“Be a good role model for the little bro—gotcha.”
He chuckled, dropping his arm back to his side. “But if you need a man after midnight, you have my number.”
Tilly performed an award-worthy eye roll, mostly to hide the little shiver that rippled through her at the thought of him sneaking into her bed after Mary’s antique clock struck twelve. She ducked around him and opened the back door—before she changed her mind about letting him off the hook and dragged him into her lair. Turning back, her breath caught at the heat of his gaze, the message in it loud and clear. A few moments more and he’d be doing the dragging.
She cleared her throat from the tingling ball of lust expanding in it and went hand on hip, sass mode on full. “Just for that, the next movie we watch together will be Mamma Mia.”
“The threat of chick flicks won’t scare me off spending time with you. That ship has sailed.” The smile curving his mouth contained a promise of an intimate rain check, but also a quiet determination that both scared and excited her.
Because for the life of her she couldn’t think of one vaguely witty reply in that instant—the story of a writer’s life—she simply smiled back, muttered, “Good night,” and shut the door in his face.
Smooth, Montgomery. Real smooth.
She slumped against the door with Jell-O legs, listening as he jogged down the porch steps, his footsteps fading into the night. What the hell had she gotten herself into this time? Whatever it was, she needed to keep reminding herself of the rules of engagement.
Fun and games and booty calls were okay.
Letting her heart become involved with men who were emotional vampires, sucking out all her feels but giving nothing in return, were not okay.
“Daniels. Any movement in back? Report.”
“Negative.” Noah slipped a finger under his balaclava and helmet to adjust the earpiece. Though the evening was cool—and in less than twenty minutes it’d be past midnight—he was sweating under his ballistic vest and fifty-five pounds of kit. As if he were back in the grueling AOS training course where he and the other candidates had been forced to run endless miles in it. “PNT having any luck?” he added.
The Police Negotiating Team had moved into place once the neighbors surrounding the double-story house divided into two apartments had been evacuated and the street cordoned off. Noah, Jim, Dale, Mike, and their OC, Andy, took up positions surrounding the property to contain the offender. They’d gotten lucky with their negotiator on this callout. Senior Constable Miller was one of the best.
“Negative. Howard’s still refusing to come out. The bastard’s still hiding behind the woman whenever he approaches the windows.”
Movement in Noah’s upper left periphery had his attention and the barrel of his rifle swinging to the corner window. The kitchen window, according to the OC. The light inside the apartment was muted, as if Howard needed some visibility to control his hostage but didn’t want enough to present a target to the officers outside.
Noah narrowed his eyes behind his protective goggles, but the motion didn’t repeat. He continued to silently observe. There was a small empty deck and a narrow flight of stairs leading to it which would force Noah and Mike into single file if the order to enter came. In the shadows across the backyard—the lack of kid crap on the straggly grass a hopeful indication that a child didn’t live there—Mike lifted a silent hand and pointed to Noah’s right.
Opposite window, living room. The long drapes twitched, parted. A woman’s face appeared in the crack, her skin pale in the dim light, and a glint of metal at her throat. Kitchen knife? Hunting knife? She turned her face slightly in Noah’s direction, the knife tip pressed to the underside of her jaw. She froze, even though she couldn’t possibly see him dressed as he was in head-to-toe black, concealed beside a midsized leafy tree.
“If they don’t leave now, I’ll slit your throat. Useless bitch.”
Howard’s raised voice, just loud enough to carry into the still night air, was chilling. He must have moved from behind her as a flash of brighter light fell on the woman’s head, highlighting her long, candy-apple-red dreadlocks before she was pulled out of sight.
His earpiece crackled and Mike’s deep voice spoke his report into Noah and the team’s ears with brisk, calm efficiency. Noah’s heart continued to slam against his ribs. He forced his focus away from what he couldn’t control to what he could.
Cordon, contain, appeal, was the code the AOS operated by. And finally, apprehend—by lethal force if they had no other choice. The offender inside was contained, and appeals for the safety of himself and his hostage from Miller weren’t having a positive result. The squad was prepared for Howard to surrender, which was normally the case when you had an armed-to-the-teeth group of big, adrenaline-pumped men pointing guns at your head. The squad was also prepared for Howard to run. Dale had his police dog, Victor, at his side from his current position on the street. They were prepared, at the risk of their own safety, to follow the OC’s order to enter by force if necessary, and they were prepared, with no other option, to neutralise the threat of Tristan Howard.
A woman’s scream split the night, and there was no more time to think. Training took over.
* * *
Noah startled out of a doze. His leg muscles, already tensed and strained, jerked in that nasty falling-off-a-cliff sensation. He rasped in a lungful of air and bolted upright. Invisible concrete encased his ribs and he fisted the sheets at his side.
“Son of a bitch,” he told the empty room, his voice quaking in the silence.
He felt both sweaty and chilled at the same time, so he flipped back the covers and headed into the shower. The only way to blast the lingering nightmare from his brain was a cold shower then hot coffee.
Half an hour later he stood at Tilly’s place balancing three takeout coffees and a bag of Erin’s muffins. With no free hands, Noah gently kicked the bottom of her front door with the toe of his boot. The hollow boom cued an instant flashback to battering down an offender’s door. He winced, willing the creep of ice threading its way through his gut to cease. The reliving of his own personal nightmare hadn’t made an appearance for months. He’d thought he was done with it—had dealt with it years ago in the excruciating peeling back of himself with a police-recommended therapist.
Tilly flung open the door, looking rumpled and gorgeous in her hastily tied robe and bed hair. Her slight pouty scowl vanished when her gaze dropped from his face to his hands.
“God, I love you,” she said.
The ice speckle in his gut was blasted away with a lava tide of heat, followed by a one-two punch of pure male panic.
Whoa, now! Holy hell!
Her gaze flicked up to his face. Apparently he wasn’t as good a poker player as he thought as she flashed him a sharp smile.
“I mean the muffins, big guy.” She rolled her eyes and stepped back, allowing him to enter. “I’m assuming that’s what you’ve got in there.”
Noah held out the bag, willing his pulse to quit racing around his body like something was chasing it. “Two walnut and coffee, two cheese and smoked paprika, and two raspberry and white chocolate. I also got you a flat white with Erin’s special coffee blend of the week, Manly Man’s Hair of the Dog.”
Tilly laughed and took the bag from him. “Nicely done, Erin.”
She led the way into the kitchen, where he spotted an open laptop on the dining table. She casually slapped the lid shut as she circled around to the cabinet containing plates.
“Three plates?” she asked. “I’m guessing you’re currying favor with Wade by bringing him breakfast?”
“Yeah.” He set the takeout coffees on the table. “I’ll give him an old-school heads-up if you don’t mind me going into Mary’s room?”
“Be my guest.”
He backtracked into the hall and into the center of the master bedroom. He stomped three times, cocked his head to listen, and grinned at his brother’s cursing from somewhere below. He sent a follow-up text tel
ling him there was food and hot coffee upstairs, and returned to the kitchen. Tilly was seated in front of the laptop, fingers pecking rapidly across the keypad.
She glanced up at him. “Inspiration struck and I…dammit.” Her glance turned into a glare. “Don’t look at me like that—you made me forget my train of thought.”
He held up his palms. “I wasn’t looking at you like anything.”
Which was a flat-out lie. He’d been thinking how beautiful she looked with her hair spilling down her back and a dreamy expression on her face. It was the kind of expression a man liked to see on his woman’s face after he’d made her come for the second time.
“Get back to it—pretend I’m not here.”
She pulled a face and closed the laptop again. “Too late.”
He slid into a chair opposite her and passed over one of the coffees. A peace offering. “Sorry. Were you working on your K-Road script?”
“No.” She peeled open the coffee lid and took a sniff, making a soft hum of approval that shot straight to his groin. “A screenplay for a feature film I’ve been working on forever.”
Her tone and the smear of pink rising on her cheekbones were a curious development. “Is it for an X-rated, Fifty Shades kind of thing?”
She took a sip of her coffee, eyelids slipping down for a moment. Then her box-cutter-sharp gaze sliced into him again. “Why on earth would you think that?”
He studied her over the rim of his cup. “Because I’d offer to do a read through with you if it was.” And that was the flat-out truth.
Tilly barked out a laugh, her eyes sparkling. The sound prickled pleasurably over his skin and he found himself laughing with her. He hadn’t realized how much he’d been looking forward to the light and warmth her company provided until it seeped through his skin and drove away the last of his foul mood.
“Seriously,” he said. “Tell me about this feature film of yours.”
“You won’t laugh?”
“Not unless it’s a romantic comedy and I’m supposed to.”
Tilly’s mouth twisted to one side for a moment. “It’s a sci-fi thriller adventure with a big dash of romance. It’s fluff and fun with no deep and meaningful layers of theme or moralistic teaching opportunities.” She whuffed out a sigh. “My father’s peers would sneer and say I’m selling out—even more than writing for a television drama.” Frown lines appeared on her brow and her fingers tightened around the takeout cup.
Noah set down his coffee and reached across to gently pry the cup from her hands. He placed her coffee beside his and captured her hand. “What would your dad think?”
Her shoulders hunched forward. “I think he was a little disappointed I decided to work in television, but he was supportive of me as his daughter. He always said no matter what path my passion for the written word took, he believed in me.”
When her lower lip gave a little wobble, he stroked his thumb across her knuckles. “And what do you think?”
She stared at their joined hands a moment longer, then her spine straightened. “I think sometimes we need fluff and fun to take us out of our everyday lives for a few hours.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” He squeezed her hand then released her, snagging the bag of muffins from the table and offering her first pick. “Tell me more about this sci-fi thriller.”
Tilly shot him a grateful smile and selected a muffin, drawing him into her imagination with the word pictures she created as she described her screenplay. While they ate, he listened. Not just to the plot and characters and cool space battles, but to the enthusiasm that brightened her tone so she sounded almost childlike in her excitement. He couldn’t help but compare her reaction to when she’d described K-Road to him.
Wade interrupted them about fifteen minutes into their conversation, slumping inside the kitchen via the back door, his eyes slitted and entirely focused on the last remaining coffee. He snatched up the takeout cup and chugged it, even though it would’ve been stone cold.
Then, wiping a foam mustache from his upper lip, he switched his gaze to Tilly. “Morning.”
“Good morning to you, too,” she said. “Did you sleep well?”
Considering Noah had seen his younger brother looking better after a callout that involved crawling through paddocks and sheep poo, he suspected not.
“Sleep? With what sounded like a tsunami rolling in every five seconds,” Wade grumbled. “And if it wasn’t the waves, it was a bunch of hyperactive birds partying outside my window.”
“Lots of nocturnal activity is part of life on the island,” Noah said mildly. He pushed a plate with the remaining two muffins on it across the table. “Maybe you should catch the morning ferry back to the mainland.”
Wade grunted and broke off a chunk of muffin, stuffing it into his mouth. “Nah, I’m good.” He continued to chew with focused dedication.
Little bro must’ve had a rough night, because even around a gobful of his breakfast, he didn’t make a wisecrack about what sort of nocturnal activities Noah and Tilly might’ve got up to during the night.
The sort of activities Noah couldn’t stop thinking about.
Chapter 13
From Mary Duncan’s secret journal:
You might think that my parents’ disapproval would’ve been enough to nip my relationship with Jim in the bud. You might think that a nineteen-year-old demure young woman in 1966 would abide by her parents’ decision that she shouldn’t see him anymore. You, dear journal, would be quite wrong.
If I’d been half in love with him before Christmas, I was head over heels by the New Year. Yes, it entailed some sneaking around, but that only added to the excitement. It became a lot easier when I moved from the farm into a three-bedroom house with two of my girlfriends, much to Mum and Dad’s dismay.
Jim and I made love for the first time in that tiny bedroom, furnished with a second-hand double bed that squeaked like a feisty rodent. But my goodness, it was the most wonderful night of my life. Actually, every night when Jim would sneak in my window—you see, I’d opted for the smallest room in the house because it was downstairs—was the most wonderful night of my life.
I loved him, he loved me, and we were together in our own private universe. Nothing and no one could come between us. Famous last words, indeed.
* * *
Tilly had never seen or experienced anything quite like Stewart Island’s Easter Gala.
Noah and his brother had headed off together an hour earlier—Noah informing Wade that since he was there he could make himself useful by helping set up the gala stalls. After deciding any sort of gala was a great excuse to wear the dress she’d packed for her stay, Tilly showered, dressed, and applied makeup in shades that looked fantastic but said I’m not trying too hard.
With tepid autumn sunshine warming her head, she strolled into town. A light breeze sent her skirt hem flaring around her bare legs and she was smugly proud she’d chosen to bring a long-sleeved dress instead of a more summery one. Take that, haters. She could be fabulous and warm thanks to the lightweight machine-knitted merino wool.
She was still thinking about ordering another dress from the range in black instead of the deep mulberry shade she wore, when vying smells of fried food and popcorn drifted along the main street into her nose. She blinked, suddenly noticing the crowds of people descended on Oban’s sports grounds.
Wow. Guess the Easter Gala was kind of a big deal.
Rock music blasted out of speakers, and the shrill, excited cries of children came from a section of the big field that was roped off and contained a mini Ferris wheel. Tables filled with all manner of baking and preserves were set out, along with crafts made by the local school for sale. Tilly made a mental note to buy a cute depiction of an Easter basket Jade Harland had painted—one of the cheeky girls she’d first met outside Russells’ grocery store—on the way out. Someone offered her a printed flyer and she gratefully escaped behind some of the stalls to read it.
There was a diagram of the gal
a setup, with a list of stalls and activities, plus a timetable of the day’s entertainment on the flyer’s other side—including the start of the Manly Man event in thirty minutes’ time.
Pit yourself against the local favorites! Are you manlier than Ben Harland, Dr. Joe Whelan, Constable Noah Daniels, and the Komeke boys—including their dad, three-time champion Rob Komeke?
Noah’s name leaped off the sheet of paper and boob-slapped her, sending tingly warm tightness to her nipples at the memory of his touch. With a wince she crossed an arm across her breasts and pretended to continue studying the flyer, when in reality she was studying the milling crowd under her lashes. She’d yet to catch sight of Noah—and it was made more difficult by the fact he wasn’t in uniform.
“You look lost. Can I help?” a feminine voice asked beside her.
Tilly turned to see a woman with a riot of dark curls smiling up at her. She was an older version of the curly-haired Zoe, little Jade’s BFF and fellow troublemaker.
“I’m just getting my bearings,” she said. “You must be Zoe and Jade’s mum.”
Her hand drifted down to rest on her rounded belly. “I am. And mum-to-be of two more Harland babies.” Her smile turned dreamy. “I’m also Ben’s wife. I believe you’ve met his sister Piper and, oh—I’m sorry, we didn’t introduce ourselves properly. I’m Kezia.”
“Tilly. I guess you’ve already heard the condensed version about me and why I’m in Oban.”
“Gossip travels fast in a small town,” Kezia agreed. “It took maybe thirty minutes for news of me carrying twins to circulate around town.”
Tilly grinned. “What a scandal.”
Kezia gave her a gentle shoulder check. “Shall I tell you what I’ve heard about the pretty newcomer who inherited Southern Seas B&B?”
A sudden image of herself wrapped around Noah in the front seat of his ute popped into her head. Uh-oh.
“Sure,” she said gamely. “Lay it on me.”
Bending The Rules: Stewart Island Book 10 Page 15
