“Hey, Baloney.” She pushed the plate of cake toward him. “Do you want some?”
Grace smirked, and he caught her eye. She winked at him. His gaze slid back to Mia, but she was listening to Brooks again and hadn’t noticed their exchange. He sent Grace a mock glare before helping himself to the cake. He had a sneaky feeling she knew how he felt about her dark-haired friend.
He waited until Brooks had finished his boring discourse on how many miles he’d cycled at the weekend and the guy had turned his attention to the more attentive music teacher sitting on his right. Mia reached for another piece of cake at the same time Colm did, and their fingers bumped.
“Sorry,” she said.
“No worries.” He indicated for her to choose first. She lowered her eyes and spent a moment extricating an end piece with extra frosting. Was he imagining it, or were her cheeks slightly flushed? He frowned. No, he wasn’t imagining it. They were. Why so? Mia never blushed.
He gestured to the balloon tied to the back of her chair. “So, birthday girl, eh? The big three-oh?”
“Mm.” She didn’t look enthused. “I’m in my thirties. Oh God, kill me now.”
“Oh it’s not so bad.”
“How old are you?” Grace asked him.
“Thirty-two,” he said through a mouthful of cake. “Being thirty’s cool. Old enough to know what you’re doing. Young enough to enjoy it.” He sipped his coffee and winked at Mia. “I suppose you’re off partying tonight, eh?”
“Not quite,” Grace said. “She’ll be sitting in front of the TV with a packet of Maltesers and a bottle of pinot gris, more like.”
He raised his eyebrows as Mia tipped her head and rolled her eyes in a yeah, she’s right kind of way. “That’s shocking,” he said. “I thought you were the life and soul of the party.” He had a clear recollection of her singing karaoke at the midwinter school party back in June, three sheets to the wind and slightly out of tune, à la Bridget Jones.
“She used to be. But she wouldn’t agree to do anything,” Grace complained. “I did try. I couldn’t even get her to come out for a drink.”
“Game of Thrones is on,” Mia said. “I can’t miss that.”
“You are so dull nowadays.” Grace’s voice held more than a hint of impatience. “I can’t remember the last time you came out with me and Ash.” She carried on scolding Mia for her lack of social activities. Mia let her talk, her eyes lowered as she sipped her coffee.
She’d taken off her watch and it lay on the table in front of the plate of cake. As Colm watched her, she massaged her forearm unconsciously. In spite of the fact that most of the time she appeared her usual bubbly, gregarious self, he suspected she was still struggling with pain after the car accident she’d had a few months before, and the carefree persona was just a front. Today it looked as if her arm was giving her trouble.
Another teacher sat at the table and plonked a pile of folders there. As he pushed the folders, the watch nearly fell off the table, so Colm caught it.
He wasn’t concentrating, and the sensations hit him without warning.
Pain shot across his back, and he almost exclaimed out loud. The deep ache travelled halfway down his spine and radiated out across his shoulders, tiny fingers of agonising soreness digging sharp nails into his muscles. Poor Mia. He’d had no idea the extent she was suffering.
Even more shocking was the wave of unhappiness that swept over him. Hopelessness and guilt mingled with abject misery. She might be covering it well, but Mia was alarmingly depressed.
In his mind’s eye, he saw her hands on the wheel, heard her exclamation as the car skidded on the ice and spun out of control, and felt the sweep and crunch as it slid across into the vehicle on the other side of the road. Saw the white, frightened face of the child in the backseat, and then, moments later, the same white face covered in blood, mouth open in a silent scream. The picture replayed in his head like a tape caught in a loop. This was what went through Mia’s head continuously. She relived the catastrophic moment of the child’s death repeatedly, every day.
“Are you dozing off?”
He opened his eyes. She was leaning on the table, watching him, head tipped to one side, a slight smile on her lips. Now, though, he could see the creases of pain at the corners of her eyes, the way her features were drawn with tiredness and sadness.
Emotions swept over him—sympathy, anguish and pity for this beautiful, spirited girl who was now weighed down by remorse for something she’d had absolutely no control over.
He pushed himself up and leaned across the table. Her eyes widened, but she didn’t move as he lowered his head and kissed her.
Chapter Three
Her mouth was soft and cool, and he held his lips there for a moment. She inhaled, but she didn’t move away, her eyelids fluttering shut briefly as he pressed his lips to hers once, a longer second time, and then moved back reluctantly.
Around the table, everyone started laughing.
“Goodness,” Mia said, and blinked.
He glanced at Brooks, who had a face like thunder, then at Mia’s startled green eyes, and had the grace to feel embarrassed. “Sorry. Um, happy birthday.” He sat back down.
Her lips curved slowly, and her eyes danced. “Thank you. That was…unexpected.”
“Wow,” Grace said, grinning. “What a birthday treat.”
He turned the watch over in his hands. “You looked like you needed cheering up, that was all. I got the feeling you were in pain.”
“She’s always in pain,” Grace said. She sighed and rubbed Mia’s upper arm. “I do wish you’d let Nate do something for you.”
“Nate?” he queried.
“A friend of ours,” Grace said. “He’s a healer, and a bloody good one, too. He’s away in India at the moment, but he does distant healing. He has to have permission before he can send it, though, and she won’t give it.”
“Grace,” Mia scolded. “You shouldn’t talk like that to everyone. One day someone’s going to cart you off to the loony bin for mentioning things like that in public.”
“It’s okay,” Colm said, “I believe in that sort of thing. ‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio’, blah blah.” He was the last person who would pass judgment on someone with extraordinary abilities. He frowned. “Why won’t you let him try to heal you?”
For once, Grace didn’t reply for Mia. Mia glanced at her and said, “Oh, now you say nothing?”
Grace shrugged. “I’m interested to hear what excuse you make.”
At that moment, however, the bell rang. On cue, like Pavlov’s dog, everyone stood and collected their things, ready to head to the classroom.
Colm caught Mia’s hand as she went to push herself to her feet. “Wait. Talk to me for a minute.”
“I have class,” she said. Once again, her cheeks stained a light pink.
“No, you haven’t,” he said, amused at her blush. “You’re on a free.”
Grace laughed and walked off, waddling in the characteristic way that heavily pregnant women do.
Mia watched her go, then turned her gaze back to him with a wry smile. “How do you know when my free periods are?”
“Intuition.” Actually he’d memorised her timetable, but he wasn’t about to tell her that. “Come on, just for a minute.”
She sighed and settled back into her chair, wincing in such a way that it was obvious she was in pain. A wary look settled on her features as if she was worried he was going to quiz her again about why she’d turned down her friend’s offer of healing.
Instead, however, he said, “Come out with me this evening.”
Still holding her watch, he fancied he could almost see her thoughts passing through her suspicious green eyes.
Why did he kiss me?
He’s going to make a move on me.
I don’t date.
I don’t deserve it.
Instantly he knew that was why she’d refused Nate’s healing hands. The guilt oozed from her like
tree sap, imprisoning her in remorse like a mosquito preserved in amber. She didn’t want to be healed, and she didn’t think she had the right to be happy because of what she’d done.
He put her watch on the table and pushed it over to her. “I’m sorry about the kiss. It was an impulse thing—I didn’t mean anything by it.”
Her lips twisted at that. “Oh, never apologise for a kiss. You made my day.”
He smiled, pleased that she’d enjoyed it. “Good. Now, about tonight. I’m not talking about a date. My best mate works at Te Papa Museum, and he’s organising a special display of ancient Celtic manuscripts. They’re on loan from the National Museum of Ireland—I helped him arrange a temporary exchange for some Māori artefacts. I thought—you being a fellow historian and all—you might enjoy a sneak preview.”
Her eyes lit up as if someone had flicked an internal switch, and her whole face brightened. The smile that slowly widened her lips was probably the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
“Now that’s a great way to spend a birthday,” she said.
Pleasure flooded him, and he beamed in response. He caught himself, though, before he let out a whoop of delight. Steady, Molony. This was not a date.
The first moment he’d seen Mia Nicholls, he’d stuck an imaginary warning label above her head. He was going to be in New Zealand a year, no more. He’d imposed the limit on himself in an attempt to stop his search for his father becoming an obsession. If he hadn’t found him in a year, he was going back to Ireland and he’d have to get on with his life.
With that in mind, he had no time for romantic liaisons. Not that he’d expected trouble. Women had never proved an issue before. His love life had been pretty unspectacular—a succession of girlfriends that came and went like the seasons, exploding in a brief burst of colour before fading away until he hardly noticed one had morphed into the other. If he was honest with himself, a couple of the affairs could easily have evolved into something more serious. But every time he’d felt the girl wanted more, he’d backed away.
Why, he wasn’t sure. It wasn’t as if his life had been filled with examples of failed relationships. Niall and Kathleen had been married thirty-four years now. One of his sisters had been married seven years, the other five. Both were happy.
But whenever he thought about settling down, fear crept over him of what would happen if, after six months, or a year, or five years, his partner decided he wasn’t worth the commitment. The thought of becoming so emotionally involved with someone, and then losing her, filled him with horror. Deep down, he knew the fear of rejection was something to do with the loss of his real parents, even though realistically he was aware they hadn’t abandoned him on purpose. But as illogical as it was, the fear was there, and because of that he remained single.
Not that he was too bothered about it at the moment. Life in Dublin—and now New Zealand—was busy, and he didn’t really have time for anything more serious. Teaching was exhausting, especially with the extracurricular activities and sports teams he helped to run, plus he volunteered at the museum at the weekends. One day, he thought he might meet someone whom he’d love enough—and who’d return his affection enough—to convince him to settle down, but marriage, mortgages and kids seemed a long way off, something he planned to do in the future, like learning about astronomy or visiting Machu Picchu.
So he hadn’t expected trouble when he came to New Zealand. He’d taken the job at the Wellington school to experience education in another country and to pay the bills, and he’d looked forward to making a few new friends, maybe dallying with a girl or two along the way if they weren’t out for anything serious.
And then, that first Monday morning after Waitangi Day when he’d sat in the corner of the staff room waiting to be introduced with the rest of the new teachers, Mia had walked in.
Uh-oh, had been his first thought. Immediately, he’d known she had the potential to cause him trouble.
Not that she’d taken much notice of him. As usual, he’d done his party trick of tipping over the chair as he’d stood when his name was called, following it up with a particularly talented spill of coffee down his shirt when he shook hands with the principal, and the first time he’d been introduced to Mia, he’d knocked her armful of folders to the floor and spent most of their conversation apologising for his clumsiness.
She had remembered his name, which surprised him, and she’d sat and chatted to him at their first history department meeting, but he suspected it was more out of politeness than anything. Certainly he hadn’t detected any feelings of attraction from her, and in a way he was relieved by that, because he knew he’d be in trouble if Mia felt for him even a fraction of the desire he felt for her. So he’d kept out of her way, content to admire her from afar, knowing it was best that he didn’t get involved.
Then again, he hadn’t been a monk. When his mate David had introduced him to Juliet—pretty, spirited and too busy with her job in Parliament House to want anything serious—he’d been happy to indulge in a brief, lighthearted affair. But Juliet had recently moved to Christchurch to help out with the rebuilding of the city after the earthquake earlier in the year. After she left, he’d been determined not to get involved with anyone else as he only had a few months left in the country.
But now he’d given the gorgeous Mia a birthday kiss and asked her out for the evening. For Christ’s sake, what was wrong with him?
He’d been unable to resist trying to comfort her. Back in September, he’d heard about the car crash, and the fact that a child had died in the accident. He’d offered his sympathy when she first came in with the neck brace, but she’d kept herself to herself and hadn’t come into the staff room much, and to be honest he’d been too busy with work and finding his father out of hours to think much about how she was feeling. Had he known how bad she was…
What? What would he have done? Nothing’s changed, he told himself. He couldn’t get involved in anything serious.
Still, he couldn’t fight the glow that spread through him from her obvious pleasure at his suggestion for the evening.
“So it’s a…” He went to say date and caught himself.
She raised her eyebrows, eyes dancing. “Yes?”
“Appointment.”
She laughed. “Yes. It’s an appointment.”
“Shall I pick you up?”
She agreed, fastening her watch back on her wrist, and told him her address.
“I’m meeting David at six—I’ll pick you up at ten to,” he said.
“Sure.” She smiled. “Now I really must go and get ready for the next lesson.”
“Of course.” He stood and walked around the table, offering an arm for her to hold onto as she got up. She looked at it for a moment, then accepted it, grimacing as she got to her feet.
“Grace is right,” he said. “You don’t win awards for being in pain, you know. It’s not helping anyone.”
“It makes me feel better,” she said quietly. Then she bit her lip as if she hadn’t meant to say that. She put her bag and laptop on the table and paused for a moment. “I suppose you think that’s stupid.”
“I think it’s perfectly understandable.” He fixed her with a firm stare over the top of his glasses. “Doesn’t mean it’s right, though.”
She blinked, meeting his eyes, and the memory of her lips pressed to his—cool and soft—sprang into his mind. The way her eyelids had fluttered shut briefly as she allowed herself a few seconds of pleasure.
“Nobody deserves to be in pain, Mia,” he said softly.
She looked out through the window, her gaze miles away, reaching across the city to the harbour and the Cook Strait beyond. Her dark hair feathered across her pale cheek, and he itched to tuck it behind her ear for her. “But I killed a boy, Colm. How can I carry on living knowing every day his family has to cope with the fact that he’s never going to grow up?” She bit her lip again as if she was trying to stop the words leaking out—as if voicing them was a weakness. He
got the feeling she hadn’t expressed this concern to anyone else.
“I don’t know,” he said honestly, touched she’d confided in him. “I suppose you get up, breathe, get through the day, go to bed again. And you keep doing that, because although time doesn’t make things go away, it does make things more bearable. But being in pain isn’t going to solve anything. Punishing yourself won’t bring him back, Mia.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Oh crap.” He cursed himself, wondering if he’d inherited his innate ability to put his foot in it from his biological father. “I didn’t mean to make you cry on your birthday.”
“Actually, it’s kind of a relief to talk about it.” Her voice was husky, and she glanced around as if afraid of being overheard. But the only other person in the staff room, the woman who kept the kitchen in order, was busy tidying up the coffee cups, and the rest of the room was deserted.
“You can always talk to me,” he said.
Mia turned her big, shiny green eyes back to his and gave him a crooked smile. “Thank you. You’re a good friend.”
“Yeah,” he said, wishing he didn’t feel like a heel, because he should have been thinking kind, friendly thoughts and instead all could think about was kissing her again until he brought a happy smile back to her face. “You have lots of friends, though. Haven’t you spoken to Grace about it?”
She shook her head. “I don’t want to worry her. She’s got the baby to think about, and also Ash—her husband—is being stalked by a crazy woman. She says she’s not worried about it, but I know she is. I don’t want to give her anything else to worry about.”
“What about your parents, brothers and sisters?”
She shrugged. “They’d talk to me if I asked them. But everyone’s caught up in their own lives.” She frowned, puzzled. “I’m not quite sure why I’m talking to you, actually.”
“I have the kind of face that makes people confide in me.”
“That must be it.” She tried to smile again, but her eyes glistened, and she wrapped her arms tightly around herself in a protective gesture.
“Oh honey…” He gave in to his instinct to comfort and drew her into his arms. She stiffened for a moment, and then she rested her cheek on his shoulder and softened against him. He sighed, holding her gently, afraid of hurting her, and stroked her back as he murmured soothing words.
Talking Sense: Sensual Healing, Book 3 Page 2
