flash of agony ripped through his leg, the faceless enemy, the constant reminder that his life was over.
He had to get out of here before he fell down.
He tipped up her face, denying the searing heat that raced through him with the simple touch. He couldn’t afford to think about it. “Don’t go there,” was all he said—but even he heard the anguish, the need, and he didn’t have a clue which need it was right now, to have his life back or to have her.
Didn’t matter: his dreams were gone and he couldn’t have them back. He dropped his hand, ready to run.
Limp, his mind corrected in sardonic self-mockery.
The tender touch on his face halted him with the force of a Mack truck. She’d always had that way with her; her power all the stronger because she had no idea what she did to him. “Tal,” she whispered, holding him captive with warmth and caring. “Don’t go. Please.”
He turned his face back to hers and aching hunger ripped through him: the need to fall inside her arms, lips and body—and just maybe, lost inside her, he’d find himself once again.
“We’ll talk tomorrow.” Desperate, his voice sounded thready now, weakening under the relentless jagged hell in his thigh.
He couldn’t face her like this. When he could walk again—when he’d got his head together, drowned the roaring need under the force of a few cold showers—he’d feel more in control.
“All right.” Then both hands touched him, cupping his face. Her silky-soft fingers trailed over his scars, unconsciously erotic on the exquisitely sensitive skin. “You didn’t lose it all. Dreams change shape. You can still help. You can be so much more than you are now.” And the soft brush of her mouth on his shocked him to the core. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”
He swallowed down the ball of hot gravel in his throat. What a man—he wanted her like hell, but could barely stay on his feet. He couldn’t stand for her to see— “Just go, okay?”
As if she knew, she dropped her hands. “Okay. But we have to talk. Consider your services hired for tomorrow—all day.”
With a massive effort, he grinned. “I’ll look forward to that, Miss West.”
Already walking away, she flicked a strange, intense look over her shoulder. “I hope you still feel the same when you know what services the world requires from you—Dr. O’Rierdan.”
When she’d gone, he grabbed the walking stick he kept hidden behind the deck chair near the wooden shack he called his home-office. Gritting his teeth, he hobbled slowly into his cabin. As soon as he was inside he fell to the bed, pulling his legs up, fighting the fisted knuckle-punches gutting him from the inside, from thigh to groin. When he could finally pull it together, he rolled to the bedside table and grabbed the full syringe he kept there and injected his leg, right beside the scars.
He forced himself to lie flat on the bed, waiting for relief. He only took enough to take the edge off, never often enough to get addicted. But when it came, he had two choices: this or puke and pass out where he landed. If he was flying when the pain hit, he settled for a local anesthetic until he got back here.
At least he had a choice today: he could feel sorry for himself or think about why Mary-Anne was here…why she’d gotten mad with him, why she’d touched him—kissed him.
Could it be that maybe, just maybe, beneath the cool, controlled, icy Verity West persona that she presented to the world, his Mary-Anne—lovely Mary-Anne, so sweet and caring, so fiery and passionate as she’d only been with him—still existed? And if she did, maybe…God help him for even hoping—
Don’t think. Don’t go through this. She’ll be gone soon, back to her latest album or concert or high-society party, and your life will go back to crap.
Yet as he drifted into restless sleep he knew that, no matter why she’d come to him or what happened after, life was going to be a hell of a lot more interesting this week than it had been over the past fourteen months.
Chapter 2
But she slipped farther down…poor baby was hanging on to his knees, screaming, her eyes begging for help while the boy on his shoulders began to topple, flung against him in the gale-force wind. Held up by lines suspended from the chopper, they kept slamming into the cliff face. A man, three kids and a split-second choice: which kid did he save? Or did they all die?
Drenched in sweat, he jolted up in bed.
Five-thirty. Would he ever break the habit of jerking awake the second the sun peeped above the horizon?
At least it broke the nightmare.
If he’d never joined the Nighthawks, there’d be no blood-soaked visions stalking him whenever he closed his eyes. He’d be a hardworking Flying Doctor, helping people in isolated areas—
Stupid. I left the Flying Doctors and joined the Navy to make Ginny leave me—and I left the Navy for the Nighthawks because it was my dream to work in war zones, helping those in greatest need. I jumped at the offer, knowing all the risks.
Tal limped to the bathroom, gritting his teeth hard when he had to balance himself to use the john. At least he was walking again this morning—hell, he was lucky he could still walk at all. The docs in Darwin saved his leg from amputation when putrid infection set in, and the most up-to-date plastic surgeon put his face back together—but all the medical magic in the world couldn’t make his femur knit as it had before, or stop the pain. So this was life, Jim, but not as he’d known it.
You could be so much more than you are…
He stood face-up beneath the stinging spray of a cold shower, half wishing it would drown him. Why wasn’t it cold enough to freeze the mess in his head and douse the raging fire of turbulence inside? Just yesterday his life was quiet, serene—
And boring as hell. You know you want to do whatever this mission is. Any reason to be with Mary-Anne again is worth it.
No, damn it, he couldn’t afford to want her here. She’d gone light-years out of his reach…and there was no way he could be friends with her. The white-hot chemistry that confused and embarrassed the hell out of him when he was a kid was still in full force. He’d never be able to look at her without wanting to drag her somewhere and make fast, furious love with her.
Dripping wet, he looked at himself in the mirror. The daily grueling upper body work had done its job: he was in top condition. The days in the sun left his olive skin glowing with health. Even his other leg looked good thanks to the one-legged skip-rope jumps he wasn’t supposed to be doing. As good as he was going to get—nowhere near good enough for a star like her.
So get over it.
Yeah. After half a lifetime of obsession with her, that was gonna happen.
Fifteen minutes later he left the shack and headed for the massive garage-style hangar that housed his little Cessna. A solitary sunrise dip and swirl with Harriet, the one faithful love of his life, would do him good.
He jammed his Akubra on his head as he limped down the soft, sandy dirt track bordered with wild hibiscus and azaleas. If any of the few tourists here got up this early, they’d be off on the high bush
