to answer.
‘He and I…parted ways a long time ago,’ she said.
The understatement of all time. The spectre of the Colonel loomed. Whore. Worse.
Clint studied her, then spoke quietly. ‘Does he know he has a son?’
Bang, right on the money. Instincts like that would have been wasted anywhere other than a specialist role. Commandos, maybe? Or Tactical Assault. She struggled to keep her anger in check as old hurts oozed up.
‘I doubt he even knew he’d had sex,’ she muttered grimly.
Those sea-green eyes flicked away for the barest of moments, then locked onto hers again. ‘Right. Next topic?’
She took a deep breath. ‘Yes, please.’
And just like that it was over. She’d shared her shame with someone. The absolute last someone she would have expected to be opening up to but he hadn’t sneered or even judged her. There was nothing but compassion in those twin depths.
‘Can I ask you a question?’ she risked.
‘Maybe.’
She perked up. ‘What branch of the military were you in?’
‘If I told you I’d have to kill you.’ His laugh was only half joking.
‘Seriously…’
He looked at her, his voice tighter than the wire he was straining. ‘Does it matter?’
She kept her gaze steady. ‘No. But I’m curious.’
‘Don’t be.’
A big part of her wanted to smack that hat right off his head. But she reined it in. ‘Hey, I’ve just stripped myself naked for you. The least you could do is drop one article.’
Those powerful hands stopped working entirely and a deep chuckle followed like a distant rumble of thunder. ‘You do have a gift for expression, Romy.’
Not deflected, she stared down into his broad shoulders until the silence grew tangible. He sighed and twisted up to her. ‘I was an operative with Strike Force Taipan. Tactical Assault and Extraction.’ His voice turned from grudging to irritated. ‘Why are you smiling?’
Taipans. It fit. She could see him slipping over the edge of a Zodiac all camouflaged at midnight. ‘Just revelling in the momentary pleasure of knowing everything. It happens very rarely.’
‘Is that right?’
‘I have an eight-year-old particularly gifted at pointing out when I’m wrong.’ He took after his grandfather.
He chuckled again, only this time she watched the grin spread over his face. It really transformed him, as if he wasn’t striking enough already.
In a kill-you-with-a-well-placed-thumb kind of way.
‘All done.’ He pulled off the gloves and wiped his hands on his jeans, then returned to his usual position, towering over her. Romy realised how accustomed she’d become to gazing up at him. Despite always being short, it was possibly the only time she’d felt…fragile. The thought had her scrambling away from him, her voice breathy.
‘Okay. Well, thanks. I guess I should be grateful nature endowed one of us with muscles.’
That smile again. ‘There’s more to life than brute strength. Besides, you virtually repaired this single-handed. I just got to swan in at the end and be the hero.’
At his own words, the light dimmed from his eyes. They clouded with something dark. He glanced towards his vehicle and then busied himself collecting the tools scattered across the ground. She joined him. When her toolkit was packed and there was no good reason to linger, she pulled her hat off and ran her fingers through sweat-dampened hair.
He hadn’t met her eyes for minutes now. ‘I guess I should get going. Thanks for the help…’
‘You’re welcome.’ Still no eye contact but critically polite. He collected up the broken strainer and turned towards his ute at the foot of the hill. Romy frowned. What had she said? Why did she even care? This man was nothing to her, only her employer.
But she did.
She sighed and turned away from him.
Clint felt the loss of her grey, almond-shaped eyes. It hadn’t been hurt simmering away in those smoky depths; she was too protected for that. It was caution. Confusion. And something else, something older that didn’t belong to him. But he felt like a heel, anyway.
‘I’m sorry, Romy. I’m not angry at you.’
‘Who are you angry at?’ Her whispered reply drifted to him on the warm breeze. Anxious. The playful spark in her expression completely absent. Yet another thing he’d killed in this world. It was a reasonable question but impossible to answer. Hadn’t he tried all these years to figure it out? Lord knows he’d had plenty of time. Somewhere along the line it got easier not to think about it any more.
He stared long and hard at her. ‘Do you swim?’
Her confusion doubled. ‘Why?’
‘If you swim, don’t do it in the dams around the cottage. Come here. This is the best for swimming.’
‘I’d already gathered that.’
‘Swim here.’ Why was he obsessing on this?
She straightened. ‘That sounds vaguely like an order.’
‘Will that have more impact?’
‘I’d prefer you to ask me.’
He shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his board shorts. ‘Ah, sorry. Occupational hazard.’
‘You can take the man out of the corps…’
‘What do you know about the corps?’
‘Unit. Corps. God. Country,’ she said. ‘Doesn’t leave much room for being human.’
He squinted. ‘You know the code?’
‘I lived with the code.’
Her simple grimace was telling. He knew only too well the personal price soldiers paid for honouring that ideal. Family came in a poor fifth right behind your unit. The men who kept you alive, who had your back.
Or were supposed to.
For all those big, beautiful eyes seemed to know about loss, he doubted they knew squat about betrayal. The things he’d seen, things he’d done. The things others had done that he’d never been able to reconcile. She didn’t have a clue. Romy Carvell was like a fresh set of combat camos: unsullied, crisp at the seams. The sort of thing you could slip into and feel clean, just for a moment until the sand leached in.
‘I’m asking you, Romy. If you or Leighton swim, please make
