Forbidden Nights With The Boss. Anna J. Stewart

headland.

      ‘Come on, let’s do it,’ she said. ‘I’ve put it off long enough.’

      Cam had no idea what she meant, but he was delighted she would walk with him no matter what her reasoning.

      She set a brisk pace, but his strides were so much longer than hers, it made it easy for him to keep up. Low scrubby bushes, wind-bent, leaned across the path, the smell of salt and the moonlight, wrapping them in a secret world. The shushing of the surf onto the beach, occasional cries of night-hunting birds and the ever-present crashing of the waves against the rocks reminded Cam of all the reasons it was good to be alive.

      Good to be alive with a pretty woman by his side?

      ‘The problem with loving people is … ‘ the pretty woman announced, in a voice that told him her mood might not have been as upbeat as his. They’d paused about halfway up the track at a fenced lookout that gave a fantastic view along the southern beach and were leaning on the railing.

      ‘The problem,’ she repeated, ‘is that you have to give yourself in love—bits of yourself—diminishing you and making you vulnerable so that when something happens to the person you love, it leaves a hole in your soul. You have to regrow those bits to make yourself whole again, but I don’t know whether you can ever refill that hole in your soul.’

      He understood she wasn’t really talking to him, more giving voice to her thoughts so she could sort them out. Now she’d been silent so long, leaning on the railing, dark against the light of the ocean’s reflected moonlight, he wondered if he should prompt her, or maybe simply walk on and let her catch up.

      No, he couldn’t do that.

      He waited, looking at the beach but always with her silhouette at one side of his view, so he saw the moment when she shrugged off whatever melancholy had gripped her and turned towards him, a sad half-smile lingering on her face.

      ‘I’m sorry—I didn’t know that stuff was waiting to come out. Talk about needing a counsellor!’

      She shrugged again.

      ‘My sister, my twin, was injured off this headland. It had been our playground all our lives, then suddenly I found I couldn’t come here. Even now, I don’t want to go on up to the top. I thought I could, after all this time, but I can’t. She didn’t die at once, brain-injured, though, a paraplegic for the ten years that she lived after the accident.’

      ‘Oh, Jo!’

      Her name slipped from his lips as his arms folded her against him—a comforting embrace for a woman who was obviously still lost in her grief. He knew from the talk of the patients he’d seen that she would do anything for anyone, had seen her care and concern for Jackie, but who supported Jo? The patients’ questioning of him, and their not-so-subtle innuendoes had told him she didn’t have a man in her life.

      Had she cut herself off from others because love had hurt so much?

      Was her passion for the refuge a substitute for love?

      He tightened his hold on her, aware that she was relaxing against him now, although when first he’d held her, her body had been stiff and awkward.

      ‘You do know a load is easier to carry when there’s someone to help you with it, don’t you?’ he murmured against her tangle of hair.

      She stirred then looked up at him, her face lit by the bright moon, the slightest of smiles playing around her pink lips.

      ‘And just how much of your load are you sharing?’ she asked. ‘The load you’re trying to drown in the surf?’

      Had he mentioned his baggage?

      Surely not.

      So she’d divined it somehow—guessed he’d carry some unresolved mental trauma from his army experience?

      Or she was a witch!

      He’d never kissed a witch.

      The thought startled him so much he dropped his arms, and the moonlit face he’d almost kissed disappeared from view.

      Jo eased herself out of his arms, bewildered by her reluctance to move. Surely she hadn’t mistaken a comforting hug for something more personal?

      Although a glint, or maybe a gleam-in his eyes—just then at the end—had made her think he might—

      No way! As if he’d been about to kiss her …

      He must be feeling so uncomfortable, poor man, and wondering if his boss was some kind of lunatic.

      Luna—moon—was it moon-madness that she’d blurted out her pain to him?

      Made him feel obliged to give her a hug?

      The problem was her memories of Jill had come slinking and creeping back into her mind from the moment she’d seen Cam in the flat—the stranger in amongst the roses. Then the talk of surfing and reshaped dreams at dinner, and to top it all off, Cam’s suggestion they walk up the headland.

      Jo’s first instinct had been to say no, but she’d known she had to do it one day. She loved the headland and for one crazy moment she’d thought it might complete her rebuilding—make her whole again—ready to move on …

      ‘To lose a sibling is bad enough, but a twin … No wonder you felt you’d lost pieces of yourself.’

      He’d slid an arm around her shoulders and was guiding her back down the path as if the little interlude—the hug and possibly the almost kiss—had never happened. His voice was deep, and gentle, and understanding, and it made her want to cry, which was stupid as she had finished her crying a long time ago.

      ‘Yes,’ she finally agreed, hoping he hadn’t heard her sniff or swallow the lump that had lodged in her throat, ‘but I’m obviously not as back together as I thought I was. I’m sorry to have dumped all that on you. It just came flooding out.’

      ‘Better out than in,’ her companion said, and although the remark was beyond trite, Jo knew in this case it was certainly true. She felt a whole lot better—apart from feeling slightly weepy.

      They drove home in silence, but as the security lights came on in the carport and Jo knew he’d see the tears she’d been surreptitiously wiping away on the drive, she apologised once again.

      ‘Think nothing of it,’ Cam told her. ‘Feel free to vent any time. In fact, I should give you fair warning that one day some of my baggage might come tumbling out. You were right in thinking I had stuff to drown during my surf odyssey.’

      To Cam’s surprise Jo reached over and touched his arm.

      ‘I’m sure that stuff, or baggage as you call it, is far more valid than mine,’ she said softly. ‘To have seen young men killed and injured in war—to have to mend their bodies and hopefully help heal their minds—I can’t imagine the strength it must have taken.’

      Cam covered her small hand with his large one, and felt the fragility of her bones beneath the warm skin.

      Bird bones.

      ‘I don’t think you can rate the baggage we carry around with us,’ he told her. ‘I think we all have it and we have to deal with it in our own way, day by day, week by week. Then one day it’s not as heavy—at least, that’s what I’m expecting-hoping—and as I said, maybe sharing it.’

      Could he do that? Share the images that flashed before his eyes? Talk about the horror of his nightmares?

      The thought startled him so much he gave her fingers a squeeze and climbed out of the vehicle, anxious now to get away, even if his temporary sanctuary was covered in roses and he’d guessed who had used it originally so he felt even more uneasy about staying in the bower.

      But what bothered him most was that he’d mentioned his baggage. He hadn’t talked to anyone about it—not his parents or any of his sisters, not even, really, his ex-fiancée, who had first labelled the mess