The War Hero's Locked-Away Heart

This Christmas, we’ve got some fabulous treats to give away! ENTER NOW for a chance to win £5000 by clicking the link below.

www.millsandboon.co.uk/ebookxmas

Praise for Louisa George:

‘A most excellent debut from Louisa George.’

—www.GoodReads.com on ONE MONTH TO BECOME A MUM

‘I’m okay. Fine.’

‘I know you are.’ She breathed into his ear, her words a salve to his racing heart-rate.

She placed a hand on his cheek, her soft fingertips stroking the unscarred side of his face. Her eyes burned into him with a blatant message of desire.

That simmering connection buzzed between them again. Focusing on her face took some of the terror away. Before he could open his mouth to speak her soft lips pressed against his. A sweet kiss, an affirmation, kindness. Not what he’d expected. Or should even think about. But exactly what he needed. And she knew it too.

He knew they were heading for uncharted territory. But in the midst of the chaos inside him she held him steady.

Dear Reader

People often ask where writers get inspiration from. For me, my stories begin with a single image rattling around my head. For my first book, ONE MONTH TO BECOME A MUM, it was a car crash scene; for my second book, WAKING UP WITH HIS RUNAWAY BRIDE, it was a woman painting over a stain on a ceiling. For this story it was the image of a lone man standing on a jagged outcrop staring out to sea. From there I asked a series of questions: What event has led up to this moment? Who is he? What does he want? What does he fear? The answers to these questions form the backstory and personalities of my characters and the plot usually takes off from there.

Adam, the man on the outcrop, was a different kind of hero for me to write: scarred and brooding and with a frozen heart. He fought hard, determined not to fall in love at all—and definitely not with a girl desperate to leave the place that had begun to help him heal.

Skye first appeared as a minor character in WAKING UP WITH HIS RUNAWAY BRIDE, but this feisty woman soon made it clear that she wanted her own story. And I felt she deserved it. If only she’d known the journey in store for her!

Beautiful Atanga Bay, with its white sandy beach, dramatic dark crags and stunning waterfall, is the perfect place to fall in love. But both Skye and Adam have personal demons to conquer before they can commit to or even believe in a happy-ever-after. With the clock ticking and both denying their attraction they have a rocky road ahead of them.

I hope you enjoy reading Skye and Adam’s story, my third Medical Romance™! I love to hear from readers, so please visit me at www.louisageorge.com

Warmest wishes

Louisa George x

About the Author

A lifelong reader of most genres, LOUISA GEORGE discovered romance novels later than most, but immediately fell in love with the intensity of emotion, the high drama and the family focus of Mills & Boon® Medical Romance™.

With a Bachelor’s Degree in Communication, and a nursing qualification under her belt, writing Medical Romance seemed a natural progression, and the perfect combination of her two interests. And making things up is a great way to spend the day!

An English ex-pat, Louisa now lives north of Auckland, New Zealand, with her husband, two teenage sons and two male cats. Writing romance is her opportunity to covertly inject a hefty dose of pink into her heavily testosterone-dominated household. When she’s not writing or researching Louisa loves to spend time with her family and friends, enjoys travelling, and adores great food. She’s also hopelessly addicted to Zumba®.

Recent titles by this author:

WAKING UP WITH HIS RUNAWAY BRIDE

ONE MONTH TO BECOME A MUM

Also available in eBook format from www.millsandboon.co.uk

With special thanks to:

Nigel and Gina, Mel and Mel, Nicki and Shaun, Simon and Christine, Gaynor and David. For your support and the laughs and your enduring friendship.

Nas Dean—promoter extraordinaire! For navigating me through the jungle that is a virtual blog tour! You’re amazing!

This book is dedicated to my boys:

Warren, Sam and James.

Thank you for supporting me, loving me and making me smile every day.

I love you.

CHAPTER ONE

‘FOUR. More. Weeks. Four. More …’

Skye Williams repeated her mantra with every muscle-screaming step on the last five hundred metres of her beach run. In four weeks she would hit Europe a dress size smaller if it killed her. And judging by her raging heart rate and throbbing joints, it probably would. She hated running, but it was a necessary evil.

As she dug deep for the home stretch a westerly wind whipped hot sand across her face with a ferocity that bordered on microdermabrasion. She brushed a hand across her stinging cheek. At least I won’t need that facial now. More dollars for the travel fund. ‘London. Paris. Athens. Rome.’

The thought of her newly bought plane ticket spurred her on. Freedom. A new beginning. Finally. After too many false starts.

By the time she reached Atanga Bay she’d almost doubled over, hauling in every blessed lungful of oxygen she could. Stretching out her hamstrings, she glanced over to the rocks and the ocean beyond, waiting for the endorphin rush to kick in.

It didn’t.

Instead a mix of frustration and inquisitiveness piqued her.

He was there again.

The stranger. Staring out across the roiling water, standing tall against the horizontal wind. Hands stuffed into jacket pockets, immovable on the outcrop of jagged rock.

A stranger with a death wish.

Yesterday she’d left him to his fate, but evening westerlies brought huge freak waves. The all-too-familiar tug of responsibility fired her into action. Responsibility—her byword. The weight of it had dragged her down too much, too young. Too soon. She’d had enough to last her a lifetime.

And yet she still couldn’t resist.

‘Hey. You. Yes … you. Excuse me … Hey!’ She tried to make her voice reach him through the wind as she forced her aching muscles to work. She strode closer. Not too close. The waves had doubled in size in the time she’d been out for her run. ‘Those rocks are treacherous. You need to get down. It’s not safe.’

The stranger turned slowly to face her, as a wave battered the rocks at his feet, his face made up of shadows and half-light. ‘You talking to me?’

His voice, deep and soft—sad almost—curled something in Skye’s gut. It threw her off centre. She frowned, and refocused. This wasn’t the time for thinking about sad voices, she’d had enough of her own.

She suffused it with urgency. ‘It’s dangerous. Didn’t you read the sign? Please, be careful.’

There she was, sounding like the mother hen she’d become. At twenty-eight with no kids of her own, but with honours in mothering skills.

‘And why should you care?’

‘I don’t. I’m just trying to help. The waves can knock you off balance. I either holler at you now, or I call Search and Rescue out to look for you in an hour. They’re busy people. They have lives.’ He didn’t look as if anything would budge him. Not least her flimsy voice, whipped half-away in the battering gale, or her appeal to his better judgement.

But the stranger stepped across the rocks, jumped down the last three feet and thudded onto the hard sand. Not so much next to as above her. She scanned up his body until her neck almost hurt.

God, he was tall, with wide shoulders strung back in an at-ease stance. His chestnut hair stood up in tufts, buffeted by the wind. A craggy scar sliced his cheek, like a cleft in a cliffside. He had a man’s face, not pretty but real, handsome. Close up what remained of those shadows now edged his startlingly blue eyes. ‘Do you force advice on everyone, or just people you don’t know?’

‘Pretty much anyone who’ll listen. I’m well practised, I have three younger brothers. You looked like a willing victim.’ She countered his gruffness with a smile. Dragging three boys up had taught her that meeting rudeness with rudeness never brought about harmony. And being overly cheerful usually took them by surprise, knocked the corners off their mood.

She hoped it might work with Mr Charmless here, then she could go home with a clear conscience. One more needless accident prevented. ‘Seriously, I’m trying to help. You’re safer on the pier. There’s a sign, over there. It says—’

‘I know what it says. Keep away from the rocks. Yeah. Yeah.’ He stuck his hands back into his pockets again. He might as well have had his own sign up flashing, Keep away.

Good idea. Drop cheerful. Adopt aloof. ‘I should mind my own business. Sorry. But I haven’t seen you before and we prefer to keep our visitors alive around here.’ What she really needed was to shut up and go home, but now she was stuck in a conversation with a hunk of grumpy man. She was dripping with sweat, her thighs red from chafing. And blathering. Could it get any worse? ‘I thought you might be at risk.’

‘Of what exactly? Death by nagging?’

Grumpy? Scratch that. Try downright obnoxious. Though he probably had a point.

Skye ran a hand over the spikes she’d so carefully arranged that morning, imagining how she must look. Dishevelled. At a push, in her imagination, interestingly windswept. In reality, wind battered. Her mascara and kohl had no doubt run down her cheeks. Clownish. Or like a panda. Worse? Oh, yes. And decidedly uninteresting.

She shrugged. Interesting didn’t matter. Especially not interestingly rude. She’d had enough of rude men to last her a lifetime. She’d bet anything that French men weren’t rude. Or Italians. Or Greeks.

Four more weeks until she found out. In person.

But this guy—this red-blooded down-to-earth Kiwi bloke—he was beyond rude. Oh, yes. She couldn’t help but thrust out her chin. ‘Hey, don’t mind me. I’m only trying to save your life here. No big deal. And a thank-you wouldn’t go amiss.’

‘Save it for someone who needs it.’ He looked back to a black dot way out in the ocean, lost in thought. Then his back snapped ramrod straight. ‘Like him.’

Grabbing her by the hand he pulled her to the water’s edge. ‘See him. There? Out way beyond the break?’ He pointed to the black dot. To the untrained eye it might have been a seal, flotsam in the unforgiving waves. But this was a popular place for surfers. Probably one of the locals. Skye’s heart slammed in her chest as she swivelled to peer at the surf rescue clubhouse. Empty.

The stranger peeled off his jacket, kicked off his boots. ‘He’s waving. He’s in trouble. Be my spotter?’

‘Spotter? Are you sure? Are you mad? It’s all kinds of crazy out there. Can you even swim?’

‘Quit worrying. I’ve done this before. Many times.’ He turned her to face him. His hands firm on her shoulders, his eyes ardent with action. His voice back to soft. But he was totally in command, clearly used to giving orders, and having them followed. ‘Don’t panic. The last thing I need is a hysterical woman to deal with as well. Do exactly as I say.’

Her hackles rose. As an experienced nurse she prided herself on her calm handling of any situation. ‘I’m not—’

‘I need you to watch him, to know exactly where he is at all times. And if I look over to you, you must point him out. The sea’s rough today and it gets disorientating.’ His eyes bore into her. ‘Okay?’

‘But …? Back-up?’ The first rule of emergency, get help.

His flattened palm indicated the empty cove. ‘On a deserted beach? You are back-up, lady. Call for help if you have a mobile phone somewhere in those shorts. Which looks unlikely.’ He threw her a phone. ‘Or use this. But stay here.’

And with that he inched his jeans down well-toned legs, revealing tight black boxers and another jagged scar that stretched from left knee to ankle. His blue T-shirt hit the ground in front of her. Skye drew her eyes away from his feet to a small tattoo on the tight plane of his tanned chest. Right over his heart.

Then he was gone, his taut, muscular body thrashing through the churning water like a demon. And she stood gaping like a wet fish, stunned at the speed in which he’d simultaneously entranced and shocked her. Wondering why, when she had very definite plans to hot-foot it out of Atanga Bay at the earliest opportunity, she wanted to see that tattoo again. Close up.

Not on my watch. Not again. A mouthful of Hauraki Gulf salt water ran down the back of Adam’s throat as he fought the waves to get to the surfer. He kept his heart rate in check. Used the adrenalin shunting through his veins to fuel actions, not hinder them. Focused his thoughts on saving. Not losing.

Semper agens—Semper quietus. Always alert. Always calm. The medical corps motto beat a regular rhythm to every armstroke. Fifteen years of service and the rhythm spurred every action, like a heartbeat, a breath. A tattoo engraved on the sinews in his heart.

An elevation. A funeral dirge.

Years of hard army training, honing his body to a rock, moulding his mind to not accept defeat, had brought him to this. Water battered over his head, blurring his vision, testing his nerve. Defeat? He pushed that thought away. The drowning guy needed him. And right now he was the only hope of saving him.

Thick, heavy waves dragged him back, just out of reach of the surfer, whose hand now flailed along the top of the water instead of waving. Amazing how exhaustion could rip through a man battling nature in a matter of minutes.

Adam kicked closer. Pain squeezed his leg like a vice. The cold water gripped the ragged scarring. Don’t give in. He pushed all thoughts of pain away. Then lost sight of the man.

Damn. Drawing on all his strength, he trod water, got his bearings. Glanced to the shoreline, where that strange woman paced and pointed. Damned cheeky but cute. In a weird kind of way. He imagined the deep espresso colour of her eyes, the crazy half-spiked hair. The intriguing tiny jewel in her nose. Ample curves. Interesting curves.

So not what he needed to be thinking of right now. Or ever.

She gesticulated, and he followed the line of her arm to the surfer. He gave her the okay signal.

First time he’d given any woman a second thought since Monica. And here he was in the middle of a rescue operation, neck deep in freezing water. Exactly how he’d felt when they’d ended their fated marriage.

There’s a lesson there.

Focus on the task. ‘Hey, mate! Mate! Over here.’

He got the attention of the guy, who feebly raised his head. Adam saw a huge red gash across his pale forehead. Shark meat too. Great. ‘I’m coming for you. Hold on.’

The lad nodded, then disappeared under a ferocious wave. A few metres away. Metres. Nothing. You can do this.

Adam sucked in air then duck-dived under the current, grabbed for an arm, a limb, some piece of the man. When his hand knocked against something soft he grabbed and kicked to the surface. Bingo.

‘Hold on. I’ve got you.’ He tossed the struggling surfer over onto his back, gripped him under his shoulders and kicked towards shore. ‘Stop fighting me. It’s all good now. We’re okay.’

The woman, her smile broad like a beacon, ran waist deep into the water and helped drag the surfer to solid ground. Which was just as well, because as Adam met her large kohl-rimmed eyes again the earth seemed to tilt. Just a little.

Or maybe it was the shock of the cold air, the shifting of the sand. His leg pinching again. ‘Give me a hand to lay him down. He’s breathing, but he swallowed a good part of that ocean.’

Before he could give her more instruction, she’d flipped the surfer onto his side and was kneeling at his face, assessing the wound like a pro. ‘Hey, Lukas. Lukas?’

Slowly their patient focused on her, then coughed. ‘What …?’

‘It’s Skye. It’s okay. You’re safe now. You okay? Took a good dunking, eh?’

Sky? Adam frowned. What kind of name was that? Curious, too, that it was the one thing that spooked him. Sky. Open air. Nothing but a long way down to a hard landing. And pain. He shuddered.

Sky. For a name? But it went with the territory. Unconventional. Unpredictable. And right now shivering in a flimsy black sports top and matching running shorts. Sea water had slicked her clothes to her body. Fascinating.

He bent down to help her assess the surfer. Not that she looked like she needed help. She was calm and focused. Unlike him. She was distracting. He was distracted.

In every rescue mission he’d ever undertaken he’d never allowed himself to be distracted. Never. ‘Okay, Lukas. Let’s have a good look at you. Got a whack from the board?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Nasty business.’ She smiled again at the surfer. Seemed she had enough smiles for everyone, and a few to spare.

But she looked like she really cared for Lukas, like she wanted him to feel better. Like she wished she could take away his pain. Unlike his own automaton reactions. He knew how to follow strict army orders. First priority: action. No time for emotion. But she managed to mix the two with great effect.

She peered into the boy’s face, got him to focus on her. ‘Great surf today, though. Bet you caught a few good ones, eh?’

Lukas nodded and managed a weak smile. ‘Awesome. But I lost the board. I think it smashed on the rocks.’

‘Never mind, better the board than you. Sean says the change of seasons is the best time to surf. Something about the moon or the equinox. Makes no sense to me.’ Her bubbly chattering seemed to put the lad at ease.

As she spoke she ran confident, slim fingers across his forehead, probing the wound and feeling for damage. Obviously trained in medical examination and filled with genuine concern. Not the kooky, useless type he’d pegged her as. Served him right to make huge assumptions based on his past experience with women.

‘How you manage it I don’t know. I tried it once and ended up face-planting in the shallows. I had sand burn for weeks. Never again. But you make it look so easy.’

Fleetingly, as he watched her fuss around Lukas, Adam felt a keen sense of loss on what he was missing out on. Human contact. Warmth. Sharing things. It had been so long since a woman had given him the slightest fuss he wondered if it was time to start dating again.

Then he cast that ridiculous notion aside. One messed-up marriage was enough.

No, he was looking for simplicity. Just him and nature. Settled in serene Atanga Bay. Well, that’s what he’d heard anyway. Near drownings excepted.

She continued with her gentle chatting. ‘I’ve phoned for an ambulance, Lukas. But you know what it’s like, it could take time.’ She turned to Adam, fixed him with those striking dark eyes. The short black hair intrigued him. So unlike the willowy blondes he usually dated. Had dated. ‘They’re always overworked and short-staffed, I’m afraid.’

‘Same story wherever you go.’ But not short-staffed any more. He opened his mouth to contradict her. Thought better of it. It would take too long, and he didn’t want to get embroiled in a conversation. And, heck, what did it matter? He hadn’t shared an iota about himself with anyone for years. Why would he start with her?

And yet her smiling eyes stirred something in him. Something which would be better left well alone.

‘You holding up, mate?’ He looked at Lukas. Did a mental check as he tried to do a blood sweep through the surfer’s wetsuit. Bit difficult with a second skin. Still, it’d work as a pressure aid while they sorted him out.

‘I’ll just check your vitals again.’ Skye took a quick pulse rate. He’d only known her two minutes and they were working in pure harmony, an understanding of the essentials hovering between them. Not just distracting, but unsettling too. ‘Your heart’s pumping a bit quicker than I’d like, but I reckon you’ll live.’ She squeezed the guy’s hand. ‘We just need to get that head to stop bleeding.’

Adam curled his T-shirt into a knot and held it against the wound to stem the blood flow. ‘Sorry about this, mate. It was clean on this morning, I promise.’ That mustered a weak smile from his patient. ‘You’re going to need a few stitches in that head. Any pain anywhere else?’

Lukas twisted to sit up and held out his right hand. ‘My arm hurts.’

‘Let’s take a look.’ Adam helped peel the wetsuit to waist level, scanning Lukas’s body for any signs of damage or internal bleeding. Then examined his arm, aware that Sky had put herself between Lukas and the ripping wind. She looked more bedraggled than a puppy at bath-time, with those accentuated huge eyes. She was covered in damp sand and her clothes were dripping wet, her arms blue with cold.

He threw her his jacket and she wrapped it round their patient’s shoulders. ‘Sky? It’s starting to get dark and if we’re not careful we’ll all have hypothermia too.’ Not a great start to day one of the rest of his life.

She shivered, but smiled. Again. Didn’t her mouth hurt with all that grinning? Then she rubbed her hands up and down Lukas’s shoulders. ‘He’s right. We don’t want you to get too cold, or go into shock. You need to get warm.’

Patient first. Was she a nurse? A doctor? A local?

Did she live here? His mouth dried.

Stupid. Of course she did, hence the nagging about the rocks. If she was medical their paths were bound to cross. He shook his head, tried to clear his waterlogged brain. She was trained and skilled and here. That was all he needed to know. Any more was unnecessary detail.

A few minutes in her company had proven her curves, her weird charm and her megawatt smile were bad for his equilibrium. Four years on from a broken marriage, a broken life, and he’d only just got his equilibrium back. So he would muster polite. Nothing more.

He felt along Lukas’s arm, noticed the bruising and swelling, the wincing as he touched the forearm. ‘Pain here? What about here? It’s swollen. Could be a fracture, hard to tell with the naked eye. You’ll need an X-ray—’

A siren cut him off. He followed Sky’s gaze to the main road and watched with relief as an ambulance drove down the small boat ramp. He hauled on his jeans and helped Lukas to stand.

Within minutes they’d handed over and lifted their patient into the back of the van. As he shook hands with the ambulance officer Adam decided to come clean. It would be strange turning up to work on Monday morning knowing they’d all shared this rescue and them not knowing his identity.

If he was going to settle here—and he was going to settle this time—he’d need to give more of himself than name and rank. Truth was, opening up after everything that had happened often proved hard.

He spoke to the AO first. ‘I guess you should know, I’m Adam. Adam Miller. Paramedic. I start on Monday, at Wellsford base.’