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The Tortured Rebel
Alison Roberts


He’s the only one with the key to unlock her heart… SAS medic and emergency specialist James ‘Jet’ Munroe thrives on danger. Physical danger…never emotional. Beautiful helicopter pilot Becca Harding has spent long years trying to forget Jet, but she’s never been able to forgive him.Now, trapped together for the first time in years, it’s time to stop running from the shadows that have marked their relationship…and the scorching attraction that lingers between them.










Mills & Boon


Medical™ Romance brings you the final instalment in the Heart of a Rebel trilogy from favourite author Alison Roberts!

There’d been four of them once upon a time. But, after the loss of their best friend, now there is just Max, Rick and Jet. These rebel doctors have formed an unbreakable brotherhood—a bond that would see them put their lives on the line for each other …

Now these bad boys are about to be tamed!

But it’ll take a special kind of woman

to see past their tough exteriors

and find the heart of a rebel …

In April you met Max and Rick,

and now it’s time to introduce

the last of the rebel doctors—Jet!

The Heart of a Rebel

Legendary doctors who aren’t afraid to break the rules!


Dear Reader

OK. Personal confession time, here :-)

I’m one of those women who find certain tough, leather-clad men who ride powerful motorbikes irresistibly sexy.

Can this image be improved on?

I thought so. What if these men are also fabulously good-looking, highly intelligent, and capable of putting their lives on the line for the people they love?

For each other.

For children.

For their women.

These are my ‘bad boys’. Max, Rick and Jet. Bonded by a shared tragedy in the past, but not barred from a future filled with love.

Enjoy.

I certainly did :-)

With love

Alison





About the Author


ALISON ROBERTS lives in Christchurch, New Zealand. She began her working career as a primary school teacher, but now juggles available working hours between writing and active duty as an ambulance officer. Throwing in a large dose of parenting, housework, gardening and pet-minding keeps life busy, and teenage daughter Becky is responsible for an increasing number of days spent on equestrian pursuits. Finding time for everything can be a challenge, but the rewards make the effort more than worthwhile.




Recent titles by the same author:


THE UNSUNG HERO

THE HONOURABLE MAVERICK

ST PIRAN’S: THE BROODING HEART SURGEON† (#ulink_8b7cfef5-a12e-5d27-bea8-ce466c1e51f4)

THE MARRY-ME WISH* (#ulink_a7220979-8ec1-5fda-af06-56a10f2e65f9)

WISHING FOR A MIRACLE*

NURSE, NANNY … BRIDE

* (#ulink_5bf389b5-5b83-5414-a74b-a6da25da2ff9)Part of the Baby Gift collection

† (#ulink_9a7cb8ad-fbc8-59ba-ab34-eda97a9c3c7a)St Piran’s Hospital


The

Tortured Rebel

Alison Roberts






















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


Why not check out Wishing for a Miracle by Alison Roberts—a Dear Author recommended read.




CHAPTER ONE


A FIGURE clad completely in black emerged from the passenger seat of the vehicle.

Tall. Solid. Reaching for what had to be a heavy pack from the back seat and hefting it effortlessly onto one shoulder.

And then he turned and Rebecca could see his face under spikes of hair as black as his uniform. She could see the uncompromising features of a man she hated enough for the shockwave to steal the breath from her lungs and make her heart thump hard enough to be a painful tattoo against her ribs.

‘No way.’

‘What?’ A grey-haired man, whose uniform bore the insignia of the largest rescue helicopter service New Zealand had to offer, moved away from the small cluster of people in front of a huge map that covered an interior wall of this upstairs office. ‘Did you say something, Bec?’

The words had seemed like an agonised, internal groan, but apparently she had spoken them aloud. Maybe they’d had even more carrying power than reaching the ears of her boss, Richard. That might explain why the man outside had turned his head so swiftly to look up. Why his gaze had flown so unerringly to her face.

She could feel the way he stilled as he recognised her. Did it require an effort to shift the weight of so much guilt?

She hoped so.

‘Ah …’ The voice was now right behind her shoulder.

‘Yeah …’ She was testing her voice. Checking to make sure that it did not betray her. ‘The medic’s arrived.’

‘Bit more than a medic.’ There was a note of awe in her boss’s voice as he raised a hand to acknowledge the new arrival. ‘James Munroe is the best the army has to offer. Emergency specialist. Been with the SAS on and off for the past six years and he can handle anything. Perfect choice for a mission like this. Stroke of luck they already had a jet coming up here that he could catch a ride on.’

The incredulous huff escaped from Rebecca’s tight chest all by itself. A sharp punctuation mark. Rather like the way James Munroe slammed the door of the vehicle behind him, adding a flat-handed thump that dismissed the driver.

‘Problem?’ Richard’s tone was dumbfounded.

You have no idea, she wanted to say. Wisely, she pressed her lips firmly together and kept her eyes fixed on the flashing beacons of the airport security vehicle as it sped off, flanked by bright runway lights that stretched into the distance.

Lights that had looked as festive as Christmas decorations only minutes ago as she’d watched and waited for this arrival with all the excitement of a child expecting a special gift.

Dismay could feel rather like anger, couldn’t it?

This was … unthinkable, that was what it was. After so many years of earning the reputation of being as tough as they came, unflinching in the face of danger and ready to deal with any emergency in a heartbeat, Rebecca Harding had a horrible feeling she might have hit the wall.

So she said nothing as she tried to deal with it.

The perfect choice for the mission had vanished from sight now, which was helping. He’d be going into the small side door of the hangar. Climbing the stairs to this office—the operational hub of this rescue service. She could get a grip on whatever was making it so hard to breathe. Think, even. Deal with this overwhelmingly unpleasant sensation that had to be … fear? No. She didn’t do fear.

Creases in her bright orange flight suit vanished as she straightened to her full height of five feet four inches. Never mind that at least one of those inches came from the heels of her steel-capped boots. Her fingers tightened around the strap of the helmet dangling from her hand.

‘Not having second thoughts, are you?’

‘Are you kidding?’ Rebecca actually found a smile. ‘I’ve been waiting for a mission like this for my whole life.’

She had. This was it. A night flight to a destination outside any normal flight zone that would push fuel capabilities. A volcanic Pacific island that had been rocked by an earthquake and could erupt for real at any time. A group of frightened conservationists that were trapped and injured and in desperate need of evacuation.

Oh, yes. Even in a career that had had more than its share of excitement, this mission promised to be a highlight.

‘Hmm.’ Richard didn’t sound entirely convinced. He stared at his top pilot for a long second and then a spark of comprehension dawned on his face. ‘Don’t tell me you and this James Munroe have some kind of history?’

History.

That was a good word for it. The past. An event momentous enough to wipe out your world. Or rather to blot out the sun so that life became so bleak that merely surviving seemed an impossible challenge.

Oh, yes. She and Jet had history, all right.

But Rebecca shook her head. She had made a choice a very long time ago not to let the past rob her of a future. It would be easy enough to find another pilot who would be more than willing to take on this mission. Finding another medic with the kind of skills this one had would be impossible. The past few hours had been tense enough as search and rescue commanders put this plan together. They were hardly likely to tolerate a hiccup that was purely personal. Not when lives were depending on its success.

So her past had come back to haunt her?

So what?

She had been chosen and she was up for the challenge.

The real question was whether the willingness to deal with the situation would be reciprocated, and she was about to find out because the door of the office opened and her past walked in.

I hate you.

I hope I never have to set eyes on you ever, ever again.

Words that had been spoken more than ten years ago and yet they were as clear in his head right now as if they’d just been uttered.

What on earth was Matt’s sister doing in this room full of the men who were in charge of organising this urgent rescue mission that he’d just been flown in from his army base down south to be a part of? And why was she wearing a flight suit? Had she given up nursing to become a paramedic? Not that he was going to allow her to occupy more than his peripheral vision or thoughts at the moment. His attention was on the most senior-looking person in the group. The one who was coming towards him with an extended hand.

‘James. Great that you could get here so fast.’

‘Jet,’ he corrected, his smile taut. ‘Haven’t answered to James in longer than I care to remember.’

Longer than the ten years since he’d last breathed the same air as the woman still standing by the window. He didn’t need to look at her directly to be aware of how her shape had changed. He could even sense more than the physical maturity those curves under the overalls advertised. A curious mix of femininity and determination emanated from that side of the room like a scent but it wasn’t quite powerful enough to wipe out the image of the girl he remembered.

A distraught teenager who’d pummelled his chest with her fists when he’d tried to hold her. Who’d told him that it was his fault.

That she would hate him for ever.

And that had been fair enough. He’d hated himself back then. Complying with the request never to be seen again had been no hardship. It hadn’t been simply the guilt. It had been the gut-wrenching similarity she had to her brother.

The same wildly curly hair. The same dark eyes and cheeky grin. Not that any hint of a smile, let alone anything more joyous, could be detected from her direction. And even a grazing glance had shown that her hair was very different. Cropped so short the curls had gone but, if anything, that accentuated her eyes and they had always been a mirror of her brother’s, with that darkness softened by a touch of vulnerability that drew an urge to protect like the most powerful magnet.

He may not have shared Matt’s blood the way Becca did but they’d been brothers to the bone and the last thing he’d expected right now was the soul-piercing awareness of how much he still missed his best mate.

He was barely listening to the introductions being made to the other men. Senior representatives from search and rescue, civil defence and the navy.

‘I understood I was the only medic being sent,’ he growled, flicking his gaze sideways.

‘You are. The auxiliary fuel tanks needed to go the distance which means there’s no room for any other personnel.’ Richard had seen the direction of his glance. ‘This is your pilot, Rebecca Harding. She’s just waiting for the mechanics to finish fitting the auxiliary fuel tanks.’

Pilot?

‘What’s the flight time expected to be?’

‘Approximately four hours. Have you been briefed properly?’

‘I’d appreciate an update.’

He was directed towards the wall map. ‘Tokolamu’s the largest island in this group here. Roughly eight hundred and fifty kilometres north-west of New Zealand. It’s been a Department of Conservation nature reserve for some years now and is the hub of an important kiwi breeding programme.’

Jet nodded. He was listening. Or trying to. The projected flight time was echoing in his brain, however. He was going to be cocooned in a flying bubble with Becca as his only companion for four hours?

She had to be as unhappy about that prospect as he was.

‘Island’s area’s approximately twenty-six square kilometres and the buildings are located here, in this southern bay.’

Surely there was someone else who could step in and fly the bird?

‘Currently there’s a group of eighteen people on the island for weed control, checking predator traps and tracking and monitoring the kiwis. All but four of them were in the hostel when the island got rocked by an earthquake, measuring 8.3 on the Richter scale, three hours ago.’

‘Where were the other four?’

‘Night tracking mission. Common practice, with kiwis being nocturnal feeders.’

‘Are they accounted for?’

‘No.’

‘Any update on the injured people we know about?’

‘The hostel got flattened. Three people are still trapped in the debris. Of the rest, there’s one with a head injury who’s unconscious and another with a compound leg fracture. Radio contact is patchy, however, and we haven’t had an update for a while.’

So there were potentially major casualties and the number was still unknown. A lot for a single medic to stabilise and monitor until backup arrived but that was fine. Jet thrived on exactly these kinds of challenges and it wasn’t as though he would have to worry about enemy fire this time.

Or would he?

He couldn’t help glancing over his shoulder again. Until he arrived on scene, his life would be in the hands of the pilot and in this instance he wasn’t at all sure he was comfortable about that. But he’d be even more uncomfortable if he was unprofessional enough to suggest a replacement. Personal issues were simply put aside in his line of work. They were irrelevant.

But this was … different.

He was looking directly at Becca for the first time since he’d entered this room. Making eye contact, and it was doing something very odd to his gut. So many questions were coming out of nowhere.

How are you?

What on earth made you become a pilot?

Do you still miss Matt as much as I do?

Questions he had no right to ask and would probably not get answered.

She was his pilot, dammit. A glorified taxi driver given that her only role was to get him to the island. Transporting patients would have to wait until the navy vessel got to the area and the men around him were discussing just how long that would be. Two days at the earliest. Three, probably, given the weather and sea conditions at the moment.

She wouldn’t be there on the island with him so why did this feel personal enough to threaten his performance? She must have wanted this mission. Had she volunteered for it or been chosen and happy to accept? Either way, it sure didn’t look as though she was having second thoughts in the wake of learning the identity of her passenger.

Or was she?

There was something about the tilt of her chin and the guarded expression in her eyes as she stared back at him that was … what, a warning?

The idea that it might be a plea seemed weird. Or maybe not. He was the person they wanted on this island, after all, and any pilot on this team would be skilled enough to make sure he got there safely. If he demanded a change, it might cause a few waves but it could probably be achieved. How long would it take to put those extra tanks in and connect up the manual fuel lines? Long enough to brief another pilot?

Was that what Becca wanted from him? The opportunity for something rather different and potentially more dangerous than usual?

He’d once been a part of having something desperately important taken away from her. The notion that he could give her anything at all was touching something very deep inside Jet.

It didn’t matter that she hated him. She was Matt’s sister and whatever she needed or wanted that was within his capability to provide, it was hers, without question.

What he needed and wanted was to break that eye contact. To get this mission kicked off and get firmly onto professional territory where he wouldn’t have to be aware of this odd stirring in his gut. The one that was making it so hard to look away and was still firing off questions he felt compelled to ask that had absolutely nothing to do with what he was here for.

As luck would have it, he got assistance. A new arrival in the room got everyone’s attention instantly. Dressed in the oil-spattered overalls of a mechanic, he gave Becca a thumbs-up sign.

‘Tanks are in. You’re good to go.’

The interruption was a godsend.

Becca could have sworn she’d been drowning under Jet’s gaze. He’d known he had the power to get her bumped off this mission and he’d seen that she wanted it.

And he was prepared to give her what she wanted despite any personal cost involved.

The weird prickling sensation at the backs of her eyes couldn’t possibly be tears. Becca didn’t cry. Her lifetime supply of tears had been used up ten years ago. It was relief, that was all, and her eyes were more than dry as she took her leave while Jet was to be given the last of his briefing.

They were sparkling, in fact. She had a pre-flight check to get on with so that she’d have the rotors turning and be ready for lift-off as soon as her passenger left the building. A green light to adventure. A take-off with so much extra fuel on board it would be like handling a bomb. A vast amount of unforgiving ocean to fly over. The longest continuous time in the air she’d ever had in a chopper.

Time with Jet Munroe as the only other living creature for hundreds and hundreds of miles.

OK. That was a bit harder to get her head around, so Becca focussed on her checklist instead.

Master power switch on normal.

Inverter switches both on.

Fuel prime pumps both on and lights extinguished.

The checks were automatic but precise. Fast but thorough. She got as far as checking that the pedestal circuit breakers were all in before something broke out of that mental cage she’d pushed Jet into.

She hated him, yes, but it hadn’t always been like that, had it?

Hate was the flip side of love.

And a hate this vehement had to be the flip side of adoration.

A teenage crush.

A desperate desire to be noticed as more than just the kid sister of a member of that elite tribe. The four ‘bad boys’ of Greystones Grammar school. She’d only been eight years old when she’d first met him, when he’d come home with Matt for a holiday from boarding school. That had been the start of it.

Matt’s death had finished it, of course. She’d never wanted to set eyes on Jet again.

Becca armed the emergency light in the helicopter and checked the voltmeter. She fired up the engines and finally watched the rotors start to move and pick up speed and height. It was then that the black-clad figure emerged from the hangar door, stooping a little as he came under the rotors to climb into the side door.

Her sigh was unheard, but heartfelt.

Maybe it was true that you should never say never.




CHAPTER TWO


THE ocean was never far away in this island country and the lights of New Zealand’s largest city swiftly became a backdrop to the airborne helicopter.

The only communication on board had been between Becca and the mainland. The traffic controller supervised her clearance, confirmed her flight plan and provided a detailed report on weather conditions. For some time after that, the conversation was between others on the ground. Patchy conversations came through about the precise position of the closest ship to the island, the direction it was taking and how long it might be before they reached the island. Confirmation was sought and gained that Becca would be able to refuel using Department of Conservation stores on the island. A worrying update on the condition of the injured people was received and relayed and if it had been possible to fly faster, it would be happening.

With plans in place and the sense of urgency increased, it seemed that any further conversation between anybody was pointless for the time being and, nearly an hour into the flight, the only sound in the cockpit was the roar of powerful engines and the chop of the spinning rotors.

Jet was wearing a helmet with built-in earphones so he could hear whatever was going on. There were open channels to flight control, the helicopter rescue base and the army command in charge of this mission and he’d been taking notice of everything said. Becca could also flip channels so that they could talk to each other without being overheard by anyone else but so far Jet hadn’t bothered to pull his microphone attachment down from the rim of his helmet.

He’d been content to listen and simply watch, in no small way amazed that Matt’s little sister was doing this at all. Doing it well, too. He had plenty of experience in helicopters. He could fly one himself if he had to, so he could appreciate her skill and the calm control she had over this machine. Just as well, he thought wryly, given that they were carrying enough extra fuel to blow them both to smithereens if something had gone wrong on take-off.

Yep. However unlikely it seemed, Becca Harding had grown up to become a helicopter pilot. Maybe it shouldn’t seem so odd. Matt had loved nothing more than getting out with the rest of them and pushing his body and a big bike to the limits. Or was that one of the things that had created the bond between them? The knowledge that Matt didn’t have quite the same bravado and that his courage was tested every time? Part of Jet had been impressed. Another part had wanted to watch over him like a big brother and make sure that nothing bad happened.

But something bad had happened, hadn’t it?

Jet pushed the accusation back where it had come from with a ruthless mental shove but that only seemed to send other things bubbling to the surface. An image of the small girl he’d met, way back when he’d gone home with Matt for a school holiday. A lonely child being raised by very wealthy and largely absentee parents. Another from years later when they had all stopped in for a day or two at the country mansion on a road trip. More specifically, the memory was the absolute admiration and adoration on a teenage girl’s face as she saw her much older brother after too long apart. And the memory that had been captured unwillingly the next day when she had joined them in the swimming pool in her bikini and more than just his brain had taken note that she was no longer a child.

Holy cow! That particular memory had been buried with enough shame to ensure it never escaped. What was happening to him? Jet’s scowl deepened as he slumped into his harness, letting minute after minute tick past. Given the roar of engine noise, it was amazing how the atmosphere in this cockpit was starting to feel like a brooding silence. How the tension was ratcheting upwards.

It was ten years ago! It hadn’t been his fault, any more than it had been Max’s or Rick’s. They’d blamed themselves, of course. Especially him, because he’d been the one to have the hunch that Matt’s headache wasn’t just a hangover hanging on too long. He’d been the one to earn an ED consultant’s wrath, arguing that a CT was justified despite the lack of any real symptoms. They had been such junior doctors then—already branded as being brilliant but maverick. None of them had been able to juggle rosters to keep an eye on Matt when he’d decided he’d go to an on-call room and sleep it off.

And it had been Jet who’d gone to try and rouse him, hours later. Nobody had argued about the CT being needed after that. The horror of finding him and learning that a brain aneurysm had ruptured as he slept would never go away completely. Or the pain of being shut out for the next few days as Matt’s parents tried to cope with his grief-stricken sister and make agonising decisions about organ donation and turning off the life support.

They’d gone over and over it so many times. They’d made peace with it. He shouldn’t have to go through it all again. Shouldn’t have to be even thinking about it. It was Becca’s fault. For being here. For still hating him.

How much longer was this ride going to last? Jet reached to touch the GPS screen and get an update on what distance had been covered.

‘Hands off,’ Becca growled. ‘I’m the only person who touches the controls in here.’

‘Whoa …’ Jet drawled, his hand now in a ‘stop’ signal of mock surrender.

Another minute of an even more tense atmosphere. He sighed inwardly and then flipped his microphone into place as he slid a sideways glance at Becca.

‘What if you pass out or something? You expect me to hurtle to my doom even when I’m perfectly capable of handling a BK117?’

Becca was staring straight ahead, as though she was driving a car and needed to keep her eyes on the road. A jerk of her head said that the notion was too farfetched to be worth commenting on.

‘You want information, you ask,’ she said. ‘My bird. My rules.’

Man, she sounded tough. Jet would normally find that worthy of respect but this was Becca and the image she was presenting jarred with what he remembered of her. Especially the last time he’d seen her, a few weeks before her brother’s death, at a party hosted by the four of them in the old house they’d rented together. Becca had just arrived in the city to start her nursing degree.

An eighteen-year-old, glowing with the excitement of launching herself into the adult world. She’d been all dressed up and ready to party with rings on her fingers and killer heels on her toes. Her hair had been a wild cascade of curls that bounced on her bare shoulders and she had even smelled. amazing.

The effect of witnessing this butterfly girl emerging into womanhood had been absolutely riveting. Matt hadn’t missed the way Jet’s jaw had dropped.

‘Don’t even go there in your head,’ his mate had growled. ‘You’re the prime example of the kind of guy I intend to keep my kid sister well away from.’

The warning had been tempered with a good-natured grin and a friendly punch on the shoulder but it had been serious enough to cause a flash of fear later that night. When Matt had almost walked in on what had happened in the kitchen …

Oh … man. Did that memory have to surface again now, as well?

Of course it did. It had never been buried all that well, had it?

Jet had to break this train of thought. He sent a sideways glare at the cause of this mental turbulence. Becca was still staring resolutely straight ahead, seemingly confident of being in control. He couldn’t even see that much of her head with that helmet on and it was helpful to remember that she was nothing like the way she was in that memory of that party night.

Now her hair was as short as a boy’s and, as far as he could tell, she was wearing neither jewellery nor make-up. And what had her boss called her?

Bec.

The shortest, sharpest diminutive of her name possible.

What was wrong with her old nickname? Was Becca too feminine now? Too soft?

What had happened to that girl?

Jet had to swallow hard. As if he didn’t know.

And he didn’t want to remember, anyway, did he? He hadn’t seen this woman in a decade. They were strangers now. Besides, maybe it wasn’t so out of character, now that he came to think of it. Jet felt a corner of his mouth lifting. He couldn’t help it. He actually snorted with amusement.

‘What?’ Becca turned towards him. The helmet seemed too big for her and it made her look younger. Her eyes were narrowed and her lips almost pursed with annoyance. ‘You have a problem with something? Like the fact that I’m in charge here?’

‘Not at all.’

‘What’s so damn funny, then?’

‘It just reminded me of something.’

‘What?’

‘You. Cheating at Snakes and Ladders.’

‘I didn’t cheat.’

‘No. You just made up your own rules. What was it? Throw an odd number and you got to go up the snakes instead of down?’

‘I was eight years old. A lifetime ago.’ Her tone was a warning. ‘Keep your memories to yourself, OK?’

‘My game, my rules,’ Jet murmured.

It was probably coincidence that they happened to hit some turbulence at that precise moment but he glared suspiciously at his pilot anyway. He might have no choice about her being in charge right now but he didn’t have to like it, did he?

Damn it!

She’d just begun to think that this wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

Jet had always been the brooding type. An intrinsic part of the group but inclined to listen more than speak. To be there. Often leading the action, in fact, but fully informed and able to watch everyone else’s back at the same time.

Powerful. With an edge of darkness that had intrigued her from the word go. She’d been scared of him on that first meeting, as any eight-year-old kid would have been, but then she’d finally seen him smile and chasing down that rare occurrence had become her mission. Learning that she could tease and coax him, as easily as her big brother, into doing exactly what she wanted—like playing Snakes and Ladders her way—had been a bonus.

Becca was checking every single dial and switch on her control panel. Altitude and power. Fuel supply and speed. RPMs of the main and tail rotors. Checks that were only necessary right now due to her desperate attempt to focus on nothing more than the job in hand.

Yeah. It had been going fine while her passenger had been sitting there quietly. She’d been a bit too aware of him, of course. His size and the sheer … maleness he had always emanated. The tension had been noticeable but manageable, as well. Becca was only too happy to put up with a silent, sulky passenger in this particular instance.

But then he’d tried to mess with her controls! He’d almost smiled. Made fun of the fact that she was in charge here. He’d even brought up a somewhat embarrassing reminder of her past and taken her back a little too clearly. Good grief, she’d actually felt eight years old again for a heartbeat or two.

She hadn’t liked it, either. Not one little bit.

Because she didn’t want to remember or was it because she didn’t want him thinking of her as someone’s kid sister any more?

The tight feeling in her chest increased until it was painful to suck in a breath. She wasn’t anyone’s kid sister any more, was she? And it was his fault.

And she really, really didn’t want to spend the next couple of hours or so thinking about what life had been like back then and how much she still missed her big brother. It would have been bad enough simply seeing Jet from a distance. Being this close to him and only him, miles from anywhere, was almost unbearable. It was opening an old wound that had been too huge to ever heal over completely and the opening process was a threat. There were soft things underneath that scar that had to be protected at all costs.

Memories.

Feelings.

Hopes and dreams.

Her heart.

Maybe he was right to make fun of her being in charge and trying to sound tough.

Maybe it was all a sham.

The patch of turbulence was great. Becca could feel every tiny nuance of the buffeting and hear the changes in engine noise as though her chopper was talking to her. She became absorbed in her flying and found the thrill creeping back. Being so connected that she became a part of the machine. Or maybe it was an extension of her body. Whatever. They were aloft. She could see the patchy moonlight catching the whitecaps on the ocean below and they were speeding into the night. The turbulence added just enough to the adrenaline rush of it all and by the time they were back into calm air, Becca had found an inner equilibrium, as well.

It didn’t matter what Jet remembered or what he thought of her now. She was in charge. Of this chopper and who touched its controls. Of what communication, if any, took place between the people involved in this mission.

Flipping channels, Becca checked in with flight control and with her base. Richard was close to the radio.

‘Any update on patient status?’ she queried.

‘No further communication,’ Richard responded. ‘The link was patchy and we think we might have lost it.’

‘Roger that. Any update from the met office?’

‘Aftershocks being recorded. Nothing major.’

‘Roger. I’ll get back to you when we’re closer to target.’

Closing off her outward channel to the mainland, Becca left the internal link open. Just in case she felt like talking to Jet.

Which she didn’t.

They had nothing in common other than this mission. If it had been anyone else with her, she’d be practically grilling him about what it was like to be part of an elite group like the SAS. What kind of training they got and where they’d been. She would have soaked up every story she could extract and revelled in vicarious dangers. But to ask anything would be opening a Pandora’s box with Jet. She’d end up getting filled in on what he’d been doing for the past ten years. She’d probably hear about Max and Rick, as well, and she had to stay away from those connections to the past.

She didn’t want to hear about how close they would still be with each other. That whole ‘bad boy’ vibe that had been a secret pact and bond that she’d been so in awe of. Good grief, she’d actually taken up nursing simply to stay in their orbit. All of them had been special but Matt and Jet had stood out, of course. So different from each other but way too much alike in the power they’d had over her.

The power to be the centre of the universe. Trustworthy and indestructible.

Yes. She had to stay away from it to protect herself. Because she knew now that it wasn’t true. That it was just an illusion.

She had to focus on the present. That fact that she and Jet had nothing in common but this mission. She would take him to the island, drop him off and then fly out of his life and probably never see him again.

Her salvation lay in that, she realised. Or was it a bad idea to break the silence that had filled in such a good chunk of time now? She could be professional but distant. Discussing the mission might be vastly preferable to sitting in a verbal desert for hours and fighting the pull into the past.

‘How much do you know about Tokolamu island?’ The question came out abruptly, almost an accusation of ignorance. No wonder Jet’s eyebrow rose.

‘As much as I need to know.’ The tone was laid back enough to be a drawl. ‘It’s the tip of a volcano that could erupt at any time. There are people on top of it who need to get off.’

His voice was right in her ears. As dark and deep as everything else about this man. That mix of being offhand and supremely confident was him all over, too. A lot of people would find that insufferable rather than attractive.

Maybe she was one of them.

‘Some of those people are hurt,’ Jet continued. ‘It’s my job to look after them. Your job is to get me there.’

Yep. She was one of them. Arrogance, that’s what it boiled down to.

‘Tokolamu’s more than just the tip of a volcano,’ she informed him. ‘It’s a significant nature reserve. It’s got about seventy species of birds on or around it and that includes a successful breeding programme for endangered kiwi.’

The grunting sound indicated minimal interest but the conversation was working for Becca. Impersonal. Safe.

‘There’s weka there, too. And even kakapo. Did you know they’re the world’s heaviest parrot?’

‘Can’t say I did.’

‘They’re also the only flightless and nocturnal parrot in existence.’

‘Flightless, huh?’

‘Yep.’

‘They’d be mates with the kiwis, then?’

It was Becca’s turn to make a vaguely disparaging sound. Was he putting her down again?

‘Well, I reckon the other sixty-eight or so species of bird must think they’re a bit inferior.’ There was something more alive in Jet’s tone now. ‘When did you decide you wanted to fly, Becca?’

Becca. Nobody called her that these days. She was Rebecca to people who didn’t know her well and Bec to her closer associates. A short, firm kind of name. No frills. Just the way she liked it.

So why did he make it sound like that was her real name? As though everyone else, including herself, had been using the wrong one all these years? She shook the disturbing notion away and latched on to his query with relief.

‘Ages ago. When I left nursing I went into the ambulance service. They needed an extra crew member on a chopper one night and I got picked. I’d only been up in the air for ten minutes when I realised I didn’t want to be sitting in the back. I wanted the driver’s seat.’

Oh … help. This was exactly what she hadn’t wanted to be doing. Raking over the past. Divulging far more about herself than she’d intended to. Opening doors that had to remain shut or they would both be sucked into the worst space of all.

Jet’s chuckle was so unexpected, her head swung to face him. The sound was more than one of amusement. It signalled sympathy. It said he understood. That he would have felt exactly the same way.

And that was when Becca remembered how he’d got his nickname. Not because his hair was jet black but because he’d had a passion for fast things. Motorbikes and cars. Aircraft. Even his women had to be sleek and ready to speed into his bed.

Hadn’t part of his attraction been that he’d had the aura of the kind of things associated with flying? Things like turbulence and danger. The thrill of feeling weightless and able to move with a freedom that could be pure bliss. Maybe the rush she got from flying was the best substitute she had ever been able to discover for how she’d once felt being close to Jet. Being the focus of his attention. Being close enough to accidentally touch.

Not that such a ridiculous notion had ever occurred to her during the process of falling in love with flying and chasing the dream of becoming a pilot. Why would it? She’d never seen Jet again. She’d never been reminded of what it felt like to be this close.

Her sigh was an admission of defeat. She couldn’t fight this. She might have lasted amazingly so far, given the distance they had already covered, but she couldn’t continue to keep this time together totally impersonal and safe. She had no choice but to face up to whatever emotional fallout eventuated. She had to deal with it and survive. She could do that. She’d done it before, hadn’t she?

‘So, when did you get your pilot’s licence, Jet?’

It was the first time she’d used his name. It curled off her tongue and hung between them like a white flag of surrender.

‘I didn’t.’

‘I thought you said you could handle a BK.’

‘I can. Through osmosis, to start with. Then I got to be mates with some army pilots. They were happy to bend the rules sometimes. And I learn fast.’

That was true enough. Of all the ‘bad boys.’ Jet had undoubtedly been the smartest. That was why he’d won the scholarship to attend an elite, private school in the first place.

‘The formal endorsement of the ability was a bit out of my price range,’ Jet added dryly.

Yeah … not only the smartest. Despite all those boys being sent to boarding school for reasons they’d had every right to resent, Jet had had the biggest chip on his shoulder about his background. The others, including Matt, had been there because they had parents who could afford to offload the responsibility of children they weren’t particularly interested in. It had been years before Becca had learned of Jet’s multiple foster-family background. That he’d thought of himself as a charity case. She’d never heard more than hints, however. It wasn’t a topic ever up for discussion, any more than the blatant disparity in financial advantages.

Was that why he’d thrown it at her now? As some kind of barrier?

It was ancient history, surely. He’d proved how well he could do relying entirely on his own resources. Becca had a lack of patience for people who blamed life’s disappointments on their backgrounds. If you let either the pain of the past or fear of the future dictate your life, you were just shooting yourself in the foot as far as ever being happy. When it came down to it, everybody had to be able to draw on personal strength, no matter what their childhood had been like. Maybe Jet needed to get over himself.

‘Med school’s not cheap,’ she fired back. ‘You managed that, no problem.’

‘Unless you count the past ten years I’ve spent paying the loan off.’ Jet was scowling but then he shrugged. His next words were barely more than a mutter, as though he was talking to himself rather than Becca. ‘Maybe I will get my licence now. It’s not as if I want to save up for a house or anything.’

‘Gypsy lifestyle, huh?’

Becca regretted her choice of words as soon as she’d uttered them. It was supposed to be a light-hearted comment, to finish the discussion without adding more substance to that ghostly barrier coming into view. To make his life choices seem desirable, even. But the idea of a gypsy was a little too apt. A man going his own way in life, according to his own rules. A bit dark and dangerous. Yes, she could picture Jet Munroe as a gypsy all right. Or a pirate. Or. This had to stop.

‘I know what you mean about the osmosis,’ she said hurriedly. ‘I reckon I could get an IV line in, if push came to shove.’

‘I should hope so. Didn’t you say you’d been with the ambulance service?’

‘I didn’t get quite that far with my training.’ Becca knew she sounded defensive but did he have to make her sound inadequate? Was he determined to make her feel younger and far less experienced than she was? ‘I work with a lot of intensive care paramedics who are brilliant at what they do,’ she added crisply. ‘My job is just to get them there.’

That seemed to score a point. Conversation ceased and they flew on with the engine noise filling the space. Like it had done a while back but this time it was different. It was like they were both unwillingly forced to be taking part in some kind of dance, Becca decided. They’d drawn closer. Touched on some level. And now they were wheeling apart. Circling. Knowing that they would be drawn in again and next time it would be even closer. Acceptance of the inevitability didn’t lessen the dread so Becca said nothing. She was hanging on. Trying to delay the inevitable.

Jet seemed to be in tacit agreement with the tactic. It became a challenge. Who was going to break first? The time stretched and the challenge grew. A distraction all on its own. In the end, it wasn’t either of them who broke it. The radio crackled and buzzed inside their helmets. Someone was trying to contact them but reception was bad. Becca switched frequencies and tested them.

‘Flight zero three three. Are you receiving me, over?’

On her third attempt, Richard’s voice was cracked but audible. They were clearly far enough away from base to be pushing the boundaries for communication and static was wiping out chunks of the speech they could hear.

‘.return to base.’

‘Please repeat,’ Becca said. ‘Message broken.’

‘.in seismic activity …’

Good grief, had the volcano erupted? No. Becca looked up from the radio controls to stare into the darkness ahead. They were easily close enough by now to see the glow from such an event in the night sky. A sky that was lightening perceptibly with a faint line defining the horizon. Dawn was not that far off and that was good. It would make landing on the island a lot safer.

‘.wind shear in the event of eruption,’ came the end of Richard’s latest broadcast.

So it hadn’t erupted, then. Even better.

‘.ash.’ The single word was another warning.

‘Message broken,’ Becca said again.

‘.pager.’ The word was a command now. ‘.mobile.’

‘Roger. Over and out.’

They flew in silence again for a minute. And then another. Becca was reluctant to follow the instruction. Even as broken as the communication had been, it was clear the mission was in danger of being aborted. And they were almost there, dammit. With no obvious cause for alarm.

‘You going to check your pager, then?’ Jet queried. ‘And your phone?’

‘Yep.’

Another minute passed. The sky was definitely getting lighter. Becca peered ahead. Was it too soon to expect to make visual contact with Tokolamu?

‘Any time soon?’ Jet murmured.

With a sigh, Becca unclipped the pager from her belt and handed it to her passenger. He activated the device and started scrolling through messages.

‘These seem to be old messages. When did you go to Cathedral Cove?’

‘Yesterday. About eleven hundred hours. Idiot teenagers diving off the cliff into some big waves. One of them mistimed it and got banged up on the rocks. Winch job.’

‘And south of the Bombay Hills?’

‘That was the job before Cathedral Cove. Motorway pile-up.’

‘Nothing new on here, then.’

‘I’m not surprised. Range for the radio should be better than the pager.’

‘Give me your phone.’

The reluctance to let Jet read any text message she might have was surprisingly strong but Becca shrugged it off. It wasn’t as if there would be anything too personal in there. Like a message from a boyfriend. She almost wished there was. She could be sure that Jet’s love life wasn’t a desert and her single status would probably be enough to count as another putdown. Or was some of this feeling of inadequacy coming from something she’d considered long since buried? She wasn’t old enough. Or special enough. She was just Matt’s kid sister and Jet was.

‘Here it is. It says “Cancel, cancel. Seismic activity increasing. Eruption considered imminent. Risk unacceptable. Return to base.”’

‘No.’

‘What?‘ But there was something more than astonishment in Jet’s tone. It sounded like admiration. Respect, even.

‘Look.’ Becca pointed, and Jet peered into the grey sky of early dawn. ‘Two o’clock,’ she added.

Lumpy shapes that weren’t waves. Getting larger by the second. The chain of islands of which Tokolamu was the largest. Becca could see it clearly now. Could see the tip of the volcano and it was as dark as the rest of the rocky land mass.

‘We haven’t got the fuel to get back,’ she said calmly. ‘Personally, I’d rather take my chances after a safe landing on an island than ditching in the ocean somewhere.’

There was a moment’s silence as Jet absorbed the implications. Becca finally turned to look at him and, to her amazement, he grinned at her.

‘Your bird,’ he said. ‘Your rules.’

His face was really alive now. Dark eyes gleamed beneath the visor of the helmet. They were breaking the rules and hurling themselves towards danger and he was loving it. And … oh, Lord … that smile could probably persuade her to do anything, however dangerous it obviously was.

Maybe she should turn back. There was a life raft on board. They would know their coordinates and another chopper could possibly already be on the way to meet them.

But the islands were so close now. She could think about spotting the buildings and then locating the nearby landing site. People desperately needed the assistance she was bringing. If she got stuck on the island because an ash cloud prevented take-off then so be it. It wasn’t as though—

The oath Jet breathed cut off any thought of potential safety.

Had she really thought the sky was so light now? Against the glow of an erupting volcano, it had gone pitch black again.

Ash would kill the engines. How long before it enveloped them? Becca began dropping altitude. Heading for the closest island. Except that was Tokolamu, wasn’t it? And maybe it wasn’t ash she had to worry about first. The force of the eruption was about to hit them. Wind shear would drop them like a rock.

It was dropping them. Becca was fighting with the controls of her machine and she knew it was pointless. So pointless she didn’t say a thing when she found Jet leaning in to try and take over. She couldn’t hear a thing he was shouting because the noise outside was overwhelming everything. The sky was on fire and the island and its surrounding sea was rushing towards them so fast she could barely process the information.

She was about to die and Jet Munroe was trying to save her.

The irony of the situation barely registered before the cacophony of sound and light around her vanished and everything became black.




CHAPTER THREE


HE WAS fighting for his life.

For Becca’s life, too. Man, that look on her face was pure determination without a hint of fear. She was so small and fierce and seemed to believe that she could wrestle the force of Mother Nature and an out-of-control aircraft into submission.

The impression would have been laughable if it hadn’t been so incredibly fleeting. Shoved aside with a million other, irrelevant thoughts as Jet let an automatic part of his brain loose. The part that stored emergency procedures backed up by remarkably honed survival skills.

Even so, in that mental maelstrom he recognised another motive to win this challenge. Maybe he had to do this for Matt. It was too late to save his best mate but he could save the person who’d been so important to him. The small, lonely girl that he’d tried so hard to be a substitute parent to. As well as a big brother and best friend all at the same time. Matt would have given his life in a heartbeat to save his sister.

Jet could do no less.

Except … they weren’t going to die, dammit. Not if he could do anything about it. He added his weight to Becca’s to fight the controls and, for a split second the sickening downward spiral lessened and he could see straight ahead. Towards the foam of waves breaking on unforgiving black rocks. And past the rocks to a tiny area of shingle beach. Would solid land be a better option than an icy ocean and the pull of its current?

Not that he really had much choice in the matter but the instantaneous, clinical evaluation of potential options filled those last few seconds before speed, gravity and the total failure of this machine to respond well enough combined and they hit. something. Hard.

Hard enough to knock him out?

He couldn’t be sure. His head was spinning, filled with a roaring sound and bright flashes of light. He could be regaining consciousness after God knew how long or … this could be moments after the crash and the window in which he could escape.

And survive.

Something overrode that pure survival instinct, however. The knowledge that he hadn’t been alone.

‘Becca … Becca …’

He couldn’t see anything. Couldn’t open his eyes. Something was digging painfully into his face and it took a moment to realise that the pain was caused by broken pieces of his flight helmet visor. He wrenched them clear and pulled his helmet off, ignoring the warm, sticky sensation of bleeding.

Now he could see surprisingly well. Red light, like a fiery dawn, surrounded them. The Perspex of the helicopter was cracked and a horribly bent rotor blade was directly in front, framed by a large hole. A spray of water suddenly came through the hole and soaked him, cold enough to wake him up completely. Were they in the sea? No. He could feel something solid beneath them and the crumpled chassis of the chopper was rocking. Grinding on something hard.

The rocks. They must be caught on rocks, probably close to dry land. A wave could lift the wreckage and put it at the mercy of the ocean at any moment and that wouldn’t be a good thing. The spray had barely stopped but Jet had released his harness and his attention was focussed on the crumpled body of his pilot.

‘Becca. Can you hear me?’

The groan that came in response was the best sound Jet had ever heard.

She was alive.

Stripping off the gloves he’d been wearing, Jet moved to wedge himself between what was left of the Perspex bubble and a flight control panel that was bent and broken. A couple of faint, flickering lights caught his attention as he moved. Hopefully, one of them might be the emergency locator beacon activating. The other one was on the radio and, on the off chance it was still operational, Jet pulled on the curly microphone cord to wrench it clear of the central controls it had fallen into.

‘Mayday, mayday,’ he sent. ‘Flight zero zero three down.’

Even if they got the message, they wouldn’t be sending another rescue chopper. Flying into volcanic ash was impossible. The only hope of assistance would come from the ship already diverted towards Tokolamu and, what had they said about its ETA?

Thirty-six hours. A day and a half.

They were on their own.

Apart from another group of survivors on this island who still needed help, of course. Jet depressed the button on the side of the microphone again.

‘Abandoning aircraft,’ he said decisively. If this transmission was getting through, at least nobody would waste time trying to search the crash site later. ‘We’ll head for the settlement.’

A faint crackle emanated from the radio then another spray of salt water came through the windscreen and the electronic equipment fizzed and died. He had wasted no more than about thirty seconds on what was probably a useless attempt to communicate with the outside world but it still felt like way too long.

Becca needed him.

Dropping the microphone, Jet used his hands and eyes to try and examine her. These weren’t the worst conditions under which he’d done a primary survey on an injured person but they were nudging the top spot. He could feel the wash of the waves around the helicopter chassis and getting sucked out to sea and then smashed onto rocks again would be pretty much as dangerous as being under enemy fire.

Airway. Breathing. Circulation.

Becca groaned more loudly and mumbled some incomprehensible words but the attempt to speak was a good indication that her airway was clear. Breathing? Jet put his hands around her ribs, oblivious of the fact that he was cupping her breasts as he concentrated on what was happening below her ribs. Were her lungs filling well? The same amount on each side? Was her breathing too fast or too slow? God, she was so small.

Fragile.

Her breathing seemed OK. Jet ran his hands over the rest of her body. Feeling her abdomen to see if it elicited a pained response. Checking her legs for the deformity of a broken bone or the wetness of major bleeding. Amazingly, he found nothing. Until he checked her arms, anyway. When he felt her left arm below the elbow, Becca cried out and opened her eyes.

‘It’s OK,’ he told her. ‘You’ve hurt your arm.’

Broken it, quite likely, because of how hard she’d been gripping the controls at the point of impact. Her flight suit was ripped and she was bleeding badly. Jet ripped the sleeve farther and tied the strips tightly over the wound. There was no time to do more right now. This first check might have only taken sixty seconds but it was past time to get out of there.

‘Becca? Can you hear me?’

Her eyes opened but she said nothing.

‘Does your neck hurt?’

Her head rolled from side to side but she still made no sound.

‘Can you move your feet?’

He felt rather than saw the attempt at movement because he was busy easing her helmet off and unclipping her harness. The queries had been automatic, anyway. Even if she did have serious neck or spinal injuries, he had to get her out.

The door on the pilot’s side was crunched against solid rock. They were tilted slightly nose down and another huge rock was blocking the door on the passenger side. That left the side door in the cabin and the back hatch under the tail. One of those was bound to provide an escape route but it would take precious seconds to get there. A wave rolled them enough to lift the tail and knock him off balance even as he considered the options.

Becca’s eyes were wide open and well illuminated by the eerie, red glow from the outside. Could she hear the frightening roar of the volcanic eruption that was almost enough to cover the horrible grinding of metal on rock? She was clearly putting the pieces together and starting to realise what had happened and where they were.

He saw the moment that fear kicked in.

A new surge of adrenaline came with the renewed urge to protect Becca. Turning and bracing himself on the back of the seat, Jet used his heavy, steel-capped boots to smash the edges of the hole in the Perspex to make it bigger. Big enough to climb out of with a small woman in his arms.

The world had turned itself inside out. It was threatening to crush her and there was nothing Becca could do about it.

She hadn’t felt this afraid since.

Since the moment she had known Matt was going to die.

Nobody had taken her into his arms back then and held her as though he was capable of keeping the chaos and pain away.

Maybe this was simply an illusion now but if she was going to die, Becca would far rather be cradled in a pair of powerful arms that made it feel like her life was of the utmost importance to someone else than curled up alone in the pilot’s seat of a crashed helicopter.

She’d obviously been knocked out on impact and the memories of her last moments of consciousness were patchy and strange. So was what she could remember about waking up.

Jet’s hands on her breasts. Pressing on her abdomen. Tracing the shape of her whole body.

She’d known they were his hands. She’d always known what it would feel like to have them touching her because it had happened in so many, many dreams. It was muted in reality, however, because in those dreams her skin had always been bare.

The pain of having her arm moved had chased any pleasure away. It had woken her up too much, as well. Enough to make sense of where she was and what was happening. To realise that the weird red light was a reflection that had to be coming from molten lava spewing from a very nearby volcano. To feel how unstable the remains of this helicopter were and that it was seawater splashing inside at regular intervals to pool around her feet.

Fear overrode any pain at that point and only increased as she watched Jet kick the remnants of Perspex from in front of them. He was going to escape, wasn’t he? The way he had when Matt had been lying there dying in the intensive care unit. She would have to cope alone again and she was so horribly, horribly afraid.

But then he bent over and gathered her into his arms. She was rocked wildly as he completed the enormously difficult manoeuvre of climbing through a hole with jagged edges, holding such a large burden, trying not to get them caught or injured. Then there were sharp, slippery rocks to negotiate and Jet had to use one hand to steady himself every few seconds. Somehow, he still managed to hold Becca with one arm. She could feel it across her back and tucked under her thighs like the sturdy branch of a tree. Maybe it was helping that she’d wound her arms around his neck and had her face buried against his shoulder.

A roaring noise surrounded them that was far more than the sound the sea could make against rocks. The ground shook beneath them at intervals, as well. How on earth did Jet manage to keep them moving? Upright enough to avoid a nasty fall on this alien landscape of ancient, volcanic rock. Becca clung to him as tightly as she could. She fought hard when something threatened to prise her arms loose.

‘Let go.’ Jet’s voice was a command. ‘It’s all right. It’s safe now.’

Reluctantly, Becca let him unwind her arms. He was kneeling, she realised with surprise, and she was sitting on a flat area of shingle, having been deposited so carefully she hadn’t noticed.

She looked around cautiously. Good grief … they could be on Mars. A lurid red sky and barren dark rocks were the only things she could see until she lifted her line of sight. And there, well out on the rocks, cradled in a wash of sea foam, she could see the sad wreckage of her beautiful chopper.

‘Oh, my God,’ she breathed, wrapping her arms around herself for comfort as the enormity of the situation became suddenly very real.

‘Give me your arm.’

‘What?’ Becca stared at Jet in confusion. He’d just removed her arms from where she’d been clinging to him like a frightened child.

An eight-year-old, maybe? How did he do it? Strip away all her skills and hard-won strength to make her feel so incredibly vulnerable. And lost now. She couldn’t pretend to be in control any more. She hadn’t protected herself very well, had she?

She hadn’t protected either of them. This was her fault. She could have turned back. She’d risked her life, which was bad enough, but she’d also risked Jet’s life and that was … appalling. And he was hurt. There was blood on his face. Without thinking, Becca reached up to touch. The urge to find out how bad it was … to make it better somehow … was too powerful to resist.

‘No.’ Jet pushed her away. ‘Your left arm.’ He was leaning closer. Frowning. ‘Where are you?’ he demanded.

He didn’t want her to touch him. Weird how much that hurt. ‘H-here,’ Becca stammered, confused again. ‘With you.’

‘Fair enough.’ There was a curl happening to one corner of his mouth. Almost a smile. ‘You got knocked out, Becca,’ he said with a curiously gentle note in his voice. ‘I’m trying to assess your GCS. Can you tell me where “here” is?’

‘The island. Tokolamu.’

‘Good. And what’s my name?’

‘Jet.’ Becca said it slowly because it felt good. Like permission to go somewhere she had been denied access to for so long.

‘My real name?’

‘James Frederick Munroe.’

‘Ouch! How on earth did you remember my middle name?’

Becca felt herself grin. ‘I remember lots of things.’

What an understatement, a part of her brain chided. Did you really think you’d locked all that stuff away? It’s still there. Every detail. The way he could scowl so fiercely whenever anything remotely emotional was happening. The astonishing intensity of his dark eyes when he was interested in something. The way his hair looked when sleekly wet coming up from a dive into a swimming pool, or damp and tousled by a towel after a shower. The way he’d sat with a small child and played Snakes and Ladders when he could have been doing far more exciting teenage stuff like playing video games or raiding her parents’ well-stocked liquor cabinet. The dreams that had started a long, long time before any sexual content had crept in.

Dreams that had only gained momentum the night of the party.

The excitement of dressing up like an adult. Of finally being grown up enough to.

To have no hesitation at all in grabbing that opportunity when she’d been alone in the kitchen with Jet when they’d both gone to find a drink at the same time. When they’d been side by side in the narrow space between the open fridge door and the wall.




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