Falling for Her Wounded Hero

by Marion Lennox

  ‘I’m not talking about physical hurt. It’s the other hurt that stays with us. Watching my father break my mother’s heart... Watching your husband betray you... Watching Emily die...’ And then he stopped.

  There was a long, long silence. She couldn’t break it. She didn’t know how.

  And then...

  ‘Tasha, I’d really like to kiss you.’

  This was a bad idea. Her head knew it but somehow tonight she’d passed the point where her head was in control.

  The night. The pain she’d just tried to express. His pain.

  Tom...

  She’d never talked to anyone as she and Tom had just talked. She’d tried to hide her pain, not put it out there for anyone to see.

  Only this wasn’t anyone.

  Tom was her friend. He was the man she’d gone to when she’d been in trouble. He was a colleague, someone who’d helped her, and she could help back. A man who’d suffered a cerebral bleed.

  He was all of those things but above all he was Tom.

  A man sitting beside her, reaching out to touch her face, swiping away an errant tear that had welled up despite her best efforts to hold it back.

  She hadn’t cried since she’d left Australia eighteen months before. She’d left her tears in a graveyard high on the headland of Cray Point and she’d shed no tears since.

  But somehow Tom exposed her.

  She’d just told him she could never feel fear again, and here it was, in the car with them. She was fearful.

  Not of Tom. Never of Tom.

  She was frightened of how he made her feel.

  Turn on the ignition, she told herself. Head for home. Her head was screaming it, but Tom’s touch on her face was light, wondering, gentle.

  Her friend.

  A Blake boy?

  The analogy seemed to have gone out the window. She’d watched him comfort a tiny child, calm her, settle her.

  She’d watched him care for Iris. Care about Iris.

  And despite her fears, a flicker of hope lit within her and refused to be quelled.

  Maybe she could try... Maybe they could try...

  Move forward with your head, not your heart.

  Her mantra was wavering. She was trying to clutch at it but it was vaporising at his touch.

  ‘I won’t hurt you.’ He said it like it was the most sacred vow and somehow she managed to smile.

  ‘By kissing me? You have five o’clock stubble. Of course you’ll hurt me.’

  ‘You want to risk it?’ The fingers traced her cheekbones, then moved to cup her face, but as if he could sense her fear, his hands held her lightly so she could pull back at any moment.

  But fear was receding. Those last tugs from that appalling mantra couldn’t hold her. This was Tom.

  She raised her face to his and let herself be pulled in to be kissed.

  * * *

  She hadn’t expected it. She hadn’t wanted it.

  She wanted it now.

  His mouth met hers, lightly, tentatively, ready to pull away if she made the least move of protest.

  But how could she protest when it felt as if his mouth belonged to her? Was part of her. Was...hers?

  For the feel of his mouth on hers wasn’t complicated at all. The first touch had deepened in an instant as both their bodies recognised something bigger than each of them.

  Heat. Passion. Desire.

  For she wanted him. Her body was screaming its need and she had no defence. She wanted no defence. She sank into the kiss and melted into its heat. She felt his arms wrap around her as if she was the most precious thing in the world, and that’s what she felt like. Cherished.

  Helpless in the face of mutual desire.

  Melting and wanting to melt.

  But this wasn’t exactly a private place. View Point was also known as Passion Point and for a reason. The local kids used it as a parking spot and why wouldn’t they? The place breathed romance.

  And now a car zoomed in behind them, all eight cylinders of heated-up metal. It cruised up beside them, the sound system sending out a booming bass that was pretty much guaranteed to break any romantic moment. The driver’s window came down and a head poked out.

  ‘Hey, Doc, not expecting to see you up here. You got a chick?’

  ‘That’s what I get for not buying a generic sedan,’ Tom breathed, and tugged away.

  ‘You too busy to talk?’ the kid in the car called, and Tom sighed and wound down his window.

  ‘Time you were home in bed, Benny Lannard,’ he said sternly. ‘Does your dad know you have his car?’

  ‘Got my licence last week,’ Benny said proudly. ‘Me and Kylie’s just trying things out.’

  ‘Yeah, well don’t go trying too much out,’ Tom said bluntly. ‘You guys know how babies are made and they mean the end of life as you know it. You make Kylie pregnant, mate, you’ll be a grandpa at forty and you’ll be paying child maintenance for the next twenty years.’

  There was a moment’s deathly silence.

  ‘Child maintenance...’

  ‘I know you’d do the right thing by Kylie,’ Tom said inexorably. ‘But if you don’t support her the government garnishes your wages. They take half or sometimes more, until the kid’s as old as you are. But of course you know that. And by the way, Kylie, if you end up pregnant you won’t get into your nineteen-fifties dresses ever again, and who can go clubbing with a baby in tow? If you think your mum will take over, think again. I know your mum.’

  ‘Uh, gross,’ Kylie muttered. ‘Benny, maybe...’

  ‘Yeah, babe,’ Benny said hurriedly, and Tasha had to choke back laughter at the sudden lack of enthusiasm in both their voices. And then Benny said... ‘Who you got there, Doc?’

  ‘A friend,’ Tom said, winding his window up firmly. ‘A friend who’s mature enough to know it’s time to go home. We’ll leave you to it but if you’re planning on starting a family tonight, drop in tomorrow and I’ll give you both a brochure on the responsibilities of parenthood.’

  * * *

  They drove home. Tasha was torn between laughter and something else. Something she couldn’t name.

  The kiss had changed all sorts of things. So had Tom’s lecture on responsibility. He cared so much, she thought. He loved this little community and the thought was suddenly, inexplicably sexy.

  A doctor giving a lecture on teenage pregnancy? What was sexy about that?

  But he’d made her laugh and he’d kissed her again lightly before they’d driven from View Point and every single sense was aware of him. Achingly aware. Nothing else seemed to matter.

  Where was sense when she needed it? She couldn’t grasp it and she didn’t.

  And when they reached home the sensation became almost unbearable.

  ‘Cup of tea?’ Tom said, and his voice was suddenly unsteady. His voice had been starting to lose the faint slur the stroke had caused and she missed it. Which was dumb. Inexplicable. And then she thought, was she missing it because it meant that soon he’d have no need of her?

  Soon she could go home. Wherever home was.

  ‘Or bed?’ Tom asked before she could answer the tea question, and the world seemed to still.

  Tea and bed. A normal question between friends.

  Friends to lovers... It could happen.

  It shouldn’t happen, she told herself fiercely. It was dumb. She’d fallen for one Blake.

  Tom wasn’t Paul. He was just... Tom.

  And there was no pressure. They ditched their jackets, stowing their medical gear in the hall cupboard. They were two professionals home from the job.

  Home. There was that word again.

  She was home with Tom.

  Home was where the heart was and she knew where h
er heart lay. Up until now the sense of belonging had seemed everything to do with a tiny grave on a headland but suddenly she knew it wasn’t true. Or it was partly true but there was more.

  Where was her heart?

  It was well and truly here. It was entwined with all the things Tom had done for her. It was entwined with Tom’s caring, Tom’s laughter, Tom’s smile.

  Surely not. That’d make a mockery of every vow she’d made after the disaster of her marriage to Paul, but right now her heart didn’t seem to connect to her head.

  He was so near. So close.

  He should have a bigger hallway, she thought tangentially.

  And then he said, ‘Tasha...’ in a voice she hadn’t heard before.

  A voice full of tenderness. A voice that was husky with a passion that matched what she was feeling.

  A voice that said he wanted her as much as she wanted him.

  A voice that said bed was inevitable.

  ‘Tom,’ she whispered, and the thing was decided. He had her in his arms and he was lifting her...

  ‘Your leg,’ she squeaked. ‘Your arm...’

  ‘It’s therapy,’ he told her, smiling. ‘You don’t think my rehab team would approve of me exercising any way I know how?’

  ‘It’s not on your list,’ she managed.

  ‘Then it’s a dumb list. It needs all sorts of things added to it, starting now.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  SHE WOKE. THE sun was streaming into Tom’s bedroom and when she opened her eyes she could see the light glinting on the sapphire surface of the sea. She was in Tom’s arms and she’d never felt this way in her life.

  She’d thought marriage to Paul had been good. For a short time, before Paul’s love of adventure had eclipsed his desire for her, she’d loved their marriage. She’d believed she was loved.

  But she’d never felt like this. She lay spooned in Tom’s arms and she felt the world settle. This was her place. This was where she was meant to be. Bliss.

  But...this was where she’d vowed never to be again.

  And bliss or not, her stupid mantra surfaced, uncalled for, unwanted, but it was there all the same. Head, not heart. What had happened last night?

  Bliss had happened and it had taken every single piece of sense from her head and dissolved it, until all she’d felt was joy.

  And joy was a fleeting, cheating thing. Hadn’t she learned that?

  But joy was now. She closed her eyes again and pushed away the sense of panic. Surely all that mattered was that she was being held by Tom. This was the man who’d been there for her when she’d needed him most. He’d seen her at her most vulnerable. He’d held her while she’d sobbed and then, as she’d finally tugged herself out of despair, he’d made her laugh again.

  He was her lover.

  He shouldn’t be her lover. That appalling little voice was breaking the moment, ruining the feeling of utter contentment. She lay spooned in Tom’s arms, skin against skin, and it felt so right... It felt so wonderful...

  Go away, she told her stupid beetle of a mantra, and the mantra backed off a little and tucked itself into a dark corner of her brain.

  It was the best she could do. She couldn’t wrench it out entirely.

  But she wanted to give herself up entirely to this man. She wanted to think happy ever after. She wanted the whole fantasy.

  But the beetle was still asking questions. How many women had he had in this bed? How many more would share it in the future?

  She stirred and his hold on her tightened, strong, warm, possessive. ‘Good morning, my love,’ he whispered, his voice muffled by her hair, and she felt like screaming at her beetle. Go away, go away, go away.

  She’d gone this far. Why not embrace this moment? She turned within his arms and felt herself melt again. She was where she wanted to be more than anything else in the world.

  She was home.

  I don’t think so, the beetle told her, and she knew it spoke the truth. But for now... Please let me believe it as truth.

  And she did. Sort of. Her body turned to his again and it felt right. It felt perfect.

  She was so in love.

  She was so in trouble.

  * * *

  Tasha was different.

  He’d never felt this way with a woman before.

  She was his friend. He felt as if he’d known her forever. He felt as if he knew her through and through, and making love with her had been inevitable.

  He loved her.

  Until last night he would have said he loved her as a friend, nothing more. Or maybe he was lying. Maybe he’d wanted her for a very long time but he hadn’t acknowledged it until now.

  But there was no choice but to acknowledge it now. The way he felt...

  Was it possible that he could trust himself to commit?

  Was it possible that Tasha was the one?

  And there it was, a thunderbolt of knowledge so deep it almost knocked him sideways. He’d never thought he could be faithful to a woman, but he’d never met Tasha.

  With Tasha all bets were off. Family history be damned. He could be faithful. He would be faithful and suddenly, fiercely, he knew it at a level so deep that the years of doubt fell away.

  He’d teach her to trust, he thought. If he could learn the lesson then so could she.

  But for now... Enough of the introspection, he told himself as he gathered her against him yet again. He had this woman in his arms and that was all that mattered.

  He asked for nothing more in the world.

  But then the world broke in.

  * * *

  Susie...

  Theirs had been a fleeting relationship, not even consummated. She’d been fun. She’d now found a man she wanted a permanent relationship with, and that was fine by him. They were still friends.

  But why was she on his veranda at this hour?

  ‘Tom. Yoo-hoo... Tom, love, are you awake? It’s Susie. Sorry, sweetheart, I understand you should be resting but you know I left my shawl here? Donald’s taking me away for the weekend and I need it.’

  * * *

  If there was anything surer to bring Tasha’s mantra beetle out of its dark corner, this was it.

  Susie. A woman from Tom’s past.

  Only how did she know she was from his past?

  Because he’d told her? Because she trusted Tom?

  Maybe she did—but, oh, the level of faith she had to have...

  She didn’t have enough.

  Tom hauled on a pair of pants while Tasha lay back and cringed and the gorgeous feeling of being cherished turned to smut.

  He opened his wardrobe and grabbed a shawl, which made her feel even worse.

  This was innocent, she told herself. This was Tom’s past life and it had nothing to do with her, but head was suddenly ruling heart in no uncertain terms. It was fear. It wasn’t logical but she was a coward, and she knew it.

  Tom had walked out onto the veranda. He was speaking briefly to Susie, but she wasn’t listening. Fear had her hauling on knickers, bra, jeans and windcheater, and by the time he came back to the bedroom she was dressed.

  ‘Tasha...’ He came straight to her. He must be able to see the fear on her face. She couldn’t disguise it from herself, much less him. ‘Love, it’s not what it seems. Susie left her shawl here months ago, before the accident. Hilda must have packed it into the wardrobe. I saw it when I came home from hospital but I didn’t have the energy to do anything about it. She asked me about it last week. I told her where it was but then I forgot again. Then...to be honest...Tasha, I haven’t been thinking of Susie. You’ve been here...’

  ‘Your latest conquest,’ she muttered. ‘How can I have been so dumb?’

  ‘Tasha...’


  ‘Leave it, Tom,’ she said roughly. She felt sick. Betrayed.

  Not betrayed by Tom, though. He’d broken no promises. She was even sure that he was speaking the truth.

  The betrayal she felt was worse. She’d betrayed herself, her own beliefs, her own hard-earned self.

  ‘I never slept with Susie,’ he said flatly.

  ‘Tom, I believe you. I’m sorry. The conquest jibe was unfair. I do know you better than that. But you’re my friend, Tom, not my lover, and risking that by fancying myself in love with you is just plain dumb. It scares me. It makes me feel out of control and I’ve vowed never to go down that path again.’

  And then she took a deep breath and said what had to be said. What her mantra dictated she had to say.

  ‘Tom, I’ll be grateful for you forever. Please, if possible I’ll always be your friend, but because there’s this attraction between us then the friendship has to be at a distance. We both know that. So I’ll stay in Cray Point until you can drive again. I’ll stay until you don’t need to do rehab every day, but I won’t stay here.’

  ‘That’s crazy.’

  ‘Cats make me sneeze,’ she said, striving desperately for lightness, and then she decided to say it like it was. ‘But they don’t break my heart, and if I stay here that’s what I’m risking. I never meant you to be my lover and I don’t want that.’

  ‘I didn’t think I wanted it either.’ His voice was serious, troubled, and she saw real concern for her in his gaze. It was almost her undoing.

  But the feeling she’d had as he’d tugged Susie’s shawl from the wardrobe was one she’d never wanted to feel again. Okay, she believed him. Susie was simply an ex who’d left her shawl here, but it had opened a chasm in her heart that had been ripped open the moment she’d heard Paul on the phone to the other woman.

  She hadn’t wanted to believe it. She’d asked Paul calmly who he’d been on the phone to. Honesty in marriage, she’d thought, and she’d expected a confession.

  And then he’d lied, and she’d known he’d lied. She knew Tom was speaking the truth now, but lies or truth, that chasm was still there. To trust herself...

  No. She was self-contained. What had started with Paul had torn her heart. She’d got over his deceit and his death—sort of—and then she’d thrown her hat into the ring again in the loving business and she’d tried to have a baby. And that had ripped her heart almost out of her body.