A Secret Shared...

by Marion Lennox

  ‘Thank you for admitting it.’ She glanced back through the screen.

  ‘I’m interrupting.’

  ‘Of course you are. Natalie’s ex-husband has been found in bed with Natalie’s stepmother and Jake has just revealed a secret baby to his fiancée. Oh, and Brandon’s been caught with his hand in the till to the tune of eight million dollars.’

  He glanced through to the television and saw a hysterical blonde yelling at a guy in handcuffs. ‘Um... Wow!’

  ‘You think you have dramas,’ she said, and grinned. ‘I listen to personal dramas all day and watch soaps at night to get them into perspective.’

  ‘Can I watch, too?’ he asked, and it was so much what she hadn’t expected to him to say that she took a step back.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said hastily. ‘I didn’t mean...’

  But he did mean and she could see it. Most of the kids here came with two parents, or a parent and support person. Jack was here alone.

  She knew the need for adult companionship more than most.

  ‘Harry?’ she asked, but she knew already that this man wouldn’t leave his nephew alone.

  ‘He’s asleep,’ he said. ‘The Fords have their teenage daughter with them, as well as Jacob of the injured spine. Misty Ford’s currently sitting in my living room, playing computer games, with instructions to call me the moment Harry wakes.’

  ‘You’re paying her?’

  ‘Of course.’ He smiled. ‘She’s bored out of her mind and thinks this is an excellent plan.’

  ‘So if I sent you back now, she’d be miffed.’

  ‘I can go for a walk on the beach instead.’

  She looked at him, this big, gentle man who seemed totally out of his depth with the future he was facing. He was asking for help, too, she thought. She should refer him to a session tomorrow. She did try to keep her professional life separate from her private.

  But Jack had been a friend way back. A friend. How many of those did she have?

  ‘Come in,’ she said, swinging the screen door wide again. ‘Welcome to the world where everyone else’s problems fade into insignificance.’

  * * *

  So they watched a soap and then another one. Passion, drama, deception, intrigue, rage, tears, sex, all encapsulated in an hour and a half of hot television. When the second show came to an end Kate flicked off the telly and Jack felt winded.

  ‘Whew.’

  ‘What did I tell you?’ she said, and grinned. ‘Your problems are puny.’

  ‘So I see,’ he said, and smiled back, and she thought...she thought...

  Um, that sort of thinking wasn’t appropriate. This man was her client’s uncle. Long ago he’d been a friend but surely now all her thinking should be on a professional basis.

  But he was sprawled back on her settee. She’d provided him with a beer. He looked relaxed and a bit sunburned—she insisted on sun suits for the dolphins’ sake but there was no way she could force people to keep applying zinc to their faces. He looked big and male and...gorgeous.

  This man had been irresistible at uni, she thought. The women had come running. She’d watched from the sidelines and understood why.

  Now this man was sprawled in her living room. Asking for help?

  He’d come to thank her. That was fine, but if there was one thing she was good at it was reading undercurrents. The soapies had given him time out. He looked less strained than when he’d arrived, but there were still lines around his eyes that spoke of sleepless nights.

  She had a sudden, irrational urge to reach out and smooth...

  Um, no. She’d invited him in, given him a beer and let him watch soaps on her television. To take this further would be crazy. He didn’t want it, and neither did she. He had a girlfriend, after all; and she did not do relationships. One Simon in her life was enough for anyone.

  ‘Want to tell me about it?’ she asked.

  He met her gaze head on. This was an honest man, she thought suddenly. She could trust this man.

  ‘I may have blown your cover,’ he said, and, bang, there went her trust.

  ‘Like...how?’

  ‘I hope I haven’t,’ he said seriously. ‘But when I first arrived, before I talked to you, I rang Helen about the discrepancies in your name. She did a bit of enquiring.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said in a small voice.

  ‘I doubt it’ll come to anything. It was simply a query as to what had happened to Cathy Heineman. I doubt any of the people she queried would have passed it on. Besides, your ex-husband would hardly be still trying to find you. Surely after all these years...’

  ‘It’ll be okay,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry.’

  But a shadow had flitted over her face as he’d said it. There was still fear. He felt like kicking himself. He shouldn’t have told her. After all these years her fears must surely be unfounded but, still, he’d have done anything to stop that shadow of uncertainty.

  ‘Cathy, I’m sorry.’

  ‘It’s Kate,’ she said. ‘But enough of the sorries. You did nothing I wouldn’t have done in similar circumstances. Your first concern was Harry, and that’s how it has to be. My private life is none of your concern. I only told you because...’

  ‘Because once you were my friend?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said.

  ‘I hope I still am.’

  ‘Of course.’ But something had changed, some indefinable thing. She looked totally vulnerable, he thought. She was wearing faded jeans and a sloppy windcheater, her curls were free, she’d been sighing and laughing over a soppy soap...and he’d scared her.

  He wanted to tell her it was fine. He wanted to pull her into his arms and tell her he’d protect her, no matter what it took.

  What sort of Neanderthal instinct was that? She’d kick him out. What he was feeling was not appropriate. Not!

  He was here to talk about Harry and apologise for the chink he’d made in her defences. That’s what he’d come to her for. He’d thought he’d talk to her for a few moments on the veranda, sort out the tangle his thoughts were in and then leave.

  So even though the conversation had been delayed for a couple of hours, even though there was now this irrational emotion zinging around the room, he needed to say what he’d come for. He needed to tell her his decision.

  ‘I need to prepare Harry to live with his Aunt Helen,’ he said, and he wasn’t prepared for the silence that followed.

  She was professional. This should be a professional acceptance. Relative telling doctor the patient’s future living arrangements.

  ‘Because?’ she asked at last.

  ‘Because Helen loves him.’

  ‘So do you.’

  ‘Yes, but Helen has a warm, loving home environment. It might be a muddle but it’s a loving muddle. He’ll feel safe there.’

  ‘He doesn’t feel safe there now.’

  ‘He doesn’t feel safe anywhere, but he’ll grow accustomed to it.’

  ‘He loves you. I watch the way he is with you. He trusts you.’

  ‘He trusts his Aunt Helen.’

  ‘Who has five children of her own. Whereas you...’

  ‘I don’t have any.’

  ‘You don’t want any?’

  ‘I don’t have a family.

  ‘You have a girlfriend.’

  ‘I do, but Annalise and I aren’t parents.’

  ‘You don’t want to be parents?’

  He sighed and raked his hair. Did he want to be a parent? He’d vaguely thought he would, but at some undefined time in the future. Not now. Not yet.

  When Harry had been so appallingly orphaned, his own world had turned upside down. He’d spent every spare moment with his nephew. He’d seen how unhappy Harry had been with Helen’s brood. His reaction had be
en to take him himself, accepting the parenting role.

  Somehow, though, these past few days had him looking past immediate need. Cathy...Kate...had shown him that Harry could be happy again, and the little boy’s whole life stretched before him.

  A life with a career-driven uncle?

  ‘If you could make him happy enough to settle into Helen’s brood...’ he ventured.

  ‘That’d let you off the hook. You could go back to being uncle on the side.’

  ‘I did think I needed to keep him with me,’ he said. ‘But if he can be happy...’

  ‘Jack, I can’t perform miracles. He’s a loner, as is, I suspect, his Uncle Jack. No matter how good my psychology is, I can’t turn him into something he wasn’t before the accident.’

  ‘I can’t look after him.’

  ‘You mean you won’t.’

  ‘If I must, I will. Of course I will.’

  ‘But not with your girlfriend,’ she said, suddenly softening. Suddenly seeing what the problem was. ‘Not with Annalise.’

  ‘She won’t.’

  ‘This isn’t my problem, Jack,’ she said softly. ‘I’m sorry but you alone need to work this out. You can send him back to his Aunt Helen—of course you can—even though we both know that’s not what’s best for him.’ She hesitated. ‘But, Jack, kids can survive what’s not best for them. They’re tougher and more resilient than you think. He’ll work out strategies for making the space he needs. There are all sorts of people in this equation—Harry, you, Annalise, Helen, Helen’s husband and kids, all the complex interactions that go into making a family. Harry’s needs can’t necessarily take precedence over everyone else’s. You need to work on finding a solution that’s best for everyone.’

  Was that what he wanted to hear? That Harry would learn to compromise and survive? He thought of the lone little boy and things twisted. To have him so badly hurt, and then ask more of him...

  But the alternative? A hard knot of grief was tightening inside his gut, giving him nowhere to go.

  ‘It’d be easier not to have a family at all.’ His words were an explosion, fury at the situation in which he found himself, grief at the loss of the sister he’d loved, and helplessness at Harry’s ongoing loss. His words came out as a mess of tangled emotion.

  Kate winced, then reached out and took his hands.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘Never that.’

  And he felt a sweep of shame. This woman had no one. She’d walked—no, run—from her world. She was frightened of a bully of an ex-husband. She was giving her all to her little patients, but for herself she lived in a world of medicine and night-time television.

  That he should whinge about too much family...

  ‘Wow, Kate, I’m sorry...’

  ‘Don’t be sorry,’ she told him. ‘You don’t have to be sorry with me.’

  ‘Because I’m a client?’

  ‘Something like that,’ she admitted.

  ‘No,’ he said, strongly now, recovering sense. As well as his anger and frustration, he now felt like a king-sized rat. ‘I don’t feel in the least like a client. I believe I’m a friend. Kate, I’ve loaded too much on you tonight and I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.’

  ‘It’s what I’m here for.’

  ‘To be loaded? Who cares for the carer?’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘With your dolphins and your soaps? I don’t think you are.’

  ‘Jack...’

  ‘I’m here for you,’ he said, suddenly and strongly. ‘I won’t let that bastard come near you.’

  ‘You can’t stop him.’

  ‘He won’t. It’s old history.’

  ‘Yes.’ But he knew she didn’t believe it. After all this time, he could still hear the fear. What had that low-life done to her?

  ‘Kate?’

  She didn’t respond.

  He still had her hands in his. He cared for this woman, he thought, and the sensation was a powerful one. She’d been his friend.

  She was his friend.

  More.

  There were so many emotions in his head right now he didn’t know what to do with them.

  Kate was just here. She was his hold on reality, he thought. His hold...

  The television has long been turned off. The night was totally still. There was only the soft wash of the breaking waves on the shore as a background to their breathing.

  As a background to their emotion.

  Things were changing around them. What? Jack didn’t know. All he knew was that Kate’s hands were in his. She was looking up at him and she was breathtakingly lovely. She was vulnerable... He’d made her vulnerable.

  The emotional turmoil was building, building.

  He couldn’t bear it.

  He kissed her.

  * * *

  One minute she was standing in front of Jack Kincaid, feeling angry, feeling betrayed about her own situation, feeling frustrated because this man wasn’t seeing his little nephew’s needs. The next she was being kissed. Solidly kissed. Ruthlessly kissed.

  And she was kissing right back.

  Why?

  She had no idea.

  Every particle of sense was telling her this was crazy. She should propel this man—this client—from her apartment and go back to being professional.

  But she was over being professional. For this moment, for here and now, there wasn’t a particle of room for it.

  There was only room for Jack.

  He was holding her hands, not tugging her close, just holding. She could pull away at any time. He wasn’t pulling her into him.

  He was simply kissing her. Their only connection was hands and mouth.

  It was enough and more.

  Warmth was flooding through her, and strength and need. The three emotions were warring and she had no space for anything else. Her mouth was under Jack’s. He was kissing her almost as a question, but if it was a question, her whole body was answering.

  The heat of this man. The strength. The sheer arrant masculinity.

  She wasn’t sure why she was being kissed. Anger? Frustration? Need? It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that she wanted him.

  She should break away but, quite simply, she couldn’t. She didn’t want to and she didn’t see the need to try.

  How long since she had been this close to a man? Maybe never, her body thought. Simon had demanded her, had taken her, but had never asked.

  This man was asking and the question was indescribably erotic, indescribably delicious.

  Her hands tugged away from his as if they had a life of their own. They sifted through his thatch of gorgeous hair, tugging him closer, closer, closer.

  She wanted him.

  She felt the response of her body and her response amazed her. Stunned her. But it didn’t frighten her. For whatever reason, however this had happened, it felt right.

  Her body was responding to his need with an aching desire of her own.

  Maybe she’d always wanted this man. Maybe...maybe...

  Maybe this wasn’t the time for thinking maybes. She was instinctively pressing close, moulding her breasts to his chest, her body responding with a need that was so primeval she had no hope of fighting it. She was kissing and kissing, and she wanted more.

  She needed more.

  Her hands flicked the buttons of his shirt and went underneath, feeling the hard, hot strength of him, the broad expanse of chest, the size, the strength...

  Jack...

  But he was catching her hands.

  He was pulling away.

  No!

  And in the fraction of a second that took her to think no, she regained her senses and so did he. He looked appalled.

  He was appalled? To not
be kissed for years and then have a man look at her as Jack was looking at her...

  ‘That’s the last time I ever watch soaps with you,’ she managed, and heaven only knew how she managed it. She knew her voice was wobbling. Her whole insides seemed to be wobbling but somehow she said it and was inordinately proud that she’d managed it.

  ‘Soaps must be...quite some aphrodisiac,’ he said, and she was pleased that there was uncertainty in his voice, too. Though maybe not a wobble. This guy was testosterone on legs, and testosterone on legs did not wobble.

  ‘Usually I watch them with Maisie,’ she told him. ‘Much safer. I...I think you should go home now.’

  ‘Back to my bungalow.’

  Did he think she’d meant back to Sydney? Did he think she’d meant he’d better leave the premises entirely because otherwise she might jump him?

  ‘Back to your bungalow,’ she agreed.

  ‘Kate, I’m sorry.’

  It needed only that. ‘I’m not,’ she snapped. ‘It was a very nice kiss. Not quite so hot as Ronaldo on Sunrise Babes but, hey, a girl can only dream.’

  He smiled, a tentative half-smile that did something to her insides that she didn’t understand. And didn’t trust.

  ‘We should audition,’ he said. ‘Soaps R Us. Meanwhile, maybe we’d both best retreat to our own little worlds. It’s much safer.’

  ‘Much,’ she said. ‘Jack, from now on, consultations in my office, in work hours.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Goodnight,’ she said, and crossed to the door and tugged it open. Maisie was outside, sitting on the step. She looked vaguely astonished when she saw Jack inside. She walked forward, sniffed suspiciously and then climbed up on the settee where Jack had been sitting. Whatever child she’d been comforting tonight, clearly her job was done and she was coming home.

  There were two seats in this sitting room. One for Kate. One for Maisie. No one else need apply.

  ‘Goodnight,’ Jack said, smiling at Maisie. He headed for the door, which Kate was holding open. He paused and touched her face, a feather touch with one strong finger.

  ‘You’re right, it was a very nice kiss,’ he told her. ‘We’d surely give Ronaldo a run for his money. But not wise. We both have a heap of sorting out to do.’