Harlequin KISS November 2014 Box Set: Behind Closed Doors...Fired by Her FlingWho's Calling the Shots?Nine Month Countdown

by Anne Oliver

  ‘What’s supposed to happen now?’ Brooke moved away, still gripping the rail in front of her. ‘Are we supposed to say how beautiful Sydney is? How much is Sydney Tourism paying you for this segment, Jack?’

  She knew she was being cynical and flippant and rude but she had to be—because if she didn’t she’d tell him what she really thought. And she wasn’t going to do that. She wanted to get away from the memory of his smell and the flashing reminders of the way he’d kissed her and the words he’d growled into her ear that night. Of the way he’d made her feel as if she was the only woman he thought about and the only one he wanted.

  No. She pulled her core in tight to stop the heat there from spreading. She needed to get the hell away from here. Right now.

  ‘They’re paying plenty. So you should take some photos, enjoy the view. Make it look as if you’re having fun. You may as well settle in—we’ll be here for another twenty minutes.’

  ‘Then don’t let me hold you up—I’m sure you have work to do.’

  Jack leaned back to peer behind her. ‘Nope, I’m good. Looks like Mick’s got everything under control there.’ There was a new anger in his voice now. As if he was holding back too.

  Maybe if she didn’t say anything he’d walk away.

  ‘It’s better up here, don’t you think?’ he said.

  No, she didn’t think that at all. Up here was beginning to feel a lot like torture. ‘Mmm...’

  ‘Nothing matters for a few minutes. You can just stop and breathe, you know...and think.’

  She heard something in his voice. He was trying to tell her something but she had no idea what and she feared it was something she didn’t want to hear. Some pathetic excuse. Some patronising brush-off.

  Brooke breathed in. He was right. They were so far up and so far removed from anything it really did feel as if they were somewhere else and nothing else mattered. She had to calm down. She didn’t want to hear what he had to say. She could tell he was angry too. Anger only got you into trouble.

  Talk about something else. That would stop him from saying whatever it was he was going to say.

  ‘When I was little I used to hide in a cupboard. It was dark and quiet and no one could find me. It was the only place I felt safe. That’s what this feels like. Like I’m in the middle of everything but hidden away.’

  ‘You hid in a cupboard?’

  Crap. She shouldn’t have said that. She needed to think of something else.

  ‘Only a couple of times.’

  ‘Why? I thought you and your sisters were best friends—why would you want to get away from them?’

  Brooke licked her lips and lifted her hands to her hair, pulling it to one side. The anger was still there and it was starting to build again. ‘We were...the cupboard-hiding business was...’

  What was she saying? She needed to zip it.

  ‘Was what?’

  He was looking at her now. Intently. She could feel his dark eyes boring into her. Brooke tossed her hair, then gripped it again, pulling it into a ponytail at the back of her head.

  ‘Well, it was...before.’

  ‘Before?’

  ‘Before I met my sisters.’

  ‘You hid in a cupboard before you met your sisters? Maybe it is time to go down, Brooke—clearly the air is too thin for you up here.’

  He thought she was crazy. She knew she wasn’t making any sense. But she didn’t want him to think she was crazy—or angry.

  Still pulling at her hair, she turned away from him. ‘I didn’t meet my sisters till I was six. I was adopted.’

  The words came out soft, her lips barely moving. Her anger evaporated in an instant and was replaced with another emotion she hated even more. Sadness. Being adopted wasn’t something she was ashamed of—it was just something she didn’t like to talk about. People always asked questions. and she didn’t like the answers she had to give.

  But Jack was silent. He didn’t ask any questions.

  Brooke turned back. ‘Did you hear me?’

  ‘Yes.’ He was still looking at her. His eyes dark, his long lashes still.

  ‘Aren’t you going to ask me about it?’

  ‘No. Not unless you want me to.’

  Not unless she wanted him to.

  He wasn’t considerate and lovely and thoughtful. Even though he’d taken away her anger in the sand the other night. Even though he’d helped her get up this damn bridge. Even though he was still here, talking to her, when she was saying things he didn’t like. No, he was selfish and self-centred and he only wanted to be friends and didn’t call. She was angry with him.

  Brooke’s mouth clamped shut and she turned back to the sky, resting her hands on the rail. Jack moved next to her, his elbows on the rail, fingers clasped—looking out at she wasn’t sure what. They stood like that for a while. Not talking, not touching. Just looking.

  Brooke wanted to tell him. She wanted to confide in him. She missed her sisters, and she was lonely, and he was paying her attention so she wanted to tell him. She wanted to have this moment with him even if it was the only moment they’d ever have. Possibly because it was the only moment they’d ever have. After this was all over he’d be gone. It was safe to tell him.

  ‘My birth parents put me up for adoption when I was five. I had to go to a foster home. I don’t remember much—except that I would sit in a cupboard for hours. The old lady who was looking after me—Mrs Edwards, her name was—tried to get me to come out, but I didn’t like her. I don’t know why—looking back I’m pretty sure she was perfectly nice, but I hated her. So I hid in the cupboard.’

  Jack still didn’t say anything, but he turned to face her, one elbow still on the rail.

  Brooke didn’t look at him. She kept staring out to the ocean. ‘One day she asked me if I wanted carrots with my dinner and I screamed and screamed at her, saying, No! I don’t want carrots! That’s all I remember saying—I don’t want carrots! I was so angry.’

  Brooke tried to smile. It sounded ridiculous now. But the smile kept disappearing, no matter how she forced her lips to move upwards. It wasn’t funny. Not even now.

  Brooke stopped and took a breath, pushing down the hard lump that was in danger of moving up from her chest into her throat. That had happened a long time ago. All that anger...all that hate. Brooke stared into the black water of the harbour below. When she spoke again her voice was quieter.

  ‘She had all these porcelain cats everywhere and I started picking them up and throwing them. Smashing them. She grabbed me and tried to cuddle me but I fought her off. I threw the cats at her and they hit her in the head. She was bleeding. There was so much blood. I remember all the blood.’

  Still Jack remained silent. His silence was somehow comforting. She needed it. Slowly Brooke turned her body towards him. She still couldn’t look at him, though, so she looked over his shoulder instead.

  ‘I got moved then—to a house with two boys. I can’t even remember their names. They didn’t want me there. They would go off on their bikes super-fast so I couldn’t catch up. They called me names. Sooky Brooky...The Girl That No One Wanted.’

  Brooke felt Jack stand a little taller, his eyes still on her. She still couldn’t look at him.

  ‘One day I got angry because they were throwing rocks at me. I picked up the biggest one I could find and threw it back at them.’

  Brooke pushed at her lips again and one of them managed to tip up half-heartedly. She looked down at her hands and picked at her nails. Something she hadn’t done since she was a child.

  ‘It hit one of them and he fell. He ended up in hospital.’

  Brooke’s heart stilled. Those boys had hated her. They’d told her that her father had got rid of her because she was too ugly and her mother hadn’t wanted her because she couldn’t do anything. But they d
idn’t deserve what she had done. All because she’d got angry.

  ‘Brooke...’

  When Jack finally spoke his voice was deep and soft. As soon as she heard him say her name she wished he hadn’t. It wasn’t emotionless and indifferent and unfeeling at all.

  She didn’t look at him. She remembered those boys. She remembered the way they’d left her out and the way they’d only played boys’ games and wouldn’t let her join in. She remembered the boy splayed out in the dust. She’d thought she’d killed him. She remembered running away as fast as she could. They’d come and taken her away that night. She’d been so scared and so angry.

  ‘Brooke. You were just a little kid.’

  Brooke shook her head. She’d been a kid but she’d known what she was doing. She’d wanted to hurt them. The way she had hurt. Still hurt. The lump rose and Brooke choked it back down. She swallowed hard, trying desperately to stop the sob from falling out. She wasn’t going to cry. Not about that. Not now—and not in front of Jack.

  ‘Brooke.’

  When his hands touched hers the sob stuck in her chest. He wasn’t touching her the way he had the other night. It wasn’t fast and hard and fleeting. It was firm, but tender. His fingers wrapped around hers, stopping her from picking at her nails. The air stilled for a moment and breathing became difficult. When Brooke looked up she met Jack’s eyes. Dark and soft and full of concern. But almost as quickly as he came he went away. He pulled his hands back and shoved them in his pockets, breaking his gaze and searching the ocean for something.

  ‘It’s natural for someone to get angry when they’re hurt.’

  Brooke’s heart jumped and started beating again. That small intimate moment had made the sob disappear. Somehow that second of recognition behind his eyes, the very small show of concern she hadn’t been expecting, had given her whatever it was she’d needed to become unstuck from that memory and move on to another one.

  ‘Getting angry doesn’t solve anything.’

  The burning behind Brooke’s eyes stopped. She kept her eyes on him. On his nose and the way it jutted from his face. On the way he tilted his chin up almost defiantly. But mostly she watched the way his jaw was working...up and down and up and down... As if he was thinking and trying to hold back his own emotion. The idea that Jack could get emotional made her focus. Jack...? Emotional...?

  ‘I hurt them because I was angry.’

  ‘You were angry because they hurt you. I’m not saying you should have thrown things or made people bleed...’

  He turned his dark eyes to her and held them steady. They were almost black. She didn’t know him well enough to know what he was thinking, but he was definitely thinking something. What she’d said had affected him in some way and it surprised her.

  ‘But sometimes you need to get angry. You need to let people know that you’ve had enough and you won’t be treated like that. Sometimes you need to get angry so people know you’re hurting and that you need help. And just think—if you hadn’t got angry and done those things you never would have ended up with your sisters.’

  The words of those boys still rang through her ears every now and again. So did visions of the old lady bleeding or the little boy lying in the dust. When something bad happened or when she was sad or lonely. But mostly they were drowned out by the things her sisters had said to her since. The good things and the happy things, the sweet things and the encouraging things. She knew how lucky she was to have her sisters. She’d seen what it was like to live without love, and the chaos and bickering she’d grown up with from her sisters was infinitely better. Without a doubt.

  ‘Anger isn’t always bad. It’s just something we need to feel sometimes so we know what we don’t want. Just like we need to feel sad so we can appreciate when we feel happy. You shouldn’t be scared of how you feel.’

  Jack was looking at her. For too long. His hands were still in his pockets and his eyes were on her. He was not touching, not coming close, just watching—almost warily.

  ‘But you get scared, Jack. Maybe not of anger or sadness, but you’re scared of getting close. Of being happy.’

  There was something Jack wasn’t saying. She needed to tread carefully here. If she was going to get him to reveal anything she’d need to be gentle.

  * * *

  Jack watched her, his eyes not leaving hers. She was right. He was scared of getting close. Scared of being happy. Because happiness never lasted. He’d known moments of it. Short, hard, fast moments of happiness that would disappear into puffs of smoke. It never lasted.

  ‘Getting close means getting hurt.’

  ‘Is that why you didn’t call?’

  Her face had changed. Her eyes dipped, then met his again. They widened, then she turned to look out at the water again. She was upset—he could see that. He hadn’t meant to upset her. He’d meant to give her space. That time in the sand had just been comfort. She hadn’t wanted more. He hadn’t called because she didn’t want more.

  ‘What would I have said if I had called?’

  Her head whipped back and she faced him, her green eyes bright and narrowed. She crossed her arms over her small body and stared at him, anger obviously simmering on the surface. ‘How about, How are you? How about, I’m thinking of you? How about, That meant something to me?’

  Her cheeks pinkened and her eyes challenged him. She looked beautiful. Petite and defenceless but Amazonian and capable all at once. He liked that about her. He liked her contrasts so much it made his chest ache. He wanted to know more—he wanted to reach out and touch her hot cheeks, he wanted to kiss her. But he didn’t because he had no idea what she wanted. She was confusing and beautiful and it made his head spin.

  Jack clung to the rail, planting his feet so he wouldn’t sway. He had to just tell her. He had to just let her know what he was thinking. If his parents had taught him anything with their messed up fallacy of a marriage it was that he needed to say what he was thinking.

  ‘You mean something to me.’

  Brooke opened her mouth, then closed it. A line creased her forehead between her eyes. She opened her mouth again and closed it again. Her eyes remained on his, searching.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I think about you all the time. I think about your eyes and your smile, and I think about your gorgeous body and how it moved in the sand when I was kissing you.’

  Brooke sucked in a deep breath.

  He needed to stop. He had no idea what she was thinking, but he couldn’t stop. Not now he’d started.

  ‘I think about how you fight with me about everything and how you don’t let me get away with anything. I think about that dimple in your left cheek.’

  She let out a little puff of air and that dimple appeared. It swelled his brain. He had to keep going.

  ‘I think about how you always say what you think, even when you know it’ll probably get you into trouble. But the thing is—mostly I just think about you. Just you.’

  Brooke stared. Then her hands flew to her eyes and she rubbed them, before taking them away and staring at him again.

  ‘But you didn’t call.’

  ‘No. I didn’t call. Because I didn’t think you wanted me to.’

  There—she had it all. It was on the table and now it was her turn. The idea filled him with a fear that made him go cold. He never gave his power away. He never gave anyone the ammunition to hurt him. But he’d given it to her. She’d give him the speech now. The ‘let’s be friends’ speech. He hadn’t heard that in years, because he’d always been the one giving it.

  His stomach ached and his head hurt. He gripped the rail hard and held his breath.

  Slowly, carefully, she moved her hand. It rested on his forearm and he shivered. Then she let her fingers trail down to his and he watched their journey. Her touch wasn’t uncomfortable. It made his skin
tingle. It made the hairs on the back of his hand stand up. But it wasn’t uncomfortable. Exciting, erotic, electric—but not uncomfortable.

  ‘I wanted you to call.’

  ‘You didn’t want to just be friends the other night?’

  ‘No.’

  Finally her fingers met his hand and she looped them underneath his palm. Relief coursed through his body.

  ‘I didn’t want to be friends. I wanted to be more than friends.’

  More than friends? ‘How much more?’

  Her fingers moved until they were holding his hand tight. She stepped in closer and he felt her, warm and soft against his chest. He carefully moved his other hand till it was behind her neck. He pushed and she came closer. His body was hard and he wanted her there. Close and soft and pressing up against him. He moved forward until the whole length of him was pushed up against the whole length of her. Her free hand moved to his waist and curled around his back. She moved even closer, her breasts pushing against him and her hand pushing on his back.

  Everything in his body screamed at the contact but he ignored it. He wanted her close, he needed to feel her, and he needed to feel the way she wanted him back. More. He could give her more. He could give her anything she wanted.

  Her chin tilted up to him and her hair fell off her shoulders, tumbling down her back. He let his fingers thread though it—soft and fragrant. He leaned down to bury his face in her hair before finding her hot neck with his lips and kissing her. Tenderly, softly, and with a passionate reverence he hoped she’d be able to feel.

  The low moan that escaped her lips was enough. His whole body fired to attention and the kisses on her neck became harder and faster and more desperate, until he’d kissed his way up to her mouth and was taking her in. Desperately kissing and moving to get as close as he could.

  And then he realised she was doing the same.

  TWELVE

  ‘What I remember...’

  Max Douglas’s voice boomed off the screen. This was Max at his bullying best. The veins in his forehead bulged through his reddened skin. Jack knew his own veins looked exactly the same.