Читать книгу Hollywood Hills Collection - Lynne Marshall, Amalie Berlin - Страница 37

CHAPTER FIVE

ABI FROZE. SHE COULDN’T have moved if she’d wanted to. This feeling was familiar to her. This sense of feeling helpless, useless and most of all vulnerable. Knowing she should be doing something but unable to make her body function.

Her brain shut down. It was unable to issue instructions. Normally she was a quick, decisive person, years of training in medicine and in the armed forces had instilled that in her, but since returning from Afghanistan she had lost that ability to make a swift decision under pressure, unless it was in a medical context. The slightest bit of stress or anxiety outside work rendered her incapable. And the thought that she was vulnerable in those situations terrified her even more, which only served to worsen her predicament.

Damien showed no such hesitation. He stepped in front of her as she remained standing, rooted to the spot. He unlocked the door and Jonty raced past him as it opened and tore up the stairs, barking madly once more when he was thwarted again by another closed door that led into the apartment.

Damien followed Jonty. He made no attempt to climb the stairs quietly but, Abi supposed, there was no need for stealth. Her dog had well and truly announced their arrival.

He reached for the handle. She wanted to tell him not to open it, to be careful, but the words lodged in her throat and although she opened her mouth she couldn’t get the words to come out. Fear rendered her speechless but she had recovered control of her limbs and was able to follow him up the stairs. Even that was driven by fear. She was more afraid of being left alone at the bottom of the stairs than confronting whatever was at the top. She needed to stay close to Damien, even if it meant closing the gap between her and danger.

As he turned the handle and pushed the door open Abi heard the sound of glass breaking. His back blocked her view so she craned her neck and stood on her toes to look past his shoulder, just in time to see a figure disappearing through her balcony doors and onto her deck.

Jonty dashed across the room and Damien followed, crossing the floor in four strides. Abi was close behind him, her heels crunching through the fragments of broken glass that had fallen out of the balcony doors as they had been slammed open and which now lay strewn across the deck.

The balcony was empty. Abi’s heart was beating at a million miles an hour but she breathed a sigh of relief when she realised they were too late. She hadn’t stopped to think about what might happen if they confronted the intruder but, thank God, they weren’t about to find out.

Whoever had been in Abi’s house had leapt over the railing of the deck and dropped eight feet to the lawn below. All they saw was a figure in dark clothing land awkwardly and run across George and Irma’s lawn at a fast limp.

Damien had both hands on the top of the railing as he watched the retreating figure hobble away. ‘He must have twisted his ankle when he landed. Shall I go after him?’’

This time it was Abi’s hand on Damien’s arm as a precautionary gesture. ‘No!’

‘But I can catch him.’

‘And then what? What if he has a knife? Or a gun?’ Abi could feel herself shaking as adrenalin flooded her system. Her heart was racing again. She couldn’t put Damien in danger. It was better just to let the man go. She wanted to avoid danger and minimise harm at all costs. ‘He wouldn’t have found anything worth stealing, I have nothing of any value. Let him go, it’s not worth the risk.’

Her wrap had slipped off her shoulders and caught in the crook of her elbows and Damien reached over and lifted it back around her. The touch of his fingers made her tremble even more.

‘Are you okay?’ he asked.

She had no idea.

Damien insisted on checking the rest of the apartment to make sure there was no accomplice and Abi insisted on going with him. Even though her apartment was small with very few hiding places and wouldn’t take long to search she didn’t want to be left on her own. There was safety in numbers. There was safety with Damien.

She and Jonty followed behind him as he cleared the upstairs, a task that didn’t take long as besides the kitchen and living area there was only Abi’s bedroom and the bathroom. Coming out of the bathroom, Abi noticed that Jonty was protecting his front paw. She was torn between sticking close to Damien or checking the dog, but once they had finished investigating the upstairs Abi decided to tend to Jonty, letting Damien check the garage and utility room downstairs alone. There had been no more noises. It appeared that the intruder hadn’t had company and she felt it was safe to stay upstairs.

She knelt on the kitchen floor and picked a piece of glass from Jonty’s paw. It took her a while as her hands were shaking but once she was confident it was out she retrieved some first-aid supplies from the bathroom cabinet and washed his foot clean with antiseptic solution. She didn’t bother to bandage it. Now that the glass was out it didn’t appear to be worrying him and she knew he’d only gnaw at the bandage until it came off.

Damien reappeared from downstairs. ‘There’s a broken window in the garage,’ he said. ‘He must have come in that way and then locked Jonty out. Do you want to see if anything is missing? You might want to make a police report.’

Abi was certain that nothing would be missing and if there was she doubted it would matter to her, but some of the items in the apartment belonged to George and Irma. She’d have to let them know. ‘I’ll do it tomorrow when I’ve spoken to George and Irma,’ she said as she folded her arms in a vain attempt to stop her body from shaking.

‘Are you cold?’

Her apartment was warm and she had closed the drapes over the balcony doors to keep the draught out. She shook her head. She wasn’t cold, just shaken up and probably in shock.

‘Do you have any whisky?’ Damien asked, as he opened cupboards and searched the contents. He couldn’t seem to stand still. Was he on edge too?

‘No.’

When the search of her kitchen cupboards proved fruitless he wandered back over to the balcony doors. He opened the drapes and inspected the damage. ‘Would George have anything I could use to board up these windows to make them secure overnight?’

‘I’m sure he would. He has a whole shed full of carpentry stuff.’

‘Would he mind if I took a look? Should I wake him up?’

‘He and Irma have gone away for the weekend but I have the key to his shed.’ Abi opened a kitchen drawer and pulled out a bunch of keys and handed it to Damien. Her fingers brushed his and the keys jangled as her hand shook.

‘Are you going to be okay in here while I check the shed?’

‘I’m fine.’ She was far from okay but she was coping. Her heart rate had been settling now that she knew the house was clear but the briefest of touches from Damien made it skyrocket again. Two different triggers, one pleasant, one definitely not, but both had the power to set her heart racing. She doubted she’d be able to sleep tonight so a glass of whisky sounded like a good idea, but she’d worry about that later.

Damien disappeared again but within a few minutes Abi could hear him hammering downstairs and then he went to work on the balcony doors, using some bits of plywood he’d found in George’s shed to fashion a makeshift repair job.

‘I’ve managed to weatherproof your apartment but it’s not terribly secure. I was going to suggest that you stay over at George and Irma’s but if they are away I think you should come home with me. I don’t think you should stay here alone.’

‘I’m not alone, I have Jonty. I can’t leave him.’

‘Bring him too. You can have Summer’s bed and I’ll put Summer in with me.’

Abi hesitated before answering and Damien mistook her hesitation for apprehension.

‘Do you want to call someone and let them know you’re staying with me?’ he offered, realising she may have reservations about going home with him but she had no one to call. She was totally alone.

‘Freya can vouch for my character,’ he added. Abi had no doubt Freya would approve but if she did accept Damien’s offer she wasn’t sure that she wanted anyone else to know. Besides, it wasn’t the fact that she was considering going home with a virtual stranger that was making her hesitate, she actually felt safe with Damien, but the fact that she was even considering the idea at all was what worried her. The fact that she should have reservations when she didn’t was the concern. She barely knew Damien. Was it wrong to trust him so quickly?

‘I don’t want to put Summer out of her bed.’

Damien grinned at her and Abi was transfixed by the smile lines that appeared in the corners of his eyes. It was the only time his perfect features looked real. ‘It’s my bed or Summer’s,’ he said, ‘they’re the only options.’

Abi swallowed. She hadn’t meant to imply anything untoward but Damien settled her nerves.

‘Don’t worry about Summer. She ends up in my bed most nights anyway and I’m really not going to leave you here on your own in an unsecured house. Grab what you need and come with me.’

Abi didn’t need further convincing. The idea of staying in the apartment by herself made her jittery. She knew she wouldn’t sleep and the idea of having company, of knowing there was someone just a room away, was far more reassuring. She had thought the apartment was secure and safe but after tonight’s events she wasn’t so certain. Perhaps if she still had a weapon she might have felt more comfortable but she’d returned her army-issued handgun when she’d gone on leave and she hadn’t wanted to replace it. She hadn’t wanted a weapon. She’d seen the damage they could do, and even now she knew she wouldn’t want that responsibility or that temptation. She would rather stay at Damien’s than pick up a gun.

She collected Jonty’s essentials—his water bowl, lead and the large cushion that he slept on at the foot of her bed—and carried them downstairs to where Damien was loading her dog into his car. She remembered refusing Damien’s invitation of a lift earlier in the week. She’d been worried then about Jonty messing up the pristine interior but she had no such qualms tonight, and neither, it seemed, did Jonty, who was more than happy to leap into the car.

* * *

Damien felt as if he’d only just drifted off to sleep when he was woken by the sound of a dog whining. He sat up in bed, disoriented, until he realised it was Jonty. What was wrong now?

He got out of bed, careful not to disturb Summer, and as he stepped into the hallway he saw the light come on in Summer’s room. It shone under the door. Abi must be awake. But that didn’t explain why Jonty was whining.

He should check to make sure everything was okay, but as he stretched out his hand to knock on the door the noise stopped. Should he still intrude? He had no idea. He didn’t want to disturb Abi or frighten her or make a nuisance of himself, but what sort of host would he be if she needed something and he didn’t offer assistance.

‘Abi?’ He knocked lightly and spoke through the door. ‘Is everything okay?’

He opened the door and the scent of peaches wrapped around him. Abi’s scent.

She was still asleep. Jonty was standing beside the bed, pushing his nose against her cheek. Did he want to go out?

But if Abi was still asleep who had turned the light on? He frowned. He was certain he had seen the light go on.

He was still standing in the doorway, trying to decide what to do, when Abi opened her eyes. He saw her jump when she registered his presence and he realised how it must look to her—an unfamiliar man appearing in her room in the middle of the night. He could see she was frightened. Her amber eyes were wide and unblinking. She reminded him of a deer caught in a spotlight and he felt like the hunter.

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you.’

‘Damien?’

Her cheeks were wet with tears and she was breathing heavily as if she’d been running but he knew that was impossible. There was a sheen of sweat on her brow and her hair was damp. This wasn’t about Jonty needing to go outside.

‘I heard Jonty whining. What’s the matter?’

She sat up in bed. She was wearing one of his T-shirts and it slipped off her shoulder to reveal a pale, creamy expanse of soft, smooth skin. They hadn’t thought to grab any clothes for her, she’d been busy getting Jonty’s stuff together and he hadn’t given it a thought, so he’d lent her one of his T-shirts. It suited her, even though it swamped her tiny frame. With her messy hair and startled eyes she looked about twenty, although he knew she was ten years older than that. She pulled the damp T-shirt away from her body but it fell back as she let it go, clinging to her skin and drawing his attention to her nipples, which jutted against the fabric.

She was trembling.

Damien didn’t hesitate any longer. In two strides he was next to the bed. In the next second he was sitting beside her. In one more second she was wrapped in his arms.

He hugged her tightly to him as he tried to stop her shaking. He had gone to her without thinking. A reflex action triggered by her fragile appearance had made him react impulsively. It seemed perfectly natural to take her in his arms and she didn’t resist, didn’t protest.

It felt perfectly natural. She was small and slight and fitted into the crook of his elbow and the curve of his shoulder as if they were designed just for her. Her head rested on his bare chest and he could feel her tears damp against his skin.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘I had a nightmare. Jonty is trained to wake me.’

‘Really? He can do that?’ He made sure to keep his eyes focused on her face. The T-shirt he’d lent her was old and he hadn’t realised it was quite so thin.

Abi nodded. ‘He’s an assistance dog. It’s one of his many talents.’

‘And the light? I swear I saw the light turn on when I was in the hall.’

He wasn’t sure how to explain that but Abi seemed to know what he was talking about. She looked up at him. ‘Jonty can flick switches.’

‘You’re kidding me.’

‘No.’

‘Is he going to make breakfast for us in the morning too?’

She smiled at him and he felt absurdly pleased that he’d managed to elicit a smile from her. ‘Only for me. He’s my assistance dog.’

‘So this project you said you were involved with? You’re not just training him or taking care of him? It’s more personal than that?’

‘Yes.’

‘He’s been assigned to you?’

Abi nodded.

‘For nightmares?’ He was trying to make sense of what was happening.

She nodded again.

‘Do you have lots?’ he asked.

‘Only since Afghanistan.’

‘Is there anything I can do?’

‘Now or in general?’

‘Now, for starters. Can I make you a hot chocolate? It’s what I would do for Summer.’

She’d stopped shaking but she still felt cold.

‘That sounds lovely but I don’t need it. I’d rather you stayed here.’

He didn’t need to be asked twice. It felt good to have her in his arms and he wasn’t going to pretend otherwise.

He leant back against the bedhead and swung his legs up on top of the quilt, stretching them out in front of him. Abi stayed curled against his chest and he kept his arm around her shoulders as he felt the steady, rhythmical rise and fall of her breathing. She seemed calmer now but he wasn’t surprised to hear that she had nightmares. He could only imagine what she would have seen in Afghanistan. What she would have been through. What he didn’t know was whether it would help to talk about her dreams or if it was best to ignore the horrors of the past in the hope that she could put it behind her. Would talking about it make it better or worse?

He couldn’t remember much from his psychology studies. What would be the recommended practice today?

He decided to try talking about it. If she didn’t want to talk to him she’d soon tell him. She didn’t seem to have a problem with telling him if she thought he had overstepped the mark or was wrong. She’d put him back in his place a couple of times already this week.

‘Is it always the same dream?’ he asked.

‘Pretty much.’

Silence fell and he thought that was it. If she didn’t want to talk about it he wasn’t going to force the issue.

She shifted her position, turning her head so she was looking at the ceiling. Had that been a protective movement designed so that he couldn’t see her face? So he couldn’t feel the dampness of her tears?

She started talking. ‘In the dream I’m in Kabul. It’s always Kabul, even if sometimes it doesn’t look like it. Sometimes it looks like LA or Phoenix but I still know I’m in Kabul. It’s hot and dusty, crowded and chaotic. There are people shouting and jostling. Traffic noise, car horns, brakes, engines revving, sirens. Big-city noises and big-city smells—diesel fumes and garbage. I always have the impression of Kabul as loud and kind of manic but then the mania goes up a notch. One minute it’s just regular bedlam, and then an explosion rips through the crowd, showering everyone with debris, intensifying the chaos. I can feel the force of the blast. It knocks me off my feet and for a moment everything is silent. In my dream I know instantly that a bomb has exploded but it wasn’t like that at the time.’

At the time? This dream was real? Or rather the events in the dream were real? No wonder she had woken up in a cold sweat.

‘The beginning of the dream is always the same,’ she continued, ‘but the actual explosion takes me by surprise every time. After the bomb explodes the dream varies. I can never change the beginning, the bomb always goes off, but what happens next changes, although it’s always bad, just different degrees of terrible, and I can’t control it.’

‘What happens next?’ he asked, not sure he was prepared for the answer, but if she needed to talk he would listen.

‘My commanding officer is there too. He’s injured and I try to help him. In my dream I crawl across the ground. I can feel glass and stones and metal cutting into my hands and knees but all I can see is Mark lying on the ground. He’s not moving and I don’t know if he’s breathing. I keep crawling but this bit varies. Sometimes I reach him and sometimes I feel like I’m just crawling for minute after minute, never getting any closer. Sometimes Mark dies before I can reach him and sometimes I get there while he’s still alive. He has a wife and daughters, sometimes they are in my dream too, but they do nothing, just stand and watch and ask me why I’m not saving him. Why aren’t I doing more? I don’t have anything to tell them except that I am trying, but the end is always the same. Mark dies and I wake up crying.’

‘You were actually caught up in a situation like that? This was real?’

She nodded. ‘We had gone into Kabul for a meeting, me, my commanding officer, Mark, and another captain. We were leaving the meeting to head back to the base. It was around lunchtime, the streets were busy as they always were, crowded with cars, trucks, motorbikes and pedestrians. Our driver was waiting on the street to collect us. He was out of the truck, holding the back door open for Mark, when there was an explosion. There was no warning, although I don’t know why I would have expected one. One minute I was rounding the back of the truck and the next I was knocked off my feet.’

‘Were you hurt?’

She shook her head and her hair brushed across his chest. ‘Not critically. When a bomb explodes there’re degrees of injury—dead, critically injured, non-life-threatening injuries and okay. Some of the blood was mine but I wasn’t badly injured. My ears were ringing but other than that I could hear nothing else for what seemed like minutes but was probably only seconds. The air was thick with dust and smoke. I was disorientated but I had worked out what had happened. A bomb had been detonated, but I didn’t know what sort or where. Not that it mattered. It had succeeded in creating the damage it had been designed for. I can remember lying there, fighting to breathe but being unable to move because I had no air. When I did catch my breath my throat and tongue were coated with dust. I inhaled and I could smell burnt flesh and the metallic tang of blood but I didn’t realise some of it was mine.

‘When I got up my leg gave way beneath me. I had shrapnel embedded in my thigh but I hadn’t realised it. My leg wouldn’t support my weight, which was probably lucky. It was a stupid idea to try to stand up. It would be safer to stay low but I wasn’t thinking clearly.’

Damien could scarcely believe what he was hearing. He’d seen images from Afghanistan but he’d never really spent much time thinking about the people who were caught up in the war. It had all seemed to be so remote. Until now. Until he was listening to Abi’s recount and feeling her tremble in his arms and seeing the fear and confusion in her eyes.

‘I could see the other captain lying on the ground ahead of me. He had already walked around to the far side of the vehicle, which had sheltered him from the force of the blast. He was groggy and probably concussed but otherwise uninjured. I thought we’d been lucky. I thought we’d escaped any real damage but it turned out that wasn’t the case. I dragged myself around to the other side of the truck, looking for the others—my CO and the driver. People were screaming now and crying. Running. Falling. It was complete chaos, there was no sense of order, just panic.

‘We needed to get out of there but when I got around the vehicle I found that our driver was dead. And he wasn’t the only one. There were plenty of dead and injured. My commanding officer had been hit. He was bleeding from his side, frothing blood from his lips. He must have thrown his arms up when the bomb exploded. It would have been a reflex reaction but it meant that he’d exposed the area under his arm, a gap in his flak jacket, and shrapnel had ripped through his chest wall. He’d sustained serious chest wounds and I knew I was unlikely to be able to save him but I had to try. There were others I could have tried to help but I didn’t. Mark was my priority, my responsibility.

‘I was kneeling in the middle of the road, trying to plug the wound in his chest with my hands. It was hopeless. There was a first-aid kit in the truck, a good one, a combat one, but I needed a hospital. There was nothing I could do in that environment. It wasn’t safe. We had to get out of there. We had no idea what would happen next.

‘The other captain helped me to lift Mark into the truck and then we had to load the body of our driver as well, we couldn’t leave him. Everything had happened so quickly there was no time really to think, only to react. We had to get away but I still think about all those injured Afghans we left behind, even though I know my duty of care was to my own team. That was my priority.

‘All the way back to the base I fought to keep Mark alive. The first-aid kit was substantial. I had bags of saline and bandages but what I needed was units of blood and an operating theatre. I knew he was unlikely to make it but I had to try. He was dead before we reached the base.’

‘It sounds like you did everything you could. Even if there had been a whole team working on him, it sounds like the outcome would have been the same.’

‘I know that, but it was the first time I couldn’t save someone I knew well, and that’s a hard thing to let go of. I think that’s why I keep replaying the day in my dreams, hoping that it ends differently, but it never does. It always ends the same way. With people dying. I feel guilty that I couldn’t save him, I feel guilty sometimes that I survived when so many others didn’t. I’ve never met Mark’s wife and daughters but they turn up in my dream as my guilty subconscious.’

‘Have you spoken to someone about this?’

‘Officially?’

Damien nodded.

‘I have. I’ve been diagnosed with PTSD and the military medical corps insist on therapy for all personnel even while on leave.’

‘You’re on leave? I thought you’d left?’

‘I can’t apply for a discharge from the army, it has to be recommended.’

‘Do you think you should be working? Shouldn’t you be taking some time to recover?’

‘I need to stay busy. Work gives me something else to focus on. Without that I have nothing and I can’t sit around with just my thoughts for company. I’ve been assessed as being fit to work but not fit for active duty. I can’t work in a combat support unit but a hospital that’s not in a war zone is fine. And I feel safe at work.’

‘You don’t feel safe generally?’

‘I get nervous in unfamiliar, noisy or crowded environments so I try to avoid them if possible, but sometimes I can’t, which is why Jonty was assigned to me, to help prevent panic attacks.’

‘Should I have brought Summer to stay at your house? Has being in a strange place triggered your nightmare?’ Damien felt terrible, as if this was somehow his fault.

‘Maybe,’ she said, making him feel even worse. ‘But I think it was more likely to be an after-effect of the shock of the break-in.’

The break-in had threatened her safety, Damien realised, and that thought eased his conscience slightly, although not completely. He needed to fix this.

‘What can I do? How can I help?’

‘Would you stay with me? Just until I fall asleep? I’m scared I’ll have another dream.’ Her voice was quiet and it sounded almost as if she expected him to refuse.

How could he refuse? He didn’t want to. ‘Sure.’

He half lay in the bed, with his shoulders propped against the headboard and Abi’s head resting on his chest. Summer’s bed was narrow and Abi had to lie on her side to fit. She curled herself against him and he wrapped his arm around her shoulders to keep her in the bed. He doubted whether either of them were going to go back to sleep and he wasn’t planning on leaving her here alone if she did succumb.

He reached across and switched off the bedside light. He could feel Abi’s eyelashes fluttering against his bare skin and each tiny puff of air as she exhaled. He usually slept naked but because he’d had to share his bed with Summer he’d put a pair of boxer shorts on so at least he was semi-decent. Although he didn’t think thin boxer shorts were going to be enough of a shield against the touch of Abi’s fingers and the smell of her hair.

Her fingers rested lightly on his chest and her head was tucked under his chin. He definitely wasn’t going to be able to go back to sleep now.

The hall light was still on, taking the edge off the darkness, and he lay in the shadows and stared at the ceiling and thought about the enigma that was Abi.

She intrigued him. She’d been in his life for less than a week but something told him she was going to leave a lasting effect. There was something fascinating about her. She was fragile and damaged but he sensed an underlying strength of character that suggested she would not be easily defeated. Where had that strength come from?

Her breathing slowed and she drifted off and he could feel his resistance weaken as she slept in his arms. He had vowed not to get involved with a woman again, he didn’t have the time or the energy, but Abi was making him revise his thinking.

She was an anomaly, a mixture of courage and strength, fragility and insecurity, and she stirred a mixture of emotions in him. He wanted to know more about her. He’d never met anyone quite like her and he wanted to make the time to find out what made her tick.

In recent times his world had revolved around his daughter and his work. He didn’t socialise and even when he had it had been with Brooke and her actor friends. He had never really understood them, never been sure what was real and what was fake, but Abi felt real. He was drawn to her. She was interesting and gorgeous, smart and strong, and yet he sensed some self-doubt in her. Had she always had that or was it the lasting effect of her CO’s death?

He had noticed her hesitation when they had walked into the party last night. He hadn’t expected that. Brooke had always been self-confident, she would have walked into a party and stopped and waited until everyone had looked at her. She would have arrived late so that she could ensure there were people there to notice her arrival. She’d had the behaviour of a celebrity even before she’d become one.

Abi was so confident in a work situation that he’d expected the same generally, and her reluctance, her lack of confidence, had surprised him. Had something else happened to her? The story she’d told about the bomb didn’t explain it. She’d acted quickly, selflessly and bravely, she hadn’t acted like a person lacking in self-confidence. He was certain there was more to her story and he was keen to find out what it was.

He wanted to know the answers, all the answers.

He turned his head and watched her sleep until fatigue overcame him too.

* * *

When he woke in the morning he’d been dreaming of sunshine, of peaches ripening in the summer sun.

Abi was still curled against him. Her breasts were squashed against his chest and her hand rested on his stomach. He was still shirtless. He should have gone back to his bed once she’d fallen asleep but he hadn’t wanted to leave her alone. If he was completely honest he was enjoying the feeling of a woman, this woman, in his arms and he hadn’t wanted to let her go. One of Abi’s thighs was tucked between his, slight and warm. His hand had moved south from her shoulders and was resting on her hip. He could feel his erection, swollen, throbbing, pleading for release. Her hair smelled like peaches and her skin was the colour of vanilla ice cream. She was soft and sweet and delicious. It had been a while since he’d had anyone quite as delightful in his bed and he wasn’t averse to the idea of exploring her attractions.

The quilt had slipped off her leg and from beneath the hem of her T-shirt, his T-shirt, he could see the shrapnel scars on her thigh. He replayed the story she’d told him in the night and remembered she was tougher than she looked. He ran his fingers lightly over the scars. They were raised and darker than her skin, reminiscent of a raspberry swirl in vanilla ice cream. A legacy of her past and a reminder that she was a survivor.

Abi stirred at his touch. Her eyelashes fluttered and her amber eyes opened. He could see her taking a moment to work out where she was.

He didn’t want her to panic. She brought out all his protective instincts, which were never far from the surface anyway. He knew he had a habit of wanting to look after women, to protect them, a desire that stemmed from his upbringing. His mother suffered from debilitating rheumatoid arthritis and his father had been her primary source of care and support and that sense of protectiveness was strongly instilled in him. There was something vulnerable about Abi and he didn’t want any more harm to come to her, not if it was in his power to prevent that.

‘You’re okay, Abi,’ he told her. ‘You’re in Summer’s bed.’

She woke properly and he could tell she was embarrassed to find herself draped across him. Not that he was complaining. She moved away from him, pulling her thigh out from between his legs and lifting her hand from his stomach, leaving a palm-sized patch of skin that felt cooler now she was gone.

Her eyes ran over his body, making his erection stand to attention even more than before. Her gaze moved from his bare chest down over his abdominals and further south. There was no way to disguise his reaction to her and he didn’t want to. As far as he was concerned, there was nothing wrong with letting her see what effect she had on him.

He saw her swallow and when she looked up at him there was a question in the golden depths of her eyes.

She pulled farther away and he resisted the urge to hold her close. He didn’t want to let her go but he didn’t want to frighten her either. He relaxed his arm around her shoulders, giving her space.

‘We didn’t, did we?’

He shook his head. ‘No. That would always be your decision.’ His words were more of a question than a statement. It was obvious to both of them that he was keen but he would never make a presumption about sex. Both parties had to be willing and he was curious to know her thoughts but she gave a tiny shake of her head.

‘I can’t.’

That was more hopeful than a ‘no’ and better than an ‘I don’t want to’ but it wasn’t a ‘yes’.

‘Can’t or won’t?’ he asked.

‘Can’t,’ she clarified. ‘We can’t. Summer is in the house. This is her room. What if she comes in?’

She had a point but her answer gave him hope. He suspected she might be just as willing as he was in different circumstances but he wasn’t going to push her, he wasn’t going to take advantage. He would bide his time, certain that it would come in the not-too-distant future.

He wasn’t sure exactly when he’d changed his mind, when he’d begun to feel like he wanted to pursue her, when he’d begun to think that women weren’t too much trouble, well, one woman in particular. Had it been last night, when she’d curled into his side, or the night of the party when he’d given her a lift and his car had been filled with the scent of fresh peaches, or the afternoon that she had collected Summer from school and he’d so badly wanted to kiss her?

He knew this attraction was fraught with danger. He knew there were all sorts of reasons why he should keep his distance—they were colleagues, she had issues, he had baggage, he was a single dad with a difficult ex-wife and his priorities should be on Summer—but it was hard to ignore the stirring of desire when he’d held her in his arms. It had felt good. It had reminded him that he was a man.

The throbbing in his groin was another strong indicator that all his manly bits were working but he’d have to relieve the tension himself. He would do well to remember to focus on other aspects and keep a lid on his attraction to Abi. He wasn’t planning on ignoring it altogether but he needed to slow things down. He couldn’t jump in, he didn’t know how she felt and he wasn’t sure if he was ready. There were lots of complicating factors. It would be a different story perhaps if they’d met in a bar or at a conference, if she didn’t already know Summer, if they didn’t work together, if she hadn’t spent the night in his arms.

‘Just so I know, in case we ever find ourselves in this position again, how would Jonty react? Is he trained to attack?’ His question lightened the mood, as he’d hoped it would. It let Abi back out of this situation but also made his intentions clear. He would slow things down but he wouldn’t give up completely.

‘Does he look like he’s about to attack?’ she countered, and Damien glanced over to where the dog lay, fast asleep, on his cushion, completely oblivious to what was going on around him.

‘People who need assistance dogs often need them for things like panic attacks, PTSD or epilepsy,’ she explained. ‘They might need help from paramedics or the public so it wouldn’t be useful if the dogs were trained to protect their owners and not let people close.’

‘Good to know.’ He smiled and stood up, disentangling himself from Abi. ‘But I guess it’s time for me to shower and take care of some business.’ His erection was plainly obvious in his boxer shorts and he still made no attempt to hide it. He left her lying in the bed and hoped he was giving her plenty to think about.

* * *

Abi stretched lazily as she watched Damien walk out of the room. She’d slept soundly and had woken up feeling relaxed and comfortable for the first time in months. It was amazing the difference having a warm, hard body in the bed with her had made. She had felt safe, and feeling safe had allowed her to sleep peacefully. She hadn’t had a recurrence of the nightmare, she hadn’t dreamt of Mark, but perhaps that wasn’t surprising given that a half-naked Damien had lain beside her.

He moved gracefully on his long legs and she wondered if he was a good dancer. He looked fluid and she could imagine him on the dance floor, could imagine herself in his arms. She felt a blush steal across her cheeks. Thank God he had his back to her and couldn’t see her devouring him with her eyes. His black boxer shorts left very little to her imagination. His body was lean and muscular, and she knew exactly how it had felt under her fingers, warm and firm. Her hand had been spread across his stomach, her fingers resting on the ridges of his abdominals. She was mortified to think that she’d been draped across him when she’d woken up but relieved to know that nothing more sexual had happened. It was clear that he wouldn’t have minded. Should she be flattered by that or nervous?

She felt both flattered and nervous but she was also hesitant.

She had ignored his obvious erection, or had tried to, but her hesitation had had nothing to do with the fact that his young daughter was in the house. Summer had been a factor but not the ultimate deciding factor. Abi had made a promise to herself. No more colleagues. No more men with baggage.

Summer’s presence was a reason but she hadn’t been the problem. The problem was Abi herself.

She was damaged.

She was still recovering.

But most of all she was afraid.