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Even her brother Jack had been lucky in love. He’d married his high school sweetheart, Kelly, a girl from a nearby farm. There’d only ever been one girl for Jack, and now he and Kelly were ridiculously happy.
Emily’s family made finding love look easy, and yet she’d tried so many times and failed. Now, she punished herself with memories, starting with Dimitri, the dark and ruggedly handsome Russian choreographer at the ballet school in Melbourne.
Having taken advantage of her youth and naivety, Dimitri had promptly dropped her overnight when he took up with one of the stars of the Australian Ballet. Emily had taken almost a year to recover from that heartbreak.
Back home in the Wandabilla district, she’d met Dave, a nice, safe farmer, and this time she was sure she’d struck gold. She would marry and live on a farm near her family, and she could envision her happy future so easily.
Dave had been as different from Dimitri as possible—practical and rough around the edges, and not the slightest bit interested in ‘culture’. She’d been happy to swap satin pointe shoes and the barre for tractors and cow manure.
But Dave’s first love was rodeos and, eventually, he’d taken off on the competition circuit, travelling to all the outback events. He’d expected Emily to throw up her job and follow him, but she wasn’t prepared to do that, she’d realised, much to her own surprise.
In western New South Wales, Dave had discovered Annie, a camp-drafting champion who shared his passion, and his phone calls to Emily had stopped.
After that, Emily had thrown herself into her work. She’d attended workshops on customer relations and marketing, and any other professional development programmes that could boost her up the corporate ladder.
When she’d dived into the dating pool—unsurprisingly, it was rather shallow in Wandabilla—she’d set herself strict rules. No longer would she be so trusting and open, and she wouldn’t allow herself to fall in love again until she met a man who ticked all the right boxes. Following her new plan, she’d never gone out with any one fellow more than a few times, and she was determined from then on that she would be the one who ended her relationships.
She had been feeling quite confident again. Before Michael had arrived in town.
Conservatively good-looking, intelligent and charming, Michael had been perfect. Emily had learned from her mistakes, however, and she’d resisted his attention at first. Michael had chased her with flattering persistence and, in the end, she’d decided he was genuine in his admiration.
And surely he was safe? He wasn’t a foreign artist or an outback drifter. He wasn’t even a local. He was a geologist from South Australia, prospecting in the Wandabilla district for a mining company.
Admittedly, Michael was only in her district for six weeks at a time, but he flew back regularly, and he always wrote to her or phoned her while he was away.
In time she was confident that he was The One.
After all, weren’t geologists clever and educated, and as solid and dependable as the rocks they studied?
What a joke.
Emily let out a long groan of frustration. And pain.
Losing Michael hurt. So much. Her pain went way beyond disappointment. She felt betrayed, used and foolish, as if she hadn’t gained one single jot of wisdom since Dimitri. And, even though she was the innocent party, she felt guilty that she’d slept with someone else’s husband and father.
She could too easily imagine how deeply Michael—no, Mark’s—wife loved him, could imagine how hurt the other woman would be if she ever found out.
Emily’s sense of gloom dived even deeper when she returned to the kitchen and saw the blinking light on her mobile phone.
Wincing at the possibilities, she clicked on her message bank and discovered five—count them, five—new text messages from people in Wandabilla.
Normally, she would try to reply, to at least thank these people for their concern, even though they weren’t genuinely close friends but mainly curious gossipers.
Today, however, there were also three voice messages from Michael-slash-Mark, and his first message was full of apologies and entreaties, begging her to ring him back.
Hearing his voice brought a fresh slug of misery and anger, and Emily almost hurled the phone across the room.
She might have done that, actually, if she wasn’t worried that the crash would wake Jude. Her gaze flashed to his novel, Thorn in the Flesh, sitting on the breakfast tray, and she remembered Morgan, Jude’s tough heroine.
Emily needed to be like her. From now on.
Smiling, she picked up the phone and deleted every single message without responding.
It felt good.
Very good, actually.
CHAPTER THREE
Mid-afternoon …
EMILY had been out to a bookshop, where she’d bought two more of Jude’s books, and she was stretched out on the sofa, deeply absorbed in a thrilling mystery set in the wilds of The Kimberley Coast when she heard Jude’s door open. Shortly after, she heard the sound of the shower in the bathroom.
Good. He must be feeling better. She was surprised by how pleased she felt about this. She even found her attention wandering from the book as she waited for Jude to emerge from the bathroom. It was suddenly important to make sure that he really was OK.
When he finally came into the living room, freshly shaved, hair damp from the shower and smelling pleasantly of lemon-scented soap, he was no longer frowning or squinting with pain, and it was almost impossible to tell that he’d been unwell.
‘Feeling better?’ Emily asked with a jolly-nurse smile.
‘Much better, thanks.’ He seemed keen to shrug her concern aside. ‘Actually, I’m heading out now.’
It was crazy to be instantly disappointed. Why should she miss Jude? She’d never been a person who was needy for company.
Annoyed with herself, she held up the book she was reading. ‘I’m really enjoying this, by the way.’
Jude saw the cover and his eyes glinted with amusement. ‘Don’t tell me I’ve acquired a fan?’
‘Perhaps,’ she said airily. ‘You’ve done a good job with Ellie. She has hang-ups like the rest of us, but she wouldn’t dare let them show. I like that about her. She’s classy. And I love that she’s blonde and leggy and carries a pistol in her handbag.’
‘Glad you approve.’ Hands sunk deep in the pockets of his jeans, Jude bowed with mock solemnity, then turned and headed for the door. ‘Don’t worry about dinner,’ he called over his shoulder. ‘It’s my turn to cook tonight.’
Emily was about to remind him that he didn’t like to cook when he looked back and she caught the ghost of a twinkle in his eye.
‘How about I bring home Thai?’ he said, then quickly disappeared before she could answer.
The front door closed behind him, and the apartment felt weirdly empty.
It was quite late, almost dark, when Jude arrived back bearing the promised tubs of takeaway Thai. They ate on the balcony, watching the last of the sunset over distant Mount Coot-tha.
‘I was wondering if you’d like to see a movie tonight,’ he asked as they ate. ‘It’ll cheer us both up.’
‘Do we need cheering up?’
He sent her a measuring glance. ‘Isn’t that why you’re here?’
‘Well, yes,’ she admitted. ‘But I’m not your responsibility, Jude. Don’t feel obliged to entertain me.’
‘I could do with cheering, too. That blasted headache left me feeling a bit out of sorts.’
‘That’s not surprising.’ Emily couldn’t shake off the lingering suspicion that there was something else, something more deeply serious that was troubling him. She didn’t know him well enough to ask, so she said instead, ‘I suppose you’d prefer to see a thriller?’
‘Would you mind?’ He offered her an apologetic shrug. ‘I’ve never been much good with chick flicks.’
‘That surprises me, actually. I thought you must watch them and study them. You write such lovely romantic scenes in your books.’
‘Do I?’ He looked suddenly caught out, almost guilty.
‘But don’t worry,’ Emily assured him. ‘I’m happy to watch a thriller. I’m certainly not in the mood for romance.’
This time when their gazes met, she thought she caught a different expression—a momentary flash in Jude’s handsome grey eyes that caught her completely on the back foot. Not at all what she’d expected from a gay man. For a moment, she’d gained the unlikely impression that he was very much aware of her—as a woman.
Heaven knew she’d read that message in men’s eyes often enough in the past. But surely she was being fanciful now? Of all the guys she’d spent time with, Jude was safe.
To her relief, he said simply, ‘A thriller it is then. There’s a really good one that just came out last week. And it will be my shout. After all, I get to count it as research.’
It was certainly pleasant to get out of the house, to wrap up and walk the frosty streets, and it was nice to know she could enjoy a man’s company without any danger of breaking her heart.
The movie, as Jude had predicted, was an exciting, edge-of-the-seat thriller, and it soon worked its magic. For close to two hours Emily almost stopped thinking about Michael.
Joy.
‘I definitely feel better for having seen that,’ she said as they left the cinema.
Jude raised a questioning eyebrow. ‘Do you want to prolong the fun? Are you in a rush to get home, or would you like to find somewhere for coffee?’
Going back to the apartment would mean returning to her solitary bedroom and her solitary one-track thoughts.
‘I’d love to stay out for a bit longer,’ she admitted. ‘I’m glad you seem to have completely recovered.’
‘So am I.’ He smiled, but the effect was spoiled by the flicker of a shadow in his eyes. ‘I’m fine now.’
Emily wished she hadn’t seen that flicker. For a fanciful second it had looked like the shadow of a falling axe. She wished she could shake off the sense that something was really troubling Jude, and she wondered if he was trying to distract himself, just as she was. It was probably a good thing she’d agreed to stay out.
They found a snug table in the back corner of a crowded coffee shop. Emily ordered hot chocolate, which came with tiny pink and white marshmallows for melting, and Jude ordered tea—Lapsang Souchong, which arrived in a ruby-glass pot, smelling smoky and inexplicably masculine.
‘You drink the same tea as your hero, Raff,’ she teased as she scooped a sticky blob of marshmallow from her mug.
Jude smiled. ‘Strange coincidence, isn’t it?’
As they sipped their warm drinks, they talked about the movie, debating the significance of some of the plot twists.
‘The scriptwriters certainly knew all about crime and the underbelly of society,’ Emily suggested. Across the lamplit table, she narrowed her eyes at Jude. ‘So do you, actually. It shows in your books. How do you do it? How do you get inside the mind of a hardened criminal?’
‘I research,’ he answered simply.
‘Yes, I guessed that, but how? Who do you talk to?’
‘Hardened criminals.’
He said this so dryly and with such a poker face that, momentarily, she almost fell for it.
Then, matching his dry tone, she replied. ‘So you’re telling me it’s not safe to associate with you.’
This time his eyes twinkled. ‘Touché. Of course, you’re safe.’
There was a moment, as their gazes met across the table, when Emily felt a kind of woozy warmth that was totally unfitting.
‘Seriously,’ she said abruptly, shaking off the feeling. ‘I’m interested in how you make your stories so real.’
‘Seriously,’ Jude said, ‘I have contacts with the police and in the military. I’ve grilled them mercilessly about their work. I’ve spent full days with a firearms instructor, and another day observing Army commando training. I’ve even taken part, so I know what it feels like to be cuffed, down on the ground and immobile while a tactical unit performs a mock hostage rescue.’
With a smile, he said, ‘And now I’ve met a bank manager, and that could be very handy, too. I can imagine all sorts of scenarios involving a heist and a beautiful banking boss.’
Heat flamed in Emily’s cheeks, and she pressed her hands against the patches of warmth, hoping to hide them. She couldn’t believe she was blushing simply because Jude had implied she was beautiful. Of all the ridiculous reactions.
Why should she blush over this man’s completely nonsexual assessment of her looks?
To cover her silly reaction, she made a joke against herself. ‘Just my luck, one of the robbers will turn out to be a former boyfriend.’ Then, quickly, she steered the subject safely away from herself. ‘What about your current book? Where’s it set?’
‘The Gold Coast. But I’m beginning to think it’s a bit too close to home. I prefer more distant settings.’
‘Why? Does your imagination work better at a distance?’
He looked at her with surprise. ‘Yes, I think it does.’ Then he frowned. ‘Are you pretending to be interested, or are you genuinely curious?’
‘I’m genuine. Honestly. Why do you ask?’
Jude shook his head. ‘I was just wondering … I wouldn’t have expected a bank manager to be interested in fiction.’
‘You’re stereotyping,’ she accused with rather more iciness than she actually felt.
‘Yeah. It’s a failing.’ Jude’s unrepentant gaze flickered over her and then swept around the crowded café and the chattering customers gathered in the booths. ‘I know it’s not polite to mention this, but your clothes seem very—or should I say—extremely fashionable. Not quite what I’d expected from a little place like Wandabilla.’
‘Is this another example of your narrow views?’
‘I’m afraid it is.’ He confessed this without a hint of remorse. ‘But I’m genuinely curious. Is it a status thing?’
‘I … I suppose it might be.’ Emily hadn’t been asked this question before, but there were a lot of wealthy farmers who conducted their business at her bank and classy clothes had become her armour. For a young woman to hang on to a position of power, she had to win respect any way she could.
At least, this was what she’d told herself, but she sometimes wondered if her efforts to acquire a perfect career and a perfect wardrobe were compensation for her lack of a perfect relationship.
‘So where do you shop?’ Jude asked. ‘Do you travel to the city?’
‘Not often. I do almost all my shopping online.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘I love the Internet. If I ever give up my current job, I think I’ll develop some kind of business I can run online.’
Thinking about the Internet, however, brought back sickening memories of Michael-slash-Mark.
Emily wasn’t sure how long she sat there, sunk in miserable memories.
Eventually, she heard Jude’s voice.
‘Are you OK?’
He asked this solicitously, just as Alex might have, and she couldn’t help answering honestly. ‘I’m very mad with myself for wasting a whole year on a relationship that was never going anywhere.’
‘It’s not easy to see through a practised conman. They’re usually consummate charmers.’ Jude’s face was surprisingly fierce. ‘My father was like that—having affairs all over the place.’
His hands were clenched into fists on the tabletop. ‘And then my mother punished him by having revenge affairs.’
He looked so upset, Emily stopped thinking about her own worries. She was imagining Jude growing up with unhappy parents. At least her problems hadn’t started until she’d left home.
Their conversation, she realised, had suddenly gone deeper. Jude’s grey eyes were as hard as granite, as if just thinking about his parents changed him completely.
‘Have you ever talked to Alex about this?’ she asked.
Jude looked startled. ‘No.’
‘It’s just that he’s very good at laying ghosts to rest.’
‘Yes, I can imagine he would be.’ Then Jude gave a shake, as if ridding himself of unwanted memories.
They lapsed into silence and Emily finished off her chocolate. ‘I’m sure I have a moustache.’ With an embarrassed smile, she reached for a paper napkin.
‘Here, let me.’
To her surprise, Jude took the napkin from her and dabbed at her upper lip. The pressure of his fingers so close to her mouth felt strangely intimate and he was looking at her with an intensity that stole her breath.
After what felt like an age, he blinked like someone coming out of a trance, then dropped the napkin onto his saucer. ‘What were we talking about?’
Emily’s mind had gone blank. To her dismay, she found herself thinking how attractive he was, and how the message in his grey eyes had made her feel strangely knife-edgy and weightless. And there was a vibe between them, an impossible awareness that was very confusing.
Surely her imagination was playing tricks on her? There must be something wrong with her. After her debacle with Michael, she couldn’t possibly be interested in any man for ages. Right now, a life of celibacy had huge appeal and, anyway, Jude wasn’t even available.
She made a flustered, helpless gesture, hoping to break the strange spell that seemed to have fallen over her, and promptly knocked the pepper pot. Next moment she was sneezing, then floundering in her bag for tissues.
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