Книга - Falling for Mr. Mysterious

Falling for Mr. Mysterious
Barbara Hannay


Betrayed by her cheating boyfriend, Emily seeks refuge in her cousin’s city apartment.Only to be greeted instead by his friend Jude. Crime writer Jude’s as mysterious as the novels he writes and Emily can’t help but be intrigued. Yet Jude knows he can’t let Emily fall for him, as he may not be able to offer her the lifetime together that they both deserve…










Praise for Barbara Hannay

“Barbara Hannay’s name on the cover is a sure-fire guarantee of a good read.”

—www.cataromance.com

“Stories rich with emotion and chemistry.

Very layered and lifelike characters …”

—RT Book Reviews

“Barbara Hannay will take you on an unforgettable journey …”

—www.cataromance.com


A strangled laugh broke from Jude, and twin emotions of tenderness and desire waged war with his reasoning and common sense. “I think I may be the one who’s made the biggest mistake.”

“You?”

“For reinstating that crazy kissing ban.”

“Oh.” The word fell softly into the space between them. Still clutching at her dress, Emily frowned. “But this was meant to be purely for fun. You don’t want more complications in your life. You already have enough on your plate.”

“That’s true,” he agreed reluctantly. “And I don’t want to mess up your life either.”

He took a step closer, knowing it wasn’t wise, and Emily seemed to melt towards him. Their fingers brushed and he was zapped by fire. He heard Emily’s soft gasp.

“I’d rather not risk joining the list of males who’ve hurt you,” he said.

She shook her head. “I’m sure that’s a risk worth taking …”




About the Author


Reading and writing have always been a big part of BARBARA HANNAY’s life. She wrote her first short story at the age of eight for the Brownies’ writer’s badge. It was about a girl who was devastated when her family had to move from the city to the Australian Outback.

Since then, a love of both city and country lifestyles has been a continuing theme in Barbara’s books and in her life. Although she has mostly lived in cities, now that her family has grown up and she’s a full-time writer she’s enjoying a country lifestyle.

Barbara and her husband live on a misty hillside in Far North Queensland’s Atherton Tableland. When she’s not lost in the world of her stories she’s enjoying farmers’ markets, gardening clubs and writing groups, or preparing for visits from family and friends.

Barbara records her country life in her blog, Barbwired, and her website is: www.barbarahannay.com


Falling For

Mr. Mysterious









Barbara Hannay














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




CHAPTER ONE


WHEN the train drew in to Roma Street Station, Emily checked her phone messages one more time. There was still nothing from Alex, so now she was officially worried—not only about Alex’s twenty-four-hour silence, but also about her own fate. She had no idea what she’d do if he wasn’t in Brisbane.

She’d rushed to the city in blind despair. She needed to see Alex, to stay with him and, yes, to pour out her heart to him. Of all her family, Alex would understand, and Emily had been so very desperate to get away from Wandabilla that she’d jumped on the train in the vain hope that Alex would return her call before she arrived.

Now, the train came to a stop with a wheezing sigh of brakes and, all around Emily, passengers were rising from their seats, gathering their belongings in a businesslike fashion, pulling on jackets and coats and heading for the carriage doors, eager to be out on the platform and gone.

They, of course, had somewhere to go.

Emily did not.

If Alex was away, she would have to find a hotel. She certainly wasn’t going to turn tail and head home to Wandabilla, to face the music, with everyone in the small country town knowing what had happened to her.

Besides, Emily told herself, there was still a slim chance that Alex was home. He might have a problem with his phone, or perhaps he’d let the battery run down, or he’d bought a new phone and changed his number and hadn’t got around to telling her.

Although her doubts about the wisdom of rushing to Brisbane were mounting fast, she rolled the magazine she’d been trying unsuccessfully to read and stowed it in her shoulder bag, then retrieved her suitcase from the luggage rack.

It was an unusually cold August afternoon, and a biting westerly wind whistled callously along the platform. Shivering, Emily buttoned her coat and turned up its collar, then she lugged her suitcase behind her and headed for the warmth of the pedestrian tunnel.

As luck would have it, she was in the depths of the tunnel, jostling with crowds of shoppers and commuters, when she heard the soft quack-quack, which was the silly ringtone she used to distinguish social from business calls. She grabbed her phone from her bag. It was a text message.

Em, sorry I missed you, and very sorry to hear about that @#$%$# of a boyfriend. Wish I could be with you now, but I’m in Frankfurt at a Book Fair. Please use the apartment tho. Stay as long as you like and use my room. I’ve checked with Jude and he’s cool, so he’s expecting you.

Hugs,

Alex xxx

Emily had to read this twice, standing rock still in the tunnel while commuters steered somewhat irritably around her. She needed a moment to take the message in, to deal with her see-sawing emotions of relief that Alex was OK, and her disappointment that he was so far away.

Very quickly, overriding these initial reactions, rushed a flurry of questions. Who was this Jude person? When had he arrived in Alex’s life? And … would he really be as cool as her cousin suggested about her sudden appearance on his doorstep?

She felt awkward about imposing on a stranger and she wondered, briefly, if she should continue up the coast to her grandmother’s instead. Granny Silver was as understanding and welcoming as Alex, but she preferred to see the world through rose-coloured glasses, so Emily rarely burdened her with her problems.

Also, if this Jude fellow was expecting her, and if he was anything like Alex—which he probably was, remembering Alex’s former housemates—he’d probably already jumped into host mode.

Jude could well be whipping up something delicious for their dinner right now, so it would be rude to simply not turn up. Emily headed to a nearby bottle shop, bought a good quality red as well as a white, because she didn’t know Jude’s tastes, then went to the taxi rank. But as the taxi sped towards West End, crossing a bridge over the wide Brisbane River, her impulsive dash to the city began to feel more foolish than ever.

She’d been so self-absorbed, so totally desperate to get away from prying eyes, that she’d seen her cousin Alex as her one safe haven. She’d had visions of crying on his shoulder, of sitting with him on his balcony, looking out over the river and the city skyline, drinking wine together while she told him all about the whole sorry mess with Michael.

Alex was such a wonderful listener, way better than her mum. He never trotted out I told you so, or kindly but firmly pointed out her mistakes. Best of all, once he’d sympathised and mopped her tears, he always made her laugh.

Man, she could do with a laugh right now, but she couldn’t expect sympathy, wine and cheering up from Alex’s new flatmate. As the taxi drew up outside the apartment block, she told herself that the best she could hope for was friendly tolerance from this perfect stranger, and a little privacy in which to nurse her wounded feelings.

At any rate, it was reassuring to know that she wouldn’t have to negotiate any of the bothersome boy-meets-girl nonsense. She’d had enough trouble with men to last her a lifetime, but she could rely on the fact that any man living with Alex would be gay and totally safe to live with.

Jude Marlowe was still typing at his laptop when the doorbell rang. He was in the midst of a thought, a decent thought, one of the few he’d come up with that day. He was trying to get it onto the page so he continued typing, despite the doorbell, knowing that if he stopped, the precious words would be lost, never to be recalled.

The bell rang again, with a slight air of desperation. Fortunately, the last sentence was captured and Jude saved his work and pushed away from the desk. Taking off his reading glasses, he rubbed at the bridge of his nose, then stood unhurriedly and stretched, rolling his shoulders in a bid to ease the tension that always locked in when he became too absorbed in his writing.

The caller would be Alex’s young cousin. Jude had received a garbled message that she needed a bed for a few nights and so he’d manfully hidden his reluctance to socialise and assured Alex that he’d oblige. Apparently, she’d had boyfriend trouble and was suffering from a broken heart.

Another of Alex’s lame ducks, Jude thought wryly, knowing he was one, too.

He was in the hallway, blinking at the darkness—was it really that late?—before he gave a thought to his appearance. Still in the clothes he’d dragged on in the morning, he was wearing old, badly ripped jeans and a baggy, ancient football jersey, stained at the neck and worn at the elbows. Not exactly suitable for receiving Alex’s houseguest, but it was too late to do anything about it. The girl at the door would be getting impatient.

Jude turned on the light as he pulled the door open and a yellow glow spilled, golden and honey-warm, over the chilled figure outside. At first sight of her, he felt deprived of oxygen.

Later, he asked himself what he’d been expecting, and he realised that if he’d given Alex’s lovelorn country cousin any thought at all, he’d mentally classified her as frumpy and miserable. An unfashionable, possibly plain, country mouse.

How wrong he was.

The girl standing before Jude in a stylish white wool coat and knee-high brown leather boots was a stunner. Her red-gold hair flowed softly over her white lapels, making him think of fire on snow. Her face was delicate yet full of character.

And while there was a hint of sadness about her blue eyes, her skin showed no sign of country mouse freckles. Her complexion was fair and smooth, her chin neat, her mouth curving and smiley.

She looked, at first glance, like all Jude’s female fantasies rolled into one hot package.

He found himself silenced to the point of stupidity.

‘You must be Jude?’ she enquired, tilting her head to one side and smiling cautiously.

‘Sure.’ Somehow, he remembered his manners. ‘And you must be Emily.’

‘Yes. Emily Silver, Alex’s cousin.’ She held out her hand. ‘How do you do, Jude? Alex said he’d warned you about me.’

‘Yes, he rang.’ But the warning had been totally inadequate, Jude realised now. He’d planned to offer the barest courtesies as a host and then leave Emily Silver to mend her heart in whichever way she needed to. He still planned to do that, but already he knew she wouldn’t be easy to ignore.

‘I must say it’s very kind of you to take me in at such short notice.’ She shook his hand, and it was a ridiculously electrifying experience.

‘You’re very welcome.’ Jude spoke gruffly to cover his dazed dismay. Then he noticed her suitcase. ‘I’ll get that for you.’

‘Oh, thanks. And I’ve brought wine.’ With a dazzling smile, she held up a brown paper bag. ‘A bottle of each.’

There was a slight shuffle in the doorway as he stepped forward to reach for the luggage while Emily came inside. Their bodies brushed briefly. Damn. Jude couldn’t believe he was reacting this way. He’d had more than his fair share of girlfriends, but this evening his body was reacting as if he’d been cast away on a desert island and Emily was the first woman he’d seen in two decades.

‘Oh, it’s lovely and warm inside,’ she was saying.

Jude nodded, adding grouchily, ‘Alex’s room is down the hall, as I’m sure you remember. First on the left.’

In the doorway to the master bedroom, Emily paused and sent a dimpling smile back to him over her shoulder. ‘Wow. I’ve never stayed in this room. I’ll be able to enjoy the amazing view of the river from Alex’s bed.’

‘No doubt.’ Jude set the suitcase on the floor just inside the doorway, angry that the mere mention of the word bed set his mind diving into fantasy land. Refusing to meet her animated gaze, he said tersely, ‘You settle in. I’ll … ah … be in the kitchen.’

In the kitchen, he stared disconsolately at the contents of the refrigerator while he rated himself as several versions of a fool. It made absolutely no sense that he’d been sideswiped by Alex’s country cousin.

Sure, she was a looker. But her beauty was irrelevant in this situation. She’d come to the city to escape from a low-lying jerk of a boyfriend, while Jude had problems of his own. He was in the city for medical tests that freaked the hell out of him.

And yet, when he’d seen Emily on the doorstep, there’d been an out-of-this-world moment when he’d forgotten all of this. Now, he’d plummeted back to earth. And to common sense.

Emily was sharing this apartment, and yes, he’d promised Alex that he would keep an eye on her. But that could be covered by token exchanges. A few courteous words. Now and again. Nothing more than the most superficial hospitality was required.

He was grateful to have that sorted. He need show no more than cursory interest in this guest, which was just as well, considering everything that lay ahead of him.

Emily wondered if she’d made a terrible mistake as she sank onto the edge of Alex’s king-size bed.

She was imposing on Alex’s flatmate, and she could tell from the moment she’d first seen Jude that he wasn’t thrilled about her sudden arrival. Now cold hopelessness washed over her as she saw her flight to Brisbane as just another mistake among the many mistakes she’d made lately.

She would have to reassure Jude that she wouldn’t stay. Problem was, she wasn’t ready to go back to Wandabilla, either. So, in the morning, she would have to check out accommodation options.

In the meantime … she would try to be as little trouble as possible for Jude.

He was very different from Alex. She’d seen this immediately. Physically, the two men were poles apart. Her cousin shared her auburn colouring and he was slim and scholarly-looking, while Jude was tall and dark, with the broad-shouldered, lean-hipped build of a man of action. Not too rugged or too chiselled, his looks were nicely in between.

But, of course, Alex always had good taste in men.

After taking off her coat, but not bothering to unpack, Emily went through to the kitchen and discovered another difference from Alex. Jude was no cook.

There was absolutely no action at the stove. In fact, Jude was standing in the middle of the kitchen, staring at the open pantry cupboard and scratching his head.

When he saw her, he gave an offhand shrug. ‘I’m afraid I never think much about food when I’m caught up with my work.’

‘Please, don’t worry about feeding me,’ she assured him. ‘I’m happy to look after myself.’ The last thing she wanted was to be any bother, but curiosity prompted her to ask, ‘What sort of work do you do?’

Jude frowned, then spoke with obvious reluctance. ‘I’m a writer, so I work from home, but I’m totally disorganized when it comes to meals. Sometimes I heat up a tin of soup for my dinner, but since I’ve been here in West End, I’ve mostly eaten takeaway.’

Emily guessed he was missing Alex’s gourmet cooking. ‘Honestly, I’m happy with takeaway,’ she insisted. ‘I know there’s a host of great restaurants here. I could pop out now, if you like, and get something for both of us.’

She smiled, hoping to show Alex’s flatmate that she really wanted to fit in as smoothly as possible. But smiling didn’t seem to work with this man. His gaze darted away.

‘I’ll come with you,’ he said.

‘Are you sure?’

‘I promised Alex I’d look after you.’

She almost told him not to bother. She was perfectly capable of walking a block or two to the shops, but she didn’t want to start off on a bad footing. ‘OK. I’ll grab my coat and a scarf.’

They met again in the hallway, and Emily saw that Jude had changed lightning-fast into less tattered jeans as well as outdoor boots and a thick black woollen sweater.

Gosh—he was actually rather good-looking. Lucky Alex. Under other circumstances—circumstances in which she wasn’t totally ‘over men’ and Jude Marlowe wasn’t gay and standoffish—she might have taken second or third looks at him. And more, right now, she would have been far happier if he’d been less attractive, but empathetic and warm, like Alex.

Clearly this wasn’t the case, and she would have to nurse her sorrows on her own. At any rate, she was relieved to be in the company of a man she could trust not to make a move on her.

Outside on the footpath, the wind made their cheeks pink, but Emily was snug in her coat and the air was in-vigorating—a beautiful clear and crisp winter’s night in the city.

She was starting to feel a tiny bit better already. Of course, there was still a sickening ache in her chest whenever she thought about her former boyfriend, Michael, and a stomach-churning twist of appalling guilt whenever she thought about the wife and children he’d conveniently forgotten to mention. But just getting away from Wandabilla had helped. At least no one knew her here in Brisbane and she didn’t have to face the gossip and curious glances.

The restaurants were filled with diners, talking and laughing and generally having a good time, and as Emily passed each doorway, she caught snatches of music and chatter and sensational appetising smells.

She came to a stop outside an Indian takeaway.

‘Is this what you fancy?’ Jude asked.

‘I would love a curry. We only have Chinese in Wandabilla, and I adore Indian.’

‘Indian it is then,’ he said, stepping inside. ‘Too easy.’

‘Are you going out of your way to oblige me, or are you always this easy about meals?’

Jude’s eyes shimmered. ‘When it comes to food, I’m a pushover.’

They ordered two kinds of curries—one meat and one vegetarian, as well as steamed rice and naan bread.

‘And samosas,’ said Jude. ‘For entrée.’

Heading back to the apartment with their mouthwatering packages, he suddenly took a left-hand dive into a supermarket and emerged moments later with an armful of bright yellow daffodils.

‘Wow—’ Emily swallowed her surprise as he handed the sunshiny blooms to her ‘—what are these for?’

‘I’ve heard you need cheering up.’

‘Oh.’ It was the lovely sort of thing Alex would have done. Perhaps Alex had given his housemate instructions.

‘That’s so sweet,’ she told him, feeling suddenly, unexpectedly grateful, and just a tiny bit weepy. Impulsively, she stood on tiptoe and gave Jude a kiss on the cheek. To her surprise, a dark tide of colour stained his neck.

Afraid that she’d embarrassed him, she quickly changed the subject. ‘Should we get something for breakfast while we’re out?’

‘Of course. Sorry. I’ve been a bit distracted lately.’

For the briefest moment, Emily saw something else in Jude’s grey eyes—just a flash of a darker emotion that might have been anxiety or fear. It was gone almost as soon as it arrived, but it made her wonder if he’d been distracted by more than his work.

She couldn’t exactly quiz him about it, so she turned her attention to their shopping, choosing food she thought a guy might like—eggs and bacon, and then a punnet of blueberries, a tub of yoghurt and a bag of good quality coffee. At the cash register, Jude insisted on paying, warding off her protests with a grim fierceness that was hard to fight.

A slight awkwardness descended as they hurried back to the apartment, laden with their purchases.

In the kitchen, Jude set the takeaway tubs on the table, then found cutlery and plates.

‘Where do you normally eat?’ Emily asked, not at all surprised when he frowned again. She’d already decided that his thoughtful purchase of flowers had been an aberration, and from now on she should probably expect frowns and grimness.

She half expected Jude to tell her that he preferred to eat on his own, hidden away in his room in front of his computer.

But he said, ‘Here’s OK, isn’t it?’

‘Of course.’ Emily tried not to look too surprised or pleased, but she couldn’t deny that she would prefer his company to being left alone with her own unhappy thoughts. She shot him a cautious smile. ‘What about wine? Would you rather red or white?’

‘Actually … I’m not drinking alcohol.’

‘Oh?’

‘I’ve given it up. Temporarily.’

Once again, she thought she caught a flash of emotion, as if there was something else, a deeper worry that haunted Jude. For a second she thought he was going to say more but, if that was his plan, he quickly changed his mind.

‘I won’t have wine, either, then,’ she said. ‘It’s not a great idea to drink alone.’

‘But you’re not alone.’ Jude was insistent. ‘Go on. Have a glass. It’ll do you good. You want to drown your sorrows, don’t you?’

If only she could just drown her sorrows and be rid of them. But the pain would still be there when the effects of the wine wore off. Just the same, as Jude peeled silver foil from the wonderfully aromatic tubs of curry, Emily poured herself a glass of white and gratefully flopped down in a seat.

‘That smells amazing. I didn’t eat lunch.’

‘Neither did I. I’m starving.’

At first they were both too ravenous to bother with conversation, but there were plenty of appreciative groans and nods of approval as they helped themselves to the food. Emily, however, hadn’t been able to eat much since she’d found out about Michael, and it wasn’t long before she had to call a halt.

‘My eyes were bigger than my stomach,’ she said as she watched Jude help himself to more curry. She sipped her wine instead, then because he was starting to look more relaxed, she gave in to her growing curiosity. ‘I hope you don’t mind my asking, but how long have you known Alex?’

He looked surprised. ‘Why would I mind? I’ve known him for about five years. As I said earlier, I’m a writer. Alex is my agent.’

‘Oh? Really?’ So they had a business relationship as well as a personal one. ‘That’s a handy arrangement.’

Jude frowned at her, as if, yet again, he found her comment puzzling. ‘Yes, it is. Very handy.’

‘What do you write?’

‘Thrillers.’

She gaped at him. ‘As in thriller novels?’

‘Afraid so.’

‘How amazing.’ Now it was her turn to be surprised, and she stared at her mysterious host with new respect. ‘Should I have heard of you?’

‘Not unless you like reading thrillers.’

Emily liked reading crime novels, and she didn’t mind a thriller plot, but she mostly read books written by women writers because they had more female characters in their stories. ‘I’m not keen on the really blokesy books,’ she said.

Jude actually smiled at that. ‘To be honest, neither am I. In fact, I always include at least one major female character in every story.’

‘Well—’ her respect for him was growing by the second ‘—I should be reading your books then, shouldn’t I?’

His head dipped in a mock bow.

Before Emily could ask anything else, he held up a hand as if to stop her. ‘I think that’s enough questions about me.’

‘Ah …’ Emily pulled a face. ‘So now we talk about Alex? Or world affairs?’

‘Or you.’

‘Believe me,’ she warned him darkly, ‘you don’t want to go there.’

While she’d come rushing to the city to tell Alex everything about Michael, she couldn’t imagine ever confessing her personal problems to Jude. The very thought of telling him about her cheating boyfriend made her face burn. She took a swift and, hopefully, cooling gulp of wine.

As if he’d sensed her sudden panic, he said, ‘I was wondering what sort of work you do.’

This, at least, was easy to answer. ‘I work in a bank.’

‘As a teller?’

‘As a manager.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ His intelligent grey eyes narrowed. ‘Do you mean you’re a bank manager?’

‘I do.’

Jude blinked at her.

‘Don’t you believe me?’

His smile was sheepish. ‘I’m very sorry if I looked surprised, Emily. It’s just—’ Pausing, he took a breath and clearly made an effort to stifle another urge to smile. ‘I’m fascinated, to be honest.’

‘Most men find my work boring.’ Or threatening.

‘Perhaps you’ve been talking to the wrong men.’

Well, yes, Emily had discovered this the hard way, but she wasn’t prepared to admit it now.

‘I’d love to hear how you’ve done so well so quickly,’ Jude prompted.

‘By a rather roundabout route, to be honest.’

‘The best stories are never straightforward.’

He managed to look genuinely interested, and Emily decided that Alex would be very pleased with his housemate’s efforts to play the attentive host. At least talking about her job distracted her from other thoughts.

‘The thing is, I never planned to work in a bank,’ she said. ‘I was always going to be a famous ballerina. After high school I went straight to Melbourne, to study ballet.’

‘A dancer. That explains …’ His voice tapered off.

‘Explains what?’

‘Why you’re so graceful,’ he said simply, but he looked unhappy, as if he wished he hadn’t said that.

‘I certainly loved everything about ballet. I loved the discipline, the music and the opportunities to perform. But—’ she twisted the stem of her almost empty wine glass ‘—after a couple of years, I ran into problems with a choreographer.’

‘A male choreographer?’

‘Yes.’ Looking up, her eyes met Jude’s and she saw that he was watching her with another thoughtful frown.

‘Let’s just say I have bad luck with men.’

She let out a sigh. Just being here in Alex’s kitchen reminded her of all the other times she’d been here, confiding in Alex. There was something about this setting, and the warm, exotic food and relaxing wine that seemed to encourage confidences.

And the man sitting opposite her might not be Alex, but he had the loveliest smoky-grey eyes. Right now they looked soulful and understanding, almost as sympathetic as Alex’s. Poor fellow. He felt obliged to fill Alex’s shoes.

With a shrug, she found herself saying, ‘When it comes to men, I make really bad choices. Or they make the bad choices. I don’t know. I just know I always end up miserable and running away.’

‘Is that what you’re doing now?’ Jude asked with surprising gentleness.

‘Of course.’ She lifted the glass and drained the last of her wine.

Then she jumped to her feet. ‘Now, let me clean this up, seeing as you so kindly paid.’

‘I won’t argue with that.’ He was on his feet, probably relieved to escape.

‘And, Jude,’ Emily said, as he turned to head out of the kitchen.

He turned back to her.

‘I’ll head off in the morning.’

His eyes grew cautious and he frowned again. ‘Do you have somewhere to go?’

‘I can easily find somewhere. I’ll be fine. Coming here was a spur of the moment thing. I had no idea Alex wasn’t home. Tomorrow I’ll leave you in peace.’

After a beat, he said, ‘If you’re sure.’

‘I am, truly.’

It was totally silly of her to be disappointed when Jude nodded, then retreated, wishing her goodnight and muttering something about checking his emails.

Shortly afterwards, with the kitchen tidied, Emily went to Alex’s room and, out of habit, she retrieved her phone from her bag. Almost immediately, she wished she hadn’t bothered.

The first message was a text from a girlfriend in Wandabilla.

Is it really true about Michael? OMG. How awful.

Already, the gossip was spreading.

Emily’s mind flashed to the photo she’d seen on Facebook just yesterday, a shot of Michael, her boyfriend of twelve months, with his pretty wife and two cute children, a little boy who looked just like him and a baby girl with golden curls.

Pain washed through her, an appalling tide of anguish and grief. How could he do that? She’d given him a whole year of her life, and she’d been ready to spend the rest of her life with him.

How could she have been such a fool?




CHAPTER TWO


NIGHTS were the worst for Jude. During the day, he could keep his thoughts under control and he wouldn’t allow himself to worry. At night, however, the shadowy fears returned to haunt him, jumping out to snare him when he was almost asleep, or sneaking by the back door, sliding into his dreams.

Tonight, he came awake, shaking and drenched in a cold sweat, and he sat up quickly, hating the fact that waking brought very little comfort. His real life was almost as frightening as his dreams. His increasingly frequent headaches pointed to something serious, especially as lately his vision had begun to blur at the edges.

Alone at night, with no distractions, he found it so much harder to stop himself from worrying. This damn problem was dominating his life right now—even though he tried to hide it as best he could. All his life he’d viewed any illness as weakness—a bad habit he’d no doubt learned from his father, who’d never had any sympathy for their childhood illnesses. Measles, flu, grazed knees … his dad had always made his irritation very apparent.

Once, when Jude was about ten, he’d broken his leg playing football.

‘This will be a test of your manhood,’ his father had said. ‘Nobody likes a whinger.’

It was a message Jude had taken to heart.

Now, he noted the time—three-thirty a.m.—which wasn’t too bad. He’d already had several hours’ sleep, and he only had to manage for a few more hours before it would be daylight again.

Rolling over, he closed his eyes and willed himself to relax, but in the perfect stillness he heard noises coming from down the hall.

Soft sounds of crying.

From Emily’s room.

Any lingering thoughts about his own problems vanished. Jude sat up, listening intently through the darkness. Emily’s sobs were muffled, no doubt by her pillow, but, even so, the crying went on and on in an uncontrollable outpouring of misery.

The sounds were like hammer blows to Jude’s conscience. He knew damn well that if Alex were here Emily wouldn’t be crying like this. He’d promised Alex he’d keep an eye on her.

His feet hit the floor and he was halfway across the room before his head caught up with his chivalrous impulses.

OK. What, exactly, was he planning to do? Go to Emily? Offer her a shoulder to cry on?

Brilliant. If she’d broken her heart over a good-for-nothing boyfriend, she was hardly going to welcome another lusty bloke offering to hold her in his arms.

Sinking back onto the edge of his bed, Jude remembered the way she’d looked at dinner as she’d talked about her unhappy track record with men. She’d seemed so fragile, with shadows beneath her eyes and a trembling droop to her soft pink mouth. It was hard to believe she was the same tough cookie who managed an entire district’s bank accounts.

Obviously, the louse of a boyfriend had struck a cruel blow, and she’d come here to recuperate. To be consoled by Alex.

Alex would have known how to help her. Alex would have listened and encouraged her to talk and he would have known, instinctively, what she needed. Whereas Jude felt utterly helpless and totally inadequate. To make matters worse, he’d more or less accepted her offer to leave, which was tantamount to booting her out of the door.

How lousy was that after he’d promised to look out for her?

At last the crying settled down, but Jude couldn’t get back to sleep. He was in the kitchen quite early, brewing coffee, when Emily came into the room. In her nightgown.

Far out. He almost dropped the coffee pot. What was she thinking?

Her nightdress wasn’t deliberately provocative or see-through, but the frothy concoction of cream and lace frills hinted at her nakedness underneath. And, with her red-gold hair tumbling about her pale shoulders, she looked like an old-fashioned princess, a young Elizabeth the First. An appealing but tired princess who’d spent a troubled and anguished night.

Jude tried his best not to stare at the delightful hints of her breasts and bottom. He wondered if Emily assumed he was immune—gay, like Alex. He knew he should probably explain that this wasn’t the case, but he wasn’t sure how he could introduce the subject without tying himself in knots and embarrassing them both.

Instead, he tried to cover his reaction with an attempt at cheerfulness. ‘Are you hungry?’ he asked brightly. ‘In the mood for pancakes? Or bacon and eggs?’

To his surprise, Emily made a shooing gesture. ‘Don’t worry about breakfast. I can look after it. You need to start your writing.’

‘What are you? A slave-driver?’ He smiled to indicate this was an attempt at humour.

Emily merely blinked. ‘I thought you wrote madly all day and didn’t bother about meals.’

Well, yes, he had given that impression last night, hadn’t he? Truth was, he’d been writing since four a.m., and his hunger pangs had steadily mounted. For hours now he’d been fantasising about the breakfast ingredients they’d bought last night.

About to grab a frying pan, he saw, again, the red-rimmed despair in Emily’s eyes, lingering traces of her midnight tears. She would probably find cheery chatter at breakfast painful. Perhaps the kindest thing he could offer was to stay clear and hide behind his work.

‘I’ll head off then,’ he said quickly. ‘But, before I go, I’ve been thinking about your plan to leave. You know there’s no need.’

He couldn’t quite believe he’d said that. The words had jumped out of nowhere.

Emily looked surprised, too. Her eyes widened and Jude almost back-pedalled. His life over the next week would be so much easier without her here.

‘Are you sure, Jude?’

‘Of course. You’re Alex’s cousin, and he wants to make his home welcome to you. You’ve more right to be here than I have.’

Her blue eyes sparkled with a suspicious sheen. ‘That’s very kind of you.’

Jude was quite sure he hadn’t been half as kind as Alex had hoped. He cleared his throat. ‘And if you need to talk …’

To his dismay, Emily flushed brightly.

‘I don’t mean to pry,’ he added awkwardly. ‘I’m not Alex, but if there’s any way I can help …’

‘That’s sweet of you, Jude, but I couldn’t dump my problems onto you.’

He shrugged, unsure what to say. Counselling was so not his forte.

Then Emily gave a helpless flap of her hands. ‘Oh, heck. Perhaps I should tell you what happened. Just to clear the air.’

He waited, leaning against the door jamb, trying to look as if he had all the time in the world.

‘I’ve been seeing a geologist for over a year,’ she said quietly but steadily. ‘His name’s Michael and he came to Wandabilla regularly as part of his work. Exploratory prospecting—that sort of thing. And—’ she gave a hopeless little shrug ‘—he was charming and sexy and I fell in love …’

On the word love her voice cracked and she took another deep breath while her gaze was fixed on the jug of yellow daffodils on the kitchen counter.

‘This week, Michael and I were supposed to go away on holiday together. I’d taken my annual leave. Everything was planned.’

Again Emily paused, paying serious attention to the daffodils. ‘We were due to fly to Fiji, but on the night before our flight, a friend sent me a link to a Facebook page. Actually, it was a link to Michael’s wife’s Facebook page.’

Suddenly, her mouth twisted out of shape.

Jude’s throat tightened. ‘You’re absolutely sure it was him?’ he asked, keeping any hint of reproach from his voice.

Emily nodded. ‘Michael admitted it. He could hardly deny it when the photo was there on the screen. There he was with his lovely wife and two beautiful children. They live in South Australia and his name’s not even Michael. It’s Mark.’

Jude’s hands fisted, itching to land a punch on the rat’s nose.

‘So that’s my sad little story.’ Emily’s lips tilted in a travesty of a smile. ‘But please don’t worry. I’m OK. Heartbreak’s not fatal. I’ll get over it.’

‘But you must stay here as long as you need to,’ Jude said. ‘Try not to take any notice of me. Just treat this place as your own.’

‘Well, if you’re sure … thanks.’

He raised his coffee mug in a salute, and managed to smile. ‘I’ll be off to the salt mines, but I might sneak back later to make some toast.’

‘Oh, I can make toast for you.’ Suddenly she was eager, as if to make amends. ‘What would you like on it? Marmalade? A slice of bacon?’

‘Ah—bacon would be great. Thank you.’

‘Actually,’ she said with a hopeful look, ‘I make a great bacon sandwich.’

‘Sounds terrific.’

As Jude retreated to his room, he told himself that keeping his distance from Emily was, truly, his wisest option. She needed privacy to get over her heartache, and he had plenty of reasons to keep to himself.

Reasons he preferred not to think about now. But the appointment at the hospital was looming towards him like headlights on a speeding freight train. Every time he thought about the tests and the possible outcome, he was flooded by a rush of anxiety.

Shaking those thoughts aside, he opened his work in progress, and he prayed that his muse would be friendly, letting him escape into a world of fantasy.

The words did not flow.

Not the right words, at any rate. Jude’s morning commenced poorly and came to a grinding halt when Emily, still in her nightdress, appeared at his door with a tray.

‘Breakfast,’ she said softly, as if she were afraid to interrupt a genius at work.

The tray held the promised bacon sandwich, which smelled amazing, as well as a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice and another pot of coffee.

‘My ministering angel,’ he told her and she gave a self-conscious laugh.

‘Hardly.’

‘Well, in that get-up, you look like some kind of angel.’

She blushed and looked upset and Jude immediately wished he could take the words back. Too late, she was already whirling away and he found himself watching her retreating heels, flashing pink beneath the frilled hem of her nightdress.

He didn’t see her again for the rest of the day. Which was, he decided, a very good thing.

Naturally he was grateful that he’d been left in peace. Except … the afternoon’s writing fared as badly as the morning’s. Ideas wouldn’t come. Words evaded Jude and when he emerged from his room at the end of the day, he felt particularly irritable and sluggish. And mad with himself for wasting precious hours.

Usually, when he felt like this, he went for a long, brisk walk to shake out the cobwebs. This evening, however, he was distracted by enticing aromas wafting from the kitchen.

Following his nose, he discovered Emily wrapped in one of Alex’s gaudy aprons, and looking especially fetching with her bright hair pinned up in a loose knot from which fiery tendrils escaped.

‘That smells amazing.’

She turned to him and she was a bit pink and flushed, but much happier than she’d been when she’d left his office this morning. In fact, she sent him a bright-eyed smile. ‘It’s coq au vin. I hope you like it.’

‘I’m sure I’ll love it, but I don’t expect you to cook for me, Emily.’

‘I don’t mind. I like cooking, and it’s my way of repaying you for last night’s dinner.’ She shot him a quick enquiring glance. ‘Or were you planning to go out?’

It occurred to Jude that he should have called one of his mates and planned an evening out. Surely that was a wiser plan than spending another night at home with this far too attractive girl.

However, he found himself saying, ‘I don’t have any plans.’ And he helped himself to a glass of iced water from the fridge. ‘That dinner smells sensational.’

‘So speaks a self-confessed pushover when it comes to food.’

‘Sprung,’ he admitted with a rueful smile.

Emily smiled, too, and he thought he could stare at her smile for ever …

‘I’ve tried to keep quiet,’ she said. ‘Have you had a productive day?’

‘Not very.’

For a moment she looked worried, but then her eyes widened with unmistakable excitement. ‘I bought one of your novels this afternoon. It’s called Thorn in the Flesh and I’ve started reading it. It’s fabulous, Jude. Totally gripping. I’m hooked, and it’s exactly what I needed to stop me from dwelling … on … everything.’

‘I’m glad it hit the spot.’

To his surprise, she folded her arms and leant a shapely hip against a kitchen cupboard with the air of someone settling in for a discussion. ‘Morgan, the heroine, is really tough,’ she said. ‘Mentally tough. And I like the way she guards her heart.’ Emily rolled her eyes. ‘I should be more like her.’

Jude shrugged. ‘Perhaps you’re too hard on yourself. Fictional characters are always larger than life.’

‘That’s true, I guess.’

‘I could never live up to my hero’s standards.’

She nodded. ‘Raff’s a very cool customer, isn’t he?’

‘Of course.’

Of course … Jude thought. His heroes had always been very cool and very tough, ever since he’d first created them for the stories he told to his little sister, Charlotte. At the age of eight he’d been trying to drown out the nightly ordeal of their parents’ rowdy arguments.

These days, with new enemies, Jude wished it was as easy to escape from reality.

Emily had turned to the stove and was adjusting the flame beneath the fragrantly simmering pot. ‘Have you heard from Alex?’ she asked casually.

‘Not today.’

‘Do you miss him?’ She gave the pot a stir.

Finishing his iced water, Jude shrugged. ‘Not especially. He’ll only be away for three weeks or so.’

Then he saw the way Emily was watching him, her blue eyes soft and round with obvious sympathy, and he realised with a slam of dismay that she’d decided he was Alex’s lover.

He should deny it now. Tell her the truth. Hell, just looking at her in her simple jeans and Alex’s striped apron, Jude was fighting off desire so strong that it startled him. He was surprised that Emily could stand there in the same room and not be aware of his screaming lust.

Thing was, it should have been dead easy to set her straight. How hard was it to make a simple statement? By the way, Emily, I’m not gay.

All things being equal, he would have told her. Immediately. No problem.

Except … there were other factors at play here. Emily was enjoying a kind of immunity in this apartment, but if she knew the truth about him, she was likely to pick up on the attraction he felt. For all kinds of reasons, that was a bad idea.

Her trust in men had taken a severe hammering and she’d come here seeking sanctuary. Feeling safe was very important to her right now, and Jude didn’t want to upset that. This apartment offered her time-out. From men. Time to pick up the pieces after her recent relationship disaster. The last thing she needed was an awareness of a new guy with the hots for her.

Just as importantly, Jude knew he was totally crazy to entertain randy thoughts when he’d come to the city to find out what the hell was wrong with him. He needed a medical diagnosis, not a romantic entanglement with the first gorgeous girl who walked through the door.

All things considered, it was much easier and safer to simply let Emily assume that he was gay. After all, she wouldn’t be here for long, and he—

Hell. He had his life on hold until he knew what the future had in store for him.

When Emily woke the next morning she felt marginally happier. She’d slept quite well during the night, no doubt because she’d gone to bed feeling thoroughly relaxed after a pleasant evening at home with Jude.

They’d enjoyed a leisurely meal, which Jude had complimented lavishly, and then they’d sunk into comfy armchairs and read novels in the pleasantly heated lounge room while CDs played softly in the background. It had been rather cosy and undemanding, the kind of evening she’d often spent with Alex.

Now, having dressed in jeans and a sweater because she didn’t want another comment about angels and nightgowns, she wandered into the kitchen at almost nine o’clock. It was the longest sleep she’d had in ages. No wonder she felt better.

To her surprise, there were no signs that Jude was up. The kettle was cold, which meant he’d either made his cuppa long ago, or he hadn’t bothered.

She made coffee and blueberry pancakes and assembled a breakfast tray, as she had on the previous day, then knocked softly on Jude’s door. After all, bringing him breakfast was the least she could do when he was hard at work and generously sharing his living space with her.

He didn’t answer to her knock, which was another surprise. She wondered if he was in some kind of artistic frenzy, typing madly as the clever words flowed straight from his imagination through his fingertips and onto the keyboard. He might be very angry if she interrupted.

Then again … he’d welcomed the breakfast she’d prepared yesterday. She knocked again, less cautiously this time.

There was a muffled growl from inside.

‘Jude, would you like coffee and pancakes?’

At first he didn’t answer, but then the door opened slowly and Jude leant a bulky shoulder against the door frame. He was wearing black boxer shorts and a holey grey T-shirt that hugged his muscly arms and chest. His eyes were squinted as if the muted light in the hallway was too bright.

His dark hair was tousled into rough spikes, his jaw covered in a thin layer of dark stubble, but it was the glassy strain in his eyes that told Emily he was in pain.

‘I won’t bother with breakfast this morning,’ he said dully. Then, added as an afterthought, ‘Thanks, those pancakes look great, but I’m not hungry.’

‘Are you unwell?’

‘Headache.’

‘Oh, gosh, I’m sorry. Is there anything I can get you? Do you need aspirin? Camomile tea?’

A ghost of a smile flitted over his face and he started to shake his head, then grimaced, as if the movement was too painful. ‘I have medication. Don’t worry, I’m used to this. I’ll hit the sack for an hour or so and then I should be fine.’

Clearly, Jude didn’t want to be bothered by any more questions, so Emily tiptoed away, leaving him to rest, but she felt disturbed and worried. She’d experienced guys with hangovers, but Jude hadn’t been drinking, and he’d said he was used to these headaches. How awful for him.

A pool of morning sunlight on the balcony beckoned, so, feeling unaccountably subdued, she ate her breakfast at a little wrought-iron-and-glass table, with Thorn in the Flesh propped against a pot plant. She finished the last two chapters while she ate.

Jude’s story was wonderful. Not only was there a fabulously thrilling chase at the end to catch the bad guys, but there was also a lovely and poignant romantic finale for the deserving hero and heroine. She marvelled that a gay man could portray the male-female emotions so perfectly.

There was only one problem. When Emily put the book down, she came back to earth with an abrupt and unhappy thud. Her own romances had never finished happily. Every one of them had ended suddenly and miserably, leaving her to feel like The World’s Greatest Romantic Loser.

She couldn’t help wondering if there was something crucially wrong with her personality. Some genetic defect that caused her to always fall for the wrong man.

All she wanted, really, was to be like her parents, to find one person to love, one relationship to feel safe inside. She’d grown up watching their warmth and affection and she’d listened many times to their story of how they’d met at a country dance and married young, never regretting their decision.

Even her brother Jack had been lucky in love. He’d married his high school sweetheart, Kelly, a girl from a nearby farm. There’d only ever been one girl for Jack, and now he and Kelly were ridiculously happy.

Emily’s family made finding love look easy, and yet she’d tried so many times and failed. Now, she punished herself with memories, starting with Dimitri, the dark and ruggedly handsome Russian choreographer at the ballet school in Melbourne.

Having taken advantage of her youth and naivety, Dimitri had promptly dropped her overnight when he took up with one of the stars of the Australian Ballet. Emily had taken almost a year to recover from that heartbreak.

Back home in the Wandabilla district, she’d met Dave, a nice, safe farmer, and this time she was sure she’d struck gold. She would marry and live on a farm near her family, and she could envision her happy future so easily.

Dave had been as different from Dimitri as possible—practical and rough around the edges, and not the slightest bit interested in ‘culture’. She’d been happy to swap satin pointe shoes and the barre for tractors and cow manure.

But Dave’s first love was rodeos and, eventually, he’d taken off on the competition circuit, travelling to all the outback events. He’d expected Emily to throw up her job and follow him, but she wasn’t prepared to do that, she’d realised, much to her own surprise.

In western New South Wales, Dave had discovered Annie, a camp-drafting champion who shared his passion, and his phone calls to Emily had stopped.

After that, Emily had thrown herself into her work. She’d attended workshops on customer relations and marketing, and any other professional development programmes that could boost her up the corporate ladder.

When she’d dived into the dating pool—unsurprisingly, it was rather shallow in Wandabilla—she’d set herself strict rules. No longer would she be so trusting and open, and she wouldn’t allow herself to fall in love again until she met a man who ticked all the right boxes. Following her new plan, she’d never gone out with any one fellow more than a few times, and she was determined from then on that she would be the one who ended her relationships.

She had been feeling quite confident again. Before Michael had arrived in town.

Conservatively good-looking, intelligent and charming, Michael had been perfect. Emily had learned from her mistakes, however, and she’d resisted his attention at first. Michael had chased her with flattering persistence and, in the end, she’d decided he was genuine in his admiration.

And surely he was safe? He wasn’t a foreign artist or an outback drifter. He wasn’t even a local. He was a geologist from South Australia, prospecting in the Wandabilla district for a mining company.

Admittedly, Michael was only in her district for six weeks at a time, but he flew back regularly, and he always wrote to her or phoned her while he was away.

In time she was confident that he was The One.

After all, weren’t geologists clever and educated, and as solid and dependable as the rocks they studied?

What a joke.

Emily let out a long groan of frustration. And pain.

Losing Michael hurt. So much. Her pain went way beyond disappointment. She felt betrayed, used and foolish, as if she hadn’t gained one single jot of wisdom since Dimitri. And, even though she was the innocent party, she felt guilty that she’d slept with someone else’s husband and father.

She could too easily imagine how deeply Michael—no, Mark’s—wife loved him, could imagine how hurt the other woman would be if she ever found out.

Emily’s sense of gloom dived even deeper when she returned to the kitchen and saw the blinking light on her mobile phone.

Wincing at the possibilities, she clicked on her message bank and discovered five—count them, five—new text messages from people in Wandabilla.

Normally, she would try to reply, to at least thank these people for their concern, even though they weren’t genuinely close friends but mainly curious gossipers.

Today, however, there were also three voice messages from Michael-slash-Mark, and his first message was full of apologies and entreaties, begging her to ring him back.

Hearing his voice brought a fresh slug of misery and anger, and Emily almost hurled the phone across the room.

She might have done that, actually, if she wasn’t worried that the crash would wake Jude. Her gaze flashed to his novel, Thorn in the Flesh, sitting on the breakfast tray, and she remembered Morgan, Jude’s tough heroine.

Emily needed to be like her. From now on.

Smiling, she picked up the phone and deleted every single message without responding.

It felt good.

Very good, actually.




CHAPTER THREE


Mid-afternoon …

EMILY had been out to a bookshop, where she’d bought two more of Jude’s books, and she was stretched out on the sofa, deeply absorbed in a thrilling mystery set in the wilds of The Kimberley Coast when she heard Jude’s door open. Shortly after, she heard the sound of the shower in the bathroom.

Good. He must be feeling better. She was surprised by how pleased she felt about this. She even found her attention wandering from the book as she waited for Jude to emerge from the bathroom. It was suddenly important to make sure that he really was OK.

When he finally came into the living room, freshly shaved, hair damp from the shower and smelling pleasantly of lemon-scented soap, he was no longer frowning or squinting with pain, and it was almost impossible to tell that he’d been unwell.

‘Feeling better?’ Emily asked with a jolly-nurse smile.

‘Much better, thanks.’ He seemed keen to shrug her concern aside. ‘Actually, I’m heading out now.’

It was crazy to be instantly disappointed. Why should she miss Jude? She’d never been a person who was needy for company.

Annoyed with herself, she held up the book she was reading. ‘I’m really enjoying this, by the way.’

Jude saw the cover and his eyes glinted with amusement. ‘Don’t tell me I’ve acquired a fan?’

‘Perhaps,’ she said airily. ‘You’ve done a good job with Ellie. She has hang-ups like the rest of us, but she wouldn’t dare let them show. I like that about her. She’s classy. And I love that she’s blonde and leggy and carries a pistol in her handbag.’

‘Glad you approve.’ Hands sunk deep in the pockets of his jeans, Jude bowed with mock solemnity, then turned and headed for the door. ‘Don’t worry about dinner,’ he called over his shoulder. ‘It’s my turn to cook tonight.’

Emily was about to remind him that he didn’t like to cook when he looked back and she caught the ghost of a twinkle in his eye.

‘How about I bring home Thai?’ he said, then quickly disappeared before she could answer.

The front door closed behind him, and the apartment felt weirdly empty.

It was quite late, almost dark, when Jude arrived back bearing the promised tubs of takeaway Thai. They ate on the balcony, watching the last of the sunset over distant Mount Coot-tha.

‘I was wondering if you’d like to see a movie tonight,’ he asked as they ate. ‘It’ll cheer us both up.’

‘Do we need cheering up?’

He sent her a measuring glance. ‘Isn’t that why you’re here?’

‘Well, yes,’ she admitted. ‘But I’m not your responsibility, Jude. Don’t feel obliged to entertain me.’

‘I could do with cheering, too. That blasted headache left me feeling a bit out of sorts.’

‘That’s not surprising.’ Emily couldn’t shake off the lingering suspicion that there was something else, something more deeply serious that was troubling him. She didn’t know him well enough to ask, so she said instead, ‘I suppose you’d prefer to see a thriller?’

‘Would you mind?’ He offered her an apologetic shrug. ‘I’ve never been much good with chick flicks.’

‘That surprises me, actually. I thought you must watch them and study them. You write such lovely romantic scenes in your books.’

‘Do I?’ He looked suddenly caught out, almost guilty.

‘But don’t worry,’ Emily assured him. ‘I’m happy to watch a thriller. I’m certainly not in the mood for romance.’

This time when their gazes met, she thought she caught a different expression—a momentary flash in Jude’s handsome grey eyes that caught her completely on the back foot. Not at all what she’d expected from a gay man. For a moment, she’d gained the unlikely impression that he was very much aware of her—as a woman.

Heaven knew she’d read that message in men’s eyes often enough in the past. But surely she was being fanciful now? Of all the guys she’d spent time with, Jude was safe.

To her relief, he said simply, ‘A thriller it is then. There’s a really good one that just came out last week. And it will be my shout. After all, I get to count it as research.’

It was certainly pleasant to get out of the house, to wrap up and walk the frosty streets, and it was nice to know she could enjoy a man’s company without any danger of breaking her heart.

The movie, as Jude had predicted, was an exciting, edge-of-the-seat thriller, and it soon worked its magic. For close to two hours Emily almost stopped thinking about Michael.

Joy.

‘I definitely feel better for having seen that,’ she said as they left the cinema.

Jude raised a questioning eyebrow. ‘Do you want to prolong the fun? Are you in a rush to get home, or would you like to find somewhere for coffee?’

Going back to the apartment would mean returning to her solitary bedroom and her solitary one-track thoughts.

‘I’d love to stay out for a bit longer,’ she admitted. ‘I’m glad you seem to have completely recovered.’

‘So am I.’ He smiled, but the effect was spoiled by the flicker of a shadow in his eyes. ‘I’m fine now.’

Emily wished she hadn’t seen that flicker. For a fanciful second it had looked like the shadow of a falling axe. She wished she could shake off the sense that something was really troubling Jude, and she wondered if he was trying to distract himself, just as she was. It was probably a good thing she’d agreed to stay out.

They found a snug table in the back corner of a crowded coffee shop. Emily ordered hot chocolate, which came with tiny pink and white marshmallows for melting, and Jude ordered tea—Lapsang Souchong, which arrived in a ruby-glass pot, smelling smoky and inexplicably masculine.

‘You drink the same tea as your hero, Raff,’ she teased as she scooped a sticky blob of marshmallow from her mug.

Jude smiled. ‘Strange coincidence, isn’t it?’

As they sipped their warm drinks, they talked about the movie, debating the significance of some of the plot twists.

‘The scriptwriters certainly knew all about crime and the underbelly of society,’ Emily suggested. Across the lamplit table, she narrowed her eyes at Jude. ‘So do you, actually. It shows in your books. How do you do it? How do you get inside the mind of a hardened criminal?’

‘I research,’ he answered simply.

‘Yes, I guessed that, but how? Who do you talk to?’

‘Hardened criminals.’

He said this so dryly and with such a poker face that, momentarily, she almost fell for it.

Then, matching his dry tone, she replied. ‘So you’re telling me it’s not safe to associate with you.’

This time his eyes twinkled. ‘Touché. Of course, you’re safe.’

There was a moment, as their gazes met across the table, when Emily felt a kind of woozy warmth that was totally unfitting.

‘Seriously,’ she said abruptly, shaking off the feeling. ‘I’m interested in how you make your stories so real.’

‘Seriously,’ Jude said, ‘I have contacts with the police and in the military. I’ve grilled them mercilessly about their work. I’ve spent full days with a firearms instructor, and another day observing Army commando training. I’ve even taken part, so I know what it feels like to be cuffed, down on the ground and immobile while a tactical unit performs a mock hostage rescue.’

With a smile, he said, ‘And now I’ve met a bank manager, and that could be very handy, too. I can imagine all sorts of scenarios involving a heist and a beautiful banking boss.’

Heat flamed in Emily’s cheeks, and she pressed her hands against the patches of warmth, hoping to hide them. She couldn’t believe she was blushing simply because Jude had implied she was beautiful. Of all the ridiculous reactions.

Why should she blush over this man’s completely nonsexual assessment of her looks?

To cover her silly reaction, she made a joke against herself. ‘Just my luck, one of the robbers will turn out to be a former boyfriend.’ Then, quickly, she steered the subject safely away from herself. ‘What about your current book? Where’s it set?’

‘The Gold Coast. But I’m beginning to think it’s a bit too close to home. I prefer more distant settings.’

‘Why? Does your imagination work better at a distance?’

He looked at her with surprise. ‘Yes, I think it does.’ Then he frowned. ‘Are you pretending to be interested, or are you genuinely curious?’

‘I’m genuine. Honestly. Why do you ask?’

Jude shook his head. ‘I was just wondering … I wouldn’t have expected a bank manager to be interested in fiction.’

‘You’re stereotyping,’ she accused with rather more iciness than she actually felt.

‘Yeah. It’s a failing.’ Jude’s unrepentant gaze flickered over her and then swept around the crowded café and the chattering customers gathered in the booths. ‘I know it’s not polite to mention this, but your clothes seem very—or should I say—extremely fashionable. Not quite what I’d expected from a little place like Wandabilla.’

‘Is this another example of your narrow views?’

‘I’m afraid it is.’ He confessed this without a hint of remorse. ‘But I’m genuinely curious. Is it a status thing?’

‘I … I suppose it might be.’ Emily hadn’t been asked this question before, but there were a lot of wealthy farmers who conducted their business at her bank and classy clothes had become her armour. For a young woman to hang on to a position of power, she had to win respect any way she could.

At least, this was what she’d told herself, but she sometimes wondered if her efforts to acquire a perfect career and a perfect wardrobe were compensation for her lack of a perfect relationship.

‘So where do you shop?’ Jude asked. ‘Do you travel to the city?’

‘Not often. I do almost all my shopping online.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘I love the Internet. If I ever give up my current job, I think I’ll develop some kind of business I can run online.’

Thinking about the Internet, however, brought back sickening memories of Michael-slash-Mark.

Emily wasn’t sure how long she sat there, sunk in miserable memories.

Eventually, she heard Jude’s voice.

‘Are you OK?’

He asked this solicitously, just as Alex might have, and she couldn’t help answering honestly. ‘I’m very mad with myself for wasting a whole year on a relationship that was never going anywhere.’

‘It’s not easy to see through a practised conman. They’re usually consummate charmers.’ Jude’s face was surprisingly fierce. ‘My father was like that—having affairs all over the place.’

His hands were clenched into fists on the tabletop. ‘And then my mother punished him by having revenge affairs.’

He looked so upset, Emily stopped thinking about her own worries. She was imagining Jude growing up with unhappy parents. At least her problems hadn’t started until she’d left home.

Their conversation, she realised, had suddenly gone deeper. Jude’s grey eyes were as hard as granite, as if just thinking about his parents changed him completely.

‘Have you ever talked to Alex about this?’ she asked.

Jude looked startled. ‘No.’

‘It’s just that he’s very good at laying ghosts to rest.’

‘Yes, I can imagine he would be.’ Then Jude gave a shake, as if ridding himself of unwanted memories.

They lapsed into silence and Emily finished off her chocolate. ‘I’m sure I have a moustache.’ With an embarrassed smile, she reached for a paper napkin.

‘Here, let me.’

To her surprise, Jude took the napkin from her and dabbed at her upper lip. The pressure of his fingers so close to her mouth felt strangely intimate and he was looking at her with an intensity that stole her breath.

After what felt like an age, he blinked like someone coming out of a trance, then dropped the napkin onto his saucer. ‘What were we talking about?’

Emily’s mind had gone blank. To her dismay, she found herself thinking how attractive he was, and how the message in his grey eyes had made her feel strangely knife-edgy and weightless. And there was a vibe between them, an impossible awareness that was very confusing.

Surely her imagination was playing tricks on her? There must be something wrong with her. After her debacle with Michael, she couldn’t possibly be interested in any man for ages. Right now, a life of celibacy had huge appeal and, anyway, Jude wasn’t even available.

She made a flustered, helpless gesture, hoping to break the strange spell that seemed to have fallen over her, and promptly knocked the pepper pot. Next moment she was sneezing, then floundering in her bag for tissues.





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