she was stuck in a conversation with a hunk of grumpy man. She was dripping with sweat, her thighs red from chafing. And blathering. Could it get any worse? ‘I thought you might be at risk.’

‘Of what exactly? Death by nagging?’

Grumpy? Scratch that. Try downright obnoxious. Though he probably had a point.

Skye ran a hand over the spikes she’d so carefully arranged that morning, imagining how she must look. Dishevelled. At a push, in her imagination, interestingly windswept. In reality, wind battered. Her mascara and kohl had no doubt run down her cheeks. Clownish. Or like a panda. Worse? Oh, yes. And decidedly uninteresting.

She shrugged. Interesting didn’t matter. Especially not interestingly rude. She’d had enough of rude men to last her a lifetime. She’d bet anything that French men weren’t rude. Or Italians. Or Greeks.

Four more weeks until she found out. In person.

But this guy—this red-blooded down-to-earth Kiwi bloke—he was beyond rude. Oh, yes. She couldn’t help but thrust out her chin. ‘Hey, don’t mind me. I’m only trying to save your life here. No big deal. And a thank-you wouldn’t go amiss.’

‘Save it for someone who needs it.’ He looked back to a black dot way out in the ocean, lost in thought. Then his back snapped ramrod straight. ‘Like him.’

Grabbing her by the hand he pulled her to the water’s edge. ‘See him. There? Out way beyond the break?’ He pointed to the black dot. To the untrained eye it might have been a seal, flotsam in the unforgiving waves. But this was a popular place for surfers. Probably one of the locals. Skye’s heart slammed in her chest as she swivelled to peer at the surf rescue clubhouse. Empty.

The stranger peeled off his jacket, kicked off his boots. ‘He’s waving. He’s in trouble. Be my spotter?’

‘Spotter? Are you sure? Are you mad? It’s all kinds of crazy out there. Can you even swim?’

‘Quit worrying. I’ve done this before. Many times.’ He turned her to face him. His hands firm on her shoulders, his eyes ardent with action. His voice back to soft. But he was totally in command, clearly used to giving orders, and having them followed. ‘Don’t panic. The last thing I need is a hysterical woman to deal with as well. Do exactly as I say.’

Her hackles rose. As an experienced nurse she prided herself on her calm handling of any situation. ‘I’m not—’

‘I need you to watch him, to know exactly where he is at all times. And if I look over to you, you must point him out. The sea’s rough today and it gets disorientating.’ His eyes bore into her. ‘Okay?’

‘But …? Back-up?’ The first rule of emergency, get help.

His flattened palm indicated the empty cove. ‘On a deserted beach? You are back-up, lady. Call for help if you have a mobile phone somewhere in those shorts. Which looks unlikely.’ He threw her a phone. ‘Or use this. But stay here.’

And with that he inched his jeans down well-toned legs, revealing tight black boxers and another jagged scar that stretched from left knee to ankle. His blue T-shirt hit the ground in front of her. Skye drew her eyes away from his feet to a small tattoo on the tight plane of his tanned chest. Right over his heart.

Then he was gone, his taut, muscular body thrashing through the churning water like a demon. And she stood gaping like a wet fish, stunned at the speed in which he’d simultaneously entranced and shocked her. Wondering why, when she had very definite plans to hot-foot it out of Atanga Bay at the earliest opportunity, she wanted to see that tattoo again. Close up.

Not on my watch. Not again. A mouthful of Hauraki Gulf salt water ran down the back of Adam’s throat as he fought the waves to get to the surfer. He kept his heart rate in check. Used the adrenalin shunting through his veins to fuel actions, not hinder them. Focused his thoughts on saving. Not losing.

Semper agens—Semper quietus. Always alert. Always calm. The medical corps motto beat a regular rhythm to every armstroke. Fifteen years of service and the rhythm spurred every action, like a heartbeat, a breath. A tattoo engraved on the sinews in his heart.

An elevation. A funeral dirge.

Years of hard army training, honing his body to a rock, moulding his mind to not accept defeat, had brought him to this. Water battered over his head, blurring his vision, testing his nerve. Defeat? He pushed that thought away. The drowning guy needed him. And right now he was the only hope of saving him.

Thick, heavy waves dragged him back, just out of reach of the surfer, whose hand now flailed along the top of the water instead of waving. Amazing how exhaustion could rip through a man battling nature in a matter of minutes.

Adam kicked closer. Pain squeezed his leg like a vice. The cold water gripped the ragged scarring. Don’t give in. He pushed all thoughts of pain away. Then lost sight of the man.

Damn. Drawing on all his strength, he trod water, got his bearings. Glanced to the shoreline, where that strange woman paced and pointed. Damned cheeky but cute. In a weird kind of way. He imagined the deep espresso colour of her eyes, the crazy half-spiked hair. The intriguing tiny jewel in her nose. Ample curves. Interesting curves.

So not what he needed to be thinking of right now. Or ever.

She gesticulated, and he followed the line of her arm to the surfer. He gave her the okay signal.

First time he’d given any woman a second thought since Monica. And here he was in the middle of a rescue operation, neck deep in freezing water. Exactly how he’d felt when they’d ended their fated marriage.

There’s a lesson there.

Focus on the task. ‘Hey, mate! Mate! Over here.’

He got the attention of the guy, who feebly raised his head. Adam saw a huge red gash across his pale forehead. Shark meat too. Great. ‘I’m coming for you. Hold on.’

The lad nodded, then disappeared under a ferocious wave. A few metres away. Metres. Nothing. You can do this.

Adam sucked in air then duck-dived under the current, grabbed for an arm, a limb, some piece of the man. When his hand knocked against something soft he grabbed and kicked to the surface. Bingo.

‘Hold on. I’ve got you.’ He tossed the struggling surfer over onto his back, gripped him under his shoulders and kicked towards shore. ‘Stop fighting me. It’s all good now. We’re okay.’

The woman, her smile broad like a beacon, ran waist deep into the water and helped drag the surfer to solid ground. Which was just as well, because as Adam met her large kohl-rimmed eyes again the earth seemed to tilt. Just a little.

Or maybe it was the shock of the cold air, the shifting of the sand. His leg pinching again. ‘Give me a hand to lay him down. He’s breathing, but he swallowed a good part of that ocean.’

Before he could give her more instruction, she’d flipped the surfer onto his side and was kneeling at his face, assessing the wound like a pro. ‘Hey, Lukas. Lukas?’

Slowly their patient focused on her, then coughed. ‘What …?’

‘It’s Skye. It’s okay. You’re safe now. You okay? Took a good dunking, eh?’

Sky? Adam frowned. What kind of name was that? Curious, too, that it was the one thing that spooked him. Sky. Open air. Nothing but a long way down to a hard landing. And pain. He shuddered.

Sky. For a name? But it went with the territory. Unconventional. Unpredictable. And right now shivering in a flimsy black sports top and matching running shorts. Sea water had slicked her clothes to her body. Fascinating.

He bent down to help her assess the surfer. Not that she looked like she needed help. She was calm and focused. Unlike him. She was distracting. He was distracted.

In every rescue mission he’d ever undertaken he’d never allowed himself to be distracted. Never. ‘Okay, Lukas. Let’s have a good look at you. Got a whack from the board?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Nasty business.’ She smiled again at the surfer. Seemed she had enough smiles for everyone, and a few to spare.

But she looked like she really cared for Lukas, like she wanted him to feel better. Like she wished she could take away his pain. Unlike his own automaton reactions. He knew how to follow strict army orders. First priority: action. No time for emotion. But she managed to mix the two with great effect.

She peered into the boy’s face, got him to focus on her. ‘Great surf today, though. Bet you caught a few good ones, eh?’

Lukas nodded and managed a weak smile. ‘Awesome. But I lost the board. I think it smashed on the rocks.’

‘Never mind, better the board than you. Sean says the change of seasons is the best time to surf. Something about the moon or the equinox. Makes no sense to me.’ Her bubbly chattering seemed to put the lad at ease.

As she spoke she ran confident, slim fingers across his forehead, probing the wound and feeling for damage. Obviously trained in medical examination and filled with genuine concern. Not the kooky, useless type he’d pegged her as. Served him right to make huge assumptions based on his past experience with women.

‘How you manage it I don’t know. I tried it once and ended up face-planting in the shallows. I had sand burn for weeks. Never again. But you make it look so easy.’

Fleetingly, as he watched her fuss around Lukas, Adam felt a keen sense of loss on what he was missing out on. Human contact. Warmth. Sharing things. It had been so long since a woman had given him the slightest fuss he wondered if it was time to start dating again.

Then he cast that ridiculous notion aside. One messed-up marriage was enough.

No, he was looking for simplicity. Just him and nature. Settled in serene Atanga Bay. Well, that’s what he’d heard anyway. Near drownings excepted.

She continued with her gentle chatting. ‘I’ve phoned for an ambulance, Lukas. But you know what it’s like, it could take time.’ She turned to Adam, fixed him with those striking dark eyes. The short black hair intrigued him. So unlike the willowy blondes he usually dated. Had dated. ‘They’re always overworked and short-staffed, I’m afraid.’

‘Same story wherever you go.’ But not short-staffed any more. He opened his mouth to contradict her. Thought better of it. It would take too long, and he didn’t want to get embroiled in a conversation. And, heck, what did it matter? He hadn’t shared an iota about himself with anyone for years. Why would he start with her?

And yet her smiling eyes stirred something in him. Something which would be better left well alone.

‘You holding up, mate?’ He looked at Lukas. Did a mental check as he tried to do a blood sweep through the surfer’s wetsuit. Bit difficult with a second skin. Still, it’d work as a pressure aid while they sorted him out.

‘I’ll just check your vitals again.’ Skye took a quick pulse rate. He’d only known her two minutes and they were working in pure harmony, an understanding of the essentials hovering between them. Not just distracting, but unsettling too. ‘Your heart’s pumping a bit quicker than I’d like, but I reckon you’ll live.’ She squeezed the guy’s hand. ‘We just need to get that head to stop bleeding.’

Adam curled his T-shirt into a knot and held it against the wound to stem the blood flow. ‘Sorry about this, mate. It was clean on this morning, I promise.’ That mustered a weak smile from his patient. ‘You’re going to need a few stitches in that head. Any pain anywhere else?’

Lukas twisted to sit up and held out his right hand. ‘My arm hurts.’

‘Let’s take a look.’ Adam helped peel the wetsuit to waist level, scanning Lukas’s body for any signs of damage or internal bleeding. Then examined his arm, aware that Sky had put herself between Lukas and the ripping wind. She looked more bedraggled than a puppy at bath-time, with those accentuated huge eyes. She was covered in damp sand and her clothes were dripping wet, her arms blue with cold.

He threw her his jacket and she wrapped it round their patient’s shoulders. ‘Sky? It’s starting to get dark and if we’re not careful we’ll all have hypothermia too.’ Not a great start to day one of the rest of his life.

She shivered, but smiled. Again. Didn’t her mouth hurt with all that grinning? Then she rubbed her hands up and down Lukas’s shoulders. ‘He’s right. We don’t want you to get too cold, or go into shock. You need to get warm.’

Patient first. Was she a nurse? A doctor? A local?

Did she live here? His mouth dried.

Stupid. Of course she did, hence the nagging about the rocks. If she was medical their paths were bound to cross. He shook his head, tried to clear his waterlogged brain. She was trained and skilled and here. That was all he needed to know. Any more was unnecessary detail.

A few minutes in her company had proven her curves, her weird charm and her megawatt smile were bad for his equilibrium. Four years on from a broken marriage, a broken life, and he’d only just got his equilibrium back. So he would muster polite. Nothing more.

He felt along Lukas’s arm, noticed the bruising and swelling, the wincing as he touched the forearm. ‘Pain here? What about here? It’s swollen. Could be a fracture, hard to tell with the naked eye. You’ll need an X-ray—’

A siren cut him off. He followed Sky’s gaze to the main road and watched with relief as an ambulance drove down the small boat ramp. He hauled on his jeans and helped Lukas to stand.

Within minutes they’d handed over and lifted their patient into the back of the van. As he shook hands with the ambulance officer Adam decided to come clean. It would be strange turning up to work on Monday morning knowing they’d all shared this rescue and them not knowing his identity.

If he was going to settle here—and he was going to settle this time—he’d need to give more of himself than name and rank. Truth was, opening up after everything that had happened often proved hard.

He spoke to the AO first. ‘I guess you should know, I’m Adam. Adam Miller. Paramedic. I start on Monday, at Wellsford base.’

‘Hi, Adam. Thought there was a look of expertise to this job. What a welcome, eh?’

‘Lucky I was here. Just one of those things.’

‘There I was thinking I was dealing with an average Joe and all the time you’re a medic in disguise.’ Sky blinked up at him. ‘Are you going to live here, or closer to the base in town? Have you got a family here too?’

He turned his surprise at her inquisition into a cough. He’d forgotten how small-towners liked to chat. In retrospect maybe moving to Auckland would have been a better choice. He could have lost himself in the anonymity of crowds. ‘I’m renting up the road.’

‘We’re very pleased to have you.’ Dan, the AO, shook his hand. ‘Kick back a bit and get out of the rat race? Atanga Bay’s usually pretty quiet, but the towns round about keep us busy. Now they’ve extended that motorway we get our fair share of MVAs.’

Adam helped Dan close the van doors. ‘Judging by the hairpin bends, I’m not surprised.’

‘You’re ex-army, is that right? No wonder you made mincemeat out of those waves. Quite the hero.’

‘I don’t think so.’ Hero? No chance. Adam swallowed back his usual dismissive retort and the memories of his last day in action. He forced himself to be friendly. It had been so long he’d almost forgotten how. ‘Before I joined up I was a surf lifeguard. I just follow my instincts.’ He caught Sky’s glance and remembered the importance of a positive debrief. ‘And Sky was great too.’

‘Our Skye is great. And we’re all going to miss her.’ The AO winked at the shivering woman and wrapped an arm round her shoulders. ‘How long to go now?’

She peered up at him, her fists all screwed up like a kid’s at Christmas. Her lips were slightly parted, her mouth soft. A wave of something unfamiliar washed over Adam. He ignored it. Put it down to adrenalin.

‘Four weeks, three hours and …’ She glanced at her watch, and laughed. A light, unencumbered sound, something he hadn’t heard much, or done himself, in a very long time. ‘Thirty-two minutes. Not that I’m counting. Much.’

‘And then?’ Adam asked, despite his misgivings at having a conversation with her.

‘Then I live my life. This is just a rehearsal.’ More smiles. This time they were backlit with blatant excitement. ‘I’m going on a tour, travelling through Asia to Europe. To see the sights, the food, the people. Then I’m going to hit London. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do. I can’t wait. I’m so excited.’

‘So I see.’ A shot of relief mixed with a sense of something ending before it had begun mixed in his gut. ‘But is Europe ready for all that enthusiasm?’

Her eyes darted across to him in question, for the first time since he’d met her, she frowned. He ducked his gaze away.

See? Exactly why he shouldn’t attempt a normal conversation with her. He was so out of practice he’d made her excitement fizzle. Better to just keep quiet and wait until he could get the heck away.

Dan squeezed Skye in under his shoulder, like a kid sister or a pet. ‘We’ve been trying to convince her to stay, but she’s adamant she wants out of here. God knows why. Atanga Bay has everything you could ever want. A decent chippy. A fine pub. Old friends. She’s mad. What has Paris got that we haven’t?’

‘Style. History. French accents.’ She shrugged her shoulder in a Gallic gesture. ‘Pain au chocolat.’

‘Pah! Pollution. Too many people. And no ocean.’ Dan eased away from Skye, climbed into the van and gunned the engine. ‘Well, Adam, good to have you on board. It’ll be a pleasure having you around.’

A pleasure? Skye didn’t think so. Adam was rude and disturbing. And that ruggedness just deepened and deepened. But, with little regard for his own life, he’d saved Lukas so for that she should be grateful. ‘Thanks for everything you did out there. By the way, we’ll probably bump into each other over the next few weeks until I’m gone. I’m the practice nurse at the surgery here. Skye Williams. That’s Skye with an “e”. I’m named after an island, in Scotland.’

‘With an “e”.’ He huffed out a breath and scuffed his bare toes into the cold sand. ‘That makes a world of difference.’

‘Sorry?’

‘Nothing.’ He stuck out his hand. ‘I should thank you for your help with Lukas.’

Don’t force yourself.

‘No worries. Civil duty and all that.’ She doubted he knew what civil was.

Just to show him she could rise above his rudeness she put her hand into his and shook it, trying to ignore the shot of electricity that tickled up her arm at his touch. Her eyes found his and there was a sudden connection there, a fleeting warmth she hadn’t seen before. A shy heat that rebounded and hit her cheeks.

She realised that the rest of her was shivering. She looked down at her sand-covered legs and the goose-bumps along her arms. And felt the heat of his eyes over her body as he followed her gaze. It had been a long time since she’d felt that kind of warmth, uncurling something in her gut, spreading through her abdomen.

Then when she locked eyes with him again the guarded shadows had returned.

She was used to her brothers, who wore their pubescent hearts on their sleeves, whose every emotion she could read like it was her own. She’d learnt pretty quickly to understand exactly what her stepdad had thought too, even before he’d thought it himself, just so she could avoid the inevitable.

But reading Adam Miller? It was like he had so much going on behind those eyes but fought frantically to keep it all sealed away. At least, he clearly wasn’t interested in sharing it with her.

Good idea. He’s grumpy and bad-mannered and way too attractive for your own good.

It was time to go home. She didn’t want to feel stirrings of anything. Not lust or desire. Or anything that would lead to hurt all over again. She didn’t have the time or the energy. She had to focus on sorting out her life and finalising her travel plans. She dropped his hand, letting the heat evaporate. ‘I should go.’

‘Yes.’ Without so much as a goodbye he walked towards the car park, his boots hanging from one hand. She noticed a slight favouring to the left. A barely perceptible limp, and she remembered the scarring. It didn’t detract from him, no. Not at all. The way he carried himself, erect and proud, the way he hid his limp like a secret, intrigued her. Compelled her to watch him again.

‘Oh, and next time you’d better keep your clothes on!’ Duh. The words were out before she had a chance to stop herself. One day she’d learn to keep her mouth shut.

He turned slowly and leaned against his truck, confusion and—was that incredulity?—on his face. She got the distinct impression that smile wasn’t in his vocabulary. Whereas dark, brooding and mysterious took centre stage. ‘Sorry?’

Yes, she was. For saying anything, and now she had to follow through. ‘Or you’ll get a reputation.’ She waved, trying to cover her cringing with a smile.

Before she said anything else equally as embarrassing she clicked her brain back to mothering mode and mentally checked off her evening to-do list—dinner, washing, laundry. Then the luxury of adventure-planning—visas, itinerary and packing. Nowhere in there was space for focus on grumpy mysterious strangers with abs to die for.

She watched Adam take off his jacket, revealing his bare torso again, and the tiny tattoo—a black and yellow dragonfly, she’d discovered—before climbing into his dusty truck. And she had the strangest feeling she needed to keep well away from Adam Miller’s tortured body, naked or not.




CHAPTER TWO


THREE days into the job and Adam had started to get twitchy. The view of the inside of the ambulance station was getting old. He eased the muscles in his shoulders, stretched his arms out and cracked his knuckles. ‘At what point do I actually get on the road and do something?’

‘Today’s your lucky day.’ Dan opened the ambulance cab door and climbed in. ‘The paperwork’s over, and your induction complete. Once we’ve finished the checks we’re good to go.’

‘Great. Bring it on.’ Adam exhaled deeply, finished his supply checks and stared at the cab radio, willing it to spring into life. Not that he was itching to get his hands on sick people, more that he needed something to keep his mind occupied. It had been too long since he’d done anything useful. Four long years in a jittery guilt-fuelled wilderness. Until he’d realised that feeling sorry for himself didn’t honour the memory of the people he’d lost. That action eased the pain of survival.

And being busy would keep his mind off dark, steamy eyes and tantalising curves. Starting the job for real would focus him on his true intent: getting on with the rest of his life. At least he could. There were others less lucky. He owed those not here any more a grab at a decent life, when theirs had been ripped away.

‘Here we go.’ Dan flicked the receiver as a crackly call came through. ‘Your wish is my command.’ He waited until Adam belted in then started the vehicle. ‘Eighty-four-year-old female with shortness of breath. We’re about twenty minutes away.’

‘Twenty minutes for an SOB?’ Adam bit back a surge of frustration. ‘How sick is she going to be when we finally reach her?’

‘Most of our time is spent getting to and from the patients and then to and from the hospital. The first responder gets there first, if they’re available, and gives us a call if we’re needed. That’s country medicine for you. We do the best we can. Anything too serious gets choppered to Auckland. Hold on.’ Dan revved up the engine and pulled away from the ambulance station.

Adam nodded. ‘This is going to take a bit of getting used to.’

‘Hardly front-line stuff here. Hope you don’t find it too slow?’

‘I’m looking for slow. Slow’s good.’ There had been times when he wouldn’t have cared. Slow. Fast. Live. Die. But he’d dragged himself back from that bleak darkness and was determined to leave the past alone. Slow seemed a pretty good start. Slow meant he could take in his surroundings, appreciate the beauty of now. Try to live in the moment. ‘I needed a change of scenery. Driving around this countryside is good for my soul.’

‘You’ve got to admit it’s a cool place to live.’ Dan pointed to the undulating, bush-clad hills and the deep turquoise ocean as they passed yet another secluded deserted cove. ‘Such awesome views. It’s a tough job, but someone’s got to do it. Must make a change to the army?’

‘Yeah.’ Adam chewed his cheek as his gut kicked. As soon as anyone ever mentioned the army he was bombarded with questions. Inevitable, really. But civilians only thought of the danger and the guns. They couldn’t understand how hard it was to talk about what he’d seen. What he’d done. What he needed to leave behind. If only it was that easy. His past had a nasty habit of creeping up on him, in the middle of the night usually, snatching away sleep and leaving him ice cold.

Dan glanced over and Adam waited for the inevitable. He didn’t have to wait long. ‘You seen any real action?’

‘Sure. Plenty.’

‘Where did you go?’

‘I was deployed in the hotspots—Iraq, Afghanistan, the places you’ve heard about but you won’t be getting a postcard from any time soon. Then I was in Timor-Leste just before …’ He paused. Closed down the memories. ‘Before I left.’

Dan shot him a look that said I won’t ask.

Adam was grateful for the reprieve, although he did think briefly about explaining. But, hell, he’d decided that the sooner he stopped thinking about what had happened, the sooner he’d be able to move on in his life.

The ambulance sped down the highway past the Atanga Bay turn-off. He craned his neck to look for the bright yellow medical centre. And some hint of Skye. Then realised he was being stupid.

What did he need with Little Miss Happy with a passport burning a hole in her pocket? Getting involved with her would be a quick path to disaster.

But he couldn’t deny an attraction had been there. Something had stirred in him that he’d thought was forever dormant. Thought he’d seen it in her eyes too.

So it was definitely not something to pursue.

He didn’t believe in some saccharin, happy-ever-after fairy-tale dream. Not after the failure of his marriage. Not when the scars of his fallen brothers criss-crossed his heart.

Stop. His hands fisted against his seat as he reaffirmed his resolve to look forward. Looking back never achieved anything but emotional whiplash.

He focused instead on the grand colonial buildings flanking the road, the flower-festooned gardens and the acres of fields stretching out east and west from the main road. A far cry from war-torn cities with bullet-pocked buildings and the smell of death.

He sucked in sea-scented fresh air and watched palm trees sway in the gentle breeze. Living here would definitely be the tonic he’d been searching for. Once the local practice nurse had gone and his equilibrium was restored.

One SOB, a broken femur and a road traffic accident later, Adam found himself in front of Atanga Bay surgery. Confused, he turned to Dan. ‘You got lost, mate? The station’s back that way.’

His colleague shrugged. ‘I just have a quick social call to make. Come in? I’ll introduce you to the gang. It’ll serve you well to get to know the local medical centres and it’s a home from home here.’

Adam paused, his refusal hovering on his lips. The last few years on the move had taught him that life was easier if he kept his head down and himself to himself. People wanted to know too much, expected him to give too much.

But Dan waited with an eyebrow cocked. As a newbie to the service, turning him down would look strange. ‘Sure.’

‘Hi, Dan! Adam.’

Of course Skye was there. Standing in Reception as they walked in, a stethoscope hung from her neck. The dark navy uniform gave her the appearance of the true professional Adam knew she was. He got a whiff of perfume. Something with vanilla. Subtle. An uplifting fragrance that matched her demeanour. Intoxicating. And way off limits.

‘Coffee’s in the percolator. There’s freshly made flapjacks in the tartan tin. Go on. You know you want to.’ She beamed up at them both and then focused on Adam. ‘Hardly recognised you with your clothes on.’

He swallowed deeply. This is work. Be friendly. Make an effort when others can’t. ‘Thought I should wear something for the day job. Didn’t want to give the patients apoplexy.’ Heat prickled the back of his neck. He ran his fingers over the knots there as if easing out the tension would help with the knot in his gut. No chance.

Her pupils flared as she spoke, warm and welcoming. ‘Dan will show you the way to our sparkly new staff kitchen. If you’re ever passing by, you must pop in, we run an open house here. I’ll be with you in a jiffy. Just got a quick blood pressure to check.’

‘I’d forgotten you two had met the other day. Great nurse, even better cook.’ Dan opened the tin of flapjacks and the air was filled with the aroma of golden syrup and butter. Home cooking. Not something Adam had had much on the road. His mouth watered.

And either Dan wasn’t used to home baking either, or he was just darned hungry, judging by the two pieces he had in his hand. ‘Quite a quirky character is our Skye. All hard on the exterior, and soft and gooey on the inside. A bit like these flapjacks, really. If you ask me, all that dark makeup’s just an act. She just wants to give men the stand-off.’

‘Oh?’ Those black-rimmed eyes hadn’t given him the stand-off, not when they’d stalked through his daydreams. No matter how much he’d tried to stop them.

Adam’s stomach growled as he bit down into the oaty slice. A blast of sugar made his cheeks hurt. ‘But why would she do that?’

‘History, mate. Some bloke in Auckland broke her heart. She’s sworn off men. Shame.’

Intrigued, Adam suddenly wanted to know more. Who? Why? And a dozen or so other things he found himself questioning about her. But gossip wasn’t his style. And neither was traipsing through someone else’s history. His brain worked to shut down his interest. All he wanted was a job he loved, a place of his own and not to get involved with anyone again. In any way. Anyhow.

‘Good, you found it.’ She flew into the room and greeted them with a flash of perfect white teeth. A regular ray of sunshine. Hell, if her smile got any brighter, he’d need to wear shades.

Having poured herself a coffee, she leaned against the sink next to Dan. ‘So, Dan, you still okay for tonight?’

His colleague shifted uncomfortably and Adam’s interest was piqued. A date?

Dan put his hand on Skye’s shoulder and she turned to him. From this vantage point Adam watched her in profile. Long black eyelashes accentuated those huge eyes. The glint as the jewel in her nose caught the light. The swell of her full breasts. And always that wide-open smile that welcomed everyone in.

Adam felt a stirring in his gut of something he’d long forgotten. And this while she was talking about a date? With his new colleague? He stomped on his instinctive reactions. Inappropriate.

‘No. That’s why I’m here. I can’t make it.’ Dan looked sheepish. ‘I’m really sorry, Skye. I didn’t mean to let you down.’

‘But you promised, Dan. We’re down to two now. Just me and Connor. Mim can’t do it because she’s way too big. She gets uncomfortable if she can’t move around.’ She shook her head and Adam glimpsed a frown. ‘So, there’ll only be two of us. That’s not going to work, is it? We need at least three or we might as well give up. The medical team needs you. It’s all falling apart.’

Judging by the seriousness of their tone it was imperative that someone step up. Clearly someone with medical skills. Never one to back down from the call of duty, Adam coughed. ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’

‘Genius! Of course. You could do it. We need to train someone up for when I’ve gone anyway.’ Putting her hand on his arm, she sat down on the couch next to him. She winked at Dan then turned back. She laughed and leaned in. From this angle Adam caught a glimpse of pale skin and red lace. Interesting. So not everything about her was encased in monochrome, and when she did colour it was seriously appealing.

‘I only hope you’re up to the job, though, Adam. It’s a tough call. High pressure. Are you man enough?’

‘He knows about guns and all that stuff,’ Dan interjected. ‘He’s good on the van, knows his medicine. But I can’t vouch for his knowledge and skills in other areas. You know—’

‘What the hell am I getting myself into?’ Adam dragged his eyes away from the distraction. Sat up straight.

His heart thudded as he glanced between the two of them. The seriousness had dissipated and he had the distinct impression he was being taken for a ride. ‘Are you two winding me up? Is this some kind of initiation process, like in my new recruit days?’

‘Oh? Tell all.’ Her eyes widened.

‘You don’t want to know.’

‘Another time maybe?’ She sipped her coffee and held his gaze for a second. Another. Then another. A flimsy invisible thread held them locked together. He knew he shouldn’t stare at her. But he couldn’t help it. Something about her bright sunny smile called to a dark corner of his soul. Soothed it. Healed it slightly. Which was a stupid notion, he knew. How could a smile heal?

Then she shook her head. ‘It’s not a wind-up. Far from it. It’s a matter of honour. And I guess you’d be good at that, being a soldier.’ Did he imagine it? Did her eyes linger for a moment on his scar?

‘I doubt it.’ He shrugged. Ran a hand across his cheek and tried to cover the slice in his face, the permanent reminder of all he’d lost. Monica hadn’t been able to look at his scar. She’d winced and turned her face away too many times. He’d believed it had reminded her of the man that had left and the shell she’d got in return.

But Skye just seemed interested in it.

Her eyes flitted away from his face and she clasped her hands in her lap. ‘We’re defending our eight-week championship run. Pub quiz. We’re the Mad Medics.’

‘The Mad …?’ He shook his head. He’d been had. More people, faces, noise. More trying hard to fit in. More dodging intimacy like bullets. But he’d stepped right into the trap and couldn’t back out now.

‘Tonight. Eight o’clock.’ She stood and beamed again. ‘You just got yourself on the team.’

‘You’re looking very glam for a pub quiz. Hoping to dazzle the opposition into surrender? Or is it … something else? For someone else?’ Connor placed a pinot gris in front of Skye and sat next to her at the small round table they’d reserved. For three. Only the third member hadn’t arrived yet. Was Adam going to turn up? He’d looked dubious earlier when she’d sprung it on him.

‘Oh, this old thing? It’s nothing special.’ She fiddled with the lace on her black top. One of the few items she’d bought on her last trip to Auckland. For ever ago. Something for a special night out. Not that they ever happened in Atanga Bay. In the dim light of her bedroom it had looked okay. It went well with her black skinny jeans. ‘Too fancy? Over the top?’

‘No. It’s fine. Crikey, haven’t seen you so wound up for ages.’

‘I’m not wound up. I just thought I’d make an effort for the team. No harm in that.’ Plus the waxing, plucking to within an inch of her life, shaving, exfoliating, mud wrap. All for a darned pub quiz. She’d clearly lost her mind. She pressed a hand to her cheek, hating being the focus of attention. She’d endured too much condemnation of her appearance in the past. ‘And don’t be ridiculous. Since when did I dress up for anyone? I gave that useless malarkey up years ago.’

After Brian, her ex, had told her over and over that no man would ever find her attractive, so why should she bother?

Not worthy of commitment. And the insecure fool that she’d been had believed him. Put up with years of abuse because she hadn’t believed she deserved better. But with a mother who cowered at the hands of her husband and a lifetime of putting her own needs after everyone else’s, it had taken Skye a long time to reclaim her self-esteem and identity.

So, why the heck had she got herself decked up in lace?

She didn’t want to answer that, but she hadn’t imagined the way Adam had looked at her at the beach. The warmth in his eyes, even if for a second. The same warmth mirrored in her eyes. There had been a connection there, she was sure. Or was that some kind of ill-judged wishful thinking? And all of that had fed her choice of clothing—subconscious or not.

She ran her palms over her arms and bit her top lip, trying to scrape off as much lipstick as she could. He wouldn’t notice. And it didn’t matter anyway, a relationship so close to her leaving would be far too complicated. And she wasn’t doing that again. Complicated came with a hefty dose of hurt.

‘I just thought, seeing as you’ve been talking non-stop about the newest member of the ambulance service … how he powered through the waves like a superhero.’ Connor fluttered his eyelashes and pretended to swoon. ‘How he saved poor Lukas from drowning. How he’s been in the army …’

‘Shut it. Last warning or time out.’ She smiled through gritted teeth. Was she that transparent? Her eyes flitted to the door. Again. ‘Besides, he didn’t look like he wanted to come. I should have asked Sean or Stevie to fill in instead.’

‘No disrespect, but your baby brothers have a combined IQ in single figures. From what I hear about Adam, he’s a little more cerebral than that.’

‘I wouldn’t know.’

Way more, actually. And brooding. And strangely compelling to look at. With a voice that carried echoes of sadness. And softness. And strength.

She took a large slug of her wine to refocus before she got completely carried away. He was just a guy.

She knew more about them than most, having three brothers—who were simultaneously infuriating and adorable.

And her ratbag of a stepfather, and Brian, the married sleazebag. Between the two of them, they had taught her that love was made up of hurt, lies and empty promises. And not for her.

Especially not now she had three weeks and one day until that plane lifted off.

‘Hi. Sorry I’m late.’ The just-a-guy appeared in front of them, dressed casually in a black T-shirt and faded jeans. He slung his leather jacket onto the back of the chair and nodded at her, his lips a straight line, his eyes guarded. He looked like he wanted to be anywhere else in the world other than a small country pub filled with laughter and friendly faces.

Edgy and dangerous and about as far away from any man she’d ever been with, or had wanted to be with before, but everything about him resonated deep inside her.

She swallowed the dry lump in her throat. ‘Adam. Hi. Thought you might have had second thoughts.’

‘Got a code two just before I clocked off.’ Adam shrugged and glanced at Connor warily. ‘That’s a …’

‘Serious threat to life,’ Skye translated. ‘This is Connor. He’s one of the GPs at the surgery. The non-pregnant one, clearly. Connor, this is Adam. New paramedic about town.’

‘Good to meet you.’ Adam shook hands, then took his wallet out.

Connor scraped his chair back and stood. ‘No. My round. By way of thanks for filling in at the last minute. You stay here and save the seats. And watch my phone—Mim’s going to call if she needs me.’

‘She’s due any day now,’ Skye explained. ‘Sorry … what were you saying?’

‘That it was an unlucky break, getting a last-minute callout.’ Adam took the seat across from her, leaving an acre of space between them. He straightened the beermat in line with the edge of the table. Looked everywhere apart from at her face. ‘I guessed everyone would know what a code two was. Being Mad Medics.’

‘Sorry, did I butt in? It’s a bad habit.’ Her cheeks burned. She mentally banged her head against the table. ‘My brothers complain because I have a tendency to—’

‘Finish their sentences?’ His chin jutted upwards. No other muscles moved. Army training, she guessed. A man in control. He had a stillness that unnerved her, where she danced around and fidgeted. Adam was the kind of man who dominated a room, the one you didn’t want to take your eyes off. Not that she could if she tried.

‘Annoying habit, I know.’

‘You’d better tell me how this quiz works. What’s the strategic plan?’ He scanned the groups dotted around the lounge. The aroma of male with a hint of something exotic—cinnamon perhaps—hit her as he leaned close. ‘And who’s the enemy?’

‘Right, er, Sergeant? Corporal? I hope you don’t expect military precision because you’re going to be sorely disappointed.’ She showed him the quiz sheets in front of her. ‘Eight rounds, ten questions each round. Music, geography, current affairs, you know the score. It’s more a case of luck than judgement. Or skill. Or even knowledge really.’

‘I’ll fit in, then.’ His eyebrows rose, creasing the scar down his cheek into tiny broken lines. From here it looked well healed. Obviously old. But it would have been deep, painful. She wanted to reach out and trace it. Stupid idea.

She wanted to ask him about it too, but realised she didn’t know him enough to pry about his injuries. ‘So were you a captain, or a private, or what?’

‘Staff sergeant medic.’ His shoulders squared and his jaw twitched a little. The pale trace of light in his eyes diminished. The shutters came down.

She sensed something tragic had happened to him. She understood, knew how bruised the heart and soul could get. Maybe his abruptness wasn’t lack of social grace, maybe it stemmed from something deeper.

There she was with the amateur psychology again. Still, when faced with pain and lies, she’d read as many self-help books as she could get through.

‘I’m sorry if I seem nosy. Rearing three teenagers consisted of too many questions and never enough answers.’ She flashed him a smile and hoped she could drag him out of whatever sombre place she’d put him with her stupid line of questioning. ‘You know what boys are like, I imagine. There’s enough of them in the army, eh?’

‘Yeah.’ His shoulders tensed. He glanced over to the bar and seemed to relax at the sight of Connor returning with the beer. Either he had a mighty thirst or he wasn’t comfortable chatting with her alone.

She ran her finger round the rim of her glass and gave him her best smile. Trying to work out exactly what she felt for this just-a-guy. She came up with confused. He’d been relaxed with Dan, chatty with Lukas … but with her he gave little away. Other than that brief connection at the beach, he was a stranger to her.

She didn’t want to get closer to him. But she sure as heck wanted to make him smile. His eyes spoke of too much pain.

Story of her life, really. Finding waifs and strays. Trying to make people smile. Putting their needs before hers. Giving up her dreams.

She dragged her eyes away from him and prayed the quiz would start soon to distract her from her wayward emotions, her wired libido and the strange effect of Adam Miller on her sensibilities.




CHAPTER THREE


THE quizmaster tapped the microphone for quiet. ‘Final round. It’s neck and neck. Who’s going to win tonight’s grand prize? Bright Sparks or Mad Medics?’

‘Mad Medics, obviously.’ Adam looked at the other two members of the team, chests puffed with pride, and wondered how the heck he’d got to be here, doing this. Normal things, with good people. For once the ghosts of his past hadn’t spoiled his humour. ‘We’ve got this sewn up.’

‘Is that confidence or just plain cocky?’ Skye leant towards him. He knew she couldn’t help it as the pub had become progressively crowded as the night had worn on. There was barely enough room to move, certainly no space to avoid physical contact.

He scraped his chair back from her, didn’t want to savour the enticing sensations running up and down his skin every time their arms brushed. The heat sizzling between them. He had no business enjoying being with her. Not the way his body was enjoying it anyway. ‘The key is do not entertain the thought of defeat. We will win.’

‘Yes, sir. I love all that who-dares-wins stuff. That’s SAS isn’t it? Green berets or something?’ Her huge eyes stared up at him. Such innocence and interest. For the first time in four years he almost wanted to talk about his old life. Guessed she wouldn’t judge. But words failed him. What if he was wrong?

He slugged back some beer. Better not to open up about anything. Keeping quiet had served him well over the years. It had. It might have lost him Monica, but at least his sanity was intact.

‘So, ladies and gentlemen, what are you scared of? Spiders? Snakes? The number thirteen?’ The quizmaster regarded each table in turn. ‘Scared of losing perhaps, Mad Medics? Or just losing face? Our last round is all about phobias.’

A loud beeping was met with a wall of silence that lasted two seconds. Then shouts of ‘Cheats!’

‘They’re using a phone!’

‘Put it away!’

Connor snatched his smartphone. His voice cracked as blood drained from his face. ‘It’s Mim. She’s having regular contractions. Mim’s having the baby. Shoot.’

He stood as cheers erupted across the room. All eyes were on the father-to-be.

‘Oh, my goodness.’ Skye clambered to her feet too, pale-faced, her body on alert. Primed for action. She clutched the edge of the table. ‘I’ll come with you.’

‘Oh, no. You know what first births are like, it’ll be ages yet.’ Connor’s mouth turned down and he raked a hand over his hair. Adam recognised the jittery voice, the shaking hands of a man half-frightened to death. ‘Okay. Okay. Right. We’ll be fine. You just stay here and win the quiz for us. I’ll call you.’

She slicked a kiss on his cheek. ‘Make sure you do. I want to be first to hear. Give her my love.’

‘Okay.’ Connor nodded, his eyes on Skye but his brain obviously elsewhere. Adam felt a twinge of sympathy for the man. He had a big night ahead. ‘We’ll be fine.’

‘Now we know what he’s scared of.’ Adam watched as Connor pushed his way through the crowd, greeting each pat on the back with a handshake. ‘The whole town seems excited about this birth. Is it something special?’

‘Every birth’s special.’ Skye smiled. ‘But Mim and Connor’s baby kind of belongs to all of us. Those two are the life blood of the place.’

‘As it should be.’ All his life he’d been looking for this kind of community, acceptance, sharing good times. Now he’d found it he didn’t know if he could fit in.

He’d joined up to belong to something and it had worked, for a good part of his time there. Leaving had been the right thing to do, but it had rendered him homeless in too many ways. But the community focus of Atanga Bay had a real comforting feel about it. Maybe he’d chosen the right place to settle. If he could settle at all. ‘For a doctor he looks terrified.’

‘For an about-to-be father I think that’s probably right. How exciting.’ Skye sat down, her eyes glowing. Colour rushed back into her cheeks. She had a pretty mouth, Adam noticed for the hundredth time, full lips hidden underneath a swathe of lipstick. Red. Not as dark as the other day. But glossy. Kissable.

No. She’s leaving. On a jet plane.

Skye had plans. They didn’t involve him. Couldn’t. And he’d sworn off any kind of long-distance relationship. What chance would he have with a woman he hardly knew if his five-year marriage hadn’t survived the fallout of his injury?

He didn’t want to find out. Not with Skye. Even if everything about her called to him on a deep level. Had lit something inside him that he struggled to extinguish every time he spent five minutes in her company. And that appeared to be threatening to set blaze to his rationality.

She gave the pretence of biting her fingernails. ‘What a night! A labour and the quiz. No pressure, huh? Calm under fire, right? Let’s bring this victory home, soldier boy.’

‘Sure. No pressure. I’d rather be here than watching a woman in labour. I’m not brave enough for that.’

But now it was just a team of two. He was duty bound to stay even though every part of him strained to leave. But he couldn’t leave her in the lurch and let them lose this silly pub quiz. Her black-gelled spikes tickled his head as she pored over the list of top ten most common phobias, in Latin. The lace on her top framed her pale collarbones, revealing a sweet dip he imagined running his finger along.

No. First she’d intrigued him but now it was torment just being next to the woman.

He inwardly counted to ten, scraped his chair back a fraction. Putting all thoughts of attraction to the back of his mind. Right there, out of harm’s way. At the back.

She just continued her chatter, unaware of the weird sensations running through his body. Damn. Would his body stop now? Please?

He forced himself to relax, to allow the luxury of softened muscles, deeper breaths. ‘Okay. Focus. What do you know about phobias?’

‘Not a whole lot to be honest. Some of the names are dead giveaways. But some … I couldn’t even guess.’

She pushed the list towards him. ‘Look, the first three are easy. Spiders, snakes and heights. But pteromerhanophobia? Like pterodactyl? Fear of dinosaurs perhaps? Or would that be Flintstone-o-phobia? How can you be afraid of something that’s extinct?’

‘It’s a fear of flying.’ Knowing it didn’t make it any easier to deal with.

Her eyes widened. ‘Really? Are you sure?’

‘Yes. Absolutely sure. Pteromerhanophobia, or aviatophobia.’ It didn’t matter which fancy name they attached to it, it all boiled down to the same thing. Terror. Falling through nothing. The screech of metal. Death.

Adam’s mouth dried as adrenalin rushed through his veins. Hell, did his body have some kind of grudge against him? First his unbidden reactions to Skye, now this.

Damn. He’d got over this. The shrink had diagnosed it as PTSD, had said he’d work through it and that time healed. He was running out of patience.

Pull yourself together, Miller.

He focused on the pain in his ankle, controlled his breathing, flexed his foot on the floor. Hard surface. The pub’s solid foundations beneath his feet. Reminded himself he needn’t fly anywhere soon. Ever again, if he could help it.

Semper quietus. Always calm. Whoever had thought that motto up hadn’t taken a skydive from a burning chopper without a parachute.

When he looked over at Skye she was blissfully ignorant of his discomfort. Her forehead creased as she pored over the questions. A study in concentration. A study in sensuality as she tapped the end of the pencil against her cheek. The black of the graphite stark against the pale cream of her flesh. Sense took over. They had a time limit on this round.

Concentrate. He hauled in a breath of beer-soaked oxygen and took hold of the pencil to stop his hand from shaking, filled in the gaps on the form. ‘Yes, it’s definitely a fear of flying. You’re right, named after the pterodactyl I presume, the dinosaur bird thing.’

‘Wow. Well done. Any others?’

He settled into a change of subject. ‘Trypanophobia is a fear of needles.’

‘And you know that because …?’

‘We had a lot of new-recruit fainters. Wanted to learn how to kill a man with their bare hands but couldn’t stomach a tiny needle in their arms.’

‘I’m impressed. Go you. So, cynophobia … any ideas?’ She pointed a slim finger at him. ‘We’re so close to winning this darned thing.’

‘I haven’t a clue. I guess everyone’s scared of something. What other things are people afraid of? What about you?’

‘Me? Oh … nothing.’ For once her smile slipped. Her mouth puckered as she thought. From the hesitant look in her eyes he knew there was a lot more to it than that. He recognised a hedged answer when he saw it.

‘Oh, come on. There must be something. The dark? Creepy-crawlies? Monsters?’

‘Nothing. I can’t think …’

She’d been hurt somehow—by that man in Auckland, no doubt—and she might believe she hid it well, but that sunny smile didn’t fool him.

He knew how to put on a brave face like the rest of them. When everything around was crashing down. When even silence was unbearable. When you didn’t think you could stand the pain any more. But you had to. Because at least you were still alive. Then when the physical pain stopped, the guilt rose like black smoke, filled the gaps.

She shrugged. ‘Okay. My phobia? Clipping my wings. Staying in Atanga Bay for ever. Not seeing the rest of the world before I die. I don’t want to be hemmed in. Is that claustrophobia, then? You?’

‘Is there such a thing as pub-quiz-ophobia? I’m getting real close to that.’ He watched the smile on her face grow and enjoyed the jolt of pride for putting it back there.

‘Time’s up. Now I’ll do the marking.’ Mike collected the paper.

‘Excuse me.’ Someone tapped Adam’s shoulder. He stood, snapping his heels together, almost to attention. Then eased off. Some habits took too long to die. Four years later and his body still locked on command. He almost laughed. He was face to face with a surfer in a pub, not on parade. ‘You’re the guy from the other day, right? The beach? You pulled me out?’

Adam’s heart lifted at the sight of Lukas, his arm in a sling and a bandage round his head. ‘Hey, mate. You were bleeding like a stuffed pig. We saved you from being some shark’s dinner. Good to see you. You okay?’

‘Great.’ He lifted his sling. ‘Broken arm and ten stitches to the head. Can I buy you a drink to say thanks?’

‘If you insist.’ Within minutes three pints sat in front of him courtesy of Lukas, Lukas’s father and the pub owner, Lukas’s uncle. Adam stared at the drinks in dismay. ‘Seems such a waste. I’ll never drink all these.’

‘They want to show their appreciation, it’s our way.’ Skye waited for the next round of handshaking to diminish before speaking. Surprised to see the cool and calm soldier ruffled under the spotlight. ‘You’re quite a hero, Adam. Wallow in it for a while.’

‘I said before, I’m no hero. Seriously.’ His voice rose slightly. She’d heard that hitch before, seen that look in her brothers’ eyes more than once. For the loss of their mother. For a mate killed in a car crash. Hurt hidden deep. What surprised her was how much it affected her.

She’d only known him a handful of hours over the course of a few days, and yet his pain reverberated through her soul. Met her hurt head on. They had a shared loss, she sensed, understood each other at a deep level, even though neither had the means to admit it.

She fought an instinctive urge to put her hand on his. To wrap him in her arms and soothe the pain with touch. But he wasn’t her brother. Her lover. She had no right to touch him.

He took a long drink and seemed to will himself to relax. ‘Sorry, that came out wrong. I meant I was just doing my job.’

‘Well, you did it well. You know, you should focus more on the positives.’

‘Is that what your perennial smiling’s about?’

‘I try. No point being glum.’ She nodded and beamed at him just to prove her point. ‘We have to make the best of things. Life’s way too short. Seize the day. And any other glib clichés you can think of.’

‘Is that why you’re so keen to go off travelling?’

‘It’s a long story and I won’t bore you with the details. Suffice it to say, I need a break.’

‘Then take it.’ The way he nodded at her, like he understood, was disconcerting.

‘Everyone else has all but begged me to stay. Especially my brothers. Who will cook? Clean? Remind them to do stuff?’

‘How about they do it for themselves?’

‘I hear you. I’ve been telling them that for years. Falls on deaf ears.’

‘Shout louder. Or just keep on talking. You appear to be very good at that.’ His mouth twitched. ‘Do whatever it takes, but go on your adventure.’

‘No one else understands why I need to get away. I just want to have the same kind of fun every other twenty-something has.’ She’d had her time to nurse, to grieve, to parent far too young.

She could see in his eyes that Adam knew how it felt to want to run away from responsibility. But he was tightlipped as ever. ‘For as long as I stay here I will be needed. I don’t want to be needed any more.’

‘You’re a nurse, you’ll be needed for as long as you practise.’

‘Like you, I guess. First a soldier and now a paramedic. You have such a worthwhile job that will make a huge difference to people’s lives.’

‘Now you’re making me sound like the Dalai Lama.’ The corners of his mouth turned up. Just a little. Stretching muscles that looked lax from lack of use. Then, like butterfly wings unfurling after a long incubation, a slow smile spread across his lips. It looked like it was something his face wasn’t used to doing. Like he’d forgotten how. Even in her darkest moments she’d made herself focus on the good things, had never forgotten how to smile.

But it turned his features from granite to something more … beautiful. Alluring. Interesting. Transformed him from unconventionally attractive to insanely sexy. ‘Maybe I should become a monk.’

‘No. You wouldn’t suit the orange robes. So not your colour.’ A celibate monk would be a terrible waste of such a sublime man.

She leaned back and watched the puzzlement on his face. The shadows lifted but a little frown line indented his forehead. He was delicious to observe. Especially when he grappled with her humour. Tingles ran the length of her spine. Amazing that a fledgling smile could do that. Make you forget everything. Make you want things out of reach. ‘And you’d have to live in a cave like a hermit. In silence or something. With no facilities. Or in a monastery with lots of hymns. Very dull.’

‘But imagine, no one to force pints on me. No pub quizzes. Very tempting.’ Then he laughed. It was like setting something free. His face transformed into a boyish picture of unhaunted innocence. His head tipped back and a deep resonant rumble came from his chest. A soulful sound that reached down to her heart and squeezed.

‘See, smiling works. Don’t deny you feel better.’

‘My mouth hurts.’ He grimaced, then his smile softened. He ran a hand along his stubbled jaw. It was almost as if he was feeling the strangeness of his stretched features, and for some strange reason her eyes followed his fingers closely, every movement. Transfixed by the haunting beauty of his hewn face. The scar that drew her gaze and made her want answers to the many questions buzzing round her head.

Who are you? The reluctant hero, the stubbornly serious and obviously haunted man. A man who could warm her with one look of his hesitant gaze. But a man who could laugh too. It had taken time, but he had started to soften. Maybe only just a little, but there was potential there. And she sure as hell wanted to see that face light up again, and soon.

A loud bleeping made her jump. Skye grabbed for her phone. ‘It’s a text message. From Connor.’ Fear and excitement mixed inside her stomach. ‘Oh, God, they need help. He says: “Baby’s coming. Midwife delayed. Mim needs you.”

‘I’ve got to go.’ She stood, picked up her bag then had another thought. ‘Do you want to come?’

‘Will they want me there? What about the quiz …?’ But he’d already grabbed his jacket. Despite his denial about being any kind of hero, she knew him well enough that he would never turn down a chance to help out in an emergency.




Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.


Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/louisa-george/the-war-hero-s-locked-away-heart/) на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.