Hollywood Hills Collection. Lynne Marshall

a relief of sorts to talk to Damien about her experience but she wasn’t quite sure what had prompted her to do so. Had he caught her at a moment of weakness when she hadn’t been thinking straight, or had she downloaded because she felt safe?

      She’d been thrown by the break-in and then by being in a strange bed. Her nightmare had unsettled her further, as had waking up in Damien’s arms. At first she’d thought she was dreaming but that dream had been much nicer than her recurring nightmare.

      Abi wondered what it meant that she had been prepared to tell him about her experience, about the circumstances of Mark’s death, but that she still hadn’t told him everything. She hadn’t told him she and Mark had been lovers and she knew it was because she didn’t want him to think badly of her. Neither did she want him to see her as someone who had affairs with married men, even though she hadn’t known that Mark had been married until he’d died. She’d known he’d had two daughters but he’d told her he was divorced. It had only been at his funeral that she’d discovered he’d lied to her. But would Damien think that was a suitable defence? She hadn’t known Mark was married but she still felt guilty and she wasn’t prepared to expose herself to Damien in case he judged her. Why did his opinion matter so much? Why had she confided in him?

      Could she behave as if nothing had happened?

      She’d have to, she thought as he came back into the room.

      He had showered and was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, and he held a cup of coffee in one hand and a pile of clothes in the other.

      He passed her the coffee and put the clothes on the end of the bed. ‘You didn’t bring any clothes with you and I wasn’t sure if you wanted to eat breakfast in your evening gown. You might be more comfortable in something from this pile.’

      ‘Thank you,’ she said, as she surveyed the pile. He’d brought a pair of his track pants with a drawstring waist, an old university sweater and a white towelling dressing gown. Everything would be miles too big for her, except maybe the dressing gown. She wondered who it belonged to but wasn’t about to ask.

      * * *

      The bedroom door opened and Summer wandered in, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. ‘Good morning, sunshine,’ Damien greeted her, but she wasn’t interested in her father. She only had eyes for Abi.

      ‘Abi? Why are you in my bed?’

      Abi hadn’t given any thought to what they would tell Summer but fortunately Damien had an answer ready.

      ‘Abi’s house was damaged.’

      ‘How?’

      ‘A raccoon got inside and broke a window.’

      Abi choked back a laugh. She was pleased Damien hadn’t told Summer the real story—that wasn’t something a five-year-old needed to hear—but she hadn’t expected him to be quite so elaborate with his storytelling. ‘I was worried about the rain getting in so Abi stayed here.’

      Summer happily accepted Damien’s embellishment of the truth. Abi guessed at her age she still believed in fairytales and Damien’s tale was almost believable.

      ‘Okay, let’s give Abi some privacy. You can come and help me make the pancakes.’ He turned to Abi. ‘That’s our Sunday morning tradition. Why don’t you get dressed and join us?’

      * * *

      Abi showered and wrapped the dressing gown around herself. She had debated wearing Damien’s clothes, but despite the fact that she’d worn his T-shirt last night—she’d been too distressed to think clearly then—now that she’d calmed down she decided it would have felt odd to step into Damien’s clothes. It would feel far too intimate.

      More intimate than sharing a bed? she questioned herself. Under the circumstances, she decided it would.

      She could smell pancakes. She belted the gown tightly at the waist and followed her nose. Summer was feeding Jonty a pancake when she wandered into the kitchen. She checked Jonty’s paw, relieved to find that he didn’t appear to be suffering any after-effects from the glass fragment getting stuck in his foot, nothing that a pancake breakfast wouldn’t fix anyway.

      Damien had another coffee waiting for her on the kitchen bench, plus juice, maple syrup for the pancakes and a bowl of oranges. He had a tea towel tucked into the back pocket of his jeans and he looked at home in the kitchen. Abi was a terrible cook. She didn’t have a big appetite and there was no point cooking for one, and in the army she’d always had meals prepared for her so there had been no need to learn. She could get used to having Damien cook for her but she kept that thought to herself.

      She was on her second pancake—they were delicious, light and fluffy—and for some reason this morning her appetite was flourishing, when Damien spoke to Summer.

      ‘Okay, sunshine, what would you like to do today?’ Summer had finished her breakfast and had a computer tablet booted up on the kitchen bench. ‘Have you checked the weather?’ Damien asked as she swiped her finger across the screen. ‘Is there any rain?’

      ‘Nope.’

      ‘Outdoors, then.’

      ‘Can Abi choose?’

      ‘Choose what?’ Abi asked.

      ‘Sunday is our day to explore LA,’ Damien told her. ‘Summer usually chooses the activity and I’ll work out where we can go.’

      ‘You could choose somewhere, Abi, and then you could come with us,’ Summer added.

      ‘I’m not really dressed for a day out. I need to go home and make arrangements to fix the “raccoon” damage.’ She made her excuses, sure Damien didn’t need or want her tagging along with them. This sounded like father-daughter time that she didn’t need to intrude into.

      ‘You could borrow my mum’s clothes.’ Summer’s statement was very matter-of-fact, as if she saw nothing unusual in other women helping themselves to her mother’s wardrobe.

      ‘Your mum’s clothes?’

      Summer was nodding. ‘She has heaps of clothes.’

      ‘Summer, why don’t you take Jonty out into the garden for a minute?’ Damien suggested. Had he noticed Abi’s expression?

      She waited until Summer left the room before asking the question. ‘I was under the impression that you and Summer’s mother weren’t together?’

      ‘We’re not.’

      ‘But her things are here?’

      ‘Some of her things.’

      Did that mean she was still here or did she come and go as she pleased? What if she arrived now and found Abi sitting at her kitchen bench? Abi had assumed from Damien’s comments that he was single but had she chosen to believe that? Wanted to believe that? Had he encouraged her to think that?

      ‘Whose robe am I wearing?’

      ‘Not hers.’

      She didn’t want to ask the next question. If it wasn’t Brooke’s, who did it belong too? She didn’t want to know. She had already been told more than she wanted to hear.

      ‘Does she still have a key?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘How could you bring me here if she still has access? What if she walks in?’ Even though nothing had happened between them Abi felt completely stupid. She should have stuck to her guns, not just fallen in with Damien’s wishes. Why hadn’t she resisted him? What had happened to the Abi who’d used to be so independent minded and strong? Since Afghanistan it seemed as if her reason and logic had deserted her. Had Mark’s lies and deceit shaken her confidence so much that now she didn’t trust herself to make good choices? Was she so eager for company, so lonely that she would forsake her principles and blindly follow where someone else led?

      She needed to consider her motives. Why had she agreed to come