Unlocking The Millionaire's Heart. Bella Bucannon

since her wedding and move to Sydney. Somewhere in her future there had to be a man who’d love her as faithfully as Mike loved Cloe.

      The one secret she’d kept from her was the love stories that she’d expanded into full novels. Brian’s review had proved her judgement to be right. But if she was ever offered a contract Cloe would be the first to know.

      ‘So how did you spend your day?’ Cloe arched her back to relieve the kinks of the day and sipped her tea.

      ‘Window shopping, exploring The Rocks area and walking over the bridge. Plus two meetings that are confidential at the moment. Oh, and I did have lunch with someone who’ll be involved if the project goes ahead.’

      She tried for nonchalance, not mentioning Nate, but heard the new inflection in her tone and felt her cheeks flush.

      Cloe jerked upright, scanned her face with narrowed eyes, then clapped her hands. ‘You like him.’ A delighted grin split her face. ‘You’re blushing, Jemma! You like him a lot. Come on—give.’

      ‘Nothing to tell. He was at the morning meeting and we had lunch together. He lives here, and as far as I know may have a wife or girlfriend. I live in South Australia, and am not interested in a relationship.’

      She told herself it was the truth, attributing her reaction to him as natural in the presence of a ruggedly attractive man. So why hadn’t it happened when her friends had set her up for dates in the three years since her break-up?

      The back door opened, distracting Cloe. Jemma had often witnessed Mike’s loving kisses for his wife, so why the blip of her heartbeat and the sharp wrench in her abdomen this time?

      * * *

      That night, after an evening of reminiscing and lively conversation, she snuggled into her pillow, mulling over the past. Her initial reaction to finding out that the man she’d contemplated marriage with was cheating on her had been gut-wrenching anguish. She’d hidden away and cried, cursing them both to the walls of her bedroom, and had deleted every image of him—even shredding printed copies.

      A few weeks later a koala with a baby clinging to her back had trundled across in front of her on a photo-taking walk in the hills. She’d stopped, her hand over her mouth in awe, silently watching their progress into the scrubland. Being that close to an active mother and her joey had been awesome. Inspiring.

      She’d laughed out loud, realising that life went on and that it was only her pride and self-esteem that had suffered damage. Her heart might have cracked a little, but it wasn’t broken and it would heal with time.

      That was the moment she’d decided to move from the city.

      Later she’d become aware that her ability to trust had been the thing most affected.

      Deep inside she still harboured a dream that there was someone out there who would love her as Mike loved Cloe, and would show it proudly and openly. She’d know him the moment he gazed into her eyes, held her in his arms and kissed her.

      Nate Thornton intrigued her, and she’d felt a physical reaction to his smile and touch that was normal for any mature female. It could be a sign that she was ready to move on—though not to trust on sight.

      She woke in the morning with a smile on her lips, ready for a day of shopping with Cloe and their friends, plus a lunchtime meet-up which would last all afternoon.

      Sunday afternoon at the airport, Cloe hugged her and whispered in her ear. ‘Let me know if your meetings lead to anything. Of any kind. Your happiness is my greatest wish.’

      * * *

      Some time in the early hours of Friday morning Nate jerked upright in bed, throwing the sheet away from his sweat-soaked body. Heart pounding, he swung his feet to the floor and bent over, dragging great gulps of air into his lungs.

      The details of the nightmare—his first for over a year—were already fading apart from occasional vague shadowy images, but the aftermath stayed. He strode to the wardrobe, dragged on a pair of shorts and went out onto the balcony, to look at the welcoming view of the city lights.

      Why now? Long ago he’d accepted that images of the horrific sights he’d seen in war zones and wherever terrorists preyed on the innocent would have a lasting effect on him. Others reported the sickening acts—he’d chosen to write about the indomitable spirit of the victims and their families, keeping a tight control on his own feelings.

      He’d got past the initial bad memories and traumatic dreams when he’d written the novel, repeating the mantra, These are only words on a page. Nothing had changed, except...

      He gripped the railing as a shiver ran down his spine—always a danger sign.

      Jemma. Caught unawares when he’d first seen her, he’d let her slip past his guard, triggering emotions he’d tamped down, refused to acknowledge unless for family.

      Fetching a cold bottle of beer from the fridge, and a chair from the dining room, he straddled the latter, leant on the back and drank slowly. He’d joined a tight-knit trauma support group overseas, kidding himself that it was to give help rather than receive. Only when Phil and Dave had cornered him in a bar late one night, had he admitted he needed counselling. It was the hardest decision he’d ever made. And the smartest.

      As the sun rose he retrieved his mobile from his bedroom and paced the balcony as he accessed a number, not wanting to wait until the group meeting Saturday night.

      ‘Hi, Phil. No, Tess is fine. It’s me. Are you free to talk? Yeah, another nightmare...out of the blue.’

      The following evening he walked into the back room of a city hotel, thankful for a restful night and willing to admit to the episode in front of the group.