crisp classical violin.
He groaned inwardly. He might have guessed. This did not bode well for a long trip. Feeling constricted, tight, trapped, he yanked the zipper of his vest down. Yep. A very long trip.
When he opened his eyes again the music was still classical but she’d turned the volume down and the landscape had changed from suburban to rural. Farming and grape-growing land. Rubbing his eyes, he checked his watch and their speed. If his estimation was correct they were somewhere in the Goulburn Valley. Signs of a town in the distance stirred his hunger. ‘Time for breakfast,’ he said, stretching out the kinks. ‘I’m thinking sausages, hash browns, bacon and eggs washed down with a hot frothy cappuccino.’
‘Better make an appointment to see Dad when you get back.’
He turned to look at her to see if she was as serious as she sounded. She’d put on sunglasses so he couldn’t be sure. ‘I work it off. Don’t tell me you’re one of those women who skips breakfast.’
‘Of course not. But all that oily food… You’re hardly going to work it off sitting in a car all day. A balanced—’
‘I don’t need the lecture.’ Obviously she knew it by heart, living with an eminent heart surgeon. ‘I’ll jog when we stop for the night.’
Tonight. He andAnneliese were going to be sleeping… Close.
Disturbing—he might need to lengthen that jog this evening.
‘So you like the classics,’ he said, more to block out the direction his thoughts were taking than anything else.
‘Yes.’ Her answer was automatic, her eyes on the road.
‘Any other music? Rock and roll?’ he asked, hopefully. ‘Country and Western? Elvis?’ Heavy metal?
‘We only have classical at home.’ A statement, flatly spoken.
‘Yeah, but do you like it when you’re on your own?’
‘Mummy says classical’s…’ She trailed off, biting her lower lip and blinking rapidly. Swapped the CD in favour of the radio. When the speakers spat out static she turned it off.
Hell. His fault. Please don’t let her cry. But Steve felt her heartache all the way inside. His own mother hadn’t been a part of his life in for ever. Circumstances might be different—Marlene Anderson had walked out on her husband and two kids twenty years ago—but he still remembered the pain. ‘Hey…’ he said softly, reaching out to soothe a thumb over her shoulder.
A micro-moment as his fingers skimmed over the skin-warmed silk, feeling bone beneath flesh, a ridge of bra strap.
A scant second for the jolt of that first contact to rewire his brain.
He pulled away at the same instant she stiffened and drew a sharp breath. Well, he decided, curling a fist around the unexpected heat, that was something to think about. Or not.
‘It’ll heal with time,’ he said into the silence, and rather than look at the rigid woman beside him, he watched the scenery.
The jolt was still vibrating along his bones. Attraction. Hell, he already knew that, but it was more than he’d imagined, and he’d imagined quite a lot. And different. No other woman had ever managed to…what? Well, he knew better now—he wouldn’t be so quick to touch her again.
They travelled the rest of the way to the town in silence.
‘We’ll stop here, then I’ll drive for a while,’ Steve said as they cruised down the main street.
Anneliese didn’t reply; she seemed to be deep in thought. She parked outside a bakery and they found a clean laminated table with the colour scrubbed out of it.
He ordered his big breakfast while Anneliese ordered coffee and a salad roll. They sat opposite each other to wait for their order.
‘You okay?’
Her reply was a tight-lipped, ‘Fine, thanks.’
No more than he expected. But she looked fragile, as Cindy had said. And it wasn’t just her mother’s passing—he saw more than grief in her eyes. He saw anger and disillusionment for starters. Serious personal issues.
This time he resisted offering her the comfort of touch, but it went against his nurturing nature and left him feeling inadequate and hollow. ‘If you want to unload…’
He didn’t think she even heard him. When they’d eaten they used the town’s public conveniences, then met up back at the car. ‘Sure you don’t want to stock up on chocolate before we hit the road? Chocolate’s a good comfort food.’
‘I’m fine.’
‘Okay, but don’t tell me I told you so when I break open my giant block of Caramello.’ He pulled his sunglasses from his vest pocket. ‘I’ll drive.’
‘Uh…wait up…’ She bit her lip, hesitated a second, then dropped the keys in his hand and took off up the street again.
He watched her go, her low heels clicking on the footpath while his thumb stroked over her keys still warm from her hand. She was compact, he thought, eyeing her cute bottom in those hip-hugging trousers and that demure blouse he couldn’t seem to stop fantasising about. Neat.
And all zippered up like her expensive gold chain-mesh key-holder.
Scowling, he unzipped it, unlocked the door and yanked it open. He was used to girls who were open, flirtatious, and knew how to have fun. Girls who understood the ground rules: nothing serious. When it wasn’t fun any more, for either party, it was time to move on. A girl like Anneliese wouldn’t know fun if it laid her on her back and tickled her tummy.
And why he’d come up with that analogy was beyond his comprehension.
A couple of minutes later she was back with something in a slim carry bag. Somewhat breathless, she slid into the passenger seat. She seemed different. Brighter, lighter, as if she’d shed a little of that load off her shoulders. He couldn’t see her eyes behind her sunglasses, but a tiny Mona Lisa smile tipped up the corners of her mouth.
Perhaps he’d been wrong about the tummy tickle. Perhaps she didn’t know how to have fun because no one had shown her. A flash of heat zapped through his veins, quickly doused. What in hell was he thinking? No, he was sure the ice-maiden act was reserved for him alone—perhaps with another man…
He jerked his gaze straight ahead and slid the key into the ignition. ‘All set?’
‘Let’s go.’
They drove out of town, heading northeast. The sky was lowering, darkening with threatened rain. The trees tossed in the strengthening wind.
Steve was happy to oblige her earlier request for little conversation. After all, what could they possibly have in common?
Except the intense physical awareness of each other.
Yeah, she was aware of him all right. If she’d shifted any farther left, she’d be out the door.
Not
