her bright sunny smile called to a dark corner of his soul. Soothed it. Healed it slightly. Which was a stupid notion, he knew. How could a smile heal?
Then she shook her head. ‘It’s not a wind-up. Far from it. It’s a matter of honour. And I guess you’d be good at that, being a soldier.’ Did he imagine it? Did her eyes linger for a moment on his scar?
‘I doubt it.’ He shrugged. Ran a hand across his cheek and tried to cover the slice in his face, the permanent reminder of all he’d lost. Monica hadn’t been able to look at his scar. She’d winced and turned her face away too many times. He’d believed it had reminded her of the man that had left and the shell she’d got in return.
But Skye just seemed interested in it.
Her eyes flitted away from his face and she clasped her hands in her lap. ‘We’re defending our eight-week championship run. Pub quiz. We’re the Mad Medics.’
‘The Mad …?’ He shook his head. He’d been had. More people, faces, noise. More trying hard to fit in. More dodging intimacy like bullets. But he’d stepped right into the trap and couldn’t back out now.
‘Tonight. Eight o’clock.’ She stood and beamed again. ‘You just got yourself on the team.’
‘You’re looking very glam for a pub quiz. Hoping to dazzle the opposition into surrender? Or is it … something else? For someone else?’ Connor placed a pinot gris in front of Skye and sat next to her at the small round table they’d reserved. For three. Only the third member hadn’t arrived yet. Was Adam going to turn up? He’d looked dubious earlier when she’d sprung it on him.
‘Oh, this old thing? It’s nothing special.’ She fiddled with the lace on her black top. One of the few items she’d bought on her last trip to Auckland. For ever ago. Something for a special night out. Not that they ever happened in Atanga Bay. In the dim light of her bedroom it had looked okay. It went well with her black skinny jeans. ‘Too fancy? Over the top?’
‘No. It’s fine. Crikey, haven’t seen you so wound up for ages.’
‘I’m not wound up. I just thought I’d make an effort for the team. No harm in that.’ Plus the waxing, plucking to within an inch of her life, shaving, exfoliating, mud wrap. All for a darned pub quiz. She’d clearly lost her mind. She pressed a hand to her cheek, hating being the focus of attention. She’d endured too much condemnation of her appearance in the past. ‘And don’t be ridiculous. Since when did I dress up for anyone? I gave that useless malarkey up years ago.’
After Brian, her ex, had told her over and over that no man would ever find her attractive, so why should she bother?
Not worthy of commitment. And the insecure fool that she’d been had believed him. Put up with years of abuse because she hadn’t believed she deserved better. But with a mother who cowered at the hands of her husband and a lifetime of putting her own needs after everyone else’s, it had taken Skye a long time to reclaim her self-esteem and identity.
So, why the heck had she got herself decked up in lace?
She didn’t want to answer that, but she hadn’t imagined the way Adam had looked at her at the beach. The warmth in his eyes, even if for a second. The same warmth mirrored in her eyes. There had been a connection there, she was sure. Or was that some kind of ill-judged wishful thinking? And all of that had fed her choice of clothing—subconscious or not.
She ran her palms over her arms and bit her top lip, trying to scrape off as much lipstick as she could. He wouldn’t notice. And it didn’t matter anyway, a relationship so close to her leaving would be far too complicated. And she wasn’t doing that again. Complicated came with a hefty dose of hurt.
‘I just thought, seeing as you’ve been talking non-stop about the newest member of the ambulance service … how he powered through the waves like a superhero.’ Connor fluttered his eyelashes and pretended to swoon. ‘How he saved poor Lukas from drowning. How he’s been in the army …’
‘Shut it. Last warning or time out.’ She smiled through gritted teeth. Was she that transparent? Her eyes flitted to the door. Again. ‘Besides, he didn’t look like he wanted to come. I should have asked Sean or Stevie to fill in instead.’
‘No disrespect, but your baby brothers have a combined IQ in single figures. From what I hear about Adam, he’s a little more cerebral than that.’
‘I wouldn’t know.’
Way more, actually. And brooding. And strangely compelling to look at. With a voice that carried echoes of sadness. And softness. And strength.
She took a large slug of her wine to refocus before she got completely carried away. He was just a guy.
She knew more about them than most, having three brothers—who were simultaneously infuriating and adorable.
And her ratbag of a stepfather, and Brian, the married sleazebag. Between the two of them, they had taught her that love was made up of hurt, lies and empty promises. And not for her.
Especially not now she had three weeks and one day until that plane lifted off.
‘Hi. Sorry I’m late.’ The just-a-guy appeared in front of them, dressed casually in a black T-shirt and faded jeans. He slung his leather jacket onto the back of the chair and nodded at her, his lips a straight line, his eyes guarded. He looked like he wanted to be anywhere else in the world other than a small country pub filled with laughter and friendly faces.
Edgy and dangerous and about as far away from any man she’d ever been with, or had wanted to be with before, but everything about him resonated deep inside her.
She swallowed the dry lump in her throat. ‘Adam. Hi. Thought you might have had second thoughts.’
‘Got a code two just before I clocked off.’ Adam shrugged and glanced at Connor warily. ‘That’s a …’
‘Serious threat to life,’ Skye translated. ‘This is Connor. He’s one of the GPs at the surgery. The non-pregnant one, clearly. Connor, this is Adam. New paramedic about town.’
‘Good to meet you.’ Adam shook hands, then took his wallet out.
Connor scraped his chair back and stood. ‘No. My round. By way of thanks for filling in at the last minute. You stay here and save the seats. And watch my phone—Mim’s going to call if she needs me.’
‘She’s due any day now,’ Skye explained. ‘Sorry … what were you saying?’
‘That it was an unlucky break, getting a last-minute callout.’ Adam took the seat across from her, leaving an acre of space between them. He straightened the beermat in line with the edge of the table. Looked everywhere apart from at her face. ‘I guessed everyone would know what a code two was. Being Mad Medics.’
‘Sorry, did I butt in? It’s a bad habit.’ Her cheeks burned. She mentally banged her head against the table. ‘My brothers complain because I have a tendency to—’
‘Finish their sentences?’ His chin jutted upwards. No other muscles moved. Army training, she guessed. A man in control. He had a stillness that unnerved her, where she danced around and fidgeted. Adam was the kind of man who dominated a room, the one you didn’t want to take your eyes off. Not that she could if she tried.
