Talking Sense
Author: Serenity Woods
Date: 2013-07-09 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Romance; Paranormal Romance; Contemporary; Contemporary Romance
Description: Love—and healing—can come from the most unexpected places… Sensual Healing, Book 3 Still hurting physically and emotionally after a tragic car accident, Mia Nicholls has everything but love on her mind. Until quiet, sexy Colm Molony—a man who barely registered on her romantic radar—gives her a more-than-friends birthday kiss that really rings her bell. The minute he laid eyes on Mia, Colm knew she was trouble, which is one reason he’s kept his distance. The other is that he’ll be leaving New Zealand to go back to Ireland at summer’s end. Yet when he touches Mia’s watch, his supernatural abilit
Publisher: Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
Rights: All Rights Reserved (c) 2013 Serenity Woods

Dedication

To Tony and Chris, my Kiwi boys

Chapter One

“Men’s rugby shorts are one of mankind’s better inventions.”

Mia spoke dreamily, shading her eyes where she stood on the edge of the field watching the staff team taking on the school senior team at rugby.

It was a typical spring afternoon in New Zealand’s windy capital city of Wellington. Although the sun was bright, the cool October breeze slid icy fingers down the neck of her jacket, and she turned up the collar before shoving her hands into her pockets.

“Stop drooling,” Grace said beside her, not taking her eyes from her mobile phone as she texted. “It’s unladylike.”

Mia sent her an impatient glance. “If you’d look up from that phone for five minutes you’d see what I’m drooling at. I haven’t seen such a great display of legs in years.”

“I’ve been texting less than thirty seconds, stop exaggerating.”

“I’m guessing your husband’s checking up on you again?” Mia grinned as Grace rolled her eyes. “He’s so adorable.”

“He’s a pain in the ass,” Grace complained. “He’s worse than my mother. Every five minutes the frickin’ phone buzzes in my pocket with ‘How are you feeling?’ ‘Where are you now?’” She rested a hand on her large baby bump and spoke to it in a singsong voice. “We’re all right, aren’t we, twinkle? Daddy’s such a fusspot.”

“You’re lucky to have him,” Mia scolded. “Stop being so grouchy. He’s only worried about you.”

“I know.” Grace went quiet for a moment as they watched one of the seniors dodge neatly around a science teacher to score a try. “He had one of those letters yesterday.”

The smile fell from Mia’s face. “Another one? Oh no. What did it say?”

“Something along the lines of ‘I love you, I want your babies and she can’t have you’. She also talked about where I went shopping at the weekend, so she’s obviously here, in Wellington.”

A cold shiver slid down Mia’s spine. Grace’s husband, Ash, was a medium who was becoming more famous by the minute. He had his share of enthusiastic fans, but this was one who had most definitely overstepped the mark from “crazy keen” to “stalker”.

“I bet he wasn’t happy with that,” Mia said, knowing that would be a vast understatement.

“He went ballistic. I think the bit about me sent him over the edge—it’s the first time she’s mentioned me. He wanted to give me a bodyguard, but I told him there’s no way I’d have some thug with a neck bigger than his head standing over me in class. He gave in eventually, but it was a close thing.”

Mia glanced around the field. She admired Grace’s independent streak, but the thought of some crazy lunatic following her friend around, knowing intimate details about her life, made her feel queasy. She was sure imminent parenthood was scary enough for them without the added worry of some axe murderer creeping into their room in the middle of the night and chopping them up into black plastic bags.

“Anyway,” Grace said. “I have to concur. Rugby shorts are sexy. There is an impressive range of legs on display. Especially that pair over there.” She nodded toward the guy in navy shorts and dark green rugby shirt who was currently racing down the field with the ball under his arm.

“Already onto it.” Mia had been watching him for the past five minutes.

Grace frowned, squinting against the sun. “Who is it? I don’t recognise him.”

“It’s Colm,” Mia said. “He looks different without his glasses.”

Grace’s eyebrows shot up. “Of course—it’s an Ireland rugby shirt he’s wearing. Wow. Who’d have guessed the stuffy professor would be hiding legs like that under his corduroy pants?”

Mia smiled. “Do they still make corduroy? I thought that went out with catsuits. But I take your point.”

Although he was obviously only about her age, late twenties or early thirties, the history teacher with the ruffled, I-was-too-busy-reading-intellectual-journals-and-forgot-to-brush-it brown hair tended to wear clothes Indiana Jones would have worn in the classroom. Grace was right, though—Mia hadn’t suspected he’d be hiding such a gorgeous pair of legs beneath his rather staid pants.

Quiet and unassuming, with an endearing tendency to walk into doors and knock chairs over, Colm Molony wasn’t the sort of guy Mia usually fantasised about. She’d had a dream about him the night before, though, which was why she was now watching him curiously.

She’d been at school, which wasn’t shocking in itself as she often dreamed about where she worked, and she’d been on her way to the classroom to teach when a loud roaring noise had announced the imminent arrival of a car tearing along the boulevard toward her. Again, that wasn’t particularly surprising either—since the accident she’d dreamed repeatedly about vans and trucks and trains approaching her at a rate of knots. Usually she woke up just after the moment of impact with a pounding heart, dripping with sweat and shaking.

In this dream, she’d somehow been aware she was dreaming, and as the car shot toward her she’d repeated to herself, “Wake up, wake up, wake up,” her feet frozen to the spot with fear. But just before the car bumper struck her, someone grasped her arm and pulled her out of harm’s way.

She stumbled back and fell onto her butt, and stared up in shock as her rescuer dropped to his haunches beside her and looked intently into her eyes. Even in her dream, she’d been puzzled it had been Colm—he often sat with her and Grace and a few others in the staff room, and she liked his sense of humour and gentle, calm manner, but he wasn’t exactly the first guy she’d have thought would spring to her rescue in a crisis, nor the one she’d have pictured in a waking fantasy.

But in her dream his eyes had shone an intense blue behind his dark-rimmed glasses, and she’d breathed in his fresh, lemony aftershave—did he wear aftershave? Come to think of it, he did always smell nice. She hadn’t realised she’d noticed. But he’d leaned close and she’d smelled the warm scent, and then he’d murmured in his deep, mellow voice with its soft Irish lilt, “Cleo.”

Cleo? What the hell did that mean? She had no idea. Cleopatra? Cleo Laine? But as soon as he’d murmured the word, she’d woken up—and this time her heart had been thumping for a different reason.

She watched him now, puzzled, as he stood waiting for one of the students to take a throw in. Hands on hips, solid legs braced apart, he struck a fairly imposing figure, like an ancient Greek athlete, Atlas maybe—the primordial Titan who held up the celestial sphere. He looked taller from a distance. And when he lifted an arm to run a hand through his hair, the sleeve of his rugby shirt tightened on impressive biceps she hadn’t noticed before.

Hmm.

“Ding-a-ling,” Grace said beside her.

Mia blinked. “Ding-a-what?”

“That’s Cupid’s alarm going off.” Grace’s eyes were alight with amusement. “I wondered how long it would take you to notice.”

“Notice what?” Mia felt as if she’d turned over two pages at once.

“How gorgeous he is.”

“Gorgeous?” She studied him blankly. That wasn’t the word she’d normally use to describe him.

Now, Reece Brooks, currently running down the field beside Colm, was another matter. Six-foot-four and with muscles a girl could gnaw on, the PE teacher had the classic square jaw and rugged good looks that caused half the girls in the school—and most of the female teachers—to drool as he walked by. Okay, so his eyes were a bit too close together and he had the IQ of an orange, but what did that matter when you were in the sack?

Unbidden, the thought of the exchange she’d had with Colm in the staff room a few days before popped into her head. She’d been talking to a member of the science department about the Olympics for some reason, and that had led to a discussion about the origin of the games and Ancient Greece. Colm had turned up halfway through the conversation and listened with interest as she tried to argue that modern society owed much more to the Romans than it did to the Greeks. He’d argued back that without the Greeks, the Romans wouldn’t have had half their success. They went on to argue who’d been more influential in philosophy and technological innovations. The science teacher left to go to class, but Mia had been shocked when the bell rang and she realised she’d been talking to Colm through the whole of her free period. He’d been very entertaining.

Colm most definitely didn’t have the IQ of an orange. Unless you counted an orange that had been to Trinity College Dublin and got itself a PhD in ancient history and archaeology.

As she watched, Colm dodged sideways to catch the ball, bumped into Reece and knocked him over. Reece got up and shouted at him as he dusted down his shorts, no doubt conscious of the female staff on the sidelines watching, and Colm held up a hand in apology. Something in his face made Mia wonder if he’d done it on purpose. That made her giggle.

“Want me to ask him out for you?” Grace said.

Mia sent her an impatient look. “What are we, fourteen? If I wanted to go out with the guy, I’d ask him myself. But anyway, it’s a moot point for a plethora of reasons.”

“A plethora?”

“Yes, a plethora. First, he already has a girlfriend.”

“He doesn’t. They broke up.”

“Oh.” Mia frowned. “When did—” She stopped her question when Grace smiled. “It doesn’t matter, I’m not interested. Because second, he’s only here temporarily. He may not have told senior management, but he’s definitely going back to Ireland at Christmas.”

“So? I’m not suggesting you marry the guy. I’m suggesting you get his kit off and do terribly naughty things to him in the bedroom.”

Mia’s cheeks warmed with an uncharacteristic blush at the thought of Colm taking off the green rugby shirt and revealing the muscles that were obviously underneath. “Grace, for God’s sake. He’s not my type at all.”

“Of course he is. He’s breathing.” Grace grinned as Mia sent her another look. “You’re getting picky in your old age. He’s a historian, same as you, for crying out loud—at least you have something in common. You can talk about Franz Ferdinand and Martin Luther King and the Black Death, and all the other things you occasionally bore me with. Plus you haven’t been out with a guy in about eight months. You seriously need to get laid, honey.”

Mia didn’t argue with her. It had been a long time since she’d been to bed with a guy, and she was pretty certain the last time she’d been to bed with a great guy, Julius Caesar had been taking over Europe.

Now Grace had set her off it was difficult not to think about what Colm would be like in bed. Would he be clumsy and awkward, self-conscious and overpowered, because Mia wasn’t exactly shy of explaining what she liked in the bedroom? Or did his calm, gentlemanly manner hide a more forceful, demanding personality that wasn’t afraid to show his partner a thing or two?

Her gaze lingered on him as the whistle blew for halftime and the players started walking to the edge of the field. He held up a hand to her and Grace when he passed them, and she nodded in response, her cheeks growing warm at the direction of her thoughts.

Damn Grace and her nosy interfering. She wasn’t interested in Colm Molony. She wasn’t interested in any man. Romance and sex would be the last thing on her wanted list at that moment.

The familiar, ever-present ache in her spine was now beginning to radiate across her shoulders, and she shifted tiredly, suddenly exhausted, wishing it was the end of the school day.

Grace rested a hand between her shoulder blades and rubbed gently. “Time for some painkillers, methinks.”

“Maybe,” Mia said, knowing she wouldn’t be taking any pills.

“You don’t get any medals for braving the pain,” Grace scolded.

Mia shrugged, then winced at the answering stab.

“Let’s go in,” Grace said. “I could do with putting my feet up anyway—my ankles are beginning to look like they belong to an elephant.”

“You’re feeling okay, though? The baby’s moving?” Mia was aware of the risks of pre-eclampsia.

Grace rested a hand on her bump as they walked to the staff room. “Oh yeah. I think Twinkle Toes here’s going to be a gymnast.”

“I should fuss over you more,” Mia said, ashamed that she hadn’t thought about how her friend was feeling after standing up for so long. Well into her third trimester, and what with all the stalker business, Grace deserved looking after.

“Meh, you’re the one who’s had all the trauma.” Grace gave her a hopeful look. “Are you sure you don’t want me to ask the sexy Irishman out for you? How about as a special birthday treat for tomorrow?”

“Nah, I’m good.” The reminder that she was turning thirty the next day dampened Mia’s mood even more. She didn’t deserve to be entering her fourth decade when there were others who wouldn’t have that chance. And she certainly didn’t deserve to be thinking about hot sex with Colm the Celt. She was going to put him to the back of her mind.

Chapter Two

Colm was getting frustrated. When he’d seen the telephone message from Child, Youth and Family in his pigeon hole, he’d assumed they had some news for him. That had not turned out to be the case.

“So you can’t tell me anything?” He tried to keep his irritation from showing in his voice. It wasn’t the fault of the woman on the other end of the phone.

“I’m sorry, no.” The woman sounded very apologetic. “It would have been a lot easier, obviously, if your father’s surname had been on your birth certificate.”

“Yes, of course.” Frustration welled inside him. Time and again he kept coming up against a blank wall. He’d arrived in the country with such high hopes, but now it was October and he was no closer to finding his father than he had been when he first landed back in January.

“How did you know he lives in New Zealand, again?” the woman asked.

Colm said nothing for a moment. The real answer, a gut feeling, wouldn’t make much sense to the authorities. “Just something my adoptive parents told me about him being a Kiwi.” It wasn’t completely a lie. Niall and Kathleen Molony—his birth mother’s sister and her husband—had been at his real mother’s side when she gave birth. Apparently she’d told them that the father of her baby boy was an artist called Robert who came from “Down Under”, but she’d refused to divulge any further information, and she’d died shortly afterward.

Of course, “Down Under” could mean Australia, and some people even used it to refer to other countries in the southern hemisphere, but Colm had special reasons for suspecting his biological father came from New Zealand.

“We’ll keep looking,” the woman on the phone said. “I just thought you’d want to know.”

“Thanks.”

She carried on talking for a while about other avenues he could explore, but his attention wandered. He’d tried most of those she was suggesting and was pretty much convinced he wouldn’t find his father through the official channels. He was going to have to resort to his own methods.

The woman chattered away in his ear, and he leaned against the wall and looked across the staff room to the group of teachers sitting in the corner, having their morning coffee break. It was Mia’s birthday, and a huge chocolate cake sat in the middle of the table—what was left of it, anyway. The teachers had already polished off a good half of it.

His gaze settled on the birthday girl, and he smiled as she nibbled at a forkful of chocolate frosting. She had a penchant for chocolate—what woman didn’t?—and was rarely to be seen without a truffle or a chocolate bar in her hand. She went through phases. Last week it had been M&M’s. This week it was Kit Kats, although today she’d obviously settled for the frosting instead.

She was listening to Reece Brooks, who was opining about some inane matter, no doubt, holding court while he droned on incessantly. The Neanderthal wanted to get in her panties. Luckily, Mia didn’t appear to be having any of it. Colm had wondered whether she’d melt at the guy’s feet like all the other female members of staff Reece deigned to pay attention to, but as far as he knew, she hadn’t succumbed to Reece’s attempts to lure her into bed.

Not that he could blame Brooks for trying. Mia was by far the prettiest girl in the room. Well, woman—she’d turned thirty now and she was hardly a girl, but there was something about her that made her seem younger and more vulnerable than some of the other teachers of her age at the school. He hadn’t known her long, but he could see she’d lost weight over the last few months. Her black bob framed a heart-shaped face with strikingly beautiful features, her skin was flawless, and her mouth had a tendency to curve upward even when she wasn’t smiling. Her plump bottom lip made him want to kiss it.

As he watched, she wiped a smear of chocolate from that lip and delicately sucked the frosting from her finger. Colm sighed. He wanted to kiss her even more now.

But he wouldn’t. The beautiful, sensual Mia Nicholls deserved better than a quick fling before he returned to Ireland.

“Mr. Molony?”

He’d forgotten he was on the phone. He cleared his throat and pushed his glasses up the slope of his nose. “I’m sorry—somebody was talking to me. Thank you for all your help. I really appreciate it.”

“No worries, Mr. Molony. I’ll be in touch.”

“Thanks. Goodbye.”

He flipped the mobile phone shut and slipped it in his pocket.

After making himself a cup of coffee in the kitchen, he made his way over to Mia and her group, narrowly missing spilling the coffee as he bumped into a stray chair on the way.

“Hey, Farrow,” he said, taking the seat opposite her. He’d teased her when they’d been introduced for having the same first name as the actress, and the nickname had stuck.

“Hey, Baloney.” She pushed the plate of cake toward him. “Do you want some?”

Grace smirked, and he caught her eye. She winked at him. His gaze slid back to Mia, but she was listening to Brooks again and hadn’t noticed their exchange. He sent Grace a mock glare before helping himself to the cake. He had a sneaky feeling she knew how he felt about her dark-haired friend.

He waited until Brooks had finished his boring discourse on how many miles he’d cycled at the weekend and the guy had turned his attention to the more attentive music teacher sitting on his right. Mia reached for another piece of cake at the same time Colm did, and their fingers bumped.

“Sorry,” she said.

“No worries.” He indicated for her to choose first. She lowered her eyes and spent a moment extricating an end piece with extra frosting. Was he imagining it, or were her cheeks slightly flushed? He frowned. No, he wasn’t imagining it. They were. Why so? Mia never blushed.

He gestured to the balloon tied to the back of her chair. “So, birthday girl, eh? The big three-oh?”

“Mm.” She didn’t look enthused. “I’m in my thirties. Oh God, kill me now.”

“Oh it’s not so bad.”

“How old are you?” Grace asked him.

“Thirty-two,” he said through a mouthful of cake. “Being thirty’s cool. Old enough to know what you’re doing. Young enough to enjoy it.” He sipped his coffee and winked at Mia. “I suppose you’re off partying tonight, eh?”

“Not quite,” Grace said. “She’ll be sitting in front of the TV with a packet of Maltesers and a bottle of pinot gris, more like.”

He raised his eyebrows as Mia tipped her head and rolled her eyes in a yeah, she’s right kind of way. “That’s shocking,” he said. “I thought you were the life and soul of the party.” He had a clear recollection of her singing karaoke at the midwinter school party back in June, three sheets to the wind and slightly out of tune, à la Bridget Jones.

“She used to be. But she wouldn’t agree to do anything,” Grace complained. “I did try. I couldn’t even get her to come out for a drink.”

“Game of Thrones is on,” Mia said. “I can’t miss that.”

“You are so dull nowadays.” Grace’s voice held more than a hint of impatience. “I can’t remember the last time you came out with me and Ash.” She carried on scolding Mia for her lack of social activities. Mia let her talk, her eyes lowered as she sipped her coffee.

She’d taken off her watch and it lay on the table in front of the plate of cake. As Colm watched her, she massaged her forearm unconsciously. In spite of the fact that most of the time she appeared her usual bubbly, gregarious self, he suspected she was still struggling with pain after the car accident she’d had a few months before, and the carefree persona was just a front. Today it looked as if her arm was giving her trouble.

Another teacher sat at the table and plonked a pile of folders there. As he pushed the folders, the watch nearly fell off the table, so Colm caught it.

He wasn’t concentrating, and the sensations hit him without warning.

Pain shot across his back, and he almost exclaimed out loud. The deep ache travelled halfway down his spine and radiated out across his shoulders, tiny fingers of agonising soreness digging sharp nails into his muscles. Poor Mia. He’d had no idea the extent she was suffering.

Even more shocking was the wave of unhappiness that swept over him. Hopelessness and guilt mingled with abject misery. She might be covering it well, but Mia was alarmingly depressed.

In his mind’s eye, he saw her hands on the wheel, heard her exclamation as the car skidded on the ice and spun out of control, and felt the sweep and crunch as it slid across into the vehicle on the other side of the road. Saw the white, frightened face of the child in the backseat, and then, moments later, the same white face covered in blood, mouth open in a silent scream. The picture replayed in his head like a tape caught in a loop. This was what went through Mia’s head continuously. She relived the catastrophic moment of the child’s death repeatedly, every day.

“Are you dozing off?”

He opened his eyes. She was leaning on the table, watching him, head tipped to one side, a slight smile on her lips. Now, though, he could see the creases of pain at the corners of her eyes, the way her features were drawn with tiredness and sadness.

Emotions swept over him—sympathy, anguish and pity for this beautiful, spirited girl who was now weighed down by remorse for something she’d had absolutely no control over.

He pushed himself up and leaned across the table. Her eyes widened, but she didn’t move as he lowered his head and kissed her.

Chapter Three

Her mouth was soft and cool, and he held his lips there for a moment. She inhaled, but she didn’t move away, her eyelids fluttering shut briefly as he pressed his lips to hers once, a longer second time, and then moved back reluctantly.

Around the table, everyone started laughing.

“Goodness,” Mia said, and blinked.

He glanced at Brooks, who had a face like thunder, then at Mia’s startled green eyes, and had the grace to feel embarrassed. “Sorry. Um, happy birthday.” He sat back down.

Her lips curved slowly, and her eyes danced. “Thank you. That was…unexpected.”

“Wow,” Grace said, grinning. “What a birthday treat.”

He turned the watch over in his hands. “You looked like you needed cheering up, that was all. I got the feeling you were in pain.”

“She’s always in pain,” Grace said. She sighed and rubbed Mia’s upper arm. “I do wish you’d let Nate do something for you.”

“Nate?” he queried.

“A friend of ours,” Grace said. “He’s a healer, and a bloody good one, too. He’s away in India at the moment, but he does distant healing. He has to have permission before he can send it, though, and she won’t give it.”

“Grace,” Mia scolded. “You shouldn’t talk like that to everyone. One day someone’s going to cart you off to the loony bin for mentioning things like that in public.”

“It’s okay,” Colm said, “I believe in that sort of thing. ‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio’, blah blah.” He was the last person who would pass judgment on someone with extraordinary abilities. He frowned. “Why won’t you let him try to heal you?”

For once, Grace didn’t reply for Mia. Mia glanced at her and said, “Oh, now you say nothing?”

Grace shrugged. “I’m interested to hear what excuse you make.”

At that moment, however, the bell rang. On cue, like Pavlov’s dog, everyone stood and collected their things, ready to head to the classroom.

Colm caught Mia’s hand as she went to push herself to her feet. “Wait. Talk to me for a minute.”

“I have class,” she said. Once again, her cheeks stained a light pink.

“No, you haven’t,” he said, amused at her blush. “You’re on a free.”

Grace laughed and walked off, waddling in the characteristic way that heavily pregnant women do.

Mia watched her go, then turned her gaze back to him with a wry smile. “How do you know when my free periods are?”

“Intuition.” Actually he’d memorised her timetable, but he wasn’t about to tell her that. “Come on, just for a minute.”

She sighed and settled back into her chair, wincing in such a way that it was obvious she was in pain. A wary look settled on her features as if she was worried he was going to quiz her again about why she’d turned down her friend’s offer of healing.

Instead, however, he said, “Come out with me this evening.”

Still holding her watch, he fancied he could almost see her thoughts passing through her suspicious green eyes.

Why did he kiss me?

He’s going to make a move on me.

I don’t date.

I don’t deserve it.

Instantly he knew that was why she’d refused Nate’s healing hands. The guilt oozed from her like tree sap, imprisoning her in remorse like a mosquito preserved in amber. She didn’t want to be healed, and she didn’t think she had the right to be happy because of what she’d done.

He put her watch on the table and pushed it over to her. “I’m sorry about the kiss. It was an impulse thing—I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Her lips twisted at that. “Oh, never apologise for a kiss. You made my day.”

He smiled, pleased that she’d enjoyed it. “Good. Now, about tonight. I’m not talking about a date. My best mate works at Te Papa Museum, and he’s organising a special display of ancient Celtic manuscripts. They’re on loan from the National Museum of Ireland—I helped him arrange a temporary exchange for some Māori artefacts. I thought—you being a fellow historian and all—you might enjoy a sneak preview.”

Her eyes lit up as if someone had flicked an internal switch, and her whole face brightened. The smile that slowly widened her lips was probably the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“Now that’s a great way to spend a birthday,” she said.

Pleasure flooded him, and he beamed in response. He caught himself, though, before he let out a whoop of delight. Steady, Molony. This was not a date.

The first moment he’d seen Mia Nicholls, he’d stuck an imaginary warning label above her head. He was going to be in New Zealand a year, no more. He’d imposed the limit on himself in an attempt to stop his search for his father becoming an obsession. If he hadn’t found him in a year, he was going back to Ireland and he’d have to get on with his life.

With that in mind, he had no time for romantic liaisons. Not that he’d expected trouble. Women had never proved an issue before. His love life had been pretty unspectacular—a succession of girlfriends that came and went like the seasons, exploding in a brief burst of colour before fading away until he hardly noticed one had morphed into the other. If he was honest with himself, a couple of the affairs could easily have evolved into something more serious. But every time he’d felt the girl wanted more, he’d backed away.

Why, he wasn’t sure. It wasn’t as if his life had been filled with examples of failed relationships. Niall and Kathleen had been married thirty-four years now. One of his sisters had been married seven years, the other five. Both were happy.

But whenever he thought about settling down, fear crept over him of what would happen if, after six months, or a year, or five years, his partner decided he wasn’t worth the commitment. The thought of becoming so emotionally involved with someone, and then losing her, filled him with horror. Deep down, he knew the fear of rejection was something to do with the loss of his real parents, even though realistically he was aware they hadn’t abandoned him on purpose. But as illogical as it was, the fear was there, and because of that he remained single.

Not that he was too bothered about it at the moment. Life in Dublin—and now New Zealand—was busy, and he didn’t really have time for anything more serious. Teaching was exhausting, especially with the extracurricular activities and sports teams he helped to run, plus he volunteered at the museum at the weekends. One day, he thought he might meet someone whom he’d love enough—and who’d return his affection enough—to convince him to settle down, but marriage, mortgages and kids seemed a long way off, something he planned to do in the future, like learning about astronomy or visiting Machu Picchu.

So he hadn’t expected trouble when he came to New Zealand. He’d taken the job at the Wellington school to experience education in another country and to pay the bills, and he’d looked forward to making a few new friends, maybe dallying with a girl or two along the way if they weren’t out for anything serious.

And then, that first Monday morning after Waitangi Day when he’d sat in the corner of the staff room waiting to be introduced with the rest of the new teachers, Mia had walked in.

Uh-oh, had been his first thought. Immediately, he’d known she had the potential to cause him trouble.

Not that she’d taken much notice of him. As usual, he’d done his party trick of tipping over the chair as he’d stood when his name was called, following it up with a particularly talented spill of coffee down his shirt when he shook hands with the principal, and the first time he’d been introduced to Mia, he’d knocked her armful of folders to the floor and spent most of their conversation apologising for his clumsiness.

She had remembered his name, which surprised him, and she’d sat and chatted to him at their first history department meeting, but he suspected it was more out of politeness than anything. Certainly he hadn’t detected any feelings of attraction from her, and in a way he was relieved by that, because he knew he’d be in trouble if Mia felt for him even a fraction of the desire he felt for her. So he’d kept out of her way, content to admire her from afar, knowing it was best that he didn’t get involved.

Then again, he hadn’t been a monk. When his mate David had introduced him to Juliet—pretty, spirited and too busy with her job in Parliament House to want anything serious—he’d been happy to indulge in a brief, lighthearted affair. But Juliet had recently moved to Christchurch to help out with the rebuilding of the city after the earthquake earlier in the year. After she left, he’d been determined not to get involved with anyone else as he only had a few months left in the country.

But now he’d given the gorgeous Mia a birthday kiss and asked her out for the evening. For Christ’s sake, what was wrong with him?

He’d been unable to resist trying to comfort her. Back in September, he’d heard about the car crash, and the fact that a child had died in the accident. He’d offered his sympathy when she first came in with the neck brace, but she’d kept herself to herself and hadn’t come into the staff room much, and to be honest he’d been too busy with work and finding his father out of hours to think much about how she was feeling. Had he known how bad she was…

What? What would he have done? Nothing’s changed, he told himself. He couldn’t get involved in anything serious.

Still, he couldn’t fight the glow that spread through him from her obvious pleasure at his suggestion for the evening.

“So it’s a…” He went to say date and caught himself.

She raised her eyebrows, eyes dancing. “Yes?”

“Appointment.”

She laughed. “Yes. It’s an appointment.”

“Shall I pick you up?”

She agreed, fastening her watch back on her wrist, and told him her address.

“I’m meeting David at six—I’ll pick you up at ten to,” he said.

“Sure.” She smiled. “Now I really must go and get ready for the next lesson.”

“Of course.” He stood and walked around the table, offering an arm for her to hold onto as she got up. She looked at it for a moment, then accepted it, grimacing as she got to her feet.

“Grace is right,” he said. “You don’t win awards for being in pain, you know. It’s not helping anyone.”

“It makes me feel better,” she said quietly. Then she bit her lip as if she hadn’t meant to say that. She put her bag and laptop on the table and paused for a moment. “I suppose you think that’s stupid.”

“I think it’s perfectly understandable.” He fixed her with a firm stare over the top of his glasses. “Doesn’t mean it’s right, though.”

She blinked, meeting his eyes, and the memory of her lips pressed to his—cool and soft—sprang into his mind. The way her eyelids had fluttered shut briefly as she allowed herself a few seconds of pleasure.

“Nobody deserves to be in pain, Mia,” he said softly.

She looked out through the window, her gaze miles away, reaching across the city to the harbour and the Cook Strait beyond. Her dark hair feathered across her pale cheek, and he itched to tuck it behind her ear for her. “But I killed a boy, Colm. How can I carry on living knowing every day his family has to cope with the fact that he’s never going to grow up?” She bit her lip again as if she was trying to stop the words leaking out—as if voicing them was a weakness. He got the feeling she hadn’t expressed this concern to anyone else.

“I don’t know,” he said honestly, touched she’d confided in him. “I suppose you get up, breathe, get through the day, go to bed again. And you keep doing that, because although time doesn’t make things go away, it does make things more bearable. But being in pain isn’t going to solve anything. Punishing yourself won’t bring him back, Mia.”

Her eyes filled with tears.

“Oh crap.” He cursed himself, wondering if he’d inherited his innate ability to put his foot in it from his biological father. “I didn’t mean to make you cry on your birthday.”

“Actually, it’s kind of a relief to talk about it.” Her voice was husky, and she glanced around as if afraid of being overheard. But the only other person in the staff room, the woman who kept the kitchen in order, was busy tidying up the coffee cups, and the rest of the room was deserted.

“You can always talk to me,” he said.

Mia turned her big, shiny green eyes back to his and gave him a crooked smile. “Thank you. You’re a good friend.”

“Yeah,” he said, wishing he didn’t feel like a heel, because he should have been thinking kind, friendly thoughts and instead all could think about was kissing her again until he brought a happy smile back to her face. “You have lots of friends, though. Haven’t you spoken to Grace about it?”

She shook her head. “I don’t want to worry her. She’s got the baby to think about, and also Ash—her husband—is being stalked by a crazy woman. She says she’s not worried about it, but I know she is. I don’t want to give her anything else to worry about.”

“What about your parents, brothers and sisters?”

She shrugged. “They’d talk to me if I asked them. But everyone’s caught up in their own lives.” She frowned, puzzled. “I’m not quite sure why I’m talking to you, actually.”

“I have the kind of face that makes people confide in me.”

“That must be it.” She tried to smile again, but her eyes glistened, and she wrapped her arms tightly around herself in a protective gesture.

“Oh honey…” He gave in to his instinct to comfort and drew her into his arms. She stiffened for a moment, and then she rested her cheek on his shoulder and softened against him. He sighed, holding her gently, afraid of hurting her, and stroked her back as he murmured soothing words.

Her hair smelled of lavender and orange blossom. He enjoyed the smell as he held her, wishing he could tilt her face up to his and kiss her, and take away some of those lines of pain around her eyes. He gave her a squeeze. “You all right, little Clio?”

She stiffened in his arms. Slowly, she drew back and looked up at him. Her eyes were wide with shock. “What did you call me?”

He blinked. “Clio. She’s the Greek muse of history. There’s an illustration of her in the Year Ten Guide to Ancient Greece that looks just like you.” Alarm filtered through him at the strange look on her face. “Sorry, did I say something wrong?”

“No. No.” She scratched her nose. “Kind of. No.” She looked completely dumbfounded. “Did I know that? I didn’t know that. Did I?”

“Are you all right? Do you want to sit down?”

“Have you called me that before?”

He was sure he hadn’t—he’d only seen the illustration a few days ago. “Um, I don’t think so. Is there a problem?”

She cleared her throat. “No, it’s okay.” She drew back and rubbed her nose. “Thank you for the hug.”

“Anytime. Nobody should be unhappy on their birthday.”

She tucked her hair behind her ear and picked up her laptop. “Until tonight, then?”

“Yeah. See you just before six.”

She opened her mouth as if to say something else, and once again a light flush stained her cheeks. What was she thinking? Was she going to tell him? But she gave a little shake of her head and turned away.

He watched her walk off, trying not to stare at her tight butt. He could still feel her pressed against him, like a bed where the owner had arisen and left an imprint behind in the crumpled duvet. The scent of her lingered in his nostrils, and the taste of chocolate frosting in his mouth reminded him of how soft her lips had been, pressed against his.

So much for remaining distant. And now he had to go concentrate, first on the Russian Revolution for an hour, and then on the ancient Egyptians and the process of mummification. He sighed as he walked off. If anything was guaranteed to bring him back to earth, that would probably do it.

Chapter Four

Mia didn’t tell Grace about the Clio thing. Later in the day Grace caught up with her and asked what happened with Colm when she left, and Mia told her he’d asked her out for the evening. But she didn’t mention that he’d called her a name she’d dreamed about the night before.

Why, she wasn’t sure. Mainly because Grace would call it “a sign” and make more of it than it was, and use it as an excuse to try to get her to date, and she didn’t want the hassle. But she also kept it to herself because something inside her had come to life when he murmured the name in her ear. Something quiet and private that she didn’t want to share with anyone else. She’d connected with him in an invisible, chemical way that had sent a tingle down her spine— unrelated to pain for once. It didn’t mean anything. But the sheer coincidence of it made the hairs rise on the back of her neck.

Of course, it could have been something to do with the fact that he’d kissed her as well. And given her a hug. If she was honest with herself, she knew he found her attractive. It was obvious in the way he looked at her, and all the classic signs of attraction were there—touching her “accidentally”, brushing her arm or her hand as they spoke, leaning toward her when he smiled, and she was pretty sure she’d caught him looking down her blouse when she bent forward one day. Although that could probably be said of any heterosexual male.

Bearing in mind what Grace had said on the field as they watched him play rugby, she’d studied him after he kissed her, her fingers touching her lips absently as she’d watched the way a dimple appeared in his cheek when he laughed, and how kind his eyes were. When he’d hugged her, she’d breathed in his lemony aftershave and the hairs had risen all over her body as he brushed her back with gentle fingers. Her cheek had rested against firm muscle, and she’d been unable to stop thinking about how her heart had pounded when he’d pressed her lips to hers. He was so quiet and unassuming she’d overlooked how gorgeous he was.

But that was where it ended. Even if he was attracted to her, she wasn’t going to get involved. He wasn’t her usual type at all, and she wasn’t going to get embroiled in a quick fling no matter how long it had been since she’d had sex. The old Mia would have jumped on him double quick time without a thought of how it was going to pan out. The new Mia was more circumspect.

Still, she couldn’t see the harm in going to the museum with him. That was hardly going to end in an all-night orgy, and it was her birthday after all—she deserved some sort of treat. She loved museums and the thought of seeing the ancient Celtic manuscripts had genuinely given her a thrill, even though she knew most people would have nodded off at the mere thought of them.

In the end, the day couldn’t pass quickly enough, and she went home and ate her dinner with more eagerness than she’d experienced in a long time. Then she had to decide what to wear. What was suitable for an “appointment” at a museum on one’s birthday? She didn’t want to look as if she’d taken hours on her appearance as she would if she were going on a date. Equally she wanted to look slightly different from how she looked at work, although she couldn’t put her finger on why.

She changed outfits several times, but eventually settled on jeans with a pretty blouse the same colour as her eyes, and a casual black jacket she knew emphasised her slimmer-than-usual figure.

He knocked on the door at exactly five fifty p.m., and she knew she’d worn the right thing when a smile spread over his face as she opened the door.

“Hiya,” he said. “You look nice.”

“Thanks,” she said breezily, trying to quell the wave of pleasure that washed over her at his words. “So do you.”

It was true—for once he’d forgone his cords and, like her, wore jeans, which made him look ten years younger, and a tight All Blacks rugby shirt under his jacket that clung to eye-poppingly defined muscles. Where had they come from?

“No cords tonight?” she asked, beckoning him in as she went to look for her purse.

He followed her in and looked down at his pants. “You don’t like the jeans?”

She glanced over her shoulder wryly. “The jeans look great. Just commenting that you look different out of the Goodbye, Mr. Chips gear.”

“Good different or bad different?”

“Just…different.” She went to elaborate but stopped at the look on his face. “What?”

His gaze roamed slowly over the contents of the room. He looked vaguely alarmed. “Good Lord. I’d heard Wellington Library had been raided but I never suspected you were the culprit.”

She followed his gaze, seeing the room with new eyes. Books lined the shelves and were piled up on the coffee table. Further stacks stood beside the couch and spilled onto lines along the carpet. “I ran out of space in the bedroom,” she said defensively as she collected her purse from the kitchen counter. “And once Grace and Freya moved out, the books kind of spilled out into here. Grace bought me an iPad for my birthday in the vain hope that I’d transfer everything to digital.”

“You like to read.” He smiled.

“A bit.” She eyed him suspiciously. “I’ve amused you. Why?”

“Just the conundrum that is Mia Nicholls. I never know what I’m going to learn about you.”

She tucked the purse under her arm and frowned as she walked up to him. “Are you making fun of me?”

“Not at all.” He still seemed amused.

She was wearing a pair of Converses instead of her usual heels, and suddenly he seemed a lot taller than she was. And why had she not noticed before how broad his shoulders were?

What the hell was happening? She was sure a week or so ago he’d been a weedy nerd and yet now she realised how much he looked like Chris Hemsworth with glasses. He’d have made a great Thor. She sat next to him most days in the staff room, but here, in the peace and quiet of her living room, even standing two feet away from her, he seemed to be invading her space.

She glanced up and met his blue eyes. The look in them made her shiver. “Don’t even think about it,” she warned him before she could think better of it.

One eyebrow rose. “Think about what?”

“Kissing me again.”

The smile spread, curving his lips into a sexy smirk. “I wasn’t.”

“You were. I could tell.”

“Okay, I was thinking about it. I wouldn’t have done it, though.”

She cursed herself as disappointment swept through her. “Good. Because once was, you know, pleasant and all that, but twice would be…” She searched for the right word.

“Fun?” he suggested. “Blissful?”

She smiled. He was incorrigible. “I was going to say ‘overenthusiastic’.”

He laughed at that and cupped her face. “Don’t worry, Farrow. I won’t kiss you again unless you want me to.”

A zing of electricity shot through her. His hand was warm on her skin and his eyes sparkled. When was the last time a man had touched her like this?

He stroked her cheek with his thumb. “You must know I find you very attractive,” he said, his husky voice with its soft Irish lilt giving her goose bumps. “But you deserve better than a quick fling. I won’t make a move on you, Mia, don’t worry. But we can still have fun this evening, eh?”

“Sure.” Her mouth had gone dry. More than anything she wanted him to keep his hand there, but he lowered it slowly as if he was reluctant to stop touching her.

“Okay.” He smiled. “Come on, then. There are some fascinating manuscripts that I’m sure will prove just as exciting as kissing you.” The wry twist to his lips told her he was thinking exactly the opposite.

She followed him out of the house, heart pounding. There was no need for panic though, was there? He’d said I won’t kiss you again unless you want me to. And she didn’t want him to, so that was fine, everything was hunky-dory.

Except she did want him to, more than anything, and as she slid into the car next to him, it took all her self-restraint not to groan out loud at the thought of having to spend the whole evening with him and not ask him to press his lips to hers again.

Chapter Five

Colm drove to the museum trying to do his very best to speak in sentences, when inside his head the words kiss her, kiss her rattled around until he had to tighten his hands on the steering wheel to force himself not to reach across and pull her to him.

Why had he said that about finding her attractive? Clearly he’d embarrassed her because she’d turned an attractive shade of fuchsia and had made it perfectly obvious that she wasn’t interested.

Still, no harm done, really. He was pretty certain she’d known he liked her, and it was probably best to get it all out in the open, anyway. This way they could have a nice evening, maybe flirt a little, and know nothing was going to come out of it because they’d laid all their cards on the table to begin with.

Yeah, right. He was going to have to spend the evening tearing his eyes away and trying not to ogle her in the beautiful green blouse that was the exact same shade as her lovely eyes.

Sighing, he parked in the car park outside the museum and got out of the car quickly so he could walk around to help her out.

She looked up at him with amusement as he opened the car door and held out a hand. “I’m not an invalid, Baloney.”

“I’m being gentlemanly,” he explained, although he’d seen the way she winced when she’d lowered herself into the car seat and he’d known she was in pain.

“I didn’t know you knew the meaning of the word.”

“Ha ha.” He knew she was teasing him. She’d commented several times on the way he held doors open for her and had once offered her his chair in the staff room when she was late to arrive and there weren’t any seats left.

She slid her hand into his and he tightened his fingers as he pulled her to her feet. She bumped against him, and he put his hand on her hip to steady her.

“Okay?” He made sure she’d got her balance.

“Yes, thanks.” Once again she flushed fuchsia. He let her go, amused and puzzled at her embarrassment. He hadn’t seen her blush once in the nine months he’d known her—in fact he hadn’t thought her capable of embarrassment. From the karaoke incident to the time she walked out of the ladies’ with her skirt tucked in her panties, she’d only ever laughed when placed in situations like that and hadn’t seemed bothered at all.

He locked the car and they walked around the building to the side entrance where David had told him to go. He’d texted David earlier in the day asking if it was okay to bring Mia with him, and David had replied with Chick intrstd in history? np LOL!

As they turned the corner, he saw David sitting on the bench in front of the building, catching the rays of the late sun. David stood as they approached, and his gaze ran down Mia before flicking over to Colm, amused.

“Hiya,” Colm said, giving him a warning glare. “David, this is Mia—she works with me at the high school. Mia, this is David.”

“Hi,” Mia said, and they shook hands.

“Mia teaches history too,” Colm said.

“Cool.” David beckoned them toward the building. “It’s great to see someone else interested in the subject. Most people’s eyes glaze over whenever I start talking about ancient manuscripts.”

“It’s my birthday,” Mia said. “That shows you how keen I am.”

David laughed. “Going to a museum on your birthday! A girl after my own heart.” He smiled at her.

Colm felt a stab of jealousy. Which was ridiculous because David was happily married to Annabel, with baby Bella, and there was no way he’d ever look at another woman.

Mine! he wanted to yell. But of course she wasn’t, and so he held his tongue as David chatted to Mia while they entered the building and headed for the back rooms to the museum.

“How long have you two known each other?” Mia asked as they wound their way through the maze of corridors.

“We went to university together.” David spoke over his shoulder as they walked. “My father’s Irish and I grew up there, but after I finished university they moved out here so my mum could look after her parents, and I decided to go with them.”

“Good job he did or he wouldn’t have met his wife,” Colm said.

David grinned at him, obviously well aware he was pointing out to Mia that he was married.

They reached the door to the museum proper and David walked through. Colm held it open for Mia. “After you.”

“Thanks.” She had to pass close to him to slip into the room. She glanced up at him as she did so, and he caught his breath as their gazes met. Although he didn’t particularly like skinny women, having lost weight suited her, and he could see how her jeans hung on her hips. Without her heels, she was quite a bit shorter than he was. If he wanted to kiss her, he’d have to bend his head to lower his lips to hers…

She dropped her gaze and moved past him, and he cleared his throat and let the door swing shut behind him. Jeez. He had to stop thinking about kissing her for five minutes.

Concentrate on the manuscripts, he told himself. For fuck’s sake.

David led them through to the room where the manuscripts were going to be displayed. The room wasn’t yet open to the public, but the books had been placed in special glass cabinets ready for viewing.

“I’m guessing they’re kept in special conditions,” Mia commented.

“Yes.” David led the way over to a large, glass-topped table. “Manuscripts are vulnerable to things like heat, insects, water, fungus, dust and fire. And people, obviously, which is why they have to be locked away. We treat them with insecticides and clean them using special solvents. Sometimes we oil the leaves to make them flexible, and then they’re polished with a soft, dry cloth.”

“This one’s from Lindisfarne,” Colm told her, recognising the distinct lettering. “You know about Holy Island, right?”

“That’s the island off Northumbria in England, isn’t it?” Mia bent over the cabinet to examine the manuscript. “Where the Vikings invaded. Jeez, to think they nearly destroyed these. How terrible—they are so amazing.”

“Hmm.” The manuscripts were breathtaking—but Colm couldn’t take his eyes off the woman in front of him. With the soft lighting casting shadows on her cheeks from her eyelashes, her cheeks a faint pink and her lips a deep rose, Mia was probably the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

David tipped his head at him, and Colm caught him smirking. As Mia turned away to look at another book, David mimed taking her in his arms and kissing her. Colm gave him the finger and followed her over.

“Tell me about these,” she said. “They look different from the Lindisfarne ones.”

“They’re from a slightly later period, from Dublin. You can see the gold leaf in the margins there…” Ignoring David, Colm leaned beside her and told her what he could remember about the illustrated books.

He gradually relaxed once he realised she was genuinely enjoying herself and appeared to love the manuscripts as much as he did. David left him to give her a tour of the whole collection, and they spent a pleasant hour talking about preservation techniques and the ideal atmospheric conditions to house ancient artefacts.

“Wow,” he said as the hour drew to a close. “You’re almost as nerdy as I am.”

“Almost.” She smiled as David reappeared with an armful of books about the manuscripts that she’d asked to borrow. “Thank you so much for the opportunity to see these. I really appreciate it.”

“You’re very welcome, and it was great to meet you.”

Colm shook hands with him and took the books for her. “Thanks, mate.”

“No worries.” David winked at him.

Colm and Mia left by the side door. Outside, the sun was sinking gradually below the horizon and Lambton Quay was flooded with pink and orange.

Mia smiled. “That was fun. Thanks.”

He hesitated. This wasn’t supposed to be a date, but he didn’t want the evening to end. “Yeah, I’m glad you came.” He looked across at Mac’s Brewery. “Look, do you fancy a quick drink before I take you home? Say no, of course, if you’d rather go, but—”

“I’d love a drink,” she said quickly.

He grinned. “Come on, then.”

He bought them each a Mac’s Gold and they went over to one of the outside tables. He plonked the books on a chair and took the seat next to her.

“Cheers,” he said, clinking his bottle against hers. “Happy birthday.”

“Yeah.” She didn’t seem enthusiastic. It was as if her spirits were sinking along with the sun.

He sipped his beer and wondered why she was single as she began to talk about the monasteries in Britain. They chatted for a while about this and that, but eventually he had to ask, “I would have thought you’d have been out with a boyfriend tonight.”

Her lips twisted. “No boyfriend. Haven’t had a date for…” She sighed heavily. “Eight months now.”

“That’s a positive crime.”

Real humour curved her lips then. “You’re such a flirt.”

“Yeah. I know.” But only where you’re concerned.

She drank her beer, surveying him curiously. “Why did you break up with your girlfriend?”

How did she know about Juliet? “She moved to Christchurch.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Oh. That’s a shame. Were you broken hearted?”

He laughed. “No, not really. It was a casual relationship.” Unable to help himself, he added mischievously, “Just sex.”

“Ah.” Her eyes twinkled. “I see.”

He leaned back in his chair and twirled his beer in his fingers, immediately regretting the words. He didn’t want her to think he was that sort of guy. “No, I’m being unfair—I’m not really that callous. Juliet was nice. We got on well because we didn’t have high expectations of each other. I miss her, but like a friend, you know? It was never going to be anything other than a brief fling, and we both knew it.”

“So you don’t have a special someone back in Ireland?”

“No.”

She nodded and looked across the sea. He tried to suppress a sigh as she tipped back her head to drink the beer, exposing her long, pale throat. He wanted to plant kisses along that skin, cover her lips with his own.

“So why’d you split up from your last boyfriend?” he asked.

She glanced at him. Laughter danced in her eyes. “I can’t tell you.”

“Well, now you’ve got to, else I’ll be lying awake coming up with weird and wonderful reasons.”

She rubbed her nose. “Actually, I’m a bit embarrassed.”

“You? Never.”

“It makes me seem shallow.”

“I once broke up with a girl because she couldn’t spell ‘archaeology’. Does that help?”

She giggled. “Not really.” He raised his eyebrows and she sighed with resignation. “Oh all right. Enough of the third degree.” She sipped her beer. “He had trouble…” She tipped her head as she thought how to phrase it.

“Getting it up?” he suggested.

“Well, yes, as you mention it.” She seemed amused at his outspokenness. “In itself it’s not a problem. I mean I know it happens to all men at some point, yada yada, and I’m not unsympathetic. But I think the root problem was that he just wasn’t interested. In sex, I mean. Or in me,” she added sadly. “I wasn’t sure which.” She sighed and took a swallow of beer.

“That’s crazy.” He didn’t have to feign his bewilderment. “The guy got you naked and couldn’t get a hard-on? Seriously, he needs to see a doctor.”

She coughed into her bottle and wiped her mouth delicately. “Nicely put.”

“I’m serious.”

“I can tell.” Her eyes took on an impish glint. “So you don’t think you’d have the same problem?”

He didn’t like to say that his erection was currently trying to break the zipper on his pants at the thought of getting her into bed. “Er, no. I can safely say that would not be an issue.” He smiled as she giggled. She was enjoying flirting with him.

He sipped his beer and surveyed her with similar playfulness. “So you like sex, then?”

“God, yes.” Her reply was so heartfelt it made him laugh. She grinned. “Sorry, was that a bit eager?”

“Mia, a woman can never be too eager for sex.”

“Not every guy has that opinion. I’ve been told I can be a bit…um…overenthusiastic.” The slip of her smile told him she wasn’t lying.

Now he was genuinely puzzled. “What the hell? Mia, seriously, what sort of freaks have you been dating?”

She twirled her bottle absently as her gaze settled on his mouth. “You don’t mind your women being enthusiastic in bed?”

“Honey, I encourage it.”

“So you like to be…dominated, then?” She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue.

His pulse sped up as if he’d drunk too much coffee. He thought he knew where she was going with that question. “Oh, I wouldn’t go that far. Usually I prefer to do the tying up.”

Instinctively he knew he’d said the right thing. Her eyes darkened with desire, her gaze coming back to his. He held it long enough to let her know he was serious.

Oh, he knew what she wanted all right. A man who wasn’t afraid of a woman showing him what she wanted in the bedroom, but who wasn’t going to let her have it all her own way. What a shame he’d never get a chance to show her he was just what she was looking for.

“Oh,” she said faintly, and blinked. Her eyes glassed over as if she were imagining various scenarios involving being tied up.

With similar thoughts passing through his mind, he sighed and finished off his beer. Now he was really going to have trouble getting to sleep.

Chapter Six

For about the tenth time that evening, Mia’s cheeks warmed. She hadn’t blushed so much for years. What was it with this guy? He was hardly the type to sweep her off her feet and wow her with his movie-star charm and good looks. But every time he’d come near her, brushed her arm or stood behind her, barely touching, in the museum, her whole body had burned.

And now here she was talking sex with him, for God’s sake. And not just vanilla sex—kinky, bondage-style sex. I prefer to do the tying up. Oh dear Lord. If he carried on like that, she’d be close to pushing him onto the tiles and doing him there and then.

He was watching her, his expression half-amused, half-turned on, the desire in his eyes giving her goose bumps. She cleared her throat and touched the back of her hand to her forehead. Maybe she was coming down with something.

“Are you all right?” he asked. Ye Gods, his beautiful Irish accent made her tingle. Like Colin Farrell and Liam Neeson rolled into one.

“I’m sorry,” she apologised. “A thirty-year-old woman shouldn’t behave like this. I should be learning how to crochet and bake Victoria sponges.”

He grinned. “And I should be putting up shelves and tinkering with car engines, I suppose.”

She laughed. “Yeah.”

“I’d rather talk sex, though.” He tipped his head. “Well, or have it.”

She met his gaze. “Mm.”

As fun as it was, though, it really wasn’t good to have this sort of conversation. She didn’t want him to get the wrong idea and think she was interested, nor did she want him to accuse her of being a prick-tease. Besides which, it was inappropriate talking about tying up one’s work colleague. She’d never be able to look at him across the history department table again without thinking of being handcuffed to the bed.

Oh dear. Now she was positively aching for an orgasm.

She finished off her beer. “I’d better get going.” Before she said something really inappropriate, like oh my God, please, just take me now.

He chuckled and stood to collect her books. Together they walked down the quay to where he’d parked the car.

She slid into her seat, her spirits sinking a little at the thought of returning home.

“Had a nice evening?” he asked as if he’d read her thoughts, sitting beside her and starting the engine.

“Yes, thank you.” She cleared her throat as he looked over his shoulder to reverse. “Um, I’m sorry about the inappropriate topic of conversation.”

“Monasteries are very controversial,” he agreed.

She stuck her tongue out at him. “You know what I mean.”

He laughed and put the car in drive before heading down the road. “Don’t worry about it. It was fun. We’re both grown-ups, Mia. We can chat and have fun without it turning into anything more serious.”

She remembered that he’d told her he’d dated his last girlfriend on a casual basis, mainly for sex. Was it possible to do that? Go out with someone knowing it was never going to get more serious? She always approached every relationship with the expectation that it might develop into something more. Otherwise what was the point?

But then again, maybe it would be nice to not have the pressure of wondering what the future held or thinking about the past, to just concentrate on the present and lose herself in someone else.

Unbidden, the memory of the boy in the car flashed through her mind, and she turned her gaze out of the window and watched the houses flash by. She didn’t deserve to forget the past. She wore it constantly, like a necklace, as a reminder of what she’d done.

Colm didn’t speak again while they travelled the last few minutes to her house, as if he’d sensed her mood. When they arrived, he collected her books for her and followed her up to the front door. She opened it and went inside, and he followed her in.

“Where shall I put these? Is there some sort of order here I’m not seeing?” He looked vaguely around the room.

She shook her head and switched on a couple of lamps, casting a golden glow over the darkening room. “Not really. On the coffee table, I suppose. That’s my current reading section.”

He stared at the pile of twenty or so books already on it. “You obviously have a lot of spare time.”

“I don’t get out much nowadays.”

He bent, put the books on the table and picked up a bookmark. It was a leather one her parents had bought her when she’d first graduated, with a picture of the Stone Store in Kerikeri stamped on it. She used it all the time when reading.

“Nice,” he said.

“Mm.” She smiled, but weariness washed over her. Her shoulders ached, and for some reason she felt near to tears. It had been a long while since she’d had a man in the house, and she liked Colm. He was pleasant and funny, charming and sexy, and he seemed to care about her, which warmed her from the inside out. She would have liked to ask him to stay longer, but again she didn’t want him to get the wrong idea. Right now she just wanted friendship, or maybe to cuddle up with someone and watch TV. Human contact. She was lonely.

He turned the bookmark over in his fingers, his gaze meeting hers. “Don’t be down, not on your birthday.”

“I’m not down,” she said as a halfhearted protest, puzzled that he’d picked up on her mood.

He gave her a look that told her he didn’t believe her, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he said, “I suppose I should go.”

“Yes,” she said reluctantly.

He scratched the back of his neck. “The thing is, I’ve had a great evening, and it’s only seven thirty, and it seems a shame to go home now.”

Hope flared inside her, but she kept it down firmly. “Colm, look, I know I flirted with you, and I’m sorry about that, because I’m really not in the market at the moment for anything more serious.”

He looked surprisingly unaffected by that. “Yeah, I know. I just wondered if you wanted a cup of coffee or something. Maybe watch a movie before you go to bed.” He indicated her row of DVDs.

She couldn’t stop the smile that broke out on her face. “Really?”

He shrugged. “I’ll only go home and do the same on my own.” He smiled. “I like being with you. We can be friends, can’t we?”

“I suppose.” Happiness flooded her. “Okay. I’ll go put the kettle on. You choose a movie.”

She went into the kitchen and made them each a cup of coffee, then brought the cups into the living room and squeezed them onto the table in between the books. He was still standing in front of the DVD shelf, but he had a case in his hand, and she pointed to it. “What did you decide on?”

He showed her. It was one of the later series of Doctor Who.

Her eyebrows rose. “Really?”

“I love science fiction. And I haven’t seen this series.”

“Excellent. Come on, then.”

She turned the TV on and he inserted the DVD in the player. Then they sat together on the sofa. After moving some of the books, they put their feet on the table.

He was only about six inches away from her, but she fancied she could feel the heat from his body. It was strangely comforting. The subtle smell of his aftershave mingled with the warm aroma of the coffee, and she felt oddly at ease, relaxed and contented sitting there with him as Matt Smith began his travels in the TARDIS.

In the end they watched three episodes, stopping halfway through for another coffee and a biscuit, talking about their favourite movies and quoting lines from The Lord of the Rings and Gladiator and The Thing. And gradually they closed the six inches between them until their arms touched.

It was only as it drew late and the third episode finished that Colm sighed and stood. “I guess I should be going, let you get some sleep.”

The happiness that had buoyed her through the last few hours dissipated, and once again depression settled over her as she stood. “I suppose.”

“I’ve had a great evening,” he said, smiling.

“Me too.”

He had such a lovely smile. Two small dimples appeared in his cheeks, and his teeth were straight and white. Why had she never noticed before how gorgeous he was?

“Happy birthday, Mia,” he said softly.

She smiled back. “Thank you for making it special.”

He rolled his eyes. “By showing you twelve-hundred-year-old manuscripts and watching Doctor Who? Jeez, I really know how to show a girl a good time.”

She laughed. “I enjoyed it anyway.”

He collected his coat from the coat hook by the door. “I’ll see you Monday.”

“Yeah.”

He turned to go.

“Colm?”

He turned back. “Yes?”

She bit her lip. “It seems a terribly tarty thing to ask…”

His lips started to curve. “Okay…”

“But we’re friends, right?”

“Of course.”

“In that case, with no hidden agendas or anything and because it’s my birthday and I’m sad…”

His brow furrowed. “Yes?”

“Kiss me good night?”

Chapter Seven

His expression softened. He met her gaze thoughtfully for a moment.

Fuck. What a stupid thing to say. In spite of the fact that they’d talked about it earlier, she was too tired and in pain to want sex now. She’d spoken on impulse, desperate for…what? Some comfort, maybe. But he was either going to laugh and peck her on the cheek, or think she was asking him to bed and start walking to her bedroom.

To her surprise, though, he did neither. He hooked his jacket back on the peg, took off his glasses and slid them into his pocket. Then he placed his hands on her hips and turned her so her back was against the wall.

“Crap,” she said, heart pounding, “I didn’t mean—”

“Ssh,” he said and cupped her face with his hands.

Her words faded away as the warmth from his touch seeped into her skin. His eyes—gorgeous without the glasses—were very gentle, and his gaze caressed her face for a moment as his thumbs brushed her cheeks, sending skitters of sensation running down her spine.

He moved a little closer until his body was just brushing hers, his hands sliding into her hair, and she rested her palms on his chest.

Then he bent his head and kissed her.

She closed her eyes when he pressed his lips to hers. I shouldn’t…flashed through her mind, but she pushed the thought away and gave herself over to the sensation of being intimate with another human being. It’s my birthday, she thought, somewhat fiercely. For once she wanted something positive in her life—if only for a few seconds.

But it seemed that now he had her in his arms, Colm wasn’t going to let her get away with a quick peck. His mouth moved across hers slowly, lips pressing, teeth grazing, and when his tongue stroked across her bottom lip and she inhaled with pleasure, he took the opportunity of her open mouth to brush his tongue against hers and deepen the kiss.

Desire rushed through her, and she groaned. In response, his arms slid around her and tightened, not enough to hurt, but enough to pull her against him and let her know just how turned on he was and how much he wanted her. She moved her hands up to touch his face, her fingers scratching against his stubble, and then she slipped them into his thick brown hair, enjoying his answering shudder.

One of his hands slid into the middle of her back to hold her against him, but it didn’t descend any lower and grope her butt, nor did he grab her breasts or do anything inappropriate. Which she was kind of disappointed about, because her nipples throbbed as she raised herself on tiptoes so the impressive bulge in his pants sank gratifyingly into her soft mound, and her breasts hungered for his large hands to squeeze them.

But instead of taking advantage, he stroked her back and waist, ran his fingers lightly along her rib cage, brushed the nape of her neck and sent shivers running through her. He tasted sweet and smelled heavenly, like essence of man, overtaking her senses with an overwhelming intensity she hadn’t expected.

It was possibly the nicest, politest, friendliest, and yet somehow most erotic kiss she’d ever had, and when he finally pulled away, she was breathless with longing and aching with need.

He stepped back and ran a hand through his hair, took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Wow.”

“Yeah,” she said vehemently. “My God, you kiss like a king.”

He chuckled at that. “And you like a very sexy princess.” Reaching out, he brushed the back of his fingers against her cheek. “Happy birthday, Mia.”

“Thank you. That was the best present I received today.” The surprising thing was that she meant it. When she’d asked him to kiss her, she’d wondered if he’d deliver a half-arsed snog that would hopefully prove to her she’d somehow gone mysteriously astray in thinking of him in a sexual context.

But the opposite had happened. He hadn’t been clumsy and knocked her teeth or bumped noses. Instead, he’d kissed her expertly with just the right amount of forcefulness, refusing to let her go until he was ready, and setting her alight with a burn of passion she hadn’t expected or known how to react to.

Clearly, Colm the Celt was a god in the bedroom.

Oh dear. How inconvenient.

He put his glasses back on and took his coat from the hook again, and gave her one last, impish smile. “See you Monday.”

“Bye.”

And then he was gone.

She shut the door behind him. Perhaps she should have asked him to stay.

No, she shouldn’t.

Should she?

She groaned, went into the living room and flopped onto the sofa, wincing as pain stabbed through her shoulders. For a moment she’d forgotten about it, which was a miracle in itself. He’d proved a welcome distraction when she’d needed some light entertainment and comfort, and for that she would be forever grateful.

But he was going back to Ireland at the end of the year—there was no way an affair with him could end happily. It was best if she kept her distance.

The idea was sound. Unfortunately, for the rest of the evening—and most of the following week—she’d be unable to stop thinking of the feel of his lips on hers and the rather remarkable erection he’d pressed against her.

“He what?”

In spite of the fact that she was over seven thousand miles away in South America, Freya’s voice came through the telephone clear as a very loud bell.

“Kissed me,” Mia said, beginning to wonder if she’d done the right thing telling Freya about it. It was Sunday morning, and she sat on a stool at the breakfast bar in the kitchen. “To, you know, say happy birthday and that.”

“Happy birthday. With tongues?”

“Um, yeah.”

“Jeez.”

Mia could almost hear the grin that accompanied Freya’s words. “It was just a bit of fun,” she protested. “We’d been watching Doctor Who and I felt all comfortable and relaxed.”

“Doctor…what? How…? Look, never mind. The important thing is that lips met.”

“It didn’t mean anything.”

“Yeah. That’s what Grace said about Ash, and that’s what I said about Nate. And look at both of us.”

Mia rolled her eyes. “Yes but both of you slept with your fellas. Colm and I just kissed.”

“Same principle.”

“It’s absolutely not the same principle at all. A snog isn’t the same as bumping uglies in the slightest.”

“You don’t want to sleep with him?”

“No. No! Okay, a little bit.”

Freya snorted. “Thought so. He’s pretty cute.” She’d met Colm before she left with Nate on their round-the-world trip.

“He’s very nice,” Mia accepted.

“If by that bland word you mean sex-on-legs, then yes.”

“No, I don’t fancy him really.”

“Mia, what a load of tosh, of course you fancy him. If you didn’t fancy him we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

Mia sighed. She did fancy him—that was part of the problem. She hadn’t expected to.

“It doesn’t have to be complicated,” Freya said, as if she’d read her thoughts. “You could just have sex.”

Now Mia was confused. “What? I just told you it didn’t mean anything and you disagreed.”

“I…well, I meant…look, don’t over-think it.”

“I’m really not. Colm sexy. Me likey. That’s about as complicated as it gets.”

Freya sighed. “So what’s the problem?”

“He’s going back to Ireland at Christmas.”

“It’s only October.”

“Yes but…Freya, are you being purposefully dense? I don’t want to get involved if he’s going to bail in two months’ time.”

The phone fell silent after that.

“Freya?”

“Yeah, I’m still here. Sorry, I don’t know what to say. Except, well, Ireland’s only twenty-four hours away. It’s not the other end of the universe.”

“I went out with Michael in Dunedin,” Mia pointed out. “It took two hours to fly to there, and that was a nightmare. I couldn’t carry on a relationship from the other side of the world.”

“That wasn’t quite what I was suggesting,” Freya said, sounding amused. “Look, you like the guy, he fancies you—why don’t you just take the opportunity of some free sex before he goes? You won’t fall for him if you know the relationship has a use-by date.”

“Don’t I seem to remember you telling me those very words when you had sex with Nate?”

“Um, yeah. Just don’t go into Grace’s kitchen with him, that’s all I’m going to say.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” Freya sighed. “I’ve got to go. The bus has just pulled up.”

Mia cursed. “I’m so sorry. There’s Nate spiriting you all over the world and taking you up the Amazon and I’m waffling about Doctor Who.”

“Taking me up the…what?” Freya repeated the phrase away from the phone before returning. “Nate wants to know if that’s prison slang.” She giggled.

“Tell him not to be so rude,” Mia scolded, grinning. She could just imagine what the inimitable Nate was whispering in his girlfriend’s ear.

“He wants to know if you’d like him to send some healing yet?” Freya said.

Mia rolled her eyes. “Bye, Freya. Take care. Don’t get eaten by any crocodiles.” She hung up.

She dialled Grace and Ash’s number.

Ash answered. “Hello?”

Mia’s eyebrows rose. Ash usually had appointments on Sunday mornings and Grace almost always answered the phone. “Hey, it’s me. Where’s Gracie?”

“Hey, Mia. She’s still in bed.”

Alarm shot through her. “Is she okay?”

“Yes, fine.” His words couldn’t hide the concern in his voice, though. “I made her lie in this morning. She needed a bit of extra rest, that’s all.”

“What’s happened?”

He sighed. “We had an intruder last night. The alarm went off and we found a window smashed. Nothing seems to have been taken or anything, but I’m concerned the security guards didn’t spot anyone.”

An icy-cold finger slid down Mia’s spine. “Was Grace hurt?”

“No, no. Just a bit shaken up.”

“Can I talk to her?”

“Of course. Hold on.”

Mia nibbled her nails and waited for Ash to walk through to the bedroom with the phone. There was a quick, muffled conversation and then he handed the phone to Grace.

“Hey,” Grace said.

“Hey, sweetie. You okay?”

“Fine!” The word was so bright and breezy that Mia knew she was fibbing.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Nope.” Grace mumbled something else out of earshot. There was the sound of a door shutting, and then she sighed. “It’s okay, he’s gone.”

“Is he fussing?”

“You wouldn’t believe. He practically tied me to the bed.”

“And you’re complaining?”

“Ha ha. He’s driving me crazy.”

“He’s concerned.”

“Yeah.” Grace fell silent for a moment.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Mia asked softly.

Grace cleared her throat. “I was a bit shaken to think the nutjob had got so close to us. I mean, at school, or in town, it doesn’t seem personal, but here… I just freaked a bit that she might have got in the house. I may have yelled a rude word or two.”

“Jeez, it must have been bad.” Grace hardly ever swore.

Grace chuckled. “Come on, cheer me up. Distract me. Tell me about your love life.”

“What love life?”

“Deny it all you like. The Irishman’s going to have you, you know. He had that look.”

Mia blew a raspberry. “What look? There was no look.”

“That ‘I’m going to have her come hell or high water’ look. It was definitely there. I’d watch out if I were you.”

“I told you, he said, ‘You deserve more than a quick fling’.”

Grace laughed. “Yeah, that’ll work. Have you made up your mind?”

“About what?” Mia was growing exasperated at her friends’ refusal to admit nothing was going to happen.

“Going on the course.”

“Ah…” Mia and Colm were booked on a history department course in Auckland on Thursday. They were due to fly up and stay overnight in a motel. Separate rooms, of course, but even so… The temptation made Mia nervous. “I might pretend to be sick.”

“Chicken.”

“I’m not a chicken, I’m…”

“Frustrated?”

“No…”

“A frustrated, aging spinster who’s gagging for it?”

“Grace!” Mia couldn’t help laughing. “You are wicked.”

“Deny it.”

“Which bit?”

“There’s a bit that isn’t true?”

Even though Grace couldn’t see her, Mia stuck her tongue out. “I’m going now.”

“See you tomorrow.”

“I wish you’d start your maternity leave now,” Mia complained.

“Oh God, don’t you start. I need the distraction.”

Mia said goodbye and hung up. She made a cup of coffee and sipped it as she thought over Grace’s words. She could understand the need for distraction. It was strange how her brain refused to think about anything but the sexy Celt and the way his hands had pulled her tightly to him as he kissed her senseless…

Damn it.

Chapter Eight

Colm knew Mia was having a bad day before they even got on the plane.

As soon as he picked up her travel bag to place it in the taxi, the wave of frustration, helplessness and pain she was obviously feeling rolled over him.

He cursed under his breath and squeezed his own bag next to hers. Why did he find it so difficult to keep his defences up around her? He didn’t like receiving this sort of emotional information about friends and family. It made him uncomfortable, and he often ended up putting his foot in it when he commented on how they were feeling and they grew suspicious, as if he was ferreting around in their garbage bins or something.

He’d worked hard to build his psychic barriers so this kind of thing didn’t happen, but for some reason they seemed to disappear around this girl. Her thoughts and emotions jumped out at him whenever he held an object belonging to her. He’d just have to stop picking them up. But that was difficult when he’d been brought up to be polite.

He slid into the back of the taxi next to her and directed the driver to the airport. Then he turned his attention to Mia.

She sat looking out of the window, her hands in her lap. Her spine was stiff, and she had fine lines around her eyes.

They’d hardly spoken over the few days since he’d kissed her on her birthday. School had been busy, and he suspected she was avoiding him. That disappointed him—he’d kissed her because she’d asked him to, and he’d enjoyed it, but he’d made sure at the time that he didn’t mention taking it further. Had she wanted him to? Was that why she was annoyed with him? Or had it just embarrassed her and now she wished it had never happened?

He’d half expected her to announce she’d decided not to go on the course, but when he’d mentioned to her about getting a taxi, she’d agreed to share and had obviously decided to go. Now, however, he got the impression she was regretting it.

Sadness flooded him. He wasn’t expecting their relationship to develop. But he had hoped they could continue the friendship they’d begun.

“You okay?” he asked. “Are you in pain?”

She turned surprised eyes on him and smiled wryly. “How do you always seem to know what I’m feeling?”

“Male intuition,” he said. “Plus you said ‘ouch’ when you got into the taxi.”

She sighed. “It’s not a good day. I kind of wish I’d decided not to go.” Her gaze flicked to his before sliding away. Yes, she was regretting kissing him. Damn it.

“It’s not too late to take you back home,” he said gently. “Although that would be a shame. I enjoy spending time with you, and I’d hoped we could be good friends.”

Her large green eyes came back to his. This time a real smile flickered on her lips. “We did seem to get on well.”

“Doctor Who brought us together.”

She laughed. “Yes. Good old Matt Smith.”

“I have a key ring of the TARDIS, you know.”

Her eyebrows rose. “You’re kidding. Show me.”

He did so, and her mood seemed to lift as they chatted about this and that until they reached the airport. Once there, however, he watched her get out of the car and move around the airport stiffly, clearly still in pain. They only had twenty minutes to wait, and he suggested she take some painkillers, but he wasn’t surprised when she refused.

They boarded the plane and she squeezed into the seat next to him. The flight was only an hour, but even before the plane took off, he knew she was uncomfortable. Her face had grown pale, and although she didn’t say anything, the way she shifted frequently proved to him that her back was getting worse.

So he asked the flight attendant for a cushion for her, got her some water, read her a bit from his book to take her mind off it, and tried to make her laugh. And when she dozed off, her head slipping onto his shoulder, he sat as still as he could so she could have fifteen minutes of peace and hopefully relax before their course started.

Unfortunately, though, things only got worse as the day went on. They found their way to the training complex easily enough and she joined him for the seminars, but the chairs were basic and hard, and again he went and found her a couple of cushions, even though she scolded him for fussing around her.

The course packed in a lot of information and the day was long, and by the time they’d finished and made their way to the motel, he could see she was exhausted. He checked in at reception and then carried her bag to her room for her, which was next to his. He opened the door and took her bag inside, and watched as she sank down gingerly onto the mattress.

“I was going to ask if you’d like to join me for some dinner,” he said, “but I’m guessing you’re going straight to bed.”

“I’ll just sit here for a bit,” she said, face still white. “I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep for a while.”

That did it. The thought of her being in continual pain was too much to bear.

“Right.” He retrieved her handbag and tipped it up, scattering the contents on the bed.

“What the…” She stared at him, incensed, and made a grab for the handbag, but he moved it out of the way. “What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded.

He ferreted around amongst the lipsticks, tissues and tampons and found what he’d suspected she’d carried—a tube of painkillers. He read the label, undid the lid, tipped two onto his palm, then took a bottle of water from the fridge.

He held them out to her. “Take them.”

“No,” she snapped. “Fuck off. Who do you think you are?”

“Mia,” he said gently, “you’re breaking my heart. Please. Just for tonight.”

She met his gaze. As quickly as if someone had turned down a dial, her anger faded. Her eyes shone, and then a tear tipped over her lashes and ran down her cheek.

Fighting the urge to hug her, he put the pills and the bottle in her hand and watched her take them. Relieved she’d finally complied, he went into the bathroom and rummaged in her washbag.

“Clearly we have no secrets,” she complained, sniffing as she wiped away her tears.

He pulled out a small bottle of body lotion. That would have to do. “Not today,” he said, returning with the lotion and a towel. “Take off your blouse.”

She stared at him. “I beg your pardon?”

“I’m going to massage your back. I want to help.”

“By getting me naked,” she said flatly.

“That just happens to be an added bonus.” He sighed as she rolled her eyes. “Seriously, Mia, we’re both grown-ups, and I can restrain myself when I have to. Take off your top and bra and lie on your front.” He turned away, taking the opportunity to remove his watch and toe off his shoes.

“Colm…”

“I trained as a sports physio before I took my history degree. I know what I’m doing.”

“You really think I’m going to strip off and let you rub lotion all over me?”

He turned back, hands on hips. “Stop making it sound sexy. Pain isn’t sexy. Obviously I’d love to get down and dirty with you—I’ve barely thought about anything else since I watched you walk into the staff room at the beginning of the year. But I decided months ago that you deserve more than a fling, and that’s really not what’s on my mind right now.”

It was a half truth—in spite of her pain and her tears she still looked sexy enough to make his heart beat faster than usual at the thought that he was alone with her in a room with a bed. But he really did want to help her feel better. “I’m offering you a massage,” he clarified. “Nothing more.”

She blinked. “You want to get down and dirty? With me?”

He snorted. She doubted that? “Of course I do.”

“Oh.” She looked completely flummoxed and, if he wasn’t mistaken, rather hopeful.

His heart beat even faster. She was interested in him? Of course she’d asked him to kiss her on her birthday so he’d guessed the sight of him didn’t make her want to vomit, but he hadn’t thought she’d be interested in taking it any further.

And neither are you, he reminded himself. She’s in pain, remember? Maybe later. He’d have to wait and see.

He sighed. “But even more than that, I want you to feel better. Just for one night, eh? You can go back to being a martyr tomorrow.” He held her gaze, letting her know he wasn’t happy with her self-flagellation.

She gave a small nod and he turned away.

There was a moment of silence. Then he heard the sounds of clothing being removed and the squeak of the bed as she shifted.

“Are you ready?” he asked when it went quiet again.

“Yes,” she said softly.

He turned to see her lying on her front, her elbows squeezed against her side, face on the pillow as she looked over her shoulder at him with large eyes. She still wore her jeans, but her slender, naked back shone pale in the light from the lamp by the bed. The long scar across her shoulder blades was clearly visible.

He reached out and brushed it gently. “Is it painful to touch?”

“No, not really,” she said quietly. “It was only a scratch. It’s more of a muscular thing. They’ve told me it will get better with time, although I haven’t noticed any improvement yet.”

He took off his tie and rolled up his shirt sleeves, then climbed onto the bed with the lotion. “Taking anti-inflammatories would help. And massage is good for relaxing the joints and stretching the muscles.” He poured a little lotion onto his hands. “I’ll be as gentle as I can, but tell me if it’s uncomfortable.”

“Okay.” She turned her face away from him.

He warmed the lotion, then smoothed it down her back from shoulder blade to hip. Her skin was cool, and he tingled from head to toe at the thought that he finally had his hands on her, but he gave his libido a stern talking-to and concentrated on her muscles. Trapezius, latissimus dorsi, multifidus spinae. All linking the bones of her neck, shoulders and spine.

Unsure how much pressure she would be able to bear, he concentrated initially on gentle, soothing strokes to warm the muscles, brushing up over her shoulders and smoothing circular patterns down either side of her back, avoiding her spine.

For the first few minutes she was tense, but as she obviously realised he knew what he was doing, she loosened her shoulders and relaxed into it, bringing her arms up underneath the pillow and exposing the pale skin on either side of the rib cage. He could just see the swell of her breast, soft and creamy white against the dark duvet.

Concentrate, Molony. He forced his gaze back to her shoulders and gritted his teeth. First he had to take away the pain. Then maybe he could let his mind turn to other things.

As her muscles warmed, he began to work them harder, using pressure to knead away the knots and lumps that had formed and losing himself in the task as his hands moved automatically, massaging, squeezing and manipulating until she felt like warm dough in his hands.

He worked for twenty minutes, and then went back to long, gentle, soothing strokes meant to relax. Finally, he sat back and wiped his hands on the towel.

Mia didn’t move. Her rib cage rose and fell slowly, and her cheeks had a pink flush to them for the first time that day.

She was asleep.

Chapter Nine

When she awoke, the only light came from the lamp beside the bed, which cast the room in a warm, golden glow.

Mia blinked, realised where she was, and went to push herself up onto her elbows. At the last minute, though, she turned her head and saw Colm stretched out beside her, reading.

He looked over as she moved, and smiled. “Hey, you.”

“Hey.” She smiled back shyly. He’d covered her over with the duvet, but it didn’t change the fact that she was naked from the waist up. “How long have I been asleep?”

He looked at the clock on the wall. “Just over an hour.”

“I’m sorry. You should have gone back to your own room.”

“I wanted to make sure you were feeling okay when you woke up.”

Holding the duvet to her breasts, she pushed herself to a sitting position and rolled her shoulders. Miraculously, her spine was almost free of pain, and her muscles felt loose and relaxed. “Oh, gosh, that feels good.”

“Magic fingers.” He wiggled them and smiled.

She brought up her knees and clasped her arms around them, resting her cheek on her knees as she surveyed him. He’d taken off his glasses to read, and his hair was ruffled as if he’d run his hand through it several times. He’d opened a few buttons at the top of his shirt, and she could see a sprinkling of light brown hair on his chest. He looked good enough to eat, and his sexy smile wasn’t helping matters.

Talking of eating… Her stomach rumbled and she glanced at the table in the small kitchenette, on which lay a collection of small boxes. “What’s that?”

“Chinese,” he said. “I nipped out. I thought you might be hungry.”

“I’m starving.”

He sat up. “Are you happy to eat together?”

She smiled. “Of course.” She still couldn’t believe he’d massaged her. His touch had been gentle but firm, and he’d clearly known what he was doing.

“Cool. I’ll dish up while you get dressed, if you like.”

He rose and went into the kitchen, and busied himself with dividing the food onto plates. She pulled her bag onto the mattress and took out the large T-shirt she wore in bed. She was past worrying about what to wear in front of him. He made her feel so comfortable and relaxed that things like that didn’t seem to matter.

With surprise she noticed him pouring wine into two glasses.

“Um, I’m not sure I should drink if I’ve had pills,” she said.

“I checked the label and there are no contra-indications with alcohol,” he said. “It’s up to you—I just think at the moment that anything that relaxes you would be good.”

“Orgasms are relaxing.” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.

To his credit, he just laughed and gave her an amused glance. “Absolutely. We’ll talk about that after dinner.”

A delicious warmth spread through her. She loved men who weren’t put off by women who liked sex, and he seemed to enjoy flirting with her. In many ways that was what she had missed most—the companionship of flirting and talking about intimate things almost as much as doing the intimate things themselves.

Almost.

She eyed him mischievously as he brought her plate over to the bed. I‘d love to get down and dirty with you, he’d said. Had he been joking, or had he meant it?

He met her gaze as he leaned across to place her wine on the bedside table and gave her a sexy smile. Oh ho, he meant it all right. He absolutely wanted to get her into bed.

How exciting.

He brought over his own plate and glass and sat on the bed next to her, back up against the headboard and legs stretched out. She turned to face him, legs crossed, and they began to eat their dinner.

“Nice shirt,” he said after a few mouthfuls, pointing to it with his chopsticks.

She looked down. The T-shirt was pink with a large picture of a rabbit in a top hat. “It’s comfortable,” she said defensively.

“I wasn’t criticising. It’s pretty.”

She smiled. “Thank you, Colm, for…well, everything.”

He stopped with the chopsticks halfway to his mouth and smiled back. “You’re welcome.” He ate the noodles as he considered her. “You shouldn’t suffer, you know. Nothing is served by suffering.”

“I know.” She pushed a few peas around her plate. “I know I’m being self-indulgent. It’s just…” She cleared her throat and took a bite out of a spring roll. “I wasn’t ready. Maybe I am now. I don’t know. I am trying.”

He picked up his glass and held it out to her. She picked up her own and clinked it against his.

“To moving on,” he said.

She nodded slowly. “To moving on.”

They took a couple of swallows of the wine and carried on eating their dinner.

He started talking about something they’d covered in the course that day and she half listened, but inside her brain was thinking furiously about what to do next. Sleeping with him couldn’t end well when he was moving back to Ireland—could it? She didn’t want things to turn bad between them—after his generous behaviour, she thought that would make her cry. Was it possible to have sex and then go back to being friends?

He put down his plate and ran his hand through his hair before reaching for his glass again, and she couldn’t help but stare as the cotton sleeve stretched across his biceps. Maybe it was the fact that he’d touched her skin with his bare hands, or maybe it was just that she hadn’t had sex in a very long time, but suddenly she yearned to touch him, to kiss him, to have him inside her. She wanted him, badly, and without further ado, she made up her mind.

“What?” he said, and she realised she’d been staring.

She finished off the last mouthful of wine in her glass. The alcohol had started to thread through her veins. Her muscles were soft and pliable, her brain beginning to stop its incessant churning. “I have a pack of cards in my bag,” she said. “Want to play?”

One corner of his mouth quirked up. “Sure.”

“Cool.” She finished off her dinner and got up to take their plates to the sink, stretching and enjoying the freedom of not having the familiar ache between her shoulder blades. After taking out the cards, she brought them back to the bed where he was in the process of pouring out another glass of wine for each of them. She felt pleasantly relaxed and comfortable in his company.

“I like you,” she said, sitting opposite him again.

He smiled. “I like you, too.”

“No, I mean really like you.” It seemed important that he knew.

He sipped his wine, his eyes meeting hers, amused. “Good.”

“You really like me too?” she asked hopefully.

He gave a small, resigned sigh. “Yes, Mia. I really like you too. Really really.” He winked at her.

“Good.” She shuffled the cards, suddenly happy. “Know how to play whist?”

“Sure.”

“Okay.”

She dealt the cards and they played a couple of rounds. He was pretty bad at it, but then so was she, so things were fairly even. They chatted as they played, and as time ticked by and the room grew darker, they drew the curtains and put the TV on to murmur quietly in the background.

By this time they’d made their way through half the box of chocolates he’d been thoughtful enough to buy. He’d slid down the pillows until he was practically lying down, and she’d moved closer so they were only a foot apart.

It was late, they’d drunk a bottle and a half of wine between them, and his eyelids had slid to half-mast. He looked relaxed and content and sexy, and she finally plucked up the courage to make a suggestion.

“Want to play strip whist?”

He stared at her. Gradually, he smiled. “You’re only saying that because you know I’m rubbish at it.”

“Yep.”

He grinned. “Okay.”

Her heart pounded as she dealt out seven cards. Her inhibitions were rapidly fading and naughtiness surged through her. “Right, so every time you win a trick, you can ask a sexy question of the other person, as well as making them remove an item of clothing.”

“Sure.” He fanned out his cards and began to put them in order. “I like the way you got me drunk before you suggested this so I’d be even more useless at it.”

“You’re drunk after three glasses of wine? Jeez. Way to hold your liquor, dude.”

“I’m a cheap date.” He turned over the top card on the pack. “Hearts are trumps.” He played the ace of diamonds and grinned at her.

Cool as a chilled cucumber, she laid down the two of hearts.

He stared at it. “You have to lay a diamond if you have one.”

“I don’t have one.”

He huffed a sigh and plonked his cards face down on the bed. “Shit. Okay. Go on then.”

“Clothing first.”

He took off a sock and threw it on the floor. “Fire away.”

She studied him thoughtfully. “Favourite sexual position.”

“Woman on top.” He picked up his cards, unfazed. “Too easy. Your turn.”

She blinked. “Do you want time to think about it?”

“No need.”

“What do you like about the woman being on top?”

He fanned out his cards again. “I get a good view. Plus she can control things at her own pace.”

His lack of embarrassment and matter-of-factness made her shiver with desire, but she played it down. “It’s a bit passive. Some would say lazy.”

He grinned at that. “You worried I’m not macho enough for you?”

“Are you? I can be quite demanding.”

“We’ll see.” He smirked and indicated her cards. “Your turn.”

She laid down the king of clubs.

He sighed. “I can see how this is going to go.” He put the three of clubs on top of it.

She giggled and scooped up the trick. “I win. Next sock.” She watched him remove it before lying back again. “And next question. Um…” She thought about it. “Favourite kinky thing to do in bed.”

“Depends on your definition of kinky.”

“You want a list?” She’d expected him to be more shocked and disapproving at her outspokenness and was both surprised and delighted at his lack of awkwardness.

“Maybe.” He grinned. He seemed to be enjoying himself.

“You tell me something, and I’ll tell you if I think it’s kinky,” she suggested.

“Okay. Jumper cables.”

She stared at him.

“I’m kidding, Mia.” He rolled his eyes. Then he studied her thoughtfully. A smile spread slowly across his face. “A vibrator.”

“Ooh.” She couldn’t stop her eyes widening.

“Kinky enough?” he asked her.

“It’s a start.”

“I guess it depends what you do with it.”

They both laughed and she examined her cards. “My turn. Get ready. I have a funny feeling you’ll be sitting there starkers before I’ve even got my pants off.” She laid down the ten of spades.

He put down the jack and grinned. “Think again.” He gestured at her, eyes gleaming. “Come on. Kit off.”

Chapter Ten

Colm grinned, and Mia cursed and shot him a glare. Anticipation flooded him. He could see she wasn’t wearing socks. The only real piece of clothing she could remove was her jeans.

Sighing, she pushed herself off the bed and stood before him. She slid her fingers down to her waist provocatively and raised an eyebrow as she slowly unbuttoned the jeans. He refused to be intimidated and just winked, so she stuck out her tongue, turned her back and slid her jeans down over her butt to reveal the tiniest pair of white lace panties he’d ever seen.

She kicked off the jeans, sat back on the bed and crossed her legs. Luckily her T-shirt came down to her thighs or he wouldn’t have been able to tear his gaze away. As it was, he was conscious of his erection straining at his trousers again.

He cleared his throat. “Okay, time for the question.”

“Fire away.” Her direct gaze dared him to try and embarrass her.

He decided that probably wasn’t possible and thought about what he’d really like to know. “What do you prefer—an orgasm through oral sex, or one through penetrative sex?”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Ooh, good question.”

“I thought so.”

“I really don’t know.”

“You have to answer. It’s the law.”

She thought about it for a moment. “Do you want the honest answer?”

“Always.”

“Um…” For the first time, she looked unsure. “To be perfectly honest… It’s been so long since I had an orgasm through oral sex, I can’t remember.”

He frowned. “I thought your last boyfriend was back in February?”

“Yeah. I can’t stress how crap he was in bed.”

“Jeez Louise, I’m beginning to get that.”

“He didn’t like giving oral sex.”

Annoyance bubbled through him. What kind of wanker wouldn’t want to go down on the beautiful Mia? “Fucking hell. Sorry. But what an idiot.”

“Yeah. We weren’t together long.”

“Really? Shocking.”

She giggled. “So I’ll have to wait to make my decision.”

“Sure thing. You can give me an answer at the end of the evening.” He kept his gaze on the cards for a moment before mischievously raising his eyes to hers. “What?”

She smiled, eyes sparkling, but just gestured to his cards. “Go on, then.”

He played the queen of clubs.

She laid the five of hearts on top of it.

“For God’s sake.” He glared with frustration.

“Shirt,” she said.

He unbuttoned it and slid it off, then lay back and picked up his cards, pretending not to notice her staring.

“Holy fuck, Colm. That’s some upper body you’ve got there.”

He chuckled. “Thank you, sweetheart. What’s your question?”

“I’m sorry, I think I’ve forgotten how to speak.” She mimed putting her eyes back in her head. “Okay, a question.” She retrieved her glass and had a swallow of wine as she thought about it, still staring at his chest. “Most interesting place you’ve ever had sex.”

“Another easy one. The computer desk in the staff room.”

For the first time she looked genuinely shocked. “What!”

He burst out laughing. “You are so easy to wind up. Christ, Mia, I’m kidding. Who the hell would I want to get off with at work apart from you?”

She gathered her wits quickly, her glare letting him know he was in trouble. “Oh I don’t know, I think the year-seven dean has her eye on you.”

He gave her an exasperated look. The year-seven dean was about a hundred and eighty and scared him witless.

“You haven’t given me a proper answer,” she said.

“Dublin Park at two in the morning.”

“Seriously?”

“I was seventeen. It was pretty cold. Ergo I was pretty unimpressive.”

She laughed, examined her cards and laid down the eight of spades.

He put the nine on top and grinned. “T-shirt.”

“You don’t get to choose the item.” She hooked her fingers in her panties and wriggled them off, but because the T-shirt was long, she was able to pull the front down so he couldn’t see anything, even when she sat cross-legged before him again.

“That’s cheating,” he complained.

“Whatever. What’s your question?”

They had two cards left each. His heart rate was beginning to speed up at the thought of what would happen once they played the last trick. He wanted her, wanted to cover her in kisses and wipe away the memory of the idiot who she’d slept with last time. He wanted to pleasure her and find pleasure in her, to bury himself in her and make her sigh and come apart beneath him.

One step at a time, though. She was enjoying herself, and he wanted to prolong the fun and make the night as memorable as possible.

He thought about a question.

“Come on,” she said. “Shock me.”

He smiled wryly. “Why do you want to be shocked so much?”

“I don’t know. You’re so polite. I’m tempted to see how far I can push you and how naughty you can be.”

He finished off his glass of wine. In spite of his earlier words, he wasn’t drunk, but things were starting to get a bit hazy. “I’m a gentleman. I don’t like to embarrass a lady.”

“I’m no lady.”

“I’m beginning to realise that.”

She giggled. “Come on, Colm the sexy Celt. Shock me.” Her eyes sparkled. She was tipsy, he thought. What fun.

Naughtiness surged through him. “Okay. Let’s say I’m going to fuck you from behind. On your knees or lying down?”

To his delight, she gave a little gasp and inhaled sharply. “Colm!”

“You did ask.”

“I did. I didn’t expect you to go along with it.”

“Well, now I’m embarrassed.”

She laughed and, to his surprise, leaned forward and pressed her lips against his briefly. “There,” she said, pulling back. “As a reward.”

His heart pounded but he tried to act nonchalant. “I’m definitely going to be naughty more often.”

“Ooh, promises, promises.” She gestured at his cards. “Your turn.”

“You haven’t answered me yet.”

She bit her lip, eyes dancing. “Ooh. Umm… I like both. Depends what mood I’m in. But…lying down, I think. I like…the weight on top of me.” Her eyes glassed over as if she were imagining him on top of her, pressing her down.

His vision went similarly bleary at the thought of pinning her hands above her head, pushing apart her legs and sliding into her from behind. Wow. They had to finish this game before he seriously embarrassed himself before he’d even got his hands on her.

He laid down the six of spades.

She trumped it with the seven of hearts.

“Ha,” she said. “Pants.”

He hesitated. For the first time he felt a twinge of embarrassment. He had an erection the like of which he hadn’t had for some time, and it was going to be completely obvious when he undressed.

He sighed as she sat up eagerly. What the hell. It was pointless to hide it considering what he was hoping to do with it before the end of the evening.

He pushed himself off the bed and unbuttoned his pants the same way she had, with a similar sexy wiggle. Then he lifted them over his erection and let them drop to the floor.

“Whoa.” She looked suitably impressed.

“Thank you.” He got on the bed and lay back, trying not to feel self-conscious at the bulge in his boxers. He picked up his cards. “It’s rude to stare, by the way.”

“I really don’t care. That’s an extremely impressive hard-on.”

“Mia…”

She giggled and held up her last card. So did he, and they revealed them at the same time.

Hers was the nine of hearts.

His was the ace.

She rolled her eyes. “Typical. You had that up your sleeve?”

“I’m not wearing a shirt,” he pointed out, adding triumphantly, “Top off.”

She met his gaze, smiling wryly. He flicked his fingers, indicating for her to hand him the item.

She grasped the hem, pulled it over her head and dropped it to the floor behind her.

Colm’s eyes widened, but he kept his gaze fixed on hers. She sat before him, starting to giggle as he blinked but refused to look down.

“I’m naked,” she announced.

“I’m aware of that.”

“Aren’t you going to look?”

“Um…”

“Colm, seriously. I’m sitting here with my tits out and you’re looking at my face. What’s wrong with you?”

“If I look,” he said, somewhat helplessly, “there’s no going back.”

“God, I hope not.” She pointed at her breasts and winked.

He sighed. And lowered his gaze.

They were perfect. The nipples were a dusky pink and looked soft, begging for his mouth to cover them. Her skin had the remnants of a summer tan. At the top of her thighs, the triangle of curly hair was light brown.

“Holy fuck,” he said. “You’re amazing. I swear I haven’t had an erection this hard for years.”

She laughed and threw the cards on the floor, then lay back on the bed with her arms above her head, smiling up at him. He grinned and stretched out beside her, propping his head on a hand, their bodies not quite touching. She let his gaze roam over her, seemingly enjoying his admiration.

“You like what you see?” she asked, her voice husky.

“Can’t you tell?” He glanced at his boxers.

“I’m naked. You’re not.”

He sat up and shucked his boxers before lying back down. She stared at his erection for a long moment before raising her eyes to his.

She shivered, and he watched with fascination as her nipples tightened.

“Thank you for this evening,” she whispered. “I’ve really enjoyed myself.”

“God, me too.” And it was true. She was such fun. He could play with her all night and not get bored.

Chapter Eleven

Mia lay there for a while, waiting for Colm to touch her. But although he devoured her with a hungry gaze, and his erection could have given the Sky Tower a run for its money in a Biggest Column competition, he didn’t reach out, nor did he kiss her.

Shit, she thought, I’ve done it again. Me and my big mouth.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, cursing herself and hoping she hadn’t ruined the evening.

He raised an eyebrow. “For what?”

“For being…I don’t know. Forward. Pushy.”

He blinked. “Huh?”

She sat up hurriedly. “I know I talk too much and I can be bossy and too direct, but please don’t let it put you off, I promise I’ll shut up when we get going and—”

“Mia,” he interrupted patiently, “are you under the impression I’ve not pounced on you because you intimidate me?”

“Um, well, yes.”

“That’s not the case,” he said, his blue eyes calm.

That threw her. “Oh. It’s just—”

“Sweetheart, I’m not shy. And I have done this before. I’m enjoying the moment. Plus I’m trying to remind myself that you’ve got a bad back before I leap on you and thrust you into next week.”

That made her laugh. “Sorry, I thought… I mean, it’s happened before and…”

“You don’t intimidate me,” he insisted again. “It’s good when a woman knows what she wants. I like it that you like sex and you’re not afraid to say so. It turns me on.”

“I can see that.” She glanced at his erection, which was clearly hoping for some action in the near future.

He grinned. “Take it as a sign.”

“I will. It’s just…my last boyfriend left me because he said I was too bossy in bed.” The memory of that fateful evening made her cheeks burn.

“He left you?” Colm looked exasperated as he studied her unusually red cheeks. “I thought he had trouble getting it up?”

She winced. “Well, yes, that was another issue. But I was trying to overcome that. I supposed that was part of the problem, though—it was easier for him to blame me instead of addressing his own troubles.”

“Christ, what on earth was wrong with that dude?”

She sighed. “I’d never thought of myself as particularly difficult to turn on before, but even I have to admit to needing a little more than a tweak of the nipples and a two-second stroke down below to get me going. I suppose he just wanted to get it over with and couldn’t be bothered with turning me on. I tried to encourage him to indulge in a bit more foreplay, but he got cross when I seemed to want more than that. He blamed me. He said I was frigid.” The memory made her squirm.

Colm’s face was a picture. “Wow, what a wonderful example of the male species. I feel I have to apologise on behalf of the whole of my sex. I’m so sorry.”

“Well, I thought it was me for a while, but Grace convinced me eventually that he didn’t know his arse from his elbow. Or, rather, my arse and elbow.”

Colm snorted. “It doesn’t sound like he could have found a clitoris with a map and a compass.”

Relief swept over her. She thought he might have been nervous that she had such high expectations—an orgasm the first time they slept together—oh my! But dear God, he seemed to actually know what he was doing in bed. Mia nearly fainted. “The very fact that you even know there’s a clitoris is a big plus in your favour.”

He laughed at that and finally reached for her, pulling her into his arms and rolling so she could stretch out on top of him. He ran his hands down her, moulding her to him, and she shivered at the feel of his hard, strong body pressed against hers. “Poor Mia,” he said, amused. “All you want is to be screwed senseless and to have a bit of fun.”

“That is all I want,” she agreed. “I’m glad you realise that.”

“It seems fairly obvious to me. Who doesn’t want that? But it sounds like you’ve had a few bad experiences.”

Eek! He thought she was a trollop. “Well, I haven’t been with that many men,” she said hastily. “I’m not a complete slut. I’m not in double figures yet.”

He gave her an impatient frown then. “Honey, I wouldn’t care if you were. There’s nothing wrong with enjoying sex.” His eyes were clear, honest. He meant it.

For some reason that comment made the breath hitch in her throat. She’d thought the whole world viewed a man who liked sex as a stud, but a woman who liked it as a slut. It was refreshing to meet someone who didn’t.

“Oh my God,” she whispered, biting her lip. “You’re something special, aren’t you?”

He gave her a puzzled look as he trailed his hands up her body. “Because I’m open minded?”

“Yes, exactly that.”

“If by that you mean that I’m not intimidated by a woman taking the initiative, then I guess so.” He shrugged. “I have an idea of what turns a woman on. But I’m not a mind reader, and everyone’s different. I’d much rather my partner say ‘slower’ or ‘up a bit’ than lie there thinking ‘for fuck’s sake, it’s going to take an hour for me to come like this’.”

She giggled, loving his open, honest manner. “I don’t mean to be bossy. But as you say, it seems pointless to lie there thinking ‘what’s he doing?’ when I could just say ‘ooh, don’t stop, I’m nearly there’.”

He laughed. “I agree. Be as bossy as you like.” He skimmed his fingers up her rib cage. “But it doesn’t mean I’ll always do as I’m told.” He met her gaze challengingly.

“Ooh—” she shivered, “—gosh. You’re so sexy. Your lovely accent gives me goose bumps.”

“So I see.” He traced a finger lightly around the areola of one nipple, not quite touching the puckered skin.

She closed her eyes and sighed. “Oh.”

He rolled her over onto her back and leaned on an elbow to look down at her. “The reason I’m taking my time, Mia Nicholls, is that I’ve been watching you all year and I can’t quite believe my luck that I’ve finally got you into bed. I want to make it last, especially because it’s been a while for you, and you deserve a little bit of pleasure after all you’ve been through.”

“Okay,” she said weakly.

“So here’s what I’m going to do,” he said. “First of all I’m going to kiss you for a while. I enjoyed kissing you the other night, and I’ve been wanting to do it again ever since.”

“Mm.”

“I’ll start with your lips, and then I’m going to move downward.” He showed her with his finger, drawing an invisible line from her jaw down her neck. “I’ll gradually go lower, to here.” He trailed his finger down the swell of her breast to the tip. “I might linger here awhile.” He circled the nipple.

She opened her eyes and stared up at him dreamily. “If you insist.”

“I do. And then I’m going to move lower.” He slid his finger down her rib cage and over her stomach, which quivered in response.

“That tickles.”

“It won’t when it’s my lips.” He stroked across to her hip bone, then down to her thighs. She lay with one leg drawn up, but he pushed the knee gently, so she parted her legs, her pulse racing.

He brushed up her inner thigh. “And then I think I’ll move down here.”

“With your mouth?” she asked hopefully.

“With my mouth. You see, I want to taste you, Mia.” His eyes were dark with passion. “I’ve wanted to do this since the first moment I saw you in the staff room. I want to slide my tongue through your swollen skin and taste your arousal.” He stroked very lightly up the heart of her. “I want to slip my fingers inside you while I flick my tongue over this little button here.” He circled the area, and she closed her eyes and moaned. He carried on, “I’d like to continue doing that while I explore and find that magic spot inside you. And I want to feel you come on my tongue and tighten around my fingers.” He moved them down and they slid inside her easily. He groaned. “Oh…Mia, so swollen and wet for me already. Does that meet with your approval?”

Her eyelids fluttered open. “Oh God, yes. I swear, Colm, I could come just by listening to you.”

“That won’t be necessary.” He withdrew his fingers, coated with her slippery fluid, and moved them up to stroke her clit firmly. “But I expect you to tell me what you like.”

“Oh…I will. That. Yes. Right there.”

“Guide me, Mia. Let me make this good for you.” He lowered his head and kissed her deeply, hungrily, his tongue delving into her mouth as his fingers continued their relentless arousal of her.

It had been so long since she’d done this, and she was so keyed up, she could already feel an orgasm building. How embarrassing. She knew she should push him away, but the feeling was fantastic, and he was stroking her in exactly the right spot…

He lifted his head. “Tell me what you’re thinking.” His mouth hovered over hers, his touch sure, practiced. Who’d have guessed the slightly geeky history professor would be so skilled between the sheets?

She bit her lip. “That’s…so nice…” Her eyes fluttered closed. “You should stop… Or I’ll…” She moaned as he slid his fingers inside her to collect more moisture, then brought them back up again to continue their slow, persistent rhythm. Her thighs loosened instinctively, her hips lifting to press against his hand.

“Oh, honey, already?” He kissed her again as he stroked more firmly in response to her unspoken plea. “No wonder you’re so frustrated. Yes, come for me—and then we can really get down to business.”

“More than one?” His confidence in his ability to deliver sent shivers through her. “Oh my God I’ve died, haven’t I? I’m in heaven and I didn’t even realise it.”

He laughed and lowered his head to her breast. “I think we both have. This is the nearest to heaven I’ve ever been.” He covered her nipple with his mouth and sucked.

She needed no other encouragement and came immediately, and he stilled his hand, pressing down with his thumb while he slid two fingers inside her. It was exactly what she needed and she cried out, arching against him as the pleasurable sensations racked her body, her internal muscles tightening deliciously around his hand.

He raised his head as she gradually relaxed, and withdrew his fingers gently. “There. Now we can take our time.” He rubbed his nose against hers.

She blew out her breath, still amazed at how quickly she’d come. “Wow, that was fantastic.”

He nibbled her bottom lip. “And quick. I think I can say with some authority that you are not frigid.”

She giggled, and he chuckled and began to kiss down her neck. “Now be a good girl and tell me what you want me to do.” He cupped her breast. “By the end of the evening I hope to have found out exactly what makes you tick. And if you haven’t come at least twice more, I’ll want to know why.”

“Oh…” She was going to cry if he was any nicer to her.

He kissed her nipple. “Say yes, Colm.”

“You know what, I think you’re bossier than me.”

“Maybe you’re right. Say it.”

“Yes, Colm.”

“Good girl. I’m going to pay attention here for a little while now.”

She raised her arms above her head on the bed and gave a long, contented sigh as he took her softened nipple in his mouth and sucked it to a long, tight peak. She’d been telling the truth when she said she’d had fewer than ten partners. Eight was the actual number, over half of whom had been mediocre in bed. One had been slightly better, one pretty good and one had given her a glimpse of what it could really be like with the right person, but even though the sex had been great, their personalities had clashed out of the bedroom and it was clearly never going to amount to more than a brief fling.

Colm, however… As he switched to her other nipple, teasing it with the tip of his tongue, she caught herself pondering on what a lovely partner he’d make. A sex god in the bedroom, and a funny and caring guy outside.

But no, no, no. She mustn’t go down the route of thinking about this long-term. He was going back to Ireland. This wasn’t about forgiveness or consolation or moving on. This was all about sex. Concentrate on the sex.

He lifted his head and raised an eyebrow. “I’m doing my best.”

“Shit, did I say that out loud?”

He laughed and lifted himself up, moving between her legs. “Stop thinking.”

“Sorry.”

“And stop apologising,” he scolded. “Now, tell me, is this nice?” He sucked her nipple.

“Mm, yes.”

“What about this?” He sucked harder while he plucked the other one with firm fingers.

“Fuck.” She tightened her fingers in his hair at the pleasure-pain. “Oh God, yes.”

“Hmm.” He kissed back up her neck to her mouth. “I’m beginning to think you like it a little rough, Mia Nicholls.”

“Be as animal as you like,” she said breathlessly, taken aback at the raw passion in his eyes.

He kissed her. “Oh, I will. How’s the back, though? Don’t want to put you in hospital.”

“What back?” She meant it—her muscles felt warm and loose, the sharp pain having faded to little more than a distant, dull ache.

He laughed and kissed down her body, manoeuvring himself between her thighs. “Excellent. Let’s see if we can’t get you even more relaxed.” He curved his arms under her thighs and rested his palms on her stomach. Then he brushed his tongue right through her hot centre.

“Fuuuuuuuuuck.” She clutched the bedclothes.

“Oh yeah.” His vehement reply told her he liked her being vocal.

He went on to arouse her leisurely, exploring her folds with his tongue and fingers, trying different strokes and pressures, changing if she said, “Slower,” or staying put if she said, “Oh yes, right there.”

He slid his fingers inside her and stroked the front wall of her until he found what he was looking for, and the pressure on that spot, combined with his hot mouth and teasing tongue, tipped her over the edge once more.

She came, fast and furious, aware of his deep, satisfied groans, and afterward she could only lie there exhausted and impressed as he withdrew his fingers and kissed slowly back up her body until he lay next to her again, nuzzling her hair.

Chapter Twelve

“You want to go to sleep?” Colm asked, kissing her cheek. She looked so beautiful lying there, face all flushed, completely relaxed like warm, kneaded dough. She’d been surprisingly easy to pleasure—he’d wondered whether her comments about her previous boyfriend might mean she took a long time to come, but that had been far from the case. It confirmed what an idiot the guy had been. Colm wanted to punch his lights out for making the gorgeous Mia doubt her own sexuality.

She opened her eyes and brushed her thumbs against his light stubble. “Mm, no, just give me a minute.” Her eyes widened. “Unless…you’d rather go to sleep?”

Jesus, she thought he didn’t want to make love to her. “Er, no, Mia, I don’t want to go to sleep. I want to screw you senseless. I was being polite.”

She giggled. “Such a gentleman.”

“It’s all a show.” He glanced ruefully at his erection. “To be honest I think I’m going light-headed considering all the blood in my body has been in my groin for the past hour.”

She burst out laughing. “We’ll have to see what we can do about that.” She trailed a hand down his chest and closed it around him. “Mm.” She stroked him a few times, her eyelids sliding to half-mast. “You’re very impressive, Mr. Molony.”

“Why thank you, Ms. Nicholls.” He took her hand and pulled it away. “Enough of that or it’ll be over before we’ve started.” He reached across and retrieved the condom from where he’d left it on the bedside table, then rolled onto his back and slid it on, aware of her watching him, eyes wide.

He lay back and patted his hips. “Come on, then. Hop on.”

She looked indignant. “Me on top? I thought you promised to go all feral on me?”

“Jeez, Mia, let a guy warm up a little. You’ve had two orgasms,” he pointed out. “My turn for some fun. I told you, favourite position. Hop on.” He winked at her, thoroughly enjoying himself.

Still mumbling, she climbed on top and sat astride him. “Don’t think this means I’m going to do all the work.”

He held her hips and moved her back a little until his erection pressed into her soft, warm folds. “Stop complaining and give a guy a break.”

“I’m not complaining, I’m—”

He pushed up and slid right inside her, cutting off her sentence. She exhaled in a rush, and his groan joined hers at the feel of her warm and tight around him, soft and moist.

“Fuck,” she said.

“I’ll second that.”

She met his gaze for a moment, a strange look in her eyes—amusement? Admiration? And then she sat upright and tipped back her head, widened her thighs and moved her hips to let him sink farther into her.

His fingers tightened on her legs, and he fought to keep his self-control at the feel of being right inside her, at one with her.

She opened her eyes and bent forward to kiss him. “Mm, Colm.” She rocked her hips so he slid in and out. “Ooh, wow, you’re a big boy.”

“Don’t make me laugh. This is too fucking lovely.”

“I mean it. I can feel you all the way, filling me up.” She closed her eyes blissfully.

He sighed and cupped her breasts, squeezing her soft nipples until they hardened between his fingers. “God, you’re beautiful.”

She opened her eyes and met his gaze, and something shot between them, sharp and clear. It made him inhale, pleasure bringing a warm smile to his face.

This is perfect.

That almost made him wince. No, no, no. He mustn’t go down that road. He couldn’t think about how great it felt that he’d been able to pleasure her so easily, or how he loved it that she was such fun to be with and he felt completely, utterly relaxed and at ease with her, as if they’d been having sex for years and fit together like they were meant to be.

For fuck’s sake. What was this, Romeo and Juliet? He had to concentrate on the physical, and take his mind off the soppy emotional path it suddenly seemed intent on.

He slid his hand to the back of her neck and pulled her down to kiss her, crushing her lips to his as he thrust up hard. She gave a muffled exclamation against his mouth and opened her thighs farther in response, and he groaned as heat shot between them, extinguishing the light-hearted, jokey atmosphere that had been there before.

She tore her mouth away and muttered, “Jesus,” sitting back up and beginning to move more energetically.

He let her drive the pace for a while, enjoying the view and her moans and sighs as she aroused herself on him, but eventually he couldn’t bear it any longer. He wanted to lose himself in her, and she was right, he wasn’t going to be able to do that with her on top.

Holding her around the waist, he rolled her, expertly shifting her beneath him without having to pull out, and she exclaimed aloud. For a brief second he thought he’d hurt her—he’d forgotten about her back. “Are you okay?”

He’d expected a smart comment, but instead she just nodded, wide-eyed, so he pushed himself up to his knees, took her hands and pinned them above her.

She shook her head. “I want to touch you,” she said breathlessly, trying to pull her hands away.

“Tough.” He ignored her glare—he wanted her at his mercy, and he was past letting her get her own way. He moved his hips back and then pushed forward, hard and fast, burying himself inside her, and she gasped and flexed her hands in his.

He had to trust that she’d tell him if she was in pain, because his brain was starting to lose focus. He kissed her passionately as he moved inside her, and she wrapped her legs around his waist and met him thrust for thrust.

He ground against her, knowing he was hitting the right spot by the way she bit her lip and gave a long, low moan.

“You’re—so—fucking—beautiful,” he said in between thrusts. He wouldn’t be able to last much longer. But he wanted to wait for her. He made himself slow down and kissed her, delving his tongue into her mouth before saying, “Tell me how to make you come again.”

Her eyelids fluttered as he lowered his mouth to her breast. “Oh, you seem to—know perfectly—well.”

“Tell me,” he demanded, letting go of one of her hands so he could slide his hand under her butt and lift her hips a little.

He drove in deeper, and she clawed down his back and moaned, “God, yes, fuck me harder.”

So he picked up the pace, slamming into her repeatedly, vaguely aware that the headboard was banging against the wall, but unable to do anything about it. He tried to hold onto his tight self-control, hoping she was keeping up with him, thrilled when she said, “Oh Colm, don’t stop, I’m going to come…” and after a few more thrusts, screwed up her nose and squealed, clamping around him.

Only then did he let himself go. He gave a glorious roar, and heat rushed up inside him as his climax swept over him, making his muscles go rigid and his hips jerk repeatedly as he came inside her.

It seemed to go on forever, and by the time he finished he was covered in sweat and shaking with exertion. He lowered his forehead onto her shoulder, hoping he hadn’t hurt her, giving slow, shallow movements of his hips and making them both sigh.

Finally he lifted his head and looked into her eyes. She blinked, apparently speechless, so he kissed her red, bruised mouth with soft, apologetic kisses.

“Are you okay?” he murmured, hoping he hadn’t been too rough. She’d asked him to be, hadn’t she? But maybe he’d overdone it.

She nodded, still blinking, but didn’t say anything.

Puzzled at her reticence, he withdrew and disposed of the condom, rolled onto his back and drew her up against him with one arm. She curled up next to him and rested her head on his shoulder.

He waited for a while, expecting her to recover and start smart-mouthing him with some comment about how he’d forgotten to be polite or something, but instead she just trailed her fingers through the hairs on his chest until he finally lifted her chin to look at him.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked, concerned. “Only I kind of got carried away.”

“I noticed.” She looked back at his chest. “No, you didn’t hurt me.”

“Mia? What’s wrong?”

She met his gaze. “Nothing.” For the first time an impish smile touched her lips. “You were amazing.”

He glowed inside, but said, “We were amazing.”

“Mm, but you were…” She searched for a word and moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. “Yummy,” she finished, grinning, and he started to laugh.

“What a great description. Are you going to eat me up?”

She giggled and rested her head on his chest. “Maybe later. First I really do think I’ll get some sleep.”

He stroked her hair, pleased that she didn’t want him to go and thrilled at the mention of more sex before the night was up.

“Thank you,” she said.

He kissed the top of her head. “For what?”

“Everything. Looking after me. Worrying about me. Loving me like that. How did you know that was just what I needed?”

“Well, I did what I normally do and hoped you’d like it,” he said honestly.

She lifted her head and rested her chin on his chest. “Really?”

“Yep. Luckily it appeared to work.”

“It did. Three times!” She smiled and then nibbled her bottom lip, clearly intrigued. “Is it always like that for you?”

“No.” He didn’t elaborate, not wanting to admit it had been extra-special because he was crazy about her.

“Me neither. Three times in one session is by far a personal best.”

“You’ll have to see if you can beat that in the next Olympic Games.”

Their amused gazes met for a moment. Again he felt that spark shoot between them, that uh-oh, this is more than just sex glow, but he couldn’t think what to say and he didn’t want to spoil the moment, so he just smiled and winked at her.

“We should check the headboard’s still in one piece before we leave,” she said.

He chuckled. “Hopefully the room next door was empty, or we might have a few complaints.”

“You think? You were very…energetic.”

Guilt twinged through him. “I’m sorry. I hoped you’d let me know if it got too uncomfortable. I kind of lost the plot near the end.”

Her lips curved. “It wasn’t a complaint. I like it rough. I just didn’t expect it.” Her eyes danced. “You look like such a nice boy. I’m shocked.”

“You thought I’d do as I was told and then ask permission before I came?”

She giggled. “Something like that. Your mother would be so disappointed.”

“She would. She’d want me to say thank you, by the way.”

“Thank you,” she said, so heartfelt that he laughed.

He stroked her cheek. “I can’t believe men find you intimidating. The way you were talking, I half-expected you to be all militaristic and bark orders all the time, but you hardly said anything.”

She snorted. “Like you needed telling. You seemed to know perfectly well how to press my buttons.”

They studied each other, thinking about that. They’d fitted together well, he thought. She was hardly asking for the moon. Just a guy who’d spend time on her, someone who cared about her and wanted to please her. Someone who…

Don’t go there.

She laid her cheek on his ribs. “I’m falling asleep.”

“One last thing. You told me you’d let me know. Oral orgasm or penetrative orgasm?”

She chuckled. “Too close to call. All three were pretty spectacular. Goodnight, Colm. My sexy Celt.”

“Sweet dreams, Mia. My sexy princess.”

She fell asleep quickly, her breathing deepening and slowing, but Colm lay there a while longer, playing with her hair and thinking about the look on her face as she’d said, You seemed to know perfectly well how to press my buttons.

Chapter Thirteen

“Oh. My. God,” Freya said. “Tell us everything.”

Mia sighed. She knew she shouldn’t have admitted she’d slept with Colm. “I’m certainly not going to tell you everything,” she said wryly. “A girl has to have some secrets.”

She sat at her computer, on a conference call via Skype with Grace in her bedroom and Freya somewhere in Bogotá. They’d talked for a while about Freya’s adventures, but now for some reason her two friends seemed to think it necessary that they all discuss Mia’s love life.

“No secrets between besties,” Grace said. “Come on, tell us.”

“Jeez, stop with the third degree.”

“We want the gory details,” Freya said, her voice coming through with a few seconds’ delay. “You’re not getting away with it, Mia. When I first went with Nate, you demanded to know everything.”

Mia scratched her head. It was true—in the past they’d always talked about their relationships. They found it comforting, because it was so easy to think you were the only person in the world who had a particular problem, and it was always reassuring to know someone else felt the same. Plus, when you weren’t getting any, it was kind of nice to enjoy it vicariously.

However, for some reason she didn’t want to go into detail about what had happened with Colm. It felt…private. Special.

Uh-oh. Even she knew that was a worry.

“The very fact that you’re not talking tells me something spectacular happened,” Freya said.

“It wasn’t spectacular,” Mia lied. “Very run-of-the-mill. I fell asleep halfway through.”

“She’s lying,” Freya said.

“Oh, I know.” Grace’s voice was determined. “Come on, spill the beans. What was he like? He’s so clumsy. Did he fall off the bed and…you know, miss the target occasionally?”

“Good grief, ouch! God, no. He was surprisingly un-clumsy. No target-missing at all.” Quite the opposite, she thought, remembering the way the headboard had banged against the wall.

“How did he approach the subject?” Grace asked. “Did you just jump on him? Tell me you didn’t just jump on him.”

“No,” Mia said, exasperated. “Give me some credit.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“For fuck’s sake… I had a bad back. He invaded my personal privacy, forced me at gunshot to take two pills and then made me take off my clothes and manhandled me.”

“Nice,” Freya said. “About time someone did. Make you take pills, that is, not strip.”

Mia realised she wasn’t going to get away with keeping it secret and admitted, “The stripping was voluntary. Kind of. With cards.”

“Poker?” Freya queried.

“It sounds like he did,” Grace said.

Freya snorted. Mia sighed. “Don’t be rude. It was whist, actually, but same outcome.”

“Ooh,” Grace said. “Nice idea.” She spoke to someone over her shoulder before she came back. “Ash wants to know if you had a good hand.”

“Ash!” Mia yelled. “Go away! This is a private conversation, Grace, I didn’t realise anyone could hear me.”

“I’m knitting while I’m talking and you know I hate headphones. Anyway, Ash is concerned. He wants to know if Colm was good in bed.”

There was an expletive in the background. Mia grinned. “That doesn’t sound like something Ash would want to know.”

“Maybe not. It’s all right, he’s gone out of the room in disgust. But I’m very curious. I mean, Colm’s young and sexy beneath the old-professor disguise, but I wondered if he’d be a bit, you know, timid for you.”

“I worried about that too,” Freya admitted. “I had visions of you bossing him about and him getting all flustered and apologising all the time. Did that happen?”

“Um, no.”

“Ooh.” The two girls waited for more details. Mia bit her lip, unusually tongue-tied.

“Come on,” Freya demanded, “you can’t leave it there. Did he turn all alpha male?”

“Um, sort of.” Mia closed her eyes at the memory of him pinning her down and thrusting her into next week.

“I’m getting goose bumps,” Freya said. “I can’t imagine him all grrr.”

“He was very grrr,” Mia had to admit. “Surprisingly grrr.”

“Swear out loud?” Grace prompted. Mia had once teased her that the way to judge a good session was whether you swore out loud or not.

Mia’s lips curved. “Maybe.” She could help but add, “Three times.”

The two girls burst out laughing and Freya cheered. “Yay, Mia!”

“I know.” She gave a long, heavy sigh and capitulated. “Okay, he was fantastic. Beyond belief.”

“Ooh. Who’d have thought it of the inelegant Irishman?” Grace said.

“He’s not inelegant. Well, not in bed anyway. He was next morning.” Mia giggled.

“What happened?”

“We went to settle the bill the next day and found out that our neighbour had complained about the banging of the headboard.”

The two girls joined her in a fit of giggles. “What did he do?” Freya asked.

“He blushed beautifully. A very pretty shade of fuchsia, most becoming. He protested that he’d just been doing energetic sit-ups, but I could see the owner wasn’t convinced. She smirked, and he went all stuttery and walked into the doorpost. It was quite endearing.”

Grace sighed. “Oh sweetie, I’m so pleased for you. The sex, I mean, not the walking-into-the-wall part.”

“Yeah.” Sadness settled over Mia. “It’s a shame it can’t go any further.”

They both went quiet for a moment.

“Are you sure about that?” Freya said eventually. “I seem to recall saying exactly the same thing.”

“Me too,” Grace added.

“Yeah, I know, but this is different. He lives in Ireland.”

“He can move,” Freya suggested. “Or you can move. It’s not the end of the world. Well, I know being in New Zealand feels like being at the end of the world sometimes, but you know what I mean.”

Mia ran her hand through her hair in frustration. “I don’t want to move to Ireland. I like it here. I have a job.”

“Then maybe he’ll consider moving here,” Grace said.

“But his family’s there—”

“Mia,” Grace said gently, “all we’re saying is that there’s always a way. We’ve proved—twice—that relationships we never thought would work have had a happy ending. Who’d have thought I’d marry a medium, for Christ’s sake? Me?! Miss Sceptic?”

“And I was determined not to get involved with anyone,” Freya said.

“I know,” Mia insisted. “But it’s just sex…” Her voice trailed off at their gales of laughter, and she had vague recollections of them both saying the same thing over and over again before they finally caved and admitted it was more.

“I’m going now,” she said huffily.

“Bring him to the party on Wednesday,” Freya said. She and Nate were flying in at two in the afternoon, and Grace and Ash were throwing a party in the evening to welcome them back.

“I can’t,” Mia said.

“Of course you can, I’m sure he’ll love to be invited and—”

“Not I won’t, I can’t. I don’t have his phone number and the school’s on a two-week break now, remember?”

“So find out where he lives and go around there and ask him,” Freya insisted.

“Desperate, much?”

“It shows you care,” Freya insisted.

“It shows I’m gagging for it.”

Grace laughed. “Well, aren’t you?”

“That’s not the point.”

“Don’t you want to have sex with him again?”

Mia leaned forward and rested her forehead on the table. “Oh dear God, yes.”

They both laughed. “Okay, got to go now,” Freya said. “Nate’s tapping his watch.”

“Ash says Nate’s not to bother coming back—he has everything under control,” Grace said.

There was the sound of someone bellowing in the background. “Oh, wait a minute,” she corrected. “What he actually said was ‘For God’s sake, I’m falling apart here and I’ll give you a huge raise if you come back.’” Nate was Ash’s manager, and Mia knew Ash had missed him terribly while he’d been away. The temp Ash had brought in had been hopeless—double booked Ash’s shows, lost paperwork and generally made his life a misery.

“He’ll be back,” Freya said with a laugh. “We can’t wait. See you all Wednesday.”

“Love you,” the two girls called, and Freya echoed it back before hanging up.

Mia sighed. “I’m glad they’re coming back. I’ve missed them.”

“God, me too—it’s been weird not having Freya around. And Ash has been unbearable without Nate. It’ll be good to be the six of us.” Grace waited a beat. “See what I did there?”

“I did, and it’s not six of us, it’s five and a half. A quarter. An nth. We’re barely even a fraction.”

“Ask him to come to the party,” Grace said.

Mia sighed. “I shouldn’t.”

“Don’t start. Carpe diem.”

“Seize the fish?”

“Ha ha. Go and tell him you’ve found the Lost Ark of the Covenant or something else historically exciting. Make it impossible for him to say no.”

Privately, Mia suspected that she’d only have to turn up on his doorstep and he’d take off all his clothes obediently, but she didn’t say so or Grace would gloat. “I’ll think about it.”

“Don’t think too much. Facta non verba.”

“What is this, Latin week?”

“Ash bought me a book of phrases.”

“For that trip you’ve planned to third-century Rome?”

“Well, aren’t we on form today? No, smart-arse. I’m bored sitting on my backside all day. I told him I wanted to learn Latin, so he bought me a book.”

“That poor baby of yours doesn’t know what it’s in for. Well, anyway, mind-um your business-um. Go and paint the nursery or something.”

“Already done.” Grace’s voice rang with happiness.

Mia hesitated, not wanting to ruin the mood but needing to know. “Any news from Annie Wilkes?”

“Nope.” Grace continued to sound cheerful. “Nothing. Which is good, because Ash was almost ready to get his voodoo doll out.”

“Is that prison slang?”

Ash snorted in the background. “I’m going now,” Grace said wryly. “Love you.” She hung up.

Mia disconnected, stood and stretched. She was glad Freya was back. Although her flatmate had already moved out and into Nate’s apartment, they’d grown quite close over the past couple of years, and she missed her.

She was thrilled that both Grace and Freya had found partners who loved them, but she had to admit to feeling slightly disgruntled. She was the oldest, after all. Part of her wished she could find a man who got on with the rest of her friends so they could continue to hang out together. Ross hadn’t liked Ash and had thought he was a weirdo, and he’d had nothing in common with Nate at all. They’d gone out once shortly before she broke up with him, but Ross had hardly spoken all evening and she’d felt uncomfortable, knowing when they left the others he’d go off on a tirade of how much he disliked being in their company.

Would Colm get on with them? Certainly he seemed to like Grace. Would he have anything in common with Ash and Nate? What had he said when Grace mentioned Nate’s healing abilities in the staff room? I believe in that sort of thing. That was promising, at least.

She got up and walked into the dining room, sat in the armchair and studied the mobile phone on the table. She’d lied to Grace. She did have his phone number. The secretary who’d organised the trip to Auckland had got them to swap numbers before they left.

But could she call him? Admit she missed him and wanted to see him again?

She picked up the phone and stared at it. He’d said to her, Poor Mia… All you want is to be screwed senseless and to have a bit of fun, and she’d agreed. They’d both known it was a one-off. She knew he liked her. But she’d felt that zing when he looked at her that told her he knew as well as she did that it could be more than that.

That road was a dangerous one, though, when he was due to leave. Did she really want to set off down it?

Chapter Fourteen

Colm decided he’d have to sit down or he was going to wear a hole in the carpet. He’d been pacing for the last fifteen minutes, trying to pluck up the courage to call Mia.

“Either do it or don’t do it,” he told himself with exasperation. “This is ridiculous.”

He sat down and put his head in his hands. He shouldn’t call her. She’d only wanted a one-night stand—she’d made that pretty clear. She knew he was going back to Ireland at the end of the year and nothing could develop between them. It would be crazy to call her and start something that would only end in heartache for them both. He’d managed to avoid Cupid and his little arrows so far, and he had no intention of succumbing to the sneaky bastard two months before he had to move thirteen thousand miles away.

But he missed her. And he wanted to see her again.

Screw it.

He picked up the phone and dialled her number.

She answered immediately, after the first ring. “Hello?”

“Hey, Farrow.” He tried to be jovial while trying to ignore the elated thumping of his heart. “It’s your favourite Irishman here. How’re you doing?”

“Oh, yes, hi, Colm, um, I’m fine. Tickety boo. A hundred percent. Ace, triff, brill. Couldn’t be better. How are you?”

He smiled, loving the sound of her voice all throaty and husky. “I’m fine. You okay?” Her breathlessness reminded him of how she’d sounded when she climaxed beneath him. “Were you…up to something?” he asked suspiciously, his gaze going out of focus at the thought of Mia pleasuring herself.

“Yes. No! Not what you’re thinking. Goodness.” She sounded amused rather than embarrassed. He adored her for that. “I was holding the phone and it made me jump. I was just about to ring…”

He raised his eyebrows. “Who?”

“Okay, it was you, don’t get all smug.”

He grinned. “I’m glad. I thought you’d have forgotten my name by now.”

“Sorry, who is this?”

“Very amusing. You like to wound me, don’t you?”

“I’d like to discipline you, yes.” Her voice went even huskier.

“Now, now,” he scolded. “Two seconds into the conversation and you’ve already given me a hard-on. That’s a bit presumptuous, don’t you think?”

“Not my fault if you’ve got sex on the brain.”

“I’m a man. Of course I’ve got sex on the brain. Plus, I’m talking to you. Why wouldn’t I be thinking about sex?”

She laughed and something squeaked as if she’d lain down and made herself comfortable. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too, honey. That’s why I called you.” He sat back on the sofa with a sigh, loving their relaxed conversation and the way it seemed as if he’d known her forever.

“Colm the sexy Celt,” she said, somewhat dreamily. “Did you know, by the way, that you insert an extra syllable into your name?”

“What do you mean?”

“You say ‘Col-um’. Not ‘Colm’.”

“Oh yes, non-Irish people always think I’m saying ‘Callum’.”

“Actually I think it sounds more like ‘Gollum’.”

“Do you, my precious?”

She giggled. “You say fil-um too, not ‘film’.”

“I’m flattered to think you’ve noticed.” He lay back and looked up at the ceiling. “You say ‘pin’ instead of ‘pen.’ Like, ‘Can you pass me that pin,’ and then you point to a Biro.”

“Do not.”

“Yes, you do. And ‘hid’ instead of ‘head’. As in ‘you give good hid’.”

“Colm!”

“And ‘sex’ instead of ‘six’. You’re a very confusing girl to be around.”

“‘Girl,’” she said, “I like that. I like being called a girl now I’m an old lady.”

“Old?”

“Ancient. Practically retired. I need to learn how to blue-rinse my hair and make my lipstick run into little cracks around my lips.”

He laughed, certain the beautiful Mia would grow old gracefully and only improve with age. “What are you up to this week?”

“My friends Freya and Nate arrive back on Wednesday. I think you met Freya briefly.”

“Pretty girl, blonde, a nurse?”

“That’s the one. You think she’s pretty?”

He smiled. “Not as pretty as you, sweetheart. And nowhere near bossy enough for me.”

“True,” she agreed cheerfully. “You obviously need someone extra-bossy to keep you line.”

“Oh I do.” He thought of the way she’d complained as he’d made her climb on top of him, and laughed.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she scolded. “Stop it.”

“Make me.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

He rolled his eyes. “Mia, you’re not helping the erection situation by saying things like that.”

“Why?” she asked innocently. “What’s the problem?”

“The problem is that now I’m thinking about you trying to be all dominatrix, and then I’m imagining putting you over my knee and spanking you for it.”

“Oh my goodness.”

“What?” Now it was his turn to act innocent.

“You’d spank me?”

“If you were naughty,” he said, grinning.

“Oh…”

“Don’t sigh like that.”

“I can’t help it. You’re making my panties grow damp.”

He closed his eyes. “Mia…for fuck’s sake.”

She chuckled softly. “You look like such a nice boy. And you’re really not.”

“You bring out the worst in me.”

“Sorry.”

“It wasn’t a complaint.” He smiled.

She sighed. “Are you busy?”

“Nope.”

“Talk a bit longer?”

“Sure.” His smile broadened. She wanted to talk to him. How sweet.

“What are you up to this week?” she asked.

“Oh, I’m doing a bit of research over the next few days.”

“Historical stuff?”

“Kind of.” He hesitated for a moment. Was he really thinking of telling her everything? He hadn’t opened up to anyone for a long time. But then he hadn’t had the kind of connection he had with Mia with anyone else.

He filed that away to think about later. “I’m looking for my father.”

“Oh. You left him somewhere?”

He grinned. “My biological father. I’m adopted.”

“Oh? I didn’t know.”

“Yeah. He’s a Kiwi. My birth mother, Mary, was Irish. Not surprisingly really, considering the name.”

“Was?”

“She died giving birth to me. A ruptured…er…something, can’t remember. Something vital, obviously. My father had left by then—I don’t think he knew she was pregnant. But my adopted mum is her sister, and she was there when I was born.”

“Jeez, Colm, I never knew. You should have said.”

“It’s not the sort of thing you talk about in the staff room.”

“No. I suppose not.” She paused for a moment. “You’re telling me now, though? What’s changed?”

“You mean apart from all the sex and orgasms?”

She laughed. “I guess it has altered our relationship a little.”

“A bit. I like you, Mia,” he confided. “And I don’t have anyone else to talk to about this.”

“You don’t talk to…what was her name?”

“Juliet?”

“Yeah.”

“Nah. We haven’t kept in touch. And no, I didn’t tell her while we were dating.”

“Oh.” She went quiet for a moment.

He cleared his throat. “Anyway. I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable by confiding. I’ll shut up if you like.”

“No! God, no. I want to know more. So when Mary died, her sister adopted you?”

“Yes. Kathleen and Niall—they brought me up with their own kids.”

“Did they know your father?”

“No, they never met him—the affair was brief and she kept it secret. Apparently just before she died, she told them he was an artist from ‘Down Under’ and his name was Robert. That’s it.”

“Okay.” She thought about it. “How do you know it was New Zealand and not Australia?”

“That’s…another story.”

“Oh?”

“I’ll tell you about it some other time. But anyway, I thought I’d come here and see if I could track him down.”

“Any luck?”

He sighed. “No, not yet. I’m pretty sure he’s in Wellington, but none of the agencies have turned up any evidence he ever existed. Anyway, I’ve got another couple of places to try tomorrow. I’ll see if they come up with anything.”

“Can I help?”

“Aw, sweetheart…”

“I mean it. There must be something I can do?”

“Maybe. I’ll think about it.” He wasn’t sure how he felt about her helping him out. His quest to find his father was so personal—did he want Mia dragged into it? Plus he was going to have to explain to her why he was so certain his father was a Kiwi and not an Aussie, and he never told anyone about his gift.

“Col-um…”

He smiled. “Yes…”

She sighed. “You want to come to the party with me on Wednesday?”

Pleasure flooded him. “I’d love to.”

“I hope it won’t be too boring for you.”

“Can we have sex afterward?”

She laughed then. “Maybe.”

“In that case I look forward to it.”

“Pick me up at four?”

“I will. I’ll see you then, honey.”

“Yeah, see ya, Col-um.”

Smiling, he hung up and lay there for a moment, looking at the ceiling. He was glad he’d rung. He’d begun to feel a bit depressed at the thought of two weeks off without seeing her. He hadn’t realised how much he enjoyed just bumping into her during the day, seeing her at break and having morning coffee together. She brightened his day.

Jeez, he was in trouble.

Chapter Fifteen

“I’d heard that you shouldn’t pee in the Amazon because there are tiny piranhas that swim up your urine stream and into your dick,” Colm said.

Nate coughed into his beer as everyone else burst out laughing. “Fucking hell. I’m glad I didn’t know that before I left.”

Mia smiled, meeting Freya’s warm gaze. Colm, Nate and Ash were getting on like a house not only on fire, but with lighter fluid poured all over it. Mia was half-surprised, half-not. Surprised because she could still remember the awkward dinner they’d all had with Ross where Nate and Ash had tried so hard to include him into the conversation and failed on every account. And not surprised because she was beginning to understand what a wonderful guy Colm was beneath the rather reserved and reticent first impression he tended to give.

It was early evening, and the six of them were finally alone. Freya’s family and lots of their other friends had been there for several hours, but they’d gradually departed, leaving the close friends gathered in Ash and Grace’s large living room, sprawled on the sofa and chairs, with Freya on the floor curled up next to Nate.

“I’m so glad you guys had a good time,” Mia said. “What are your plans for the future? Are you going to travel again, or move abroad?”

Freya and Nate exchanged a private, secret smile. “Actually…” Freya said, “…we’ve got something to tell you. We’re staying put for a while because…we’re getting married.”

Cheers broke out and they all got up to hug one another and pass on their congratulations.

Mia gave Freya an extra-long hug. “Congratulations, sweetie,” Mia said, squeezing her tight.

“Thank you.” Freya kissed her on the cheek and then smiled at her. “Now we just have to sort you out, eh?”

“Yeah.” It took all Mia’s self-control not to turn and look at Colm. But to her horror, her cheeks burned.

Freya stared at her with amusement. “You’re blushing.”

“No, I’m not.” She glanced hurriedly at Colm. Luckily he wasn’t listening and was talking to Ash.

Grace had overheard, though and she surveyed Mia with amusement now. “Ooh. Mia Nicholls blushing. Dear Mr. Guinness.”

“Shut up.” Mia walked off. Her irritation was only a little faked. She didn’t want Colm overhearing the girls’ teasing comments.

She took some of the glasses out to the kitchen and began to wash them up. After a few minutes, Ash appeared carrying some more, put them on the draining board, then picked up a tea towel.

They stood quietly for a moment while she washed the glasses and he dried them. Mia didn’t feel pressured to talk. She liked Ash. A blond, six-foot-four modern-day Viking, Ash was solid and dependable, practical and down-to-earth, in spite of the fact that he spoke to dead people for a living. Mia hadn’t quite got used to that, but then neither had his wife. Grace still didn’t believe a hundred percent in the afterlife, but she was happy to admit that Ash certainly seemed to have an uncanny knack for seeing below the surface of both people and situations.

“Good to have them back, eh?” he said after a while.

“Yeah.”

“Sounds like they had a good time.”

“Yeah. And lovely to hear they’re getting married.”

“I know. Nice surprise.” He put some of the washed and dried glasses away. “And how are you doing? Are you all right?”

Mia gave him a wry smile. “Grace put you up to this, did she?”

“No. I am capable of checking up on my friends without my wife’s help.”

She sighed and leaned on the sink. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He dried a glass slowly. “Colm seems like a good guy.”

She lifted a handful of bubbles and watched a couple float slowly upward. “Yes, he is.” She blew the rest of them off her fingers and then glanced at him. “You like him?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m glad you approve.”

“What am I, your father? I’m only thirty-five.” He smiled, taking the edge off his comment.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she apologised. “I meant that I trust your intuition. Not that you’d tell me outright what you think—you were kind enough not to mention what an idiot Ross was.”

He sighed. “He wasn’t an idiot…”

“He was.”

“Okay, he was, but that wasn’t the point. We just all thought you deserved better.”

“I do, I agree. But be honest with me. Is Colm…better?”

“In what way?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’ve just said I like him.”

“I know. He’s very likeable. I meant…using your spidey senses.”

He laughed. “My what?”

“You know what I mean.”

He turned to face her, leaning his hip against the worktop. “He’s good, Mia. A decent guy. Although…I do get the feeling he’s hiding something.”

She rinsed another glass. “He’s adopted and he’s here to find his father. I don’t think he’s told anyone else. Could that be it?”

He folded up the tea towel. “I think there’s something else.”

“Something bad?”

“No.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Come on, Ash, cough up. What do you know that I don’t?”

He bent forward and kissed her cheek. “You know it doesn’t work that way. You’ll have to ask him.”

“You’re infuriating, you know that?”

“Yes. Grace tells me all the time.” He smiled and walked back into the living room.

Mia sighed and put the last glass on the draining board. He’s hiding something. What could Ash have meant? Was Colm married or something? But when she’d asked “Something bad?” he’d replied, “No.” Surely he’d have told her if it was something like that?

Without warning, she had a flash of the dream in which Colm had appeared to save her from the car, and the way he’d called her Clio. That had been odd, especially when he’d actually said that the following day. Of course it was likely he’d forgotten he’d already called her it before and her subconscious was remembering something her conscious wasn’t.

But Grace was married to a medium, and Freya was now engaged to a healer. They were surrounded by men who had this strange connection to a world that the girls could only imagine. It wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility that the dream was more than a coincidence.

Mia got herself a glass, rolling her shoulders as she filled it with cold water from the tap. Her back had been pretty good since Colm’s ministrations in Auckland, but the day before, she’d spent longer than she should have done sitting at her computer catching up on some lesson planning, and today her spine ached and she had the warning spikes of pain radiating out across her back beneath her shoulder blades. Disappointment threaded through her—when she’d asked him to the party, Colm had asked her, “Can we have sex afterward?”—but now she just felt tired and wanted to go home.

She went back into the living room to see that Ash’s fifteen-year-old daughter, Jodi, had joined them all and was curled up on the sofa between Grace and Ash. She had a hand resting on Grace’s tummy, obviously feeling the baby kick, which made Mia smile. Grace had been so worried how Jodi would react to her pregnancy, but Jodi had been wonderful—excited at the thought of having a baby in the house, and eagerly joining Grace in looking at baby clothes and items for the nursery.

“Hey, Jodi,” Mia said, walking up to the group.

“Hey, Mia.” Jodi went to get up. “Sorry, did I take your seat?”

“It’s all right,” Colm said. He stood up and indicated for Mia to sit in his armchair, and promptly sat on the floor next to it, legs stretched out.

The others all looked amused but didn’t say anything. Mia glared at Jodi’s grin and sat. “You’ve met Colm, then?” Mia asked.

“Yes.” Jodi smiled at him. “He seems very nice, Mia. You have my approval.”

Mia stared at her. “Oh we’re not…um…” Her cheeks grew warm as Colm lifted an eyebrow. “We’re just friends,” she finished lamely.

“Right,” Jodi said. “Sure.”

Everyone started laughing. Colm covered a smile by sipping his Coke. Mia glared at them all, her sense of humour rapidly disappearing. “I’m not denying we’re having sex,” she said, causing Colm to cough into his drink as everyone’s eyebrows shot up. “I’m just saying that’s it, so you can all stop your nudges and winks because it doesn’t mean anything.”

Everyone sobered, duly chastened. Colm met her gaze, though, thoughtful as he wiped his top lip. She looked away, exhausted, wishing she hadn’t come. She was tired and exhausted. Why had she invited Colm? They weren’t dating, and she was only making things more difficult.

Taking off the scarf she had wound around her neck, she laid it across the arm of the chair. Colm picked it up and pulled it through his fingers.

“So,” Freya said. “Come on, Mia. I think it’s about time we discussed your injuries.”

Mia leaned forward and placed her glass on the coffee table. “I don’t think so.”

“Come on,” Freya pleaded. “Grace has been telling me how bad you’re feeling. Nate could really help—why won’t you say yes?”

Mia glanced at Nate, who was studying her with his dark eyes. She looked back at Freya. “I really don’t want to talk about it.”

“Well, I agree with Freya, I think we should,” Grace said. “We’re all friends here, and we only want the best for you.”

Mia was growing angry. “Guys, this isn’t the time. We have a guest here.” She gestured at Colm, who had a frown between his eyebrows.

Grace waved a hand. “For God’s sake, Colm’s one of us now. And he only wants the best for you, too.”

They’d planned this, Mia realised. They’d waited until they were all together because they thought they could overwhelm her with numbers, and they hoped having Colm there would make her behave and go quietly. Did they not know her at all?

“This is bullshit,” she snapped. “If I don’t want to take my pills or I don’t want to be healed, that’s up to me—it’s nothing to do with any of you.”

“She’s right,” Nate said, casting his fiancée a look. “It’s none of our business.”

“I don’t make a fuss in front of you,” Mia continued, beginning to feel tears burning behind her eyes and hating herself for them. “I don’t complain. Why should it affect any of you?”

“Because we love you,” Grace said heatedly. “We don’t like to see you in pain. How do you think that makes us feel, to know you’re suffering and there’s nothing we can do?”

“Grace.” Ash put a warning hand on her arm. “Nate’s right, it’s Mia’s choice.”

“But she’s being an idiot,” Grace protested.

Mia got to her feet. “I think I’ll get going.”

Colm got up. “I’ll drive you home.”

“It’s okay, I’ll walk.”

He ignored her and went over to Ash and Grace as everyone stood, shook Ash’s hand and kissed Grace’s cheek. “I had a great time, thank you.” He said goodbye to Jodi, then to Freya and Nate, exchanging pleasantries.

Mia ignored everyone and went out to get her coat. Anger and resentment burned in her stomach, and her shoulders throbbed. Screw everyone. It was her choice—why did they all think they could tell her what to do?

And now she had to put up with Colm reprimanding her, she supposed. Well, she’d soon tell him where to get off.

He joined her by the door. “Are you going to say goodbye?” he said softly.

She hesitated, every muscle in her body burning to walk out of the door, and glared at him. He refused to be stared down, though, just surveyed her with eyes calm behind his glasses, and in the end she sighed and went back into the room. She gave them all a quick kiss, apologised and told them she’d call later.

She walked across the gravel drive to Colm’s car and slid in silently, a little sullenly. He got in beside her and started the engine, then glanced over at her. “Good girl.”

“You think you’re my father now? Don’t be so fucking patronising.”

She thought he might snap back or try and defend his comment, but he said nothing, steering the car down the drive and then onto the main road.

They said nothing all the way back to her house. She sank back into her seat, miserable and exhausted and slightly ashamed at her behaviour. She just wanted to get in and go to sleep.

He pulled up outside the row of Edwardian houses and before she could stop him, unclipped his seatbelt and got out of the car. She followed him angrily, slamming the car door and storming up the path.

“You can stop there,” she snapped. “You’re not coming in.”

He turned to face her. “Yes, I am.”

“Colm, unless it has escaped your notice, I’m not in the mood for sex. Thank you for giving me a lift. Now go home.”

He studied her patiently. “Actually, I think some gentle lovemaking and a couple of decent orgasms are exactly what you need. But we’ll start with the pills and maybe another massage and see where we go from there.”

“Stop telling me what to do!”

His brow furrowed. “The pain’s coming off you in waves, Mia. Even your friends can feel it. You’re suffering because you feel guilty, and that’s okay, that’s something you have to work through, but even you can’t live like that all the time.”

“Fuck off!” she yelled.

But he didn’t fuck off. He studied her with pity, walked up to her and put his arms around her.

Chapter Sixteen

Mia tensed against him, wanting to push him away, but his hand stroked between her shoulder blades, and he murmured something soothing, and she couldn’t keep the tears back.

She buried her face in his shirt, and he kissed her ear.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured.

She clenched his shirt in her fists. She mustn’t keep taking consolation from him—it wasn’t fair. He was going to leave—she couldn’t start relying on him.

But his arms were tight around her, and he smelled lovely, of warm male and subtle aftershave and a slight hint of the chocolate chip cookie he’d had at Ash’s house. It was an enticing mix, and suddenly she couldn’t bear to let him go.

He took her keys off her, reached out and unlocked the door. Then, still with one arm around her, he took her inside and closed the door behind them.

He led her over to the sofa, took off her coat, and she sat, her face in her hands, unable to stop the tears flowing. She heard him moving around, putting on the lamp and lighting the gas fire, and for a moment his feet echoed down the corridor, either to the bathroom or to her bedroom. After a few minutes he went into the kitchen and poured a glass of water. He came back in and rustled around in her handbag, and then he was pushing the glass into her hand, along with a couple of the painkillers.

She took them because she was tired of the pain and didn’t have the energy to fight him any longer, and he stood there and waited until she’d swallowed them before taking the glass back off her and placing it on the table.

Then he sat next to her and pulled her into his arms.

She curled up beside him, trying to concentrate on nothing more than drinking in the comfort and security he somehow seemed to radiate.

He stretched out his long legs and made himself comfortable, and kissed the top of her head. “Just for ten minutes,” he said softly. “Until the pills start working.”

They didn’t speak for a while, but sat quietly, listening to the clock tick in the corner, enjoying the warmth from the fire. Mia gradually relaxed against him, reassured by the gentle stroking of his hand on her back, the occasional touch of his lips on her hair. She didn’t feel the need to make conversation, and somehow the silence calmed her, the fact that he was comfortable just holding her.

The tears continued to trickle out of her eyes occasionally, even though she put no effort into crying. She hated herself for them, but the self-pity just wouldn’t go away.

After the ten minutes had passed, Colm stirred and said, “Come on. Stage two of the ‘let’s make Mia feel better campaign’.”

She wiped her face and pushed herself upright. The pain between her shoulder blades had lessened a little, but she didn’t protest when he took her hand and led her toward the bedroom. The thought of his warm, strong hands on her was too attractive to resist.

He’d put the heater on so it was nice and warm, and he’d lit the aromatherapy burner she kept beside the bed, and the room was cast in an orange glow.

Slowly he undressed her, lifting her top over her head carefully, unbuttoning her skirt so it fell to the floor, then placing his arms around her and squeezing the catch of her bra so it popped open. She looked up and caught his gaze as he did it and he gave her a wry smile, but turned her and pushed her toward the bed and said, “Lie down on your front.”

She pulled the duvet aside and did so, pressing her face into the cool pillow as he moved about the room. He rolled up his shirt sleeves, but he didn’t strip. He took off his glasses and placed them on the bedside table. Then he found a small bottle of baby oil and she watched as he selected a few of the bottles of aromatherapy oils she kept beside the burner and added a couple of drops of each to the oil in his hands.

“What are you doing?” she whispered.

“Ginger warms and relaxes, lavender’s an analgesic, and rosemary’s great for muscle problems,” he said. “Aromatherapy oils are one of the best things to use in massages.”

She said nothing, but his knowledge impressed her and proved to her that he really did know what he was talking about.

He warmed the oil in his hands and then smoothed it across her back. She sighed, enjoying the slow, gentle strokes from her shoulders down either side of her spine to her hips, finding comfort from the feel of his skin on hers, his tender, caring touch.

First he spent a while warming up her muscles, then he progressed to smaller circular patterns with firmer strokes before moving finally to a pressure-point technique that almost made her groan as he really got deep into her muscles. He steered clear of the area where her scar was, but her pain began to lessen as the rest of her back relaxed.

He worked for about fifteen minutes, also working on her arms, before reverting to a slower, gentler massage, ending with almost feather-light strokes along her skin that made her shiver in her dreamlike state.

When he’d finished, he wiped off the excess oil from her back with a towel and dried his hands. She lay half-dozing as he removed his shirt and pants, leaving on his boxers, then slid into bed next to her. He pulled her into his arms, her back to his chest, drew the covers over her, and kissed her shoulder before snuggling down.

“Thank you,” she murmured. She felt not so much tired as dreamily relaxed.

“You are very welcome. How does it feel?”

“Good. Much better.”

“I’m glad.”

She lay there feeling comfortable and cared for, conscious of the rise and fall of his chest behind her, his breath warm on her ear, his arm heavy around her rib cage beneath her breasts. Although he’d undressed, he seemed content to just hold her. How delectable.

She’d grown used to being in bed alone. It was so much nicer having someone with her, though. She’d told herself she was happy on her own and that she didn’t need a man to make her complete, but she didn’t realise how lonely she’d been until that moment.

He hadn’t made a move to touch her intimately, but as she relaxed, gradually she became conscious of his body, his warmth and strength and lovely masculine smell.

Mmm.

He’d pushed the duvet between their hips before he’d pulled her against him. Wriggling, she lifted the duvet so she could press her bottom against his crotch.

“Goodness,” she said. “Did you bring a cucumber into bed with you or are you pleased to see me?”

He chuckled. “I tucked the duvet there so it wouldn’t disturb you.”

“I like being disturbed.” She continued to wiggle her hips a little so his erection nestled between the cheeks of her bottom.

He kissed her shoulder. “I didn’t want to assume. I’m happy just to cuddle.”

“I thought you said an orgasm would help relax me?”

“I’m sure it would.” He sounded amused.

She shifted onto her back to look up at him. He lay looking relaxed and gorgeous, his head propped on a hand, his brown hair ruffled. He smiled as she reached up and brushed her fingers against his bristles.

“Hello,” he said, and winked at her.

“Hello.” To her surprise, her face warmed. Why? She’d always prided herself on the fact that she never blushed.

“I’m sorry I bullied you.” He turned his head and kissed her hand.

She said nothing for a moment, not wanting him to think she liked being bossed about, but the truth was that she loved the fact that he cared enough about her to be firm and commanding. Very few men had known how to handle her in the past—they knew she was feisty and tended to either try to match her aggressive manner or back down completely, neither of which was likely to work. Colm’s gentle encouragement and determination was like baby bear’s porridge—just right.

Because she couldn’t think what to say, she slid her hand into his hair and pulled his head down to kiss him.

He returned the kiss happily, leisurely, stroking his tongue across her bottom lip until she opened her mouth, then deepening the kiss until she arched against him, desperate for his hands on her body and breasts.

“This wall’s an exterior one,” she pointed out when he lifted his head. “So it doesn’t matter if the headboard bangs against it.”

He shook his head. “Not tonight.”

“No?” She pouted as disappointment swept through her. Didn’t he want to make love to her? His erection suggested otherwise.

He kissed her nose. “No to the headboard banging, not no to the sex. Tonight we’re going to take it slow.” He traced a finger down her breastbone and circled it around her breasts.

“We are?” The disappointment flared into excitement.

“Yes.” He cupped her breasts and rubbed his thumb across her nipple. “You’ve had a tough time and I want it to make it last for you.”

“Oh.” She’d never met a man who appeared more concerned about her pleasure than his own.

“And for me,” he said, confirming that her pleasure wasn’t the only thing on his mind.

“Well, of course.”

“I want to make the most of you while I’ve got you.”

She met his gaze, tensing a little at the thought that this was temporary, and it wouldn’t be long before he’d be returning to Ireland to meet up with some pretty Irish girl with flaming red hair.

The thought of him loving someone else stung, though, so she pushed it to the back of her mind. He was here now with her, and as he’d said, they had to make the most of each other while they were together.

So she let him make love to her slowly, enjoying the change of pace as he aroused her with calm, unhurried precision. He took her nipples in his mouth, groaning as they turned from soft peaks to hard buttons beneath his tongue. Sighing and closing her eyes, she ran her fingers over his back and shoulders, admiring his physique and thinking again how surprised she was at his muscles. She’d assumed he’d be skinny and slightly wimpy beneath the corduroy, but instead he was so…manly.

He moved his hand between her legs and slid his fingers into her so easily that she knew she was ready for him. And she knew it turned him on because his erection grew even harder, if that were possible. He plunged his tongue into her mouth as he moved his fingers inside her, and she moaned as he returned them to her clit to arouse her until her breathing grew erratic and she begged him to enter her.

“Roll over,” he murmured, pushing her shoulder gently.

She turned onto her front, relieved to feel only a dull ache in her back, her heart pounding as he moved behind her. “Ooh,” she said, breathless. “From behind, yum.”

He chuckled. “We did my favourite position—it only seems polite to do one of yours.”

He slid on a condom, then leaned over her, supporting himself on his strong, muscular arms, and bent and nuzzled her ear. “Are you comfortable? I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Yes,” she whispered. “You won’t.” And she knew for a fact that he wouldn’t. He was so tender with her, so careful. And she knew he’d be gentle until he was sure she was relaxed.

How could she be so sure? She’d only slept with him once. And yet she knew. He’d take care of her.

Jeez, what the fuck was wrong with her? She wasn’t going to get all starry-eyed over a quick screw.

She parted her thighs wide, wiggling her butt as he pressed his erection between her legs. “Come on,” she begged. “I’m desperate.”

“Patience, Farrow,” he scolded. He pushed his hips forward and slowly, very slowly, slid inside her.

She groaned and buried her face in the pillow. “Oh my God that feels fantastic,” she said, her voice muffled. She felt full to the brim, stretched to bursting with him.

He kissed her shoulder. “I know.” His voice was husky.

He pulled back and pushed forward again, and continued to do so, regular and rhythmic, refusing to increase his pace even though she begged him to, driven mad by the slow and sensual slide of him inside her.

“Colm,” she sighed, resting her forehead on the pillow as he laced his tongue up her neck and ear without ceasing his movement, “please…”

“Behave,” he murmured, nipping her earlobe and making her squeal. “And do as you’re told.” He slid a hand beneath her and squeezed her nipple.

She moaned and tried to push back against him to make him thrust harder, but he just laughed and continued his slow speed, relentless, tormenting her as his hand wandered over her breasts and then moved between her legs.

Only when everything began to tighten around him did he finally give in and thrust harder, and she welcomed the rush of exquisite sensation, conscious of him swelling inside her as he came, the two of them climaxing together in a beautiful dance she knew she’d never grow tired of.

Chapter Seventeen

Afterward, Colm found some grapes and chocolate in the fridge and brought them with a bottle of white wine back into the bedroom. He proceeded to feed Mia where she lay on her back, too lazy to get up.

“Someone’s obviously taught you right,” she said, opening her mouth as he dangled a bunch of grapes over it. He lowered the bunch until she took one between her teeth, then lifted it so it parted from the bunch with a pop. “You could hire yourself out as some kind of gigolo.”

He chuckled and took one of the grapes for himself. “Because I’m feeding you grapes? You’re easily pleased.”

She sat up, her brow furrowing earnestly, the point obviously being important to her. “No, you don’t get it. It’s not just the grapes. It’s…everything. You’re so thoughtful, for a guy.”

“Are you saying I’m effeminate? I’m not going to start talking about eyebrow shaping or anything.”

She rolled her eyes and reached for her wine. He took the opportunity to admire her breasts as she did so. Although she’d lost weight, it hadn’t come off her bust, and her breasts were still nicely full, the nipples high and pink. Now they were relaxed and soft, but he knew if he took them in his mouth, they’d contract into tight tips that would make her sigh when he teased them with his tongue.

She’d stopped moving, and he lifted his eyes to hers to see her staring at him, one eyebrow raised.

“Are you ogling me, Baloney?”

“Yep.” He popped another grape into his mouth. “You’ve got nice tits, it seems a shame not to admire them.”

She gave a choke of outrage and smacked his arm. “Shocking.”

“And you love it.”

“I do.” She lay back again with a sigh. “You’ve shown a very pleasing ability to shock me. I like that.”

He grinned and stretched out beside her. “I’m glad I exceeded your expectations.”

She took a piece of chocolate and sucked it thoughtfully as she studied him. “I’ve got something to ask you.”

“Uh-oh.”

“It’s nothing sexy,” she added.

“Oh, okay. Only I was going to say yes to whatever you wanted to ask me to do.”

Her lips curved. “That’s a very dodgy thing to say. I could come up with anything. Sex in public. A threesome.”

He tipped his head from side to side as if he was considering it. “I’d think about it.”

“Colm!”

“What?” He grinned. Actually, there was no way he’d share her with anybody else, and he’d rather not let the whole world see him in action, but it was fun to fantasise.

She shook her head as if shocked, although she was laughing. “No. Actually I was going to ask you about your father.”

“Oh?” He chose a piece of chocolate. “What do you want to know?”

“When we spoke on the phone, you said you were sure he was in New Zealand and not Australia, even though your mum had only said ‘Down Under’. And you said it was another story, and you’d tell me about it sometime.”

He chewed the chocolate. He’d wondered whether she’d forget about that, but clearly she’d only been waiting for a suitable time to ask him. “I did.”

Her green eyes were patient, curious. “You want to tell me now?”

He hesitated, not knowing how she would react to his strange talent.

She reached out, picked up his hand and threaded her fingers through his. “You can tell me.”

“It’s…an unusual story.”

“I’m surrounded by men with unusual stories.”

It was true—she had two male friends with weird abilities, but he was still afraid she’d make fun of him, or even worse, that it would put her off him. Still, what choice did he have? He couldn’t really refuse to tell her now he’d hinted at it.

Touched by her reassurance, he nodded. “Okay. Well, the first time I noticed it, I was six. Our dog had gone missing. My mum was really upset, and my dad spent hours walking the streets of Dublin trying to find him. I can remember sitting in the kitchen watching my mum, and she was holding Rua’s spare collar. She put it down to make herself a cup of tea, and I picked it up. I can remember it vividly—I could see Rua in a field, sitting by a fence, and her collar was hooked on the fence. It was kind of misty and unfocussed, and it vanished quickly. But it was definitely her.

“I didn’t say anything until Dad came back, and they were discussing where he’d looked, and I said, ‘Did you look in the field with the two oaks?’ And my father said she probably wouldn’t have gone that way because it meant crossing a busy road, and I said, ‘But I can see her there—her collar’s hooked on the fence.’ I can remember them both staring at me. Mum said, ‘What do you mean, how can you see her?’ And I told her what had happened when I held Rua’s collar.

“They exchanged a glance and Dad went out again, and sure enough, he found her exactly where I’d said, collar hooked on the fence, looking sorry for herself.”

He stopped and disentangled their fingers so he could have a sip of wine. What was going through Mia’s mind? Jeez, what a weirdo? But she didn’t look alarmed, just interested.

“What did they say when they realised you were right?” she asked quietly.

He shrugged. “Not much. I got an extra-large helping of apple pie that night.” He smiled.

“So what happened after that?”

“Not much, for a while. I forgot about it. My parents didn’t mention it. I guess they thought it might have been a fluke. It happened once or twice as I grew up but I ignored it. It was as I entered my teens that I really started noticing it again. But this time it wasn’t just images. I began to get the emotions of people when I picked up something belonging to them. I could tell what they were feeling. I didn’t realise what I was doing at first—I thought I was reading their faces, you know, intuition. But gradually I understood it was more than that. I could see things people were trying to hide. Their deepest, darkest fears and worries.”

He stopped, afraid he’d gone too far.

“The watch,” Mia said. “In the staff room. You picked up my watch and that’s how you knew I was in pain.”

“Yes,” he admitted. “I didn’t do it on purpose—it was about to fall off the table and I caught it. And I didn’t have my guard up, so the feelings came through without me even trying.”

“What do you mean, you didn’t have your guard up?”

“I normally try to shut it out,” he said. “But sometimes if I have a strong connection to someone, I can’t stop it happening.”

Her eyes met his. “A strong connection? We hardly knew each other at the time.”

“It’s not about how well you know someone.” How could he explain himself out of this one? “I don’t know very much about this sort of thing so I’m talking out of my arse here, but from what I understand, we are all made of energy, and we have this energy field around us.”

“That’s what Ash says,” she said.

“Yes. And these energy fields intermingle when we interact. Like shadows. And I think if there’s an attraction there, it means there’s more of a connection…” He trailed off, embarrassed. He didn’t know what he was saying and couldn’t put it into words. He sat up and took another swallow of wine to cover his awkwardness.

She pushed herself up and sat before him, legs crossed, tucking the duvet under her arms and across her breasts. “Why do you normally try to shut it out?”

He thought about that for a moment, staring into his wine glass as he twirled it between his fingers. “I’m a Catholic,” he said eventually. “Or I was raised one, anyway. I don’t practice, but the old ways are ingrained, you know? And anything to do with the occult is frowned upon by the Church. My parents know what I can do, and they’ve never told me it’s wrong, but they’ve always had this vague sense of disapproval. And I can’t escape the feeling that it’s somehow…”

“Evil?” she suggested.

“I suppose.”

“You’re thinking you’re like Damien from The Omen.”

He smiled wryly. “Maybe. But I don’t like doing it. I try not to. I try to shut it out. But sometimes it happens on its own.”

She just nodded. He couldn’t tell what she was thinking.

“So tell me about your real father,” she said. “Do you think you got the gift from him?”

He noted that she called it a “gift”. “Probably. I haven’t heard of anything like it through my mother’s side of the family. But anyway, about eighteen months ago, my mum and dad moved house for the first time since they were married. She was clearing out the loft and she came across a box of things belonging to my birth mother. And in the box was a ring. It was a man’s ring, and Mum said Mary had worn it on a chain around her neck and had been wearing it when she died. We assume it was Robert’s.”

“So did you hold it?” Mia said.

“Yes. I took it back to my apartment and for the first time in my life, I consciously tried to see what I could get from an object. All I could see was a building—a really unusual building. I had to look it up on Google because I’d never seen it before.” He paused, putting the wine glass on the bedside table. “It was the Beehive.”

Chapter Eighteen

Mia stared at him. He’d just given the nickname for the New Zealand Parliament Buildings that were shaped like a skep, or woven beehive.

She reached for her wine and sipped it as she thought about what he’d told her. Did she believe him? It was difficult not to. His face was open, honest, and he was clearly more than a little embarrassed about admitting what he could do.

What a shame that he felt his gift was somehow evil, though. Clearly he still had to come to terms with his talent, like Nate had before Ash had shown him the way.

She remembered the way Colm had kissed her in the staff room—that had been because he’d picked up her watch and sensed her feeling down. She was also pretty sure he’d done it a couple of times since then—maybe when he’d held her scarf in Grace’s house, for example. Had he planned to try and “listen in” on her feelings, or had it just happened to him because of their “strong connection”?

And what did he mean by that? Was it really possible that here, now, their energy fields were intermingling like shadows, as if her mind was reaching out to his in spite of the fact that they sat a foot apart? Maybe that explained why she felt drawn to him even as she tried to keep herself distant. Perhaps she had no control over how she felt and any attempt to force her feet in one direction was fruitless.

She shook her head. There was no point having deep, meaningful discussions in her head about the nature of fate. There were no answers. Colm was looking for her to give an emotional response to what he’d told her—which clearly he didn’t admit to many people. What was she going to say?

“Wow,” she said, finishing her wine and placing the glass on the table. “I think I’d better call the mental institution now.”

He laughed, pulled her into his arms and rolled onto his back, bringing her with him. She stretched out on top of him, enjoying the feel of his young, strong body beneath hers, his large, warm hands holding her tightly.

“You’re good for me,” he said. He looked relieved.

“Did you think I was going to freak out?” she said, amused.

“Maybe.”

“Colm, I have one friend who heals people with his hands and another who talks to dead people. I’m pretty open minded.”

“I know.” He brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “I was more worried that you’d think I was being intrusive, listening in to your feelings.”

She pushed herself up onto her elbows and surveyed him. “Something tells me that’s happened to you before.”

He twirled a strand of her hair, watching the way it curled lovingly around his finger. “When I’ve told someone before what I can do, it hasn’t gone well.”

“What was her name?” she said softly.

His eyes came back to hers, and he smiled. “I’m not going to talk about past lovers with you lying here on top of me, naked.”

“Why not?”

“Mia, really? It doesn’t seem very…polite.”

She laughed. “Oh come on, we’re grown up, aren’t we? I’m interested.” She kissed his nose. “I want to know more about you. How many girls have you been with?” That earned her an exasperated look, and she giggled. “Okay, have you ever been in love?”

His blue eyes studied her thoughtfully. He looked sad, presumably thinking of a girl he’d loved and lost. Who was it? She surprised herself with the pang of envy that swept through her at the woman who’d ensnared this man’s heart. Who would have been stupid enough to let him go if she had the chance to hang on to him?

“What was her name?” she asked.

In answer, he tightened his arm around her, slid his hand into her hair and proceeded to kiss the living daylights out of her.

So he didn’t want to talk about her. Maybe they’d broken up just before he’d left to come to New Zealand—maybe that was why he’d come to New Zealand, to get away. And there was no reason he should have to tell her about his past. He obviously wanted his private life kept just that—private.

Still, for some reason she felt disappointed. It was a reminder that this was only a brief fling. They were good friends who happened to be having sex, but they weren’t confidantes.

And yet he’d told her about his father, when he hadn’t told Juliet, whom he’d dated for several months. How strange.

Her thoughts were becoming disjointed now, though, because he was growing hard against the flat of her stomach and his hands had begun to wander over her body, stroking her breasts and tweaking her nipples. She decided she wasn’t going to dwell on anything but the moment. What was the point? Why should she delve into his past and uncover things that made him uncomfortable when they were only supposed to be a pleasant diversion for each other?

So she parted her legs and lifted until the tip of his erection pressed into her, and then lowered herself slowly onto him.

He groaned, and she raised her head to watch him, loving the way his eyelids slid to half-mast and his forehead creased with desire. God, it was exquisite, this feeling of him warm and young and alive inside her. She’d missed this so, the sensation of being one with another person, of giving and receiving pleasure. And she hadn’t received pleasure like this in, well, maybe ever. Even the one good lover she’d been with hadn’t paid attention to her like Colm did.

Now his hands were roaming over her, slow and lazy, fingers trailing like feathers across her skin from the nape of her neck to her hips. As they kissed and she moved slowly on top of him, he brushed down her back on either side of her spine and cupped her buttocks, holding her firmly as he thrust inside her. Then he stroked up her rib cage to her breasts, taking her softened nipples between his finger and thumb and tugging them until they tightened and stretched to peaks.

He gave a low murmur of appreciation at her sighs, continuing his steady, relentless rhythm with his hips, and Mia began to spiral out of control. There was something about this man that made her heady, and it puzzled her even as it aroused her. He wasn’t like any man she’d ever dated or even fancied before—she’d always gone for overtly alpha types, apart from Ross, who’d been an aberration in a moment of desperate need. Usually she liked the stereotypical tall, dark and handsome type, arrogant and confident, although she had to admit they tended to drive her nuts as much as they aroused her. But she’d never been attracted to the studenty sort, with glasses, and patches on the elbows of their jackets, who couldn’t say boo to a duck, let alone a goose.

But then he wasn’t really like that, was he? There was something, as Freya had said, surprisingly grrr about Colm deep down, something forceful and okay, I’ve pretended to let you boss me about enough, I’m going to take charge now, that turned her on just thinking about it.

He demonstrated this forcefulness by pushing her up so he could take her nipples into his mouth, sucking with a firmness that made her gasp and clench her hands in the duvet. And then he moved her upright so she sat astride him, clearly enjoying the view as she arched her back and took him deep inside her.

He cupped her breasts and squeezed. “Tell me how to make you come. I want to watch you.”

“Ladies first?” she teased as she rocked her hips. “Always so polite, Mr. Molony.”

His eyes glinted. “You don’t want polite?”

Naughtiness surged through her. “What would you do if I said no, not this time?”

In reply, he sat up swiftly, making her squeal, tucked his hands under her butt and lifted her. “Bring your legs forward,” he demanded.

She did so, slightly breathless at his forcefulness and the newness of the position. When he lowered her again to sit on his lap, she found she could lean back on her hands and plant her feet on the mattress behind him. She could still control the movement, but it was only when he ran a hand up her thigh to between her legs that she realised he now had direct, unfettered access to her clit, and he was obviously going to make the most of it.

“Oh,” she said as he circled his thumb around the swollen button and watched where she slid up and down the glistening length of his erection. “Fuck.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, thrusting up as she lowered down, setting a firm and rhythmic pace with his fingers.

As her movements became quicker, her breathing more ragged, he slipped a hand to the back of her neck and pulled her toward him. The kiss was passionate, wet, tongues thrusting, breath coming fast and harsh, and she gasped as the force of his desire rolled over her in waves.

“You’re fucking amazing,” he said in a growly voice that made her shiver. “I could fuck you all night.” His hand was still buried in her hair, and he held her there while he kissed her again, plunging his tongue in and out of her mouth and mirroring his thrusts inside her.

“Jeez, Colm,” she panted when he finally lifted his lips. She’d pass out if he carried on talking like that. What had happened to the nice boy who’d made love to her so gently before?

He tightened his fingers in her hair, pulling her head back so he could lace his tongue down her neck, and to her shock he fastened his mouth where her neck met her shoulder and sucked hard. She yelped and smacked him on the arm, and in reply he lifted his head and crushed her lips to his again, holding her there and refusing to let her go as her orgasm swept over her, cultivated by the mix of pain and pleasure and his demanding manner. It was as if he wanted to taste her climax, to swallow it down, and his groans mingled with her moans and sighs as they came together in a glorious swell of bliss.

Mia tipped back her head and panted until her breathing grew normal and her heart rate slowed down. The guy was unbelievable. She just thought she had him sussed and then he came out with something like that.

And then she realised. She lifted her head and stared at him. “Oh Christ,” she said.

The corner of his mouth quirked up. “What?”

“We didn’t use a condom.”

Chapter Nineteen

She felt as if she’d swallowed an ice cube, cold sliding down right through her. “Colm, I’m so sorry. I didn’t think.”

His blue eyes were calm, although his smile had faded. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” she said, panicking. He was going to think she was trying to trap him with a pregnancy or something. “It’s my fault and I got carried away. I really didn’t mean—”

“Mia,” he said gently, “it’s my responsibility, too.”

“I’m not trying to catch you out,” she whispered. For some reason, tears pricked her eyes. He was still inside her, so deliciously warm and firm, and it had been so perfect—she didn’t want to spoil it.

“I know.” He slid his hand to the nape of her neck and pulled her tightly to him. “We got caught up in the moment. It’s okay, it happens.”

She put her arms around his neck and hugged him. “I don’t want you to think badly of me.” A tear slid down her cheek. When had she turned into such a wuss? But the thought of him being angry with her made her go cold.

He chuckled. “Never, sweetheart.” He pulled back and studied her, then wiped her tear away. “And I’m sorry too—that’s never happened before. I’m usually more conscientious.” He kissed her. “You make me forget myself.”

A thrill shimmered through her, but she quelled it hastily. They’d got carried away. It didn’t mean anything.

“Come and give me a cuddle,” he said.

He lifted her off him and she moved to his side, conscious of the unfamiliar wetness between her legs. How could she have been so stupid? She’d never had sex without a condom before.

He pulled her into his arms and she curled up against him.

“I’ll see the doctor tomorrow and get the emergency contraceptive pill,” she said.

He didn’t say anything, and she suddenly remembered he was a Catholic. Shit. He’d said he didn’t practice anymore, but that didn’t mean his views would have changed.

“I’m really fucking this up, aren’t I?” she said.

He laughed at that. “Honey, it’s your body. You do whatever you think is best.” He kissed the top of her head.

“I’m really sorry to ruin the mood.”

“Mia, will you stop apologising?” He looked both amused and exasperated. “You’re the best thing that’s happened to me for a long time. You’re warm and funny and great in bed, and I’m having a fantastic time. We made a mistake, with the emphasis on the ‘we’. It’s nothing we can’t deal with one way or another. I like you and I like being with you. And I’d like to be with you a bit more if that’s okay with you.”

“It’s okay with me,” she managed to mumble, unable to form a more coherent sentence after his passionate declaration.

“Good. Only I was thinking, maybe you’d like to come to the library with me tomorrow, help me do some research?”

Her head cleared. That she could cope with. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

“Cool.” He kissed the top of her head. “Now, I’d better get going.”

“Colm.” She hesitated. Was she really going to say this? Was it a good idea?

Maybe it wasn’t, but his warm words, I like you and I like being with you, made her glow, and she trusted her gut instinct. “Um, do you want to stay the night?”

He stared at her, and for a moment she thought he was going to refuse, but then he smiled slowly and relief flooded through her.

“Sure,” was all he said, but he snuggled down, turned her so her back was against his chest and wrapped his arms around her.

She felt him warm against her from shoulders to tailbone, his arm heavy around her waist, his fingers lacing with hers which somehow seemed more intimate than the fact they were lying naked together. He kissed her shoulder, and she couldn’t help but give a small smile.

He’s perfect.

The words filtered into her head and lingered there as she fell asleep.

The library was quiet and peaceful, and Colm tried to quell his happiness as he wandered along the stacks of art books, conscious of Mia sitting at a computer at the end of the aisle. He’d worried that she’d be bored in five minutes, but he’d forgotten she was a historian too, and research came naturally to her. They’d been there all day, stopping only for a light lunch halfway through before returning. While he pored over photographs of paintings looking for any reference to his father, Mia scoured the Internet, searching for some sign of the elusive Robert.

He found it strangely comforting having her there, helping him. He hadn’t been with many women—like Mia, he hadn’t yet reached double figures—but he could honestly say that out of all the girlfriends he’d had, he’d never felt so relaxed or attuned to a woman’s presence, and he’d only been out with her a handful of times. But he found her uplifting, in spite of her obvious deep unhappiness at times. She made him laugh, she was sexy as hell, and she liked history, for crying out loud. What was not to like?

His fingers smoothed across the glossy pages of the art book in his hands, but his gaze kept drifting across to her. She looked beautiful in a fitted silky black shirt and a pretty, flowing pink and black skirt that he itched to get his hands on. And under.

She’d looked so alarmed the night before when she’d realised they forgotten to use protection. He’d wanted to kiss the panic from her face, take her in his arms and tell her he hoped she was pregnant, because then it would force them to take action, maybe even prompt her to come back to Ireland with him.

But he knew he was dreaming. Mia had a whole life in Wellington, friends, job, family. She wasn’t going to want to go to the other side of the world for a guy she’d just met, baby or not. He missed his family terribly. And he had a job waiting for him when he got back after the exchange. He missed the old buildings of Dublin, the rolling green hills of Ireland, the Guinness and the accents and the familiarity of home. This was just temporary, and whether he found his father or not, at Christmas he was going back. He had to keep reminding himself of that.

Mia looked up at him, saw him watching her and smiled. She beckoned him over.

He slid the art book back into place and walked to her. “Found something?”

“Maybe.” She looked excited, and his heart rate began to speed up. “I’ve been looking through watercolour landscapes by local artists. Te Papa has an extensive catalogue of paintings and they hold different exhibitions throughout the year. Apparently in 1859 a prominent Wellington family came to New Zealand from Ireland and they sponsored an exhibition on their hundred and fifty year anniversary in 2009—the museum displayed paintings of Irish landscapes by Kiwi artists who’d emigrated from Ireland over the last few hundred years. Their website lists all the paintings in the exhibition.”

She turned the screen to face him. “Look at this one.”

It was a painting of the Grand Canal in Dublin, lined by trees with houses in the distance, done some time around late spring, judging by the foliage on the trees. Colm knew the area well, had walked along the path by the canal many times. He’d once fallen in the water only a few hundred yards farther along when walking home with friends slightly the worse for wear after a night out.

Mia tapped the screen and he bent forward, conscious of the light, flowery scent of her perfume as he leaned over her.

The text at the bottom of the screen read, “Artist: Robert Green, 1981.”

“1981,” she said. “That would have been about the time he’d have come back here, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes.” Exultation flooded him, although he couldn’t stifle a groan. “But, Green? Talk about a common surname. There must be thousands of Robert Greens in the phone book. Still, I suppose it’s a start.”

“Actually,” she said, “I was thinking that maybe we could see if Te Papa has the painting in its archives. If so, we could go and see it.”

He frowned. “I doubt it would have any other information on it apart from a signature, maybe. I don’t see how…”

“Are you being deliberately dense? Honey, you could touch it, couldn’t you? Use your mojo, see if it tells you anything else.”

That hadn’t crossed his mind. He stared at her, genuine shock making him speechless. She believed him. She really believed he could do it.

She stood up and put her arms around him. “Oh Col-um. You are so sweet sometimes.”

He buried his face in her shoulder and drank her in. Her hair smelled of the strawberry shampoo she used—his probably smelled the same because he’d used her shower that morning. He’d never been able to eat strawberries again without thinking of Mia.

“I was trying not to use it,” he whispered. His ability made him uneasy. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was somehow being controlled by evil spirits when he used it.

“I know, and I do understand. But if you believe in that sort of thing, it would make sense to me to also believe that you’re being guided along the path you’re travelling.” She pulled back to look up at him with her bright green eyes. “What do you think of what Ash does? What Nate does?”

He shrugged awkwardly. “I don’t know.”

“Do you really think Nate’s gift comes from a dark place? That what he’s doing is somehow evil?”

He couldn’t answer that, because of course the very idea that the quiet and gentle Nate who healed people with a touch of his hands could be evil was laughable.

“Do you want to know what I think?” Mia said.

He smiled. “Always.”

“It’s like electricity,” she said. “It’s not good or evil. It’s what we do with it that counts. We can use it to power life-support machines and baby monitors and run operating theatres to make people better, and to cook food and heat our homes to keep us warm and safe. Or we can use it to make electric chairs and Tasers to hurt people. Take a stereo music system—we can play uplifting classical music to inspire us, or we can use it to blast out heavy bass and annoy our neighbours. The stereo itself isn’t good or bad. It’s how we use it that matters.”

He honestly hadn’t thought about it like that before. “So you’re saying the ability itself is neither good nor evil. It’s how I apply it.”

“Exactly. It’s the same with Ash—he could do readings for people and find out where they’ve hidden the family silver and go and steal it, or find out tomorrow’s Lotto numbers and make millions, but instead he chooses to help people. He brings comfort to hundreds of thousands of people by contacting their relatives and convincing his clients their loved ones are in a safe place, being happy and cared for. I don’t know about your definition of evil, but that’s not mine. Throughout time, people with special gifts have been called evil by those who don’t understand their talents—but that doesn’t make them evil, unless they’ve used the gifts they’ve been given to bring harm.” Her face was earnest.

His heart flooded with affection for her. And, ignoring the nudges of the two elderly women in the gardening section and the vaguely disapproving glare from the librarian at the desk, he leaned forward and kissed her.

He felt her inhale in surprise, but he continued to kiss her, and after a few seconds her arms crept around his waist and she melted against him.

She’d crunched a mint shortly before she’d called him to the computer, and when she opened her lips to brush her tongue against his, his mouth was flooded with the fresh taste. He shivered with desire at the thought of taking her, possessing her again. Everything about her was fresh and full of life, like a mouthwatering summer dessert of strawberry sorbet and fresh fruit and herbs. If only she could shake off the lingering malaise that hovered over her like wintry weather that refused to move on, he was sure her bright spirit would shine through him even on his darkest days.

He didn’t want to ever let her go.

Chapter Twenty

Te Papa’s archive collection in Tory Street was exactly what Mia had anticipated—lots of white rooms with carefully controlled humidity and conditions to preserve the precious artefacts and paintings they held.

It was past closing time, but Colm had rung David, who’d trawled through the museum’s online resources and had located the painting buried deep in the archives a few streets away. Luckily, a friend of David’s had agreed to see them after hours, so they’d walked down to Tory Street and had been shown up to the collections.

“75A,” said Richard Thornton, the assistant researcher who’d agreed to show them around. He was a university history student on a work placement, and looked thoroughly happy being closeted away with nothing but books, papers and old pots and coins for days on end. “That’s on the second floor.”

He led them up to the correct room, which was vast and lined with shelving housing rack upon rack of paintings.

“I know the paintings need these strict conditions to make sure they’re not destroyed by moisture or insects,” Mia said, pulling her jacket closer around her as they walked along the cool, white aisles, “but it’s a shame the environment’s so sterile. Think of all that creative energy, contained by this sanitary, spotless atmosphere. It’s like having tigers in a four-foot-square cage in a zoo.”

“I don’t think of it like that,” Richard said, turning right down another aisle. “I think of the environment as a background for the beauty of the paintings, to let them shine, like displaying diamonds on black velvet to make them stand out. If you were to lay them out on polka dots or brightly-coloured zigzags, it would detract from the beauty of the gems.”

“I suppose,” Mia said doubtfully. “But I can imagine the ghosts of all the artists clustered here, sighing in disappointment because the works of art they created with such passion and excitement are hidden away, never to be seen.”

“True.” Richard stopped and checked the number on the shelf. “But it’s the nature of things, like the names on tombstones gradually fading into obscurity. Time passes, and things fade away. We don’t have the space to display every single painting that’s ever been created. At least this way they’re preserved and not destroyed.”

A chill went through Mia at his words. Time passes, and things fade away. Like the little boy whose tiny body her car had crushed. Did he have a tombstone? She had a vivid image of his mother kneeling by it, scrubbing it to keep the moss from creeping over the marble surface, planting flowers that gradually wilted as the weeks went by.

To her surprise, Colm put his arm around her. Had he picked up on how she was feeling? She looked up at him, blinking away the tears threatening to fall, to see his frown, pity in his eyes. He didn’t say anything, but he did press his lips to her temple. She gave a shivery sigh. She’d never been able to share her thoughts and feelings before. It surprised her how comforted she felt by his understanding.

Richard gave a “Ha!” of triumph and began to ferret through a section of landscapes. After about ten seconds he extracted one and turned it around to show them.

It was the view of the Grand Canal in Dublin she’d found on the computer. It was larger than she’d anticipated, maybe three feet high by five feet wide, beautifully painted in soft watercolours that still looked fresh and bright as they must have the day Robert Green had painted them. It wasn’t framed, but had been taped to a large board.

Colm dropped to his haunches before the painting and stared at it. Mia watched him, heart pounding, wondering what he was thinking. Was he one step closer to finding his father?

One step closer to leaving?

Richard shoved his hands in his pockets. “David said your dad might have painted this—is that right?”

“Yes,” Colm said softly. “Maybe.”

“Well, David’s happy to vouch for you, if you want to borrow the painting.”

“Borrow?” Colm’s eyebrows rose.

“Yes. There’s a bit of paperwork, and you have to promise to look after it, but we often loan out family artwork and artefacts. Let’s face it, unless they’re by famous artists, they’re going to be more precious to the family than anyone else.”

“True.” Colm hesitated. He reached out a hand, then glanced up at Richard. “May I?”

“Well, you’re not supposed to, obviously.” He turned his back. “I’ll just put these ones away in the rack again.”

The corner of Colm’s mouth quirked up, and he glanced at Mia with amusement. Then she watched as he held the edge of the painting gently in his left hand and closed his eyes.

She studied him for a moment, from his ruffled brown hair to the dark lashes lying on his cheeks to his five o’clock shadow and square jaw, his mouth now firm and unsmiling as he concentrated.

She’d told him that her period was due in two or three days and she might as well wait and see what happened before they panicked, and he’d agreed, the lifting of his frown telling her that he hadn’t liked the idea of her taking the morning-after pill, even though he’d told her it was her body and her decision.

She probably wasn’t pregnant—after all, even though her mother had warned her as a teenager that you only had to sleep with someone once to risk getting knocked up, she’d read enough women’s magazines to know it was likely to be the opposite way. When she did eventually decide she wanted to have a baby, it would likely take her several months to get pregnant, especially she was now over thirty and her fertility levels were starting to drop.

Her body clock was something she’d never listened to before. In fact she’d never thought much about settling down until Grace had met Ash. Before then she’d sometimes wondered if she and Grace would end up in a retirement home together crocheting bobble hats and drinking their tea through straws. But then Grace had fallen in love, and Freya had found Nate, and suddenly Mia was the odd one out, single and heading alone at a fast rate toward middle age.

And now the tick, tick of her clock sounded loud in her ears. What if she and Colm had made a baby? Would it look like him, with brown hair and blue eyes? She’d always imagined parenthood to be hard work, a squalling brat and nappies and sick everywhere, but suddenly she saw the other side of it—of having a baby made from a piece of both of them, of coming together to care and protect it, of sharing the highs and lows and being there for each other.

She rested her hand on her stomach, still watching him crouching there with his eyes closed. She didn’t deserve a child. But suddenly she wanted one more than anything in the world. And it was then she knew—the knowledge hit her like a sharp slap to the face, making her catch her breath and blink rapidly as her heart pounded from the realisation.

She was in love.

Colm opened his eyes and pushed himself to his feet. His eyes met hers, and for a moment she thought the delight reflected in his meant he’d somehow heard the thought that had shot like a bullet through her brain, and he was happy about it. Then her head cleared and she realised that no, he was pleased because he’d got some information from the painting.

He nodded and she grinned back, pleased for him, even though her heart was still pounding, but there wasn’t time for him to tell her what he’d seen because Richard was turning back and picking up the painting. They went back to his office, and Colm filled in the necessary paperwork before they left, taking the painting with them in a protective carry case.

Outside it had grown dark, and the heavy clouds overhead were threatening rain. They walked quickly back to Colm’s car, worried a sudden shower would damage the painting, but managed to get it into the boot and climb in before the weather broke and rain began to thunder down onto the bonnet and roof.

“Phew.” Colm leaned back in his seat and gave her a dazzling smile. “What a day!”

Mia looked out of the window, watching the raindrops bouncing off the pavement. “I love this kind of weather. It makes me feel…I don’t know, alive, somehow.” She had butterflies in her stomach. She tried not to think about a baby forming in there. It’s probably wind, she scolded herself, but still she couldn’t stop her brain putting together images of nurseries and booties and stickers of Winnie-the-Pooh.

How strange. She hadn’t thought about any of this before meeting Colm. That sharp realisation, I’m in love, filtered through her mind again, but she pushed it away. What did she know about love? She had a crush on him, true, but love wasn’t Beaujolais, it was fine malt whisky, maturing over years until it became rich and satisfying. She had to keep things in perspective or she was going to ruin the good time they were having.

She glanced across at him. He’d started the engine and had edged the car into the traffic. She knew he lived somewhere along Oriental Parade, and he was obviously heading there now, which surprised her. Was he not going to drop her off home first?

“So spill the beans,” she said, able to ask now they were alone and in the quiet, apart from the rain hammering on the roof above them. “What did you see?”

He signalled and looked over his shoulder as he pulled across a lane of traffic, then gave her a brief smile. “Not much. Glimpses of the canal and Dublin, a bit like holiday snaps. But what I did get—” and here his smile widened, “—was an image of a woman sitting across a café table. She was drinking coffee, her head tipped to one side. Dark hair, tied back. And blue eyes.” He gestured to his own.

Understanding sank in. “Mary?” she questioned.

He nodded. “I’ve only seen photos, obviously, but I’m sure it was her.”

“So it was your father who painted it.”

He shrugged. “There’s no way of knowing for sure, but it’s a good start. I’ll have another go with the painting later, see if I can get anything else.”

“I’m glad, Colm. You deserve to have some luck.”

He smiled at her, then turned his attention back to the road. She looked out at the harbour, the water black and forbidding. The rain blurred the lights of the city, like Christmas trees seen through a fogged-up window.

The car slowed, and she looked up with surprise to see him pulling into a parking space along the seafront. The road was pretty much deserted, sensible people heading for home as the heavens opened. He parked and switched off the engine, and she turned in the seat, puzzled. “Everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” he said huskily, unclipping his seatbelt. He unpopped hers too, and then pulled her into his arms, crushing her lips to his.

Mia gasped as his tongue swept into her mouth, and when he brushed his hand up her rib cage to cup her breast, a shiver ran through her from the roots of her hair to her tailbone.

He kissed along her cheek to her ear, then down her neck, moving her shirt to one side so he could nibble the sensitive skin of her shoulder blade and breastbone.

“Colm,” she teased, “what’s got into you?”

“You,” he murmured, kissing back up to her lips. “You smell divine. And taste even better.” He held her head and kissed her until the blood thundered through her veins and an ache grew between her thighs, and then he lifted his head and studied her with passion-filled eyes. “Stay the night with me, Mia. I can’t bear to be away from you. Not even for five minutes.”

Delight welled inside her. He felt the same way. “Okay,” she whispered, an unusual shyness warming her cheeks. She’d never had this reaction from a man before—they’d desired her, but nobody had ever seemed to enjoy being with her as much as he did.

She glanced out of the window at the pouring rain. “We’d best not get the painting out the car at the moment, though. It’ll get soaked. Are you happy to leave it in here until the morning?”

“Not really. I’d rather wait for a while and see if the rain stops.”

Disappointment spiralled through her. He’d acted as if he wanted her now, and she was ready for him, hungry for him.

“So we’ll have to find something to do for a while to amuse ourselves,” he said.

And before she could protest, he reached across, lifted her up and scooted across the gap between them into the passenger seat.

Chapter Twenty-One

Mia gasped as he manoeuvred her to sit on top of him, which wasn’t easy considering his car wasn’t exactly on the roomy side.

“Ouch,” she said as she bumped her head on the roof.

Colm stopped moving, and his face creased with concern. “Shit, sorry. I forgot about your back.”

“My back’s fine,” she said, rubbing the top of her head. “I took some painkillers about an hour ago.”

She’d hoped there might be some sex in the offing, and she’d taken them just in case. As a temporary measure, she’d told herself.

Colm gave a deep, sexy laugh, slipped a hand into her hair and pulled her head down for a kiss. “Good girl,” he murmured.

“Don’t be so fucking patron—”

But it was too late, his lips were on hers, and Mia groaned as his tongue slid between her teeth and began its beautiful, erotic dance with hers.

She’d never made out in a car before. It was something she’d seen happen in teenage horror movies, but she’d never actually tried it herself. She was surprised by the lack of room, unless it was just because the car was so damn small. Her right elbow knocked on the window, and she couldn’t sit up straight because the roof wasn’t high enough.

“Why don’t we come back for the painting?” she panted when he finally allowed her to lift her head. “I feel a bit…constrained.”

“Nope.” He took off his glasses and put them on the driver’s seat, then began to unbutton her shirt. “Here.”

She tried—unsuccessfully—to push his hands away. “Colm, we’re in public.”

“Honey, anyone venturing outside in this weather deserves to get an eyeful.” He got to the bottom of the buttons and pushed the shirt apart. “Oh yeah.”

She glowed with pleasure at his obvious admiration of her lacy black bra, but still, this was hardly the place. “Sweetheart, eager as I am, and even though I’ve taken the painkillers, I don’t think I can contort myself into the kind of position needed to have sex in this car.”

“Rubbish.” He turned the handle on the side of his seat, lowering the back by six inches, and reclined to look up at her, filling his palms with her breasts. “It looks pretty good from where I’m lying.”

“Well, yes…” She had to admit it gave her a bit more room, but it was so…inappropriate. “Colm, seriously…” Her words ended with a gasp as he pulled down one cup of her bra to expose her breast and fastened his mouth onto her nipple. “Fuck!”

He groaned in response, sucking hard, and she closed her eyes, her hands fisting on his shoulders.

“We can’t, not here,” she said faintly, but she might as well have been talking to the roadmap in the side pocket. He ignored her and pulled down the other cup so both her breasts sat atop the black lace, the nipples contracting to small, tight peaks as he sucked them hard. He raised his head, leaving them glistening pink in the light from the street lamp. “Goodness,” was all she could say.

Colm slid a hand into his pocket and withdrew his wallet, opened it and took out a condom.

“You can’t be serious,” she said, hoping he was. “I’m thirty.”

“Thirty, sexy and beautiful,” he said, unbuttoning his pants. “Get your knickers off.”

“Not a chance of that.” She couldn’t even twist in the seat without knocking her elbows. “I’m not tiny, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“Perfectly proportioned.” He gave her nipples a quick lick as he freed his erection.

“I wasn’t talking about my…oh dear Lord.”

He rolled the condom on, hitched up her skirt and lifted her until he brushed against her panties.

“I’m still wearing them,” she complained.

“Not a problem.” He hooked a finger in the elastic and pulled them to one side before sliding his fingers into her folds. “Fucking hell, Mia. As wet inside the car as it is outside.”

“Oh my God. I hate you.”

He slipped his fingers deep into her and groaned. “You’re so ready for me, honey. You can’t deny it.”

“Yes I accept that, but there’s no way I could come like this, it’s too…oh.” She gave in and let him push the tip of his erection into her, and as she relaxed on top of him, she slid down his hard length. “Fuuuuuuck.”

Colm tipped his head back on the seat and closed his eyes. “Jesus. I’m in heaven.”

Mia tightened her internal muscles, sighing at the answering sensations. He was right—it was heavenly being like this, closing around him, encasing him in her wet heat. He stretched her until she moaned with pleasure, and when he held her hips and pushed up hard, she knew he’d filled her completely.

She rocked her hips to slide him in and out, murmuring her approval as she found that her clit was brushing against his pubic hair. Okay, maybe she could come like this.

Outside, the rain lashed against the car windows, which had begun to steam up. It felt as if they were in another world, cocooned in warmth and heat and quietness while the storm raged around them, and Mia found she didn’t mind being in the centre of the storm with Colm, not at all.

She moved atop him slowly, enjoying the sensual slide of him inside her.

Clearly, though, it wasn’t enough for Colm.

“Too slow,” he said, and he took the collar of her shirt and yanked it down her back. The material locked around her elbows and forced her arms back.

“Jeez,” she said, and tried to get her arms out of the shirt. But there was no room, and even as she struggled, he did something behind her back with the shirt, making it tighter, and gave a chuckle of victory.

“My prisoner,” he said, and fastened his mouth on her right nipple.

Mia squealed, off balance without the use of her hands and feeling exposed with her breasts propped up on display above her bra cups. “Let me go,” she whispered furiously, but he ignored her and swapped to the other nipple, using his fingers to tease the one he’d left behind. The sensitive skin was wet and puckered, and she inhaled at the exquisite sensation.

She struggled again to free her arms, but whatever he’d done behind her back had secured the shirt around her elbows, and there wasn’t enough room for her to manoeuvre herself free.

She half lay on him, and he lifted and turned her so they were almost side by side. She lay with her back against the car door, her hands trapped behind her, unable to do anything as he hooked her free leg around his waist and began to thrust hard, tugging on her nipple with his fingers as he did so.

Mia began to spiral out of control, dizzy with lust and longing. It was hardly the most comfortable way she’d ever made love—the door was hard against her back, there was some kind of button or handle beneath her hip, and thank God she’d taken the painkillers, considering what kind of position he’d contorted her into. But his passion, his control of her arousal and his obvious, overwhelming desire for her blew her away.

She closed her eyes, hoping against hope that a policeman wasn’t going to knock on the door, because it was going to take her half an hour to move upright and get her clothes sorted out, and then everything fled her mind and all she could think about was the sensations he was arousing in her. He kissed down her neck, sucked hard where it met her shoulder, and continued to pluck her nipples, occasionally licking his fingers to ensure her skin remained wet and sensitive.

She cried out, and in response he kissed her, hot and hard, swallowing up her cries and enveloping her in his heat, smell and taste until he seemed to be everywhere, even inside her head, her mind filled to exploding with sensations as her body opened up to him and everything began to tighten between her thighs.

He held her tightly as if he wanted to thrust even deeper into her, and when she came hard, he joined her in a triumphant roar, pushing her up against the door as he erupted into her. As the waves of bliss subsided, she felt him swell inside her, his hips jerking as he climaxed, and the knowledge that she’d brought him pleasure was almost—almost—as nice as her own orgasm.

They collapsed onto the seat, still locked together, and stared at each other for a brief moment, breathing heavily.

“Fuck,” he said eventually.

“Jesus,” she replied. “That’s probably the most uncomfortable I’ve ever been while having sex.”

He started to laugh, withdrew from her and disposed of the condom. “I’m sorry. But you only have yourself to blame.”

“Me, why? What did I do?”

“Looked gorgeous.” He kissed her. “I couldn’t wait until we got in.”

She glared at him, but inside she glowed with pleasure at his compliment. “Now look at me. Trussed up like a turkey. Talk about humiliated.”

She half expected him to apologise and free her hastily, but instead he just grinned, propped his head on a hand and brushed her nipple with his finger.

“Very nice, too,” he said. “I might leave you like that.”

“Colm!” She was genuinely shocked. “I still can’t believe you. What a fraud. You pretend you’re all gentlemanly, and then you…”

“I what?” He tweaked her nipple.

“Argh. Go all grrr.”

“All what?”

“Never mind. Can you get me out of this shirt? I think I’ve lost all sensation in my hands.”

It took them a couple of minutes to free her, and by the time she was finally liberated, they were both laughing and exhausted.

“The rain’s nearly stopped.” He helped her back on with her shirt and buttoned it up for her. “We should go in. Are you going to stay the night with me?” His gaze met hers.

Mia hesitated. Mustn’t, shouldn’t, ought not to…

“Okay,” she said. It might not be the wisest thing to do, but she liked him and she wanted to spend time with him. What was so terrible about that?

“Come on, then.”

He slid on his glasses, and they struggled to lever themselves out of the car. The wind wafted a light spray of rain across them, and then it was gone, little more than a fine mist remaining.

“I’ll run with the painting,” he said, lifting it out of the boot. “I want it indoors. Come on.”

She gave one last look at the view of the harbour, the tarmac path that snaked beside the beach glistening, the lights in the distance still blurring like drips of watercolour paint dropped onto a wet page. She wouldn’t forget this night in a hurry. But then this man seemed to have a habit of forcing his way into her mind. She hadn’t forgotten that she’d dreamed he called her Clio.

Giving a little shiver, she ran across the road to join him.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Colm opened his eyes. He was in his own bed, curled around Mia, her back to his chest, and the rain was pattering at the windows again. He lifted his head and squinted at the clock, the hands blurry without his glasses. Nearly seven. No need to get up yet.

He lay back, propping his head on a hand, analysing this strange intrusion into his bed. The woman in his arms smelled like heaven in a curvy-shaped bottle. In spite of the fact that she went to the gym twice a week, and she’d lost weight since the accident, her body remained soft and sensual, her skin like satin beneath his fingertips. He didn’t think he’d ever tire of touching her.

Too bad he was due to leave the country in a few months.

He stroked her shoulder, but she didn’t move, didn’t even stir, her rib cage continuing to rise and fall evenly. He could just see her profile, her long lashes dark against her cheek, lips slightly parted.

His hand travelled down, skimming her hips, and then he slid it forward to rest on her stomach. Flat without being muscley, it was warm under his fingers.

She probably wasn’t pregnant. If her period was due at the weekend, it meant they’d missed her most fertile time. Plus it would be very unlucky to get pregnant the one time he’d ever had sex without a condom.

He rested his lips on her shoulder. But what if she was?

He stroked the skin just under her navel with his thumb. Would she enjoy being pregnant, being a mother? She’d got to thirty without settling down, so clearly she was in no rush to enter wedded bliss. Maybe she’d hate it, be one of those women who felt constrained being indoors and who returned to work after a few weeks, leaving the baby with a nanny.

There was nothing wrong with that per se, but in his daydreams he’d always pictured a wife who’d be happy to stay at home for a while. What was the point in having a child just so someone else could bring it up? He liked the idea of going to work and then coming home at night to a warm and well-lit house, dinner in the oven, baby in the bath ready for a play before his or her bedtime story.

No doubt that was a stupid fantasy—were any households really like that anymore? The pregnancy magazine his sister had bought that he’d flicked through had talked about post-natal depression and cracked nipples and projectile vomiting, and had hardly made it sound like the idyllic experience he’d secretly dreamed of.

And yet he couldn’t shake the image of Mia holding a baby, his baby, tired but happy as she wrapped it in a home-made shawl and put it to the breast.

He groaned silently, withdrew his hand and lay back, looking up at the ceiling. And would she be sitting in a rocking chair with a blanket around her shoulders and chickens pecking at her feet? What century was he living in, for Christ’s sake?

She wasn’t pregnant anyway. He wasn’t going to think about it. It was just a stupid dream.

Dream. Hold on.

Suddenly he remembered. He’d had a dream just before he’d woken up. Something to do with the painting…

He’d spent an hour or so that evening trying to use his ability to obtain some more information from the watercolour, but apart from a few fleeting images of Dublin, he hadn’t been able to get anything. In the end Mia had suggested maybe he was tired and he should sleep on it, so he’d decided he’d have another go in the morning.

But in his dream, he’d been standing looking at the painting. He hadn’t been indoors, though—he stood in a street—well, more of a winding country lane really—with large leafy trees arching above the low fences. The painting had been leaning against the fence next to a road sign.

Old Karori Road.

He raised his arm and rested his hand on his forehead. The name sounded Māori, which meant he was seeing a road in New Zealand, not Ireland. Was the road in Wellington? And why had he been shown this? Was this where his father was living?

Double checking that Mia was still asleep, he slid out of bed as quietly as he could, slipped on a pair of boxers and padded down the hall to the living room. He took the White Pages from the shelf and thumbed through until he found the Gs. There were a couple of hundred Greens, eleven of which had the first initial of R.

But none of them were listed as Old Karori Road.

He replaced the directory and switched the kettle on. While he waited for it to boil, he went back over to the painting, which stood on the dining table, leaning against the wall. Had his father really painted this? And had Robert been seeing Mary while he did so? Maybe she had sat at his side while he sketched, reading a book or laying out a picnic for the two of them.

Had Robert known Mary was pregnant? Kathleen Molony had seemed to think not, that Mary hadn’t found out until Robert had left. She’d implied that Mary had been distraught when he left, though, and that the parting had been a difficult one. Had Robert loved her? Not enough, obviously. If he’d loved her, he would have stayed.

A shiver ran through Colm. The irony of the way his own current situation was mirroring his father’s didn’t escape him. And yet this time things would be different. Because if Mia was pregnant—which she probably wasn’t—he would find out before he left. And then at least he’d be able to make a decision based on knowing that fact.

What would he do? Could he leave them both and return to Ireland, knowing Mia could be struggling as a single parent through those difficult early months? He’d help out financially, of course, but that would make it even more likely that she’d get a nanny in to help while she returned to work. What sort of stability would that give for the child? And could he really bear the fact that the only time he’d ever see the child would be the odd once or twice he could afford to fly out there?

And yet what were the options? To make a commitment based on joint responsibility? How likely was that to work? Mia enjoyed being with him and having sex with him—that much was clear. But she’d given no sign of wanting anything more. Maybe she didn’t want kids. They hadn’t discussed it after all. What did he really know about her?

“Morning.”

He looked up in surprise to see her leaning against the doorjamb, watching him. She’d slipped on his T-shirt, which fell to just below her butt, the sleeves down to her elbows. Her black hair was all ruffled and she looked sleepy and content. She looked gorgeous.

“Penny for them,” she said. “You looked away with the birds.”

“I don’t get why you say ‘penny’.” He unfolded his arms and leaned on the worktop as she walked toward him. “Why don’t you say ‘a cent for them’?”

“I guess it’s just a saying brought over from Britain with the first settlers.” She stopped before him, slid her arms around his waist and snuggled up to him. “We borrowed a lot of your strange phrases. Especially from you Irish. ‘Top of the morning.’ ‘Begorrah.’ ‘Look you.’”

“‘Look you’ is Welsh,” he said, amused at her terrible accent. “I don’t really sound like that, do I?”

She chuckled and kissed his neck. “No, Col-um.”

He tightened his arms around her and nuzzled her hair, which still smelled of strawberries. For all his musings and warnings to himself, with her in his arms he couldn’t stop pleasure flooding through him. He’d liked Juliet, and they’d had fun together, but she’d never made him feel like this. No woman had ever prompted this urge to care and protect. What the hell had she done to him? She’d turned him into a Neanderthal. Next thing he’d be dragging her to the cave by her hair before going off to fight a woolly mammoth.

“Why the sigh?” She pulled back and looked up at him, puzzled. “Something bothering you?”

He kissed her. “I had a dream last night. Well, this morning.”

“Ooh. Was I good?”

He smiled. “It was about the painting.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “Oh? Any revelations?”

“Kind of. I don’t know.” The kettle boiled and switched off. “You want a cuppa?”

“Coffee if you have it, please. I’ve never understood the European fascination for tea.”

“It’s refreshing.” He put a bag in his mug and a spoon of coffee in hers. It’s only tea, he told himself. But somehow it seemed to symbolise the difference between them. They were worlds apart. In spite of the fact that the two cultures were similar in so many ways—speaking the same language, driving on the left side of the road, similar cuisine and sporting tastes—there were so many differences. She’d probably hate Ireland.

She nudged him impatiently. “Colm, for God’s sake, come on, spill.”

So he told her about the scene he’d observed, and the name of the road sign by the painting.

“Old Karori Road?” she queried.

“Yes.”

Her eyes studied him thoughtfully. He waited for her to say something, but she remained quiet, so eventually he said, “Ring a bell?”

“I know the name.” She looked away, took the kettle and poured water into the mugs.

“Is it in Wellington?”

“Yes.” She stirred the cups.

“Far from here?”

“No, not at all.” She squeezed the teabag and took it out, added milk and handed him the mug. “You want to go there this morning?”

“I’d like to.” He sipped the tea. “What are you up to today?”

She stirred her coffee. “Nothing. I’m going shopping with Grace and Freya tomorrow, but I’m not doing anything today.”

“Grace must be due soon,” he said as they made their way back to the bedroom.

“Sunday, actually. But there are one or two bits she wants for the nursery, so Freya and I said we’d take her into town.”

“No more news from the stalker?” He slid into bed, waited for her to join him and pulled the duvet over them.

“I don’t think so, although it wouldn’t surprise me if Ash was keeping something from her. Freya told me that Nate hinted they’d received more letters, but I’m guessing they spirited them away before Grace got to see them.”

“Just what she doesn’t need,” he said. “What with all the stress of having a baby.”

“Yeah.” She looked into her mug, then took a sip.

“Do you want kids?” Colm asked.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Colm heard the words come out of his mouth but couldn’t quite believe he’d said them. Why had he asked her that? It was too late to retract it now, though.

She met his gaze briefly before looking away again. “Yes. I suppose.” She twirled a strand of her hair through her fingers. “To be honest, I’ve never really thought about it before. Neither Grace nor I ever talked much about that sort of thing. We’ve always been busy with our work—you know what teaching’s like. It can completely take over your life.”

He nodded, well aware of the intensity of the school world, although he couldn’t quell a feeling of disappointment at the thought that she didn’t seem particularly enthusiastic about having a family.

“And although we were hardly hardened partygoers,” she continued, “there was always something going on to keep us amused.”

“Have you never been in love?” he asked softly. Suddenly it was very important for him to know. “Never thought about settling down?”

Her eyes met his again. Kathleen Molony’s eyes were a light green, the colour of mistletoe, and his sister’s were a greeny-grey, but Mia’s were a beautiful blue-green, almost turquoise.

“I’ve thought I was, several times,” she said. “Now I’m not so sure. I think it was more in lust, you know? The older I get, the more I’m convinced that love is something that develops over time, and that it comes from trust and commitment and feeling comfortable enough to share your life with someone. It’s more than being physical.”

He nodded, wondering if there was a subliminal message there. Was she trying to remind him their relationship was purely carnal? That he shouldn’t get carried away?

Frustrated at not being able to read her mind, and annoyed that he was tempted to pick up the set of keys she’d left on the table to see if he could get any details from them, he finished off his tea and put the mug on the bedside table. “Well, look, if you need to get going and have things to do, don’t let me stop you. But if you’re at a loose end, I’d be happy with some company.” There, he couldn’t leave it more open than that, could he?

Her gaze softened. She finished off her own drink, then fumbled around in her handbag and took out a box of mints. She popped one and crunched it as she stood and pulled off his T-shirt. He watched, mesmerised by her taut, lithe body, her full but pert breasts, trying not to let his eyes wander to her stomach, trying not to think about what might be happening inside her and what an impact it would have on their lives.

“I’m not busy,” she said, crawling back onto the bed toward him, “and I’d love to come with you.” She climbed on top of him, pressing him back into the pillows, and filled his senses with soft skin, strawberry hair and the taste of mint as she lowered her lips.

He sighed and ran his hands down her body, nestling his rapidly hardening erection into her soft mound through the boxer shorts. In response, she groaned and rocked her hips, arousing herself on him. He filled his palms with her breasts, loving their weight and the way her nipples changed from being velvety soft cones to hard, tiny buttons as he played with them.

She lifted her head to look at him, and they studied each other for a moment, while she brushed the hair out of his eyes then stroked his cheek with her thumb.

“I need a shave,” he said.

“Bristle rash,” she replied, and smiled.

“I’ll be careful.”

“I know.” Her eyes glistened. What was going through her mind? Why were women so hard to read? No wonder he was tempted to use his ability.

“What’s up, honey?” He stroked her back. “Are you feeling okay? How’s your back?”

“Okay, at the moment.”

“We don’t have to do anything…you know. We can just talk. Or watch TV.”

Her lips curved. “Are you saying you don’t want me, Mr. Molony?” She wriggled atop him, thrusting against his erection. “Only this kind of suggests otherwise.”

“Ah, I didn’t say that.” He caught her around the waist and flipped her over, lying heavily on her so she couldn’t move.

“So are you going to subject me to another uncomfortable sex session?” she complained. “I still have a dent in my hip where the door handle dug in.”

Guilt swept over him. It was true—it hadn’t exactly been the most relaxed lovemaking he’d had, and he felt rather ashamed that he’d insisted on the car and hadn’t taken her inside. But he’d been swept up in the moment, and she’d looked gorgeous all breathless and damp from the rain.

“Colm, I didn’t mind really,” she said, touching his face. “I was joking. It was exciting.”

“You can read me far easier than I can read you,” he grumbled.

“You’re kidding me, right?” She looked astonished. “With your gift?”

“I try not to use it.”

“I’d be using it all the time if I were you,” she said.

“It seems as if I’m intruding. It’s like eavesdropping—you might not like what you hear.”

“True,” she said. “But I promise if you listened in to my thoughts, you’d only hear nice things.”

It was a lovely thing to say, and to show his approval he kissed her, letting his hand trail over her body while he did so. He brushed up her thigh and slid his fingers between her legs, encouraged to see she was already ready for him.

He lifted his head and rubbed his nose against hers. “I’m glad you didn’t mind about the car. I know I didn’t leave you much choice.”

“No. You can be very forceful.” Her eyes lit up and she brushed her lips against his. “I looooove that.”

He chuckled and kissed her properly. “Want me to be forceful again?”

“Ooh, yes.”

“No problem.”

He lifted himself up and got off the bed, picked a condom off the table where he’d left them and pulled her to her feet.

“Don’t tell me,” she said, “we’re going out onto the fire escape.”

“Not quite.” He turned her and began to back her across the room, nuzzling her ear as he did so.

“Kitchen table?”

“Nope.” He sucked her earlobe, continuing to push her out of the bedroom into the living room.

She shivered. “Sofa?”

“Nope.” He kissed her deeply, guiding her around the armchair and coffee table to the window.

She met the curtained glass with a bump and gasped. “Jeez, it’s cold.”

“So I see.” He flicked her tight nipples.

“Colm!” She tried to push his hand away, but she’d fired his blood and he wasn’t willing to wait any longer.

He tore the wrapper off the condom and rolled it on quickly, and then, before she could protest, placed both hands beneath her butt and lifted her.

She squealed and wrapped her legs around his hips. “What are you doing?”

He swept aside the net curtain the owner had insisted on putting up for him and pressed her up against the glass, resting her butt on the tiny window sill. “Is that a trick question?”

“Colm, seriously, there are people walking down there.” She glanced at the pedestrians strolling by a few floors down. “If they look up, they’ll be able to see everything.”

“So let’s put on a show.” He moved his hips until the tip of his erection parted her warm flesh, then let her slide slowly onto him.

“Oh my God.” She tipped her head back against the window, eyelids fluttering. “I will never get tired of that.”

“Me neither.” He touched his lips to her throat as he moved his hips back and forward. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

She clasped his face in her hands and kissed him hungrily, and he responded with heartfelt desire, plunging his tongue into her mouth as he thrust inside her. He meant it—he’d never tire of doing this with her, of burying himself inside her. They fit together so well, moving like oiled machinery, slick and rhythmic. He wanted to make love to her a hundred different ways, in a hundred different places, but even if he could only ever have her in bed in the missionary position, he knew he’d never be bored.

“Oh, how do you do that?” she moaned, screwing her eyes up with pleasure.

“Do what?” Encouraged, he continued to rock his hips, grinding against her.

“Oh…that…” She clenched her fingers in his hair and bit her bottom lip. “God, Colm, how do you know exactly…what to do to me…”

“Instinct,” he mumbled, rapidly losing the power of speech. She clamped around him, warm and wet and soft, and he pushed his hips forward, pausing for a moment to sink deeper into her. “Fuck.”

She kissed him again, urgently now, and he knew it wouldn’t be long before she came. He was beginning to know the signs—the way her breathing turned ragged, and how she sank her nails into his shoulders as her muscles tightened.

“Come on, baby,” he murmured, holding back his own climax so he could enjoy hers. “Give me everything you’ve got.”

She squealed as she came, tightening around him in pulses, and he watched her tug her bottom lip with her teeth and screw up her nose with pleasure, loving the fact that he was the one who’d brought her to the heady heights of bliss.

And then he let go and felt heat rush up, felt himself swelling inside her, and he gave small, shallow thrusts as he came. It was exquisite and heavenly, and he let it go for as long as he could, enjoying the feel of her wrapped around him, her breath warm on his ear.

When he’d finally done, he pulled back and kissed her. “You okay, love?”

“Mm.” A frown flickered on her brow.

“Your back?” he asked, somewhat guiltily. He hadn’t even given it a thought.

“No.” She dropped a hand between them to her abdomen, but didn’t say anything.

He withdrew carefully, alarm firing through him as he saw blood. “Mia.”

“Shit.” She shook her head at the look on his face. “It’s okay, it’s just my period. It’s early. I’m sorry, it wasn’t due for another day or so, but I’ve never been terribly regular.”

“It’s okay.” He walked across to the dining table and retrieved a handful of tissues, disposed of the condom and then handed the rest to her. “I’m sorry too—was I a bit rough?” He remembered how he’d thrust deep. Was it his fault?

“No, no.” She cleared her throat. “I’ll just nip to the bathroom.”

“Of course.” He followed her through to the bedroom, where she picked up her panties and purse and disappeared into the adjoining bathroom.

He slipped on his boxers and jeans then went back into the living room to give her some privacy in case she wanted to dress. He switched the kettle on again, more for something to do than because he was thirsty. Typical bloody Irish, he mused, thinking tea solves everything.

He ran a hand through his hair. So she wasn’t pregnant. Well, that solved all his problems, didn’t it? At least now he didn’t have to worry about her being a single parent, or leaving behind a child who’d never know him.

So why did he feel this awful, overwhelming sense of loss?

Chapter Twenty-Four

Mia stared at herself in the mirror. Her eyes glistened from the tears that threatened to fall.

“It’s a good thing,” she whispered to herself. “No baby wants to be an accident.” She wasn’t even in a permanent relationship—it would have been terrible to get pregnant when the father was due to move to Venus—or as near as dammit.

A tear finally tipped over her lashes and trailed down her cheek. She studied it absently, sullenly, for a moment. She had to be honest with herself. She’d hoped that if she was pregnant, it might force Colm to stay with her in New Zealand. But it was just a fantasy, and an unfair one at that. What sort of relationship would it be if he felt he had to stay? Because knowing Colm, he’d want to do the right thing, even if that did mean living in a strange country and being apart from his family. But that wouldn’t stop him being homesick. Things would deteriorate between them as his resentfulness grew, and then one day he’d grow to hate her. And she didn’t think she could bear that.

She wiped the tear away, got her makeup bag out of her purse and quickly applied some powder and a bit of mascara. She hadn’t lost a child, or an opportunity. She’d started her period, and that was why she was feeling a bit emotional.

A slick of lip gloss completed the look. She left the bathroom, found the bedroom empty and saw his jeans gone from the back of the chair. So she pulled on her shirt and skirt before walking back into the living room.

He stood in the kitchen, leaning against the worktop in much the same position as he’d been in when she’d walked out half an hour earlier, only this time he wore jeans on top of his boxers. She paused, catching her breath at the sight of him. Shirtless, arms folded, his biceps bulged, and she could see the trail of hair travelling down from his flat stomach below where his waistband hung on his hips. He was a fine figure of a man.

He also looked very sad again.

She walked into the room and he glanced over, pushed himself off the worktop and came toward her. Wordlessly, he put his arms around her.

Surprised, she rested her head on his chest and tried to take comfort in the warmth of his embrace. It was difficult, though. Why does it feel like things are coming to an end? Was he about to say it would be best if they didn’t see each other again? Panic swept through her. She didn’t want it to end, not yet. Obviously it couldn’t last beyond the year, but they could have fun up until then, couldn’t they? Maybe he’d realised how knotted up she’d been about the baby thing—maybe he’d read her using his strange ability, and it had scared him. If she wanted to keep him a bit longer, she was going to have to lighten the mood a little.

She pulled back and gave him a big smile. “Are you making tea again?”

“It’s our answer to everything.” He cupped her face. “Are you okay?”

“Of course I’m okay.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m sorry about that, it was a little embarrassing. But it was a huge relief, actually. I was so panicking I was pregnant, and that would have been a nightmare.”

He continued to stroke her cheek with his thumb, but all he said was, “Yes.”

“I don’t want babies yet,” she said breezily. “Plenty of time for all that. For now I just want to have fun.”

“Sure,” he said, “who doesn’t?” He turned away and went back to the mugs. “Do you want another coffee?”

“Actually, I wondered if you wanted to catch some breakfast out.” Maybe, she thought, if they left the bedroom, things would become less intense. “Then we can go on to see that road.” She was nervous about that. The name had rung a bell, and she had her suspicions about it.

“Sure. Let me get dressed then.”

He went into the bedroom, and she heard him moving about choosing a shirt. Was it her imagination, or was there an atmosphere between them? He’d hugged her, but his eyes had been cool. She sighed. She’d never been very good at guessing people’s moods and always wished they said what was on their minds. That was why she got on so well with Grace, who always said the first thing she thought and somehow lacked the ability to vet her words. That suited Mia just fine, and she loved being with Grace and never having to puzzle about what she was thinking.

That made her think about the fact that Grace was due the following day. Mia had been excited about becoming an auntie—that’s what Grace had insisted she be called even though she wasn’t Grace’s sister. But for the first time since she found out Grace was pregnant, she felt a sweep of envy. Grace had it all—a husband who adored her, a baby on the way, even a ready-made babysitter in Jodi, Ash’s daughter.

How had it happened? How had Mia got to thirty without finding the man she was supposed to be with for the rest of her life? She wasn’t sure she’d believed in soul mates in the past, but she couldn’t help thinking that maybe there was one man out there for her, and she’d missed him. They’d passed each other in the street, and she’d been looking one way and he’d looked the other, and that was it, their chance had gone.

Or maybe it was her—maybe she had some fatal flaw that prevented her from being happy. She’d had plenty of chances at it, she had to face it—lots of boyfriends, most of whom had been decent men who would have made great husbands and fathers. And yet for some reason she’d not settled for any of them, always finding fault, having this strange, impractical feeling that they weren’t The One. And because she was so picky, she’d ended up alone. Maybe she’d never get married, never have children. What was the word? Spinster. An ugly, damning word. It made her think of wrinkled stockings, false teeth and that strange smell that old women often had.

She bit her lip. She wasn’t going to cry! What the hell was wrong with her? She was only thirty, not fifty. There was plenty of time to find herself a partner. Once Colm went back, she’d start dating again, and this time she wouldn’t be so particular.

And then Colm came out of the bedroom. He wore a snug navy T-shirt. He’d brushed his hair, although it still looked like he’d just got out of bed. He looked younger in jeans than he did in his school clothes, and more delicious. Her heart missed a beat in a way it had rarely done with any of her previous boyfriends. She had to face facts. She’d fallen for him, big time. And he wasn’t going to be easy to get over.

“Ready?” he said, and smiled.

“Yes.” She grabbed her shoes and coat, biting her lip hard so the tears didn’t fall. She just had to make the most of the time she had with him, that was all.

They breakfasted in a lovely café and had eggs Benedict and lattes while the rain continued to patter against the window. Colm seemed back to normal and held her hand while they waited for their meal to arrive, got up and ordered her another coffee when she wanted one, fetched her the salt, told her she was beautiful, and kissed her in full view of the waitress, who grinned when he knocked over the salt grinder as he did so.

Mia continued to try hard not to cry.

Afterward, they went to his car, and Mia directed him north out of the city toward Old Karori Road. Before long, the city streets began to melt away, turning to the longer, more winding tree-lined roads heading toward the country. Her nerves got worse the nearer they got. She had to be wrong. Please let me have made a mistake, she begged anyone who might be listening.

She suggested he park at the top of the road, and he pulled over in front of a childcare centre.

“I don’t think he’s here,” Colm joked. “He’d be a bit young to be my dad.”

She smiled nervously, and they linked hands as they began to walk down the hill. Ahead of her she could see a side road leading to the left, and the red-brick building on the corner. Her heart pounded.

As they neared the junction, she stopped and turned him toward her. He looked at her, eyebrows rising, emphasising his bright blue eyes.

“Colm,” she said, taking his hands, “I…I hope I’m wrong. But I think you should prepare yourself for a shock.”

His brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

She led him down the side road to the sign outside the building. It said Karori Cemetery.

He stared at it. “You think he might work here?”

Emotion flooded her, and she bit her lip. She gave a shaky smile and shook her head. “No, love.”

To her surprise, anger darkened his face. “No. I don’t believe it. I haven’t been brought all this way only to find out he’s dead.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He turned without another word and marched into the office.

She followed him in and listened while he spoke politely but furiously to the woman behind the desk. She searched the computer records for him and confirmed that there were three Robert Greens noted in her records. One had been buried in 1921, one in 1973.

The last one had been cremated, in 2005.

“He has a plaque,” the woman said. “On a bench. I can show you if you like.”

Colm had turned white, his eyes icy cold. When he didn’t say anything, Mia said, “Yes, please,” to the woman and took his hand to lead him outside.

The woman led them down to the chapel. “The stained-glass windows were made by the Dublin glass-making studio An Tur Gloine,” she said helpfully. She’d obviously picked up on his accent, thought Mia. Colm nodded, but didn’t say anything.

They walked around the chapel a little way through the gardens, and there facing them was a wooden bench in the centre of which shone a small metal plaque. The woman left them alone to read it, saying if they needed anything else she’d be happy to help.

They stood before the bench and read the words together. In Memoriam Robert Green, husband to Raewyn and father to Susan and Neil, b. 1954, d. 2005, aged 51. R.I.P.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Mia watched Colm turn and sit on the bench. Around them graves radiated out in circles like the trilithons at Stonehenge. She tried not to look at them, refusing to let her mind travel down the road of whether the boy who had died in the accident was buried here. This was about Colm—not her.

She hesitated, then sat beside him and reached out to take his hand. He let her, but it was almost as if he didn’t notice the movement.

“Are you okay?” she whispered.

He didn’t say anything.

“Colm, you have a half-brother and half-sister. That’s a good thing, yes?”

He turned his cold blue eyes on her. “We don’t know that.”

She frowned, confused. “What do you mean?”

He gestured to the plaque. “We don’t really know this is my father. How did we get here, Mia? Because you saw a painting by an Irish artist who happened to have been in Dublin at the time I was conceived? And then I dreamed the name of the road where he was buried? It’s a bit of a loose fucking connection, don’t you think?”

“Well, if you put it like that, yes,” she admitted. “But you’ve got to have more faith in your gift. You were led here by a chain of events, and you have to trust it was for a purpose.”

“Mia, the only reason I came to New Zealand was because I held a ring—which may or may not have belonged to my father—and daydreamed a strange-shaped building, which I’d probably subconsciously seen on the news earlier that week or something.” He was growing angry now, the first time she’d really seen him like it. “It’s ridiculous. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Sweetheart, you’re shocked to find out what happened to him and that’s understandable, but you shouldn’t doubt your abilities just because they led you here. It’s important that you knew he’d passed away.”

“He hasn’t ‘passed away’, he’s dead. He’s fucking dead.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands knotted together, and dropped his head.

She hesitated, not knowing what to say. She didn’t know him very well, and she wasn’t his girlfriend, not really. They were just two people who’d met up briefly for physical release—how the hell could she provide comfort in such an intimate moment?

But she was the only one there, and her heart ached for him. They may not have known each other for very long, but her feelings for him ran deep—deeper than she’d thought imaginable in such a short time. She loved him, even though she kept telling herself it wasn’t possible, and that love grew over time. But how else could she explain this overwhelming affection for him, this desire to take away his pain and make everything all right, without calling it love?

She reached out a hand and stroked his hair, half expecting him to pull away angrily. But he didn’t. He remained where he was, tight with pain and grief, his hair sparkling with droplets of the misty spring rain.

“Why don’t we go home?” she whispered. “And maybe later we can do a bit of research and find out about his other family.”

“I don’t want to know about his other fucking family.” He stood up. “Let’s go.”

She walked after him, jogging to keep up with his long strides. “Colm, wait, you’re not talking sense. You came all this way to find him.” She tried to grab his hand and slow him down.

“What’s the point?” he snapped, ripping his hand out of hers. “Why would I want to know about them, or meet them and find out how happy he’s been with them? How do you think that would make me feel, knowing he deserted me and my mother?”

He probably didn’t know about you, she thought, but there was no point in saying it because he was beyond reason. “I know you feel that way now, but maybe they can tell you if he had the same gift as you. Maybe one of his other children has the same ability?”

His face darkened. “It’s bollocks. It’s all bollocks, the whole fucking thing. I don’t ever want to talk about it again.” He marched off.

Mia followed, at a slower rate this time, not attempting to keep up. For once, she could read him as easily as a book. He felt betrayed that he’d gone through all this only to find his father was dead, and embarrassed and foolish that he’d told her about his gift when he didn’t really believe in it himself half the time. He was going to use this as an excuse not to use his talent, she could see it coming. Her heart sank.

By the time she reached the car, he’d got in and started the engine, and he was revving it impatiently.

She slid in and buckled the belt, trying not to think about the night before when he’d made love to her so passionately in this very seat. How could things have changed so much in such a short space of time?

He set off through the town, and she sat quietly as he wound his way back through the busy streets. From the direction he was going, she knew he was taking her to her house.

He didn’t say a word until they pulled up outside her front door. She turned in the seat and sat waiting for him to talk to her, but he kept the engine running and just stared morosely ahead.

“I’m not getting out until you talk to me,” she said wryly.

He glanced over at her. “I’m really not in the mood for long conversations, Mia. Thank you for a lovely day yesterday. I’ll speak to you later.”

“Will you?” She said the words softly, more as a statement of the state of their relationship than as a real query.

His eyes met hers. They were angry and yet sad, too.

“You’re going to tell me this is over, aren’t you?” she whispered.

He gave a frustrated, heavy sigh. “What’s the point in carrying on? It’s just going to make it harder when I do eventually go.”

She dropped her gaze, her stomach knotting.

“I like you, Mia,” he continued flatly. “I’ve liked you since the moment I met you, and I’ve grown incredibly fond of you over the past few weeks since we’ve been seeing each other. But we have to be realistic.”

“So you’re definitely going back to Ireland?” she asked softly.

“Well, there’s nothing for me here.” His voice was sharp.

She knew he meant the fact that his father was dead, but still, the words stung.

“Fine.” She got out of the car, her stomach churning.

He mumbled something behind her, switched off the engine, got out and ran around to catch her before she could open her front door. “Mia.”

“What?” Her eyes blurred with tears, but she refused to shed them while he was still there.

“That came out wrong.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

He didn’t seem to want to be responsible for making her feel bad, but neither did he take her in his arms to comfort her. All of a sudden, she was too upset to argue. “I know.”

He looked at the ground. “I might ring the principal. I might not come back for the fourth term.”

Her stomach clenched. “You’re going to leave now?”

“I don’t think I can bear to stay, Mia.” His eyes met hers again for a long, long moment.

Anger flared inside her. “Well, that’s fucking cowardly.”

His brow darkened. “What do you mean?”

“Running away? Refusing to use your gift because it might tell you something you don’t want to hear? And not staying with me in case we might feel something for each other? That’s the coward’s way out, on both accounts.”

His jaw bunched as he clenched his teeth. “Don’t.”

But she was beyond caring. “You said ‘It’s just going to make it harder when I do eventually go’. You think it’s going to be harder than it is now to say goodbye?” She bit her lip, trying hard not to let the tears pricking her eyes fall, although she knew he must be able to see them shining.

He didn’t try to comfort her, though. Instead he just said, “It’s better this way.”

And all of a sudden she realised that he didn’t love her. She’d been a fool. She’d thought he felt the same way about her as she felt for him, but she’d been wrong.

When she’d asked him if he’d ever been in love before, he’d looked sad and refused to tell her. Why hadn’t she remembered that? She was just a diversion, something to play with until being in New Zealand had run its course, and now it had and he had no reason to stay.

And she’d been having all those daydreams about babies and marriage and happily-ever-after. What a fucking idiot.

“Yes,” she said, turning to ice inside. “Of course.”

His face softened. “Mia…”

“It’s okay.” She forced a smile. “I’ll be fine. I always am.”

They stared at each other for a moment. Is this it? Is this the end? She couldn’t believe it, and yet somehow it seemed to be.

“Good job I wasn’t pregnant, wasn’t it?” she whispered, unable to stop herself from saying the words.

He shrugged. “It is if you’re not ready to settle down.”

She bristled at that. When had she ever said she wasn’t ready to settle down? “I meant because of you going back,” she said through clenched teeth.

Pain shimmered across his face. “If you had been, we’d have sorted something out.”

“Like what?” Tears burned her eyes, but she still refused to let them fall, because she didn’t want him to think she was upset—she wasn’t, she was furious. “You’d have made an honest woman out of me? Noble Colm, always the gentleman. How long would that have lasted? It’s hardly the basis on which you should build a relationship.”

“I don’t know,” he said, not without some amusement. “It formed the foundation of a lot of Irish marriages in the past.”

“Don’t you dare make a joke out of this.” She couldn’t believe he found it amusing.

He looked impatient at that. “Mia…”

She put her key in the lock. “I’m going now.”

“Don’t go like this.” He caught her hand. “Let’s not make this a big deal. We’ve only slept together half a dozen times. I’m very fond of you—I don’t want to part like this.”

I’m very fond of you. Next he’d be saying, “Can we stay friends?”

She pulled her hand out of his and he put his hands back in the pockets of his jeans. He cleared his throat. “I’d like to stay—”

“Don’t,” she interrupted hurriedly. She unlocked the door. She was going to cry any minute, and she didn’t want him to see her. “Goodbye, Colm.”

She shut the door and waited, heart pounding. Outside, she thought she heard him curse, but he didn’t knock on the door. Footsteps sounded, and then the car door slammed. The engine revved, and he pulled away.

She covered her mouth with her hand, but it wasn’t enough to smother the sob that was forming. She managed to stumble into the living room and collapse on the sofa before the full wave of the emotion washed over her.

What are you crying for? She scolded herself even as the tears flowed. It was probably hormones. After all, she couldn’t be so upset over Colm, not really. It had just been a brief fling, and how many of them had she had in her life?

But deep down she knew it was different. She’d never felt this sense of loss before. She missed him, that was the terrible thing. He’d practically told her she meant nothing to him, but she still missed him.

Had it all been a sham, then, the way he’d held her so tenderly, the times he’d told her she was beautiful? You don’t have to be in love to tell someone they’re beautiful, she reminded herself fiercely as she dashed the tears away. He’d probably told her what she wanted to hear to get in her panties. More fool her.

The tears stopped coming, and Mia lay on the sofa, looking up at the ceiling while the rain lashed against the windows and the light slowly faded. The deep, dull ache had returned to her back because she hadn’t taken her painkillers that morning. Her mind flickered with the memory of Colm massaging her with his strong hands. She’d thought it had meant more, but it hadn’t.

She didn’t deserve happiness. She’d taken a life and maybe whoever was in charge had decided to show her how good things could be before he or she whipped them away to continue the punishment she knew was justified. Maybe she’d never meet the right man. Anyone she met now, she’d be comparing to Colm, and she knew they’d fall short. Perhaps she was destined to remain alone. And maybe she preferred that idea now.

She’d learned a valuable lesson.

And she wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

Chapter Twenty-Six

“What the fuck happened to you?” David stared, and Colm knew he was looking at his dishevelled hair and bloodshot eyes.

“Hello to you, too.” He leaned against the doorpost, trying to look casual but using it more to prop himself up. “What do you want?”

“I think I should come in.” David pushed past him into the living room. “Fucking hell, man. Please tell me you didn’t drink all that this evening.”

Colm shut the door bad temperedly and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He glared at the half-empty bottle of Ardbeg Islay malt whisky on the table. “No.” He shrugged. “Most of it, though.”

He went over to the sofa and fell rather than sat on it, leaned his head on the back and prayed for the room to stop spinning. “What do you want?”

“What happened?” David sat in the armchair opposite him. “I’m guessing something to do with Mia.”

“No.”

“Colm?”

“Yes.” He covered his eyes with an arm.

“Did you break up?”

“We weren’t even together, dude. Not in any real sense of the word.”

“You had sex, though.”

“Yes.” He sighed.

“More than once.”

“Yes.” He thought about the headboard in Auckland. And Mia’s bedroom. And the car. And up against the window. Fuck it, he was not going to cry.

“I think that pretty much constitutes dating,” David said.

“It was only sex,” Colm lied.

“Yeah,” David said, “it looks like it.” He got up and went into the kitchen, filled the kettle and switched it on. Then he came back in and leaned on the breakfast bar, arms folded. “So what prompted it?”

Colm leaned forward and picked up his whisky glass. “I found my father.”

David’s eyebrows rose. “Oh?”

“Yeah. Six feet under. Well, he was cremated, but you get the picture.”

“Shit, man, I’m sorry.”

Colm took a mouthful of whisky and then put the glass down. He didn’t want to drink any more. He’d hoped it would make him forget her, but all it did was make him remember and be miserable about it. “It’s okay.” All of a sudden a wave of weariness washed over him. “I guess I should have expected it.”

“He must have been young though, eh?”

“Fifty-one. He died in 2005.”

“What did he die of?”

“Don’t know.” He sighed. “He had a plaque on a bench. He was married with two kids.”

David surveyed him thoughtfully. “Are you going to try and find out about them?”

Colm looked back at his glass. Picked it up again. “No.” He finished off the whisky. “I’m done. Tomorrow I’m going to ring the school and tell them I’m not coming back. I’m only a relief teacher anyway—they’ll easily find someone else to fill in.”

“You’re leaving,” David said flatly.

“Yes.” Colm met his gaze and held it, daring him to challenge his decision.

In answer, David turned and went back into the kitchen. He waited for the kettle to boil, made the coffee and brought it in.

Colm took the mug, sipped it and pulled a face. “Shit, that’s so strong you could stand your spoon up in it.”

“I think you need it,” David said wryly. He sighed and leaned back in the chair, resting an ankle on his knee. “So what did Mia say when you said you were leaving?”

“What do you think?”

David took a swallow of his coffee. “Do you love her?”

“I…” He couldn’t think straight. His thoughts and emotions were all jumbled up. Disappointment that his father—if it was his father—was dead and he’d never get to speak to him, or find out more about him. Embarrassment and anger that he’d let what he thought was a special ability lead him to a place where he was now caught up in grief for a man he’d never known and might never have been related to in the first place.

And loneliness and a deep, abiding depression that he’d done the wrong thing by Mia and fucked things up so seriously that she’d never forgive him, and he’d never forgive himself. When she’d remarked acidly that it was a good job she wasn’t pregnant, and he’d replied it is if you’re not ready to settle down, he’d seen the hurt and anger on her face, and he’d realised the truth—that she was as disappointed as he was that she hadn’t been pregnant. He’d tried to convince her—and himself—that staying together was pointless, and it would only make things worse, but she’d called him a coward and she’d been right.

Do you love her? David had asked.

“Yes,” he said. His throat tightened, so he took a long swallow of his coffee to cover his emotion.

“The All Blacks are playing Ireland tonight,” David said, reaching for the remote control. “We’ll thrash the Micks, you wait.”

“Carter’s injured though,” Colm said hoarsely. “And they’re playing at Aviva, so it’s home territory.”

“Won’t make a difference.”

They continued to insult each other with rugby references, but all the while Colm’s mind played the same few phrases over and over again.

I love her. I love her and I’ve screwed it up. What am I going to do?

“Come on, then,” Freya said. “Show us.”

It was early Saturday afternoon and they were in a café, having a break after an hour’s walking around the shops, fortifying themselves with lattes and muffins.

Grace sighed. “Stop nagging.” But in spite of her words, her eyes sparkled as she reached into the bag and pulled out the item.

Mia’s heart melted. It was the tiniest all-in-one baby outfit she’d ever seen in an adorable bright yellow colour with a big picture of Tigger on the front, and it came complete with a hat that bore two tiny little ears.

“Oh…” Freya and Mia sighed.

“It’s beautiful,” Mia whispered, picking up the velvety material. For a brief moment she let herself imagine a parallel world where she was the one pregnant buying baby clothes. How would it feel to have another person growing inside you? She’d always wondered if it would feel like a scene out of Alien, slightly alarming and, well, alien to have something that wasn’t part of your own body moving inside you.

But now for the first time she began to understand what a wonderful concept it could be for the man she loved to plant his seed in her, for the two of them to make a whole other person together, and for her to keep that tiny person safe until it was ready to enter the world. What a miracle childbirth was. Her body hungered for it with an intensity that scared her. Suddenly she understood why women became obsessed with conception and why it was so hard when they couldn’t conceive. And what drove mothers to stand in front of tanks and to fight with every bone in their bodies to protect their offspring.

Her fingers tightened on the cloth as loss and sorrow swept over her, the emotion so raw and consuming that she almost wept. Colm. She missed him so much it physically hurt. His tender care and protective nature had comforted her, and he’d seemed to shield her like a force field from the doubts and worries that had plagued her since the accident. But now he’d gone, and she felt as if she stood alone on some wild moor, exposed to the ravaging elements with nothing to shield her from the cruel wind.

“Mia?”

She blinked and dropped the outfit, knowing Grace would pick up on the fact that her hands were shaking. “Sorry. I was daydreaming.”

The two women studied her sympathetically. She’d told them in matter-of-fact tones earlier that the thing—whatever it was—with Colm had come to an end. She’d brushed off their attempts to comfort her, knowing if she started to cry she wouldn’t be able to stop. So they’d continued with the best therapy known to woman—retail.

Still, it hadn’t brought the enjoyment it usually did, and although she’d done her best not to mope, she was aware she wasn’t on her usual sparkling form.

“Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?” Freya asked.

She shook her head and looked into her coffee cup. “There’s nothing to say.”

“Oh goodness, well that’s obviously rubbish,” Grace said. She’d rested the cup on her bump, which wobbled as the baby kicked. “You know it always makes it better when you talk.”

“I don’t want to bring us down,” Mia said with a sad smile. “This is a happy day. Look, we’re buying Tiggers! I don’t want to cloud the air with declarations of how I’ll never find a good man and how I’m destined to be alone for the rest of my life.” She bit her lip.

“Bollocks,” Freya said vehemently. “Everyone feels like that after a breakup. That you’re never going to meet anyone else—that you don’t want to meet anyone else. You picture yourself sitting alone in a retirement home with your teeth in a glass reading large-print novels and eating sandwiches with no crusts. We’ve all done it.”

Mia’s lips curved wryly—it was true, those were the sort of thoughts that had been going through her head.

“You’re only thirty,” Grace reminded her gently. “You have all the time in the world to settle down, sweetie.”

“I know what it looks like on paper.” She crumbled bits of her muffin onto the plate. Her appetite had disappeared. “And God knows I’ve had breakups before. But this feels different. Kind of…I don’t know, final, perhaps. As if Colm was my one chance to do it seriously, you know? And I blew it.” She sipped her coffee hurriedly to try to cover her rising emotion.

“You didn’t blow it,” Freya reminded her. “Colm lives on the other side of the world, honey, and it was always going to be difficult to overcome that barrier. Maybe if you’d had longer together the bond would have been strong enough to fight it, but you had so little time.”

“He didn’t want to stay with me longer,” she said huskily. “He said it would make it harder when we came to part. I told him he was a coward for thinking like that.” Now she really was going to cry. She closed her eyes.

“I think you were half-right,” Grace said, placing her hand on Mia’s. “It’s a cowardly thing to say you don’t want to do something in case it hurts. But, do you know what, I actually think it proves he was in love with you.”

“He wasn’t,” Mia squeaked.

“And he knew it was only going to get worse as the weeks went by,” Grace continued as if Mia hadn’t spoken. “Most men are only thinking about sex two weeks into the relationship. But I think Colm had more than that on his mind. And that was what he couldn’t deal with.”

Mia covered her mouth with her hand.

“He liked you the moment he met you,” Grace reminded her, relentless. “So it’s not just been two weeks. I’ve seen the way he watches you from a distance. He’s wanted you for months. I bet he couldn’t believe his luck. He probably knew he’d fall for you quickly, but it didn’t stop him dating you because he’s crazy about you, Mia. I know it doesn’t help now, but I’m sure of it. And the only reason he backed off was to try some self-preservation, which won’t have worked, and I’m sure he’s feeling as miserable as you are right now.”

Mia wasn’t so sure, but the thought that Grace could be right made her eyes fill with tears.

Grace stood, leaned over and gave her a hug. “In true pregnant-woman fashion, I need to pee. But have hope, sweetie. Ash is certain there are good things in store for you.”

And with that mysterious message, she waltzed off.

“That’s a very annoying habit of hers,” Freya remarked.

“Damn straight,” Mia said, taking deep breaths to regain some equilibrium. “It’s so unnerving the way our men have access to this otherworld that’s so unfamiliar to us.” She’d told them both about Colm’s secret ability.

“I know what you mean,” Freya said, breaking up her muffin. “I watch Nate healing sometimes, and there’s always a part of me that’s, like, honestly? You really think you can make a person better just by putting your hands on them? It seems so…outrageous. But then the following week the patient’s full of ‘Oh the next day I had no pain and I could actually get up and walk’ and I get this shiver run through me. It gives me goose bumps.”

“Does Nate ever doubt himself?” Mia asked. Grace had told her that when Ash first left his job as a GP and started practicing full time as a medium, he used to question his ability, but nowadays he was more confident of his talent.

“Not so much now,” Freya said. “But then he’s been doing it for years. To be honest, I don’t think he likes having it—he’d rather be ‘normal’, and that’s his wording, by the way. But he’s accepted that it would be a crime not to use it, you know?”

“Yes,” Mia said, wondering if Colm would ever use his ability again. Would he ever grow to accept that he had this gift and that he could use it to do marvellous things? She might never know. “I…”

Her voice trailed off as Grace exited the ladies’. Instantly she knew something was wrong. Grace was scarlet with anger, and she marched through the café toward them and almost threw a piece of paper at them.

“Where is she?” she demanded, looking around the café. “Did you see her come out?”

“Who?” Mia opened the ball of paper hurriedly and stared, shock building as she read it.

Ash is mine, he dosen’t love you, your going too die and then hell be mine.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

“Oh my God.” Mia went cold. She stood, Freya following, and they all looked around the café. Two elderly women sat having a cup of tea, looking rather alarmed at the commotion. The rest of the café was empty.

“Did you see her come out?” Grace demanded again, clenching her fists.

“No, I wasn’t looking,” Mia said guiltily. Had she seen anyone? She vaguely recollected a woman passing by, but she wouldn’t have been able to describe her.

“Me neither,” Freya said, distraught. “Grace, I’m so sorry.” She pulled out her phone. “I think I should ring the police.”

“I can’t believe it.” Grace’s skin, to Mia’s alarm, had faded rapidly from red to white. “I can’t believe she was here.”

“Where did you get the note?” Mia suddenly realised the police might want it for fingerprinting. She emptied one of her shopping bags into another and carefully put the note into the empty one.

“It was sitting on the basin when I came out of the cubicle. She was in there, Mia.” Grace put a hand to her bump. “Oh God, I feel sick.”

“Oh Grace, sit down, quick.” Freya pulled out a chair for her.

Before she could move, Grace clamped a hand between her legs. “Shit.”

Mia looked down to see liquid staining Grace’s maternity jeans. Panic shot through her, but she made herself say calmly, “It’s all right, honey, your waters have broken.”

“Fuck,” Grace said, who never swore. Tears shone in her eyes. “Oh my God, in public! Mia!”

“Sit down.” Mia guided her to the chair.

In front of her, Freya dropped to her haunches and patted her hand. She gave her a big smile. “Come on, Gracie, I’m a nurse, remember?”

Mia had forgotten, and so had Grace too, judging by the relief that spread over her face.

“Everything’s going to be fine,” Freya soothed, gesturing for Mia to get out her phone. “Mia’s going to ring the hospital, and then we’ll drive you there.”

Grace looked around her. “The woman…” she whispered.

“She’s gone,” Freya said firmly. “Forget about her, honey, she’s a piece of shit who doesn’t deserve your attention. Hey, guess what? You’re going to have a baby!”

Grace met her eyes and gave a small smile. “I am, aren’t I?” The smile faded though, as she said, “Oh crap, Ash.” He was away in Christchurch on his last show before the baby was born.

“Don’t worry,” Freya said, “first babies usually take a long time to come. Ash can be here in a few hours.”

“Has she got that long?” Mia murmured, the phone to her ear as Freya turned to grab their shopping. Didn’t babies come more quickly if the mum’s waters broke?

“Maybe, maybe not.” Freya was calm. “Tell the hospital we’re on the way. Oh, and Mia? Ring Ash. And then ring the police.”

By the time they got to the hospital, Grace was having contractions.

“They’re five minutes apart and she’s four centimetres dilated,” the midwife said to Mia and Freya, who were waiting outside Grace’s room. “It may not be that long. I understand the father’s on his way?”

“He’s flying from Christchurch,” Mia said, nibbling her bottom lip. “His plane lands in about an hour and a half and he should be here by six. He’ll be in time, won’t he?”

“Possibly not,” the midwife said briskly. “The contractions are strong and she’s coping well. You never know with babies. Anyway, she’s asking for you both, so feel free to go in.” She walked off.

The two women looked at each other, and Mia saw her own worry written on Freya’s face.

“Poor Ash,” Mia said. “He so wanted to be here.”

“Oh, sometimes things slow down,” Freya said. “There’s still a chance he’ll make it.”

“I left a message for Isabella,” Mia said, referring to Grace’s mum. “She’s still not answering, though. But I’ll keep trying.”

“I don’t whether that’s a good idea or not,” Freya mumbled, and Mia managed a wry smile. Isabella sometimes drove Grace to distraction, but still, she knew it would be comforting for Grace to have her there.

“Let’s go in,” Freya said. “And let’s do our best to distract her. We don’t want her worrying about that fucking bitch now.”

Mia blinked at Freya’s vehemence, but she felt much the same way. The thought that the spiteful psycho might have caused Grace to go into labour sent fury racing through her veins. But she kept a lid on it as they opened the door and went into the delivery room.

Grace lay on her side, the mask with gas and air lying on the table next to her. She was wearing a hospital gown as she didn’t yet have the nightie she’d bought to give birth in, and she looked pale, but in control.

“Well, this sucks,” Grace said as they walked over to her. “Ash will be fuming.”

“Plenty of time yet,” Freya soothed. “He’ll be boarding soon and he’ll be here in a couple of hours.”

“Did you get hold of Mum?” Grace asked.

“Not yet,” Mia said. Isabella’s home phone had gone to answerphone, and her mobile had been switched off, which annoyed Mia. Isabella was probably gardening, but surely it would have made sense to keep her mobile on night and day when her daughter was due at any moment?. “How’s the pain?” she asked.

“Bearable, at the moment,” Grace said. “They don’t want me to have drugs because they think it might not be long and it would make the baby too sleepy. I’m coping on the gas and air for now but I’ll soon yell for an epidural if I think I need it.” She reached for the mask. “Excuse me. Contraction coming.”

Mia took her other hand and squeezed tight while the wave swept over her friend. She’d never felt so helpless. Pain was etched into Grace’s features, and she groaned softly into the mask as she breathed in the gas and air.

And yet still she found herself envying Grace. Would she ever be in this position herself, lying there waiting to push a little person out of her? At that moment, she couldn’t imagine it ever happening, like she couldn’t imagine ever jumping out of an airplane or climbing Mount Everest. But was this what Ash had seen when Grace said there were good things in store for her?

The contraction went away and Grace dropped the mask. “Ouch,” she said wryly. “That was a strong one.”

Freya glanced at her watch, and Mia realised she was timing how far apart the contractions were.

“I can’t wait for Ash to see that Tigger outfit,” she said, trying to distract Grace. “He’s absolutely going to love it.”

“I wish he was here,” Grace whispered. “I miss him.”

“I know, honey.” Mia rubbed Grace’s hand, knowing that Ash would be out of his mind with worry. He’d just finished his show when she’d rung him on his mobile. Nate had answered and told her initially that Ash was busy signing books, but he’d quickly transferred her over when she told him Grace was in labour.

She’d debated whether she should tell Ash about the note and the stalker in the café. She didn’t want to worry him any more than he already was, but equally, he was a big boy and she knew he wouldn’t want her to keep it a secret. He’d listened to her in silence, thanked her crisply and told her he’d get the first plane out. Then he’d hung up. She knew he’d be straight onto the police.

Sure enough, when they’d gotten to the hospital, the police were there waiting and they’d already spoken to Ash. The uniformed officers got statements from both Mia and Freya and took the note Mia had placed in the bag before speaking briefly to Grace. They promised they’d return to the café and see if any of the staff remembered anything unusual. Mia hoped they’d be able to track the woman down soon. The last thing Grace and Ash needed with a new baby was the worry of some nutcase still hanging around.

The next hour passed agonisingly slowly. Isabella still refused to answer her phone, so eventually Mia rang Liv, Ash’s sister, and asked her to go around to her house and see if she was in the garden, and then go on to Ash’s house to pick up Grace’s hospital bag. Jodi, Ash’s daughter, was staying with her as she usually did on Saturday nights, and she was most excited to know the baby was finally coming and was determined to go with Liv. Mia agreed, thinking that maybe Grace would find it comforting to have Jodi there, as the two of them had grown quite close over Grace’s pregnancy.

Midwives came and went, checking to make sure Grace was comfortable. Most of the time, however, it was just the three women, Mia and Freya talking and telling Grace that everything was going to be all right.

It had been this way for millennia, Mia thought. Women helping each other through the scary and painful process, reassuring and comforting, letting the one in labour know she wasn’t alone. She’d never felt the strength of her sex so strongly.

And yet curiously, she missed Colm more than ever. He wouldn’t have panicked if they’d been together and she’d gone into labour, she knew. He’d have been as calm and capable as ever, as supportive and caring as he had that day he’d helped with her back.

How she wished he was there now to massage her aching shoulders. Briefly she wondered whether to take a couple of the painkillers in her purse, but it seemed wrong somehow when Grace was in such pain. It was stupid, she knew it deep down, but somehow she felt as if she was sharing the experience, helping Grace somehow by sharing the pain.

Colm would get cross at that, she thought with some amusement. She could only imagine the look on his face if she’d told him.

Grace gestured for the mask and Freya passed it to her. Grace clamped it to her face and grabbed Mia’s hand. Mia winced as Grace squeezed it, but she didn’t say anything. Was it her imagination, or did Grace look more in pain than she had with previous contractions?

Grace lifted the mask as the contraction passed. “That hurt,” she panted. “I felt like I wanted to push then.”

Immediately, Freya rang the buzzer above the bed. She smiled and rubbed Grace’s hand. “Don’t look so worried!” she said. “The baby’s on its way—it won’t be long now.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

The midwife came in and Freya explained what had happened. Together they helped Grace to turn onto her back. Almost immediately after, Grace had another contraction. The midwife examined her and announced she was ten centimetres dilated.

Suddenly everything changed. The lights—which had previously been dimmed—were turned up and the room became a hive of activity.

“I want Ash!” Grace wailed.

“I’m sorry, honey, he’s not going to make it,” Mia said, wishing she could magic him up with a wand. And where the hell had Liv and Isabella got to? “Your mum’s not here yet, either. Do you want us to go out?”

“No, please stay,” Grace begged. “I want you here.”

So Mia and Freya stayed, and took turns holding Grace’s hand as she brought her baby into the world. It took thirty minutes, by which time Mia was almost as exhausted as Grace from all the emotion and stress of seeing Grace working so hard and living every inch up to her name, elegant and beautiful even when she was drenched in sweat and racked with pain.

When the midwife finally lifted the baby out, wrapped it in a blanket and placed it in Grace’s arms, all three of them were in tears.

“It’s a girl,” Freya said, lifting the blanket to check. “Grace, you have a little girl, you clever thing!” She could barely speak.

“Is she all right?” Grace asked desperately.

“Ten fingers, ten toes,” the midwife said with a smile, wrapping a tag around the baby’s foot with Baby Girl Rutherford written on it.

Mia reached out and gently held the miniature hand waving in the air, amazed at what Grace had managed to do. “Oh she’s beautiful,” she whispered, welling up with tears. “She’s so tiny.”

“She’s lovely,” Grace said, tears streaming down her face. “Isn’t she? Isn’t she the loveliest thing in the world?”

“She’s absolutely perfect,” Freya whispered.

Mia had never felt such a strange mixture of emotions. Pride, relief, envy, sadness, exultation, and a dozen other feelings, all mixed up together, caused by love for Grace and her new family, and a longing to experience something the same.

Colm, she thought, biting her lip. I love you. I miss you. Why did he have to live so far away? Was there any way they could make it work?

Her brain mused on the problem while they cooed over the baby, marvelling at her tiny features as the nurses cleared up the room.

“I’ll just take her off to be washed and weighed,” the midwife said. “I’ll be back very shortly.” She lifted the baby out of Grace’s arms.

“Can you let me know when my mother arrives?” Grace asked. “She should have the baby’s first outfits and some clothes for me.”

“Of course.” The midwife left the room.

Mia and Freya stood to one side while the nurses helped Grace up to change her gown and began to run a bath in the adjoining bathroom. Mia felt almost too tired to stand, although it was only just after six. She realised she hadn’t eaten since that morning, as she’d hardly taken a bite of the muffin they’d ordered for lunch in the café.

Just seconds after Grace lay back down in a clean gown, the doors opened and Ash walked in. His face lit up as he saw Grace, and he came forward to give her a huge hug.

Mia and Freya slipped out to give them some privacy. Freya ran up to Nate who was standing outside waiting impatiently, and threw her arms around him.

“I want one,” Mia heard her whisper.

Nate chuckled and murmured something in Freya’s ear, and she giggled and nuzzled his neck.

Mia turned away, the delight and exultation she’d been feeling fading a little at the thought that she didn’t have anyone to hug. Once again she wished Colm was there to share in the event. That was what life was about, she thought. Sharing everything, from your bed to your children to everything else in your life. That was what she was missing.

The doors opened and Ash came out with a huge grin on his face. “I’m going to find my daughter,” he announced, laughing as they came over to hug him. He walked down to the nurses’ station to find her.

Mia sat down and closed her eyes for a moment. Her back ached, and so did her abdomen, and she remembered she had her period. Maybe she’d take a few painkillers just this once. Colm would want me to, she thought, and felt sad again. How long would it be before she stopped thinking like that?

Raised voices echoed along the corridor, and she opened her eyes and frowned. Ash was shouting. Alarm shot through her, and she stood and walked down to him, Nate and Freya close behind.

As she turned the corner, she saw that Grace’s mother, Isabella, had arrived with Jodi and Liv. Isabella looked bewildered, Liv furious, and Jodi was white-faced as Ash yelled at the midwife, his six-foot-four frame looming over her. The midwife was a practical, no-nonsense sort of woman who’d been rather bossy while Grace was in labour, but Mia had been glad of her firm manner at the time. Now, however, the woman looked frightened, which scared Mia almost more than seeing the teddy-bear-like Ash angry.

“What’s the matter?” Mia asked.

The midwife moistened her lips. “A woman came for the baby—she said she was Grace’s mother.”

Mia went completely cold. “She took the baby?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know.” The midwife’s eyes filled with panic.

“This is Grace’s mother,” Ash yelled, pointing to Isabella, who looked like she might faint.

“I…I didn’t know…I knew she was about to arrive and I assumed…” The midwife’s voice petered off. She looked like she might be sick.

Mia glanced at Ash, then at Jodi, who was crying, then at Freya, whose face reflected her own fear.

She looked back at the other nurse standing behind the desk, who looked terrified. “Ring the police,” Mia said.

Colm was trying to read, and failing.

He’d attempted to keep himself busy all day—he went into town to get a new pair of jeans, pretending that he wasn’t trying to bump into Mia in the shops and failing miserably as he got depressed when he didn’t see her. Then he called around David’s house and endured half an hour’s teasing about the All Blacks’ victory over the Irish in the rugby the night before. Finally he went home and tried to watch the Doctor Who series he’d bought in town, only to make himself completely morbid after two episodes.

He didn’t drink, though. He’d had far too much the night before, thrown up most of it, and didn’t think he’d even be able to look at a bottle of Scotch for several months. So instead he lay on the sofa with his book unread, his eyes seeing not the fading light but instead pictures of Mia his mind conjured up, of her laughing, or head tipped in serious thought, or eyes closed in pleasure as they made love, her body soft beneath his.

How was he going to forget her? Maybe over time, when he was back in Ireland and half a world away, the memory of her would fade and eventually he’d convince himself things couldn’t have been as great as he’d remembered, and another girl would come along and he’d be able to put Mia’s ghost to rest.

The thought made him unutterably sad.

So when the phone rang, it was a welcome distraction from his thoughts, and he picked the receiver up with a surge of relief.

“Hello?” he said.

“Colm?”

He recognised Mia’s voice immediately, and delight flooded through him. “Mia. Honey. Hi.” Then he registered the strange tone in her voice. “Are you okay?”

“Not really.” She cleared her throat. “Grace had the baby.”

He went cold. “What happened? Is she okay?”

“She’s fine—well, she’s not fine but… I mean the birth was fine, and the baby was fine… It’s not that…”

He heard her swear softly to herself. Something had happened—he could sense it. He forced his voice to stay calm. “It’s all right, honey, take it slowly. Tell me what happened.”

“The baby’s gone,” she said huskily.

“Gone?” He blinked.

“A woman came in pretending to be Isabella—Grace’s mother. She was late, you see, and the midwife was expecting her, and she didn’t know what she looked like, so when the woman said she was Mrs. Fox, she didn’t think to question her. It’s not her fault, really, she’s awfully, awfully upset, but Ash, he’s so angry…”

“Fucking hell.” He clenched his fists. “The stalker?”

“It must be. The midwife’s done one of those sketch things with a police artist, and it’s in the news and everything, but the baby’s gone, Colm. And she’s so tiny, Grace only held her once… And Grace is usually so strong, but this…” She swallowed, and Colm actually heard the gulp.

“You want me to come over?” he said softly.

She hesitated. “The thing is…they have no idea where she’s gone. She could have gone to the airport, or taken a car and driven out of the city. She could be anywhere. Colm, I was wondering… I know it’s asking a lot, and you said you didn’t want to use it again, but…would you try it? You know, your gift? Hold the baby’s blanket or something?”

He clenched his teeth. Selfishly, disappointment and hurt swept over him. She didn’t want to see him because she needed him. She wanted him to help find the baby.

He didn’t want to use his ability. The anger he’d felt when he’d first learned the man he’d hoped was his father was dead had faded a little, but his determination to never again trust his special talent hadn’t disappeared. He’d felt foolish and embarrassed that his daydreams had led him to that lonely cemetery. His reasons for thinking that Robert Green was his father were no more substantial than the rainbow he’d seen arching briefly in the misty sun across the graveyard. He was done with the psychometry, or whatever it was called. It contains the word psycho for a reason, he’d told himself. Never again.

But stronger than his reluctance to use it was the urge he felt to yell at Mia for putting Grace’s needs above his own. Unreasonable, he knew. Cruel. Childish even. But none the less real for that.

“If I failed,” he said hoarsely, “I’d feel terrible. I’ve never used it for something like that, Mia. I don’t think I could cope if I couldn’t get anything, or even worse, led the police to the wrong place.”

But even as he said it, his own words when they parted—It’s just going to make it harder when I do eventually go—and her answering response—Well, that’s fucking cowardly—came back to haunt him. She’d been right then, and it was no less appropriate now. He was a coward. Afraid to use his ability in case he got it wrong. Scared to give them hope in case he let them down. As frightened of failure now as he had been all the years he’d refused to use it, just as he was afraid to commit himself to her in case it all went wrong.

“Colm…” she whispered, and he heard the despair in her voice. His head cleared. He had to try.

“I’ll—” His voice broke like it used to when he was thirteen, and he cleared his throat and tried again. “Of course I’ll come.”

She exhaled in a rush and he could almost feel her relief down the phone line.

“Which hospital are you at?” he asked. She told him, and he said, “I’ll leave now and be there in ten minutes.” He paused. “Mia?”

“Yes?”

He took a deep breath. “I love you.”

He hung up.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Mia paced the floor impatiently as she waited for Colm to arrive. Her heart had been pounding since she’d first seen the look on the midwife’s face, but now she felt as if she’d been running, it was racing so hard.

He said he loved me. She shook her head, trying to concentrate on what was important—that he’d agreed to try to use his ability to find the baby, that there was hope for Ash and Grace, who were falling apart. She hadn’t told Grace, aware that she shouldn’t give false hope in case Colm couldn’t see anything, but Ash had overheard her phone call and asked what was going on, so she’d told him. His face had lightened, but he’d nodded when she suggested he keep it quiet for now.

He’d told her that he’d tried to ask for help from the Other Side, from his spirit guides or whoever it was he talked to when he carried out his work, but said it was as if he were watching a fuzzy TV—that nothing was coming through, probably because he was so anxious. He was angry and upset that he couldn’t help Grace, that he couldn’t find his daughter when he’d helped so many people in the past, but he was level headed enough to know he was doing his best and that he had to remain calm, for Grace’s sake, if nothing else.

Colm loves me… She shook her head again. Concentrate, Mia. In the big scheme of things, her love life was at the bottom of Things That Are Important. All that mattered now was that Colm arrive and try to see if he could get any information from the blanket the baby had been wrapped in, which the midwife had put to one side after changing the baby into an all-in-one.

Still, the glow that had warmed her when he said the words refused to die down.

She paced the floor impatiently, knowing Freya and Nate were watching her. Liv had taken Isabella home with her to rest. Isabella had been distraught at the disappearance of her granddaughter, full of guilt and knowing that if she’d answered one of Mia’s phone calls, she would have been at the hospital earlier, and this might never have happened. She’d had to be sedated, and they’d decided it was more upsetting for Grace to see her mother so distraught, so Liv said she’d take her home and put her to bed for a while.

Jodi had remained, white faced and silent. Her tears had dried up, though, and she was now sitting in the private room Grace had been moved to, holding her hand while Ash came and went, talking occasionally to the police officers before returning to his wife.

It felt like forever, but in the end it was only eight minutes before Colm arrived at the doorway to the maternity ward, stopped there by two police officers, who confirmed with Ash that Colm was who he said he was before letting him through.

Stable door and bolted, Mia thought distractedly, nevertheless glad of the uniforms surrounding them all at that moment. Who knew what the crazy woman would do? Dump the baby and come back with a knife in her hand? She tried to not to cry at the thought. Although the woman was a psycho, Mia was sure the woman wouldn’t hurt the baby. In her twisted mind she probably thought she was looking after it for Ash or something, and as she obviously idolised him, she would probably take care of his daughter, maybe even pretending it was her own.

She wasn’t going to think about it. It made her feel sick.

She watched Colm come through, stop in front of Ash and hold out his hand. They shook, saying nothing for a moment, stoic as many men are in times of emergency.

Then Ash said, “Thanks for coming.”

“I’ll do my best,” Colm said.

Ash nodded, and then Colm turned and his eyes searched the lobby. His gaze fell on Freya and Nate standing talking quietly to one side, and he flashed them a quick, sad smile, before his gaze moved on to Mia.

She hesitated, wondering if he’d be cool or detached—she knew she’d upset him by implying she only wanted him there to help with the baby. She’d been frightened of telling him she needed him in case he turned her down again.

But he walked forward to her, put his arms around her and hugged her tightly.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, although she wasn’t sure if he meant for their argument or because of the baby.

She nodded, trying not to cry. There would be time to talk about themselves later. For now, she had to concentrate on Ash and Grace.

He stepped back and squared his shoulders. “Okay. I’m ready.” He glanced at the police officers who were watching him curiously. He was obviously aware Ash had told them of his ability. “What will happen if I get anything through? Will they believe me?”

“Ash is friends with someone up high on the force,” she said. “And it’s a baby, Colm. They’re willing to try anything.”

He nodded. He looked nervous. “Okay. There’s a blanket?”

She led him across the lobby and into a large room with chairs and a TV, presumably somewhere the new mothers could hang out in between feeds and baths. It was empty now, coming up for eighty thirty, the only light from a lamp in the corner.

He turned as Ash came in, carrying the blanket.

“Here,” said the Viking look-alike, handing it to him. Ash swallowed. “Good luck. I’ll leave you to it.” He went out and let the door close behind him.

“Do you want me to go?” Mia asked. “I don’t mind.”

“No.” Colm smiled then. “Stay.”

She nodded. He sat on the sofa, and she sat opposite him in an armchair.

He glanced around the room, the blanket limp in his hands. She could see the dried blood where the baby—fresh out of the womb—had been wrapped in it. How had Ash managed to pry it out of Grace’s fingers? She’d refused to let go of it since the baby had been taken.

It was quiet, although in the lobby voices murmured, and farther away a baby cried, another newborn, born only an hour after Grace’s baby went missing. Mia closed her eyes for a moment, hoping Grace couldn’t hear it.

When she opened her eyes again, Colm was watching her. His knee rose and fell rapidly as he tapped his shoe on the floor, and his hands were together in a tight knot around the blanket. He gave her a small smile. Then he closed his eyes.

She sat quietly, afraid to move and distract him, even though her back now throbbed dully, pain radiating across her shoulders. She’d not got around to taking her painkillers.

Please let him get something, she prayed silently, not knowing who she was praying to, but hoping there was somebody up there to listen and take pity on them all.

How long would it take? In the archive facility, he’d held the painting for maybe two minutes before receiving the image of his mother. Although when he’d taken it home for the evening, he’d tried for over an hour without getting anything.

Please don’t let it take an hour, she begged. She thought she might explode.

Minutes went by. Colm’s posture gradually changed. He sat forward. His face creased with exertion. She could almost feel the waves of irritation and panic radiating from him.

Eventually he stood with a curse and walked over to the window, massaging his brow. “Fuck it! I can’t get anything.”

She stood and followed him, heart pounding. “It’s okay, honey. Take it slowly.”

“How can I take it slowly? The baby’s parents are out there, waiting for me to magic something up for them.” Real fear crossed his face. “What if my brain just makes it up? I’m so afraid it’s all in my head.”

He wasn’t going to be able to get anything at this rate. It was up to her to help him.

She remembered Grace’s words. He probably knew he’d fall for you quickly, but it didn’t stop him dating you because he’s crazy about you, Mia. Grace had insisted that Colm wanted her, but was just trying to save himself some heartache by breaking it off. Clearly, it hadn’t worked. Whether they wanted it or not, the two of them were entwined, their spirits entangled so much it was going to be difficult—if not impossible—for them to tear themselves apart.

It was time to be honest with each other. Time to own up to the truth.

She picked up his hands and took a deep breath. “I love you.”

He looked astonished. “What?”

She smiled. “I love you, Colm. It’s inconvenient and I don’t know how we’re going to sort things out, but what I do know is that even though we haven’t been together long, I’m crazy about you and I don’t want to be apart from you.”

He looked stunned. “Do you mean that?”

“Yes. I love you and I want to share my life with you. I want everything, marriage, kids, forever, if that’s what you want too. It’s not that I never wanted those things—I hadn’t met anyone I could envisage settling down with. But the thought of staying with you, of waking up next to you every morning, of having your children, of just being with you…it fills me with joy.”

She kissed his fingers. “And as for your gift—I admit I don’t understand it. It puzzles me. But I felt the same way about Nate and Ash when I first met them. Now, I trust them a hundred percent, and Colm? I trust you a hundred percent too. We know there’s more in this world than meets the eye, and I have no doubt that you have this special talent for seeing things beyond the norm. I believe in you. You just have to believe in yourself now.”

She stopped. Had she said too much? Maybe she’d scared him.

He stared at her as if she’d told him she wanted to dance in the town centre naked. He blinked.

Then he smiled.

Her heart hammered as he moved closer until their bodies were touching.

“I love you, too,” he whispered. And then he lowered his lips.

He kissed her slowly, sweetly, and she could have cried except that she’d already cried enough that evening for a lifetime and it seemed a terrible thing to cry now when she was so happy and Grace and Ash were so upset.

He lifted his head and put his arms around her. “I thought I’d lost you,” he whispered.

“Never,” she whispered back, wanting him so badly it hurt.

He hugged her for about ten seconds, and then he pulled back to look down on her. A look of determination crossed his face. “More of this later,” he said. “We have a baby to find.”

This time when he sat down, he looked different, calmer, almost relaxed, and she realised by the rise and fall of his chest he was slowing his breathing, trying to centre himself. He met her gaze and for a brief moment they exchanged an intimate look that filled her with warmth. He smiled. Then he closed his eyes.

This time barely a minute went by before he opened them again.

“Got her,” he said.

Chapter Thirty

Mia stood, heart pounding as he rushed outside, almost knocking into Ash who’d obviously been waiting right by the door.

“I think I might have something,” Colm said to the grieving father and the police officer standing next to him.

Ash’s face lit up. “Really?”

“I saw the Interislander ferry to Picton,” Colm said. “Clear as day. I went over a few months ago so I recognised it. It’s surrounded by water, so I think it’s at sea at the moment.”

“Is this happening now?” the police officer asked. “How do you know you weren’t seeing the past, or the future?”

Colm hesitated. He glanced at Mia, who took his hand and squeezed it. He looked back at Ash. “I’m sure,” he said firmly.

Ash looked at the police officer, who nodded and took out his mobile. “I’ll find out when the next ferry’s due in at Picton,” he said, and walked off a little way.

Ash turned back to Colm and enveloped him in a bear hug. “Thank you,” Mia heard him say gruffly.

“Thank me when she’s found,” Colm replied, obviously still doubting himself.

Ash blew out a breath. “Okay. I’m going to see Grace.”

“Don’t tell her yet,” Colm said. “Ash, I’d never forgive myself if…” His voice trailed off.

Ash nodded. “I won’t. But I’ll tell her there’s hope, and this time I’ll mean it.”

Over the next half an hour, everything seemed to happen very quickly. Details came through to the waiting group by phone as they waited anxiously for some sign of hope.

The police officer found out that the ferry was due into Picton in fifteen minutes. Meanwhile he contacted the staff on the boat and they surreptitiously searched the boat and confirmed there was an older woman on board with a new baby. They said the baby was alive and the woman was feeding her from a bottle. The sketch that the artist had done with the help of the midwife was sent by phone, and the staff confirmed it could be the woman on the boat. One of them took a blurry photograph with his phone and sent it back, and the midwife said she was ninety percent certain it was her. The police instructed the boat staff not to confront her but to wait until the ferry docked.

The police were waiting for the woman when she got off the boat. They apprehended her, took a proper photo of her and sent it to the midwife back in Wellington. She confirmed it was definitely the woman who had pretended to be Grace’s mother.

Baby Girl Rutherford had been found, was healthy and well. They were flying her back by helicopter.

In the hospital, everyone was exultant, and Mia hugged Colm and Freya and Nate and Isabella and Ash and, finally, Grace, who looked as if she’d been to hell and back.

The officer showed them all the photo they’d taken of the woman.

Mia stared at it. “She works at our school!” she said, shocked. “She runs the staff kitchen and helps out at the tuck shop. No wonder she was able to keep such a close eye on Grace.” They spoke to her on a daily basis. Mia could have kicked herself for not noticing anything, but why would she have ever suspected anything like this would happen?

She wondered whether Grace would be yelling by this point, but Grace just shook her head and closed her eyes. “I don’t care,” she whispered. “As long as my daughter’s alive and well.”

Mia didn’t think she’d ever seen anything as beautiful as when a police woman came through the door with the baby and brought her to the waiting parents. Grace burst into tears again, and tears also trickled down Ash’s cheeks as he looked at his daughter for the first time.

Everyone went out of the room and left them to it.

Mia sat in the lounge with the others, too exhausted and overwrought from her emotions to do anything but sit there with her head on Colm’s shoulder, their hands linked as they all talked quietly. It had been an incredible journey that night, and there would be plenty of time for analysing and discussing the whys and wherefores and future later. For now she was just content to have Colm with her, and to be with her friends.

After about half an hour, Ash came through the door. He looked tired and dishevelled, but oh so happy.

“How’s the baby?” Mia asked as they all sat up.

He collapsed into one of the chairs and grinned. “Good. They’ve given her a thorough check but she looks fine. Grace is feeding her now.”

“Oh, how wonderful for her,” Freya said, and everyone looked relieved.

“We’re going to call her Hope,” Ash said. “Kind of a similar nature to her mother’s, plus it’ll always remind us that we never gave up.” His gaze met Colm’s and he smiled.

Mia looked across at the quiet Irishman. He’d said very little since the police had announced they’d found the baby. Relief had lit his face, and he’d been as happy as the rest of them, but afterward he’d walked to the window to look down at the lights of Wellington, and Mia had been unable to decipher his thoughts.

“What’s going to happen to the bitch queen from hell?” Freya asked vehemently.

Ash’s face darkened, but when he spoke his voice was calm. “Oh, she’ll go to prison for a reasonable length of time, I would think. And she’s a very sick woman, so hopefully she’ll get the medical attention she needs. We’ve decided we’re not going to dwell on her. She’s not worth our concern.” His voice was flinty, and Mia gulped, reassured by the squeeze of Colm’s hand on hers that he mirrored her unease.

“Can we go and see them?” Jodi asked, presumably changing the subject on purpose, as Mia knew the teenager was very astute when it came to her father’s moods. Also, Jodi hadn’t yet had a cuddle of her half-sister, and she was obviously dying to get in there.

“Of course,” Ash said, giving her a hug and kissing the top of her head. “Go on, everyone, Grace is desperate to show you all how our daughter’s going to be the new Miss World.”

Everyone laughed and stood, ready to leave, but he put a hand onto Mia’s arm, stopping her.

“Can I have a word with you two?” he asked quietly.

She and Colm waited until the rest of them had left the room. He motioned for them to sit again, and joined them in the opposite chair.

“Everything okay?” Mia asked hopefully.

“I wanted to say thank you,” Ash said quietly. “Without your help, we might never have recovered Hope and…well, I can’t imagine what our lives would have been like.”

“The police would have found her,” Colm said.

“Maybe eventually,” Ash said, “but without your help it would definitely not have been this quick.” He tipped his head. “I have messages for you both.”

Mia’s heart rate sped up. “Oh?”

He nodded at the man sitting next to her. “As soon as I knew Hope had been found, it was as if the barrier that had descended over me rose again. Colm, your dad came through.”

She felt rather than heard Colm inhale sharply.

“My dad?” he asked.

“Yes. Robert.”

Colm looked at Mia, who shook her head. “I didn’t tell Grace,” she said softly. She’d mentioned to her friend that she’d argued with Colm, but she hadn’t divulged the information about his father.

He looked back at Ash. “What did he say?” His voice was hoarse with emotion.

“’Believe’,” Ash said simply. “He said it over and over again. It was a very quick connection and I’m not sure what you’re supposed to believe.” He smiled wryly. “But it’s obviously important.”

Believe in his gift? Mia thought. Or believe in love?

“He looks very like you,” Ash said, and grinned.

“Thank you,” Colm murmured, his hand tightening on Mia’s where they lay clasped on the sofa.

“I don’t want to push you,” Ash said, “but if you want any help developing the psychometry, I’d be happy to help. I use it occasionally—it’s not as strong as yours, but I can probably help you explore it.”

“Thanks,” Colm said. “I’ll think about it.”

Ash nodded. He turned to Mia and his face took on a determined look. “And as for you, young lady…”

Her mouth had gone dry. Surely he wasn’t going to say the spirit of the dead boy had come through? She wouldn’t be able to cope with that, not tonight.

“I spoke to your grandmother,” he said.

She inhaled, a smile appearing automatically. “Oh!”

“Your mum’s mum, right?”

“Yes.”

“Barbara.”

“Yes.”

“She liked butterflies,” he said. “They’re fluttering all around her.”

Mia laughed then. “Yes, that’s definitely her.” Her nan had had a thing about them and her house had been filled with multi-coloured butterflies on everything from pictures to crockery to bookmarks. Her heart lifted. Ash had really spoken to her.

“She’s very worried about you,” he said, his eyes piercing, as if they could see right through her.

Mia’s eyes filled with tears. “Oh.”

“She said to me, ‘It’s time’.”

“Time?” She sniffed and rubbed her nose with the back of her hand, determined not to cry.

“Time to forgive yourself,” he said softly. “Mia, I understand why you’ve fought against your recovery, but you’re really not helping anyone by refusing to let your body heal. She wants you to take your pills, see the doctor, see Nate, do whatever you need to get better.”

She swallowed. Was she ready to forgive herself?

“And because she knows you,” he continued, “she knows there’s no point in saying the accident wasn’t your fault and there’s nothing you could have done.” He smiled, having told her anyway. “But she understands that you feel guilty. She showed me the children’s ward of the hospital, and you working there, talking to the sick kids and helping out. I think she wants you to volunteer. I think she believes it might help you to feel like you’re doing some good.”

Tears ran down Mia’s face. How well her nan knew her. It was a great idea, especially after what had happened with Hope, because now she knew how vulnerable and worried new parents were, and it would be lovely to be able to do something to help.

“Okay,” she whispered, wiping away the tears. “I’ll try, Ash. I can’t promise I’ll get better overnight, but I’ll try.”

“That’s good. That’s all she wants. It takes time to heal, Mia. And the love of a good man will help.”

Mia’s cheeks burned and Ash chuckled at her flaming face.

She risked a glance at Colm, wondering if it was a step too far. Would he be wary? Annoyed?

But he was just smiling, gentle affection in his eyes.

Ash got to his feet. “Right, I’m going back to Grace. You guys coming?”

“In a minute,” Colm said.

“Sure.” Ash extended his hand, and Colm shook it. “I won’t forget what you did,” Ash said softly. Colm just nodded, so Ash dropped his hand and enveloped Mia in a hug before leaving the room.

Her heart, which had slowed down a little after Ash’s words, began to speed up at the realisation that she was now alone with Colm.

He took her hand and led her over to the window. “It’s a clear night,” he said, and she gasped as she looked up to see the Milky Way arched across the sky, the stars seemingly reflecting the bright lights of the city.

He turned her to face him and took her hands. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.” An unfamiliar shyness stole over her, and her cheeks grew warm once again. “How about you? What do you think of what Ash said about your father?”

His eyebrows lifted, and he blew out a sigh of bewilderment. “I don’t know. I’m sure I should be questioning and doubting, but actually I feel as if a huge weight’s been lifted. I mean, he only said the one word, but somehow it summed up everything, you know?”

She nodded. “He was saying you have to have faith in yourself.”

“I suppose.” He smiled. “And in us?”

She caught her breath. “Maybe.” Something was bothering her, though, and she had to ask. “Colm, when we were in Auckland, I asked if you’d ever been in love and you looked sad and wouldn’t answer me. I need to know, was there someone special? And are you still in love with her?”

He stared at her. Then he ran a hand through his hair and gave an embarrassed laugh. “Actually, I was thinking about you. It went through my head ‘Crap, I think I’m falling in love with Mia, what the hell do I say?’ But I couldn’t think what to say, so I kissed you instead.”

Delight welled inside her. He’d been thinking of her?

He stroked her cheek with his thumb. “It’s late, and we’re tired, and there’s no reason we have to decide anything now. But I just want you to know, I want you. I want to be with you. I was fooling myself when I thought I could go back to Ireland and leave you here.”

She bit her lip. Was he really saying all these wonderful things? Did they really have a future?

“I don’t know how it’s going to work yet,” he continued, “whether I’ll move here or you’ll come with me or maybe we can share our time between the two places, I don’t know. But I’ll do whatever you want to make you happy. That’s all that matters to me.” His thumb brushed away the tear that fell down her cheek.

“I’m glad you’re talking sense now at least,” she whispered, trying to sound sassy but instead only managing a kind of grateful relief. “I want to be with you too. I’m crazy about you, Colm. I never imagined there’d be a man as wonderful as you, and I was distraught when I thought I’d lost you.”

“You never lost me.” He moved a little closer to her. “I love you, Farrow.”

In spite of her tears, Mia smiled. “I love you too, Baloney.”

“Then everything’s going to be all right.” He lowered his head and kissed her.

Mia put her arms around his neck and gave herself up to the kiss. His lips were warm, his arms tight around her waist, and she’d never felt so right, so complete as she did at that moment. He pressed her to him, and she realised that later they could spend the night together—and every night after that. They need never be apart again.

The thought filled her with happiness.

Behind them, the door banged.

“Jeez,” came Jodi’s voice. “Everyone’s kissing.” She huffed a sigh and, as they pulled back wryly, flopped onto the sofa and lay down. “Don’t mind me, you carry on,” she said with a wave of her hand before rolling over with her back to them. “I’m going to sleep.”

They started laughing. “Come on,” Mia said, catching his hand. “I haven’t had a cuddle of Hope yet and I’m desperate.”

“It’ll be us here one day,” he murmured in her ear as they walked out, his arm tight around her shoulder. “With a tiny baby and all our friends around us.”

“I’d like that,” she said with a smile. And she opened the door to Grace’s room and all the smiling faces, her heart filled with joy.

About the Author

Serenity Woods lives in the sub-tropical Northland of New Zealand with her wonderful husband and gorgeous teenage son. She writes fun, flirty, and sexy romances in a variety of romance sub-genres.

She’s won several romance writing competitions and is a member of the Romance Writers of New Zealand. She would much rather immerse herself in reading or writing romance than do the dusting and ironing, which is why it’s not a great idea to pop round if you have any allergies. You can check out all her books at www.serenitywoodsromance.com.

Look for these titles by Serenity Woods

Now Available:

Something Blue

White-Hot Christmas

Love in Reverse

Seven Sexy Sins

Six Naughty Nights

Sensual Healing

An Uncommon Sense

Making Sense

Coming Soon:

Five Exotic Fantasies

All six senses tell him she’s the one.

An Uncommon Sense

© 2012 Serenity Woods

Sensual Healing, Book 1

High school science teacher Grace Fox doesn’t believe in any of that woo-woo stuff. So it’s easy to laugh off her friend’s prediction that she’ll have swear-out-loud sex with the next man who walks through her classroom door.

Who knew that local celebrity Ash Rutherford would have the time to attend his daughter’s parents’ night? Or that the Viking lookalike would trigger an attack of klutziness? He may or may not see dead people, but he certainly got a good look up her skirt.

A doctor turned medium, Ash spends his days communicating with unseen spirits. When it comes to his moody daughter, though, he hopes down-to-earth Grace will give him some insight. The racy lingerie she hides beneath her prim and proper clothing is an added bonus he didn’t expect.

Their attraction is instant and blazing hot, but Ash has been burned before. His ex-wife didn’t believe in his abilities, and no way is he going down that road again. At least not until Grace accepts the possibility there might be life after death. And the ghosts of his past are laid to rest.

Warning: Contains a real live Viking, proof of life after death and sex on a 1970s sheepskin rug, but absolutely no Barry White.

Enjoy the following excerpt for An Uncommon Sense:

His stormy-blue eyes met hers. This time, there was something other than amusement in them. Grace’s cheeks grew warm at the sparkle of interest glittering in their depths.

“There’ll be none of that,” she said before she could think better of it.

“Of what?”

“Any funny business.” Her cheeks grew even hotter. “I’ll help you, but it will be purely a business relationship.”

“Of course.” The amusement was back.

“I’m sure you usually only have to bat your eyelids at a girl and she turns into mush, but I’m not that kind of girl.”

“Actually, I beg to differ. I’d known you precisely two seconds and you swooned at my feet.” He winked at her.

“I did not swoon.”

“There was definite swoonage going on. You were practically Victorian.”

“That’s the second time tonight I’ve been called Victorian,” she said indignantly. She patted her bun self-consciously. “Mia thinks I dress too conservatively.”

He ran his gaze slowly down her and then back up again. “On the surface, maybe.”

She frowned, not understanding, then realised when he grinned he was referring to what he’d seen when she’d sat on the floor before him, legs apart. Her stockings and garter belt. And maybe even her black, silky teddy. Oh God, I hope the teddy was covering everything.

“Oh.” Her cheeks burned again. “You did see.”

“Sorry, but you were right in front of me—it was difficult not to see everything.”

“You didn’t have to mention it. That was extremely impolite.”

His eyebrows rose. “You’re giving me lessons on being polite?”

She thought about it. “Touché.”

Smiling, he tapped her nameplate. “Are you really a Miss? Or is that just school-teacher licence?”

“Are you asking whether I wear nice underwear for a partner or whether I wear it for myself?”

He hesitated. Then he grinned. “Yes.”

“Then just ask, for God’s sake. I hate having to rummage around in people’s words looking for the true meaning behind them.”

He nodded. “Duly noted.”

She zipped up her laptop case. “I’m single. I happen to like pretty underwear.”

“So do I. So that’s two things we have in common.” Smiling, he pushed himself to his feet. “We’d better go. I think you’re getting the evil eye.”

Grace looked up, surprised to see they were the last two people left in the auditorium. Professor Michaels was standing in the doorway, tapping his foot impatiently, waiting to lock up. “Oh.”

“Come on. I’ll walk you to your car. It’s dark outside.”

She put the register and pen in her bag, slipped on her jacket and walked with him out of the auditorium, nodding to the professor as they passed and apologising for keeping him waiting.

“Jeez,” said Ash as they went out into the cool night air and walked down to the main road. “What a weird guy.”

“I know. Mia told me I was going to have swear-out-loud sex with the next guy who walked through the door. I was terrified it was going to be him.”

He stopped walking and looked down at her, smiling. “And instead you got me.”

She glanced up. She was five-feet-eight, hardly short for a woman, but he still towered over her. He was like essence of man. She was acutely conscious of the way his shirt sleeves stretched across his generous arm muscles. “You’re not Robert Downey Junior,” she said, a little breathlessly.

He smiled. “No.” His eyes glittered in the light from the street lamp.

“You are gorgeous, though.”

He gave a short laugh. “You really have no control over what comes out of your mouth, do you?”

“Not when I’m nervous. It lands me in heaps of trouble.”

“I kind of like it. I don’t have to worry about what you’re thinking.”

“I can see how that might be appealing.”

They studied each other for a moment. An impish smile gradually spread across his face. “Swear-out-loud sex, huh?”

Her cheeks grew hot. “Mia’s words, not mine.”

“It sounds like an interesting prediction.”

“I don’t believe in predictions.” She swallowed. His eyes had turned quite hot. “Or swearing.”

“You don’t swear?”

“Never.”

“Not even during sex?”

Her eyes widened. “Mr. Rutherford!”

“Yes, Miss Fox?”

“I…” For once, words failed her. He was a man who thought he could speak to dead people. He was certifiable, almost certainly delusional, and quite possibly an outright fraudster.

He was also the most gorgeous guy she’d ever met in real life, and the way he was looking at her made her knees go weak. She wrapped her arms around the laptop case as if it were a breastplate that could protect her.

“You’d be surprised how many predictions I’ve made that have come true,” he said, his deep voice husky.

She swallowed. “Well, for a start, Mia made up the stupid horoscope, and she’s usually about as accurate as a stopped watch.” Her voice was faint. “And secondly, there’s no such thing as the ability to see into the future. We exist at a fixed point in time. It’s not possible.” She lifted her chin determinedly.

He smiled. “Even a stopped watch is right twice a day.” His gaze had settled on her mouth. Ohmygod, he wants to kiss me.

She gave a little shake of her head. “You’re flirting with me.”

“Am I?”

“Men don’t flirt with me.”

“I can’t believe that.”

“I scare them off.”

He laughed. “Now that I can believe.”

“Don’t I scare you?”

He stepped a little closer to her. “Not in the least.”

She looked up into his dark blue eyes. Her skin prickled with his nearness. She desperately wanted to kiss him. But she knew she couldn’t. It wouldn’t end well. She couldn’t bear to see the disappointment in his eyes.

“Don’t,” she whispered. “I’m not your type of girl.”

“Oh? And how do you know what type of girl I like?”

She moistened her lips with her tongue, not missing the way he watched her. “I know. I’m sure you like confident women, who’ve read the Kama Sutra from cover to cover and know massage techniques and own special equipment.”

“You mean like power tools?”

“Don’t make me laugh. I’m trying to be serious. I meant…” How on earth had she got herself into this conversation? She’d only just met the man, for crying out loud. “I mean, I’m sure the women you date are sexy and very good in bed and I’m…not.”

His eyebrows rose. “What makes you say that?”

“I…I’ve been told.” Her cheeks grew hot again.

He stared at her. A frown marred his forehead, and something like anger shone in his eyes. Then, gradually, his smile reappeared. “Maybe you just need more practice.”

“I’m a schoolteacher who dresses like she’s stepped out of the Victorian period. How good in bed do you really think I am?”

His smile widened. “Dresses on the outside.”

He was talking about her stockings again. She moistened her lips once more. “Silky underwear doesn’t make a woman sexy.”

He gave a small laugh. “Oh, I beg to differ.” He gave her a curious, amused glance. “You are an exceptionally sexy woman, Miss Fox. And I am sure that, given the right location, the right encouragement and the right man, you would be exceedingly good in bed.”

Sometimes it’s not just the tide that rises…

Full Moon

© 2013 Mari Carr

Second Chances, Book 2

In the two years since her divorce was finalized, Josie Jacobson’s life has become one long, boring routine. Work, home, repeat. She has her hands full as a single parent, and while she’s not looking for a serious relationship, she sure wouldn’t mind getting laid.

When her friend, Zoey, challenges her to make a New Year’s resolution for a second chance at happiness, Josie goes one better and creates the “Howl List”. Every full moon, she will indulge in a different sexual fantasy. Right at the top? Sex without strings.

Fate leads her to the Blue Moon bar in January. After all, what better place to howl? And when she meets Jake Stewart, the sexy bartender, and engages in some red-hot sex with a stranger, her year seems to be off to a great start.

At least, until Jake declares he wants all her full moons…

Warning: This is NOT the shifter story you are looking for. While the heroine howls during the full moon, she does it in naked, human-form only. Sorry—no wolves, but there is a really sexy bartender and lots of red-hot fantasies.

Enjoy the following excerpt for Full Moon:

“Tonight’s full moon is sex in public.”

Jake choked on the drink and put the glass back down. “In public?”

She nodded.

“What the hell do you mean by full moon?”

Josie considered avoiding the question, but there was no harm in telling him the truth. She explained about her list and her desire to fulfill the fantasies.

“So what’s on the list? Besides the stranger danger and PDA ones.” Jake was exactly as she’d remembered him. Unflappable, fun, funny.

She shook her head. “I’m afraid the contents of the list are privileged information. If I told you, I’d have to fuck you.”

Jake grasped her shoulder, pulling her closer. “I’d have no problem with—”

“Jake?” A waitress stood by their table. She pointed to a couple of loud drunks by the door. “I think we might have trouble. You wanna take care of it?”

Jake sighed. “Yeah, sure. I’ll be right over.”

The waitress went back to work.

Jake leaned closer, whispering in her ear. “If you don’t have any luck with number two on the list within the next hour, come find me.”

Josie didn’t have a chance to respond before Jake rose and went to address the problem by the entrance. She took a sip of her drink, hoping it would calm her down. It was suddenly quite warm in the bar.

Josie watched Shelly and Lance dance, then gazed around the room. The place was crowded and there certainly wasn’t a shortage of men hanging around, either drinking alone or standing in large groups.

She spotted one large table across the room. It appeared the men were all out for a bachelor party. She found the groom-to-be instantly. The party must have been going for a while because the man had at least a dozen empty shot glasses in front of him. His friends were sending him out of bachelorhood in style. She slowly studied each of the men at the table, silently trying to decide which were married, which were mama’s boys, which were playboys.

Josie had never paid much attention to the opposite sex. Tony had been her first boyfriend. She’d fallen fast and hard for him toward the end of their junior year in high school and she’d convinced herself she was lucky. She’d honestly believed she’d found her soul mate at sixteen.

She closed her eyes wearily. The silly romantic girl she had been was long gone, leaving Josie struggling to figure out what her beliefs regarding love were now. Since the divorce, Josie had concentrated on setting up a new home for her and her son, working long hours to pay the bills, and avoiding the dating scene as much as possible because she refused to open up a revolving door of men in Tommy’s life.

She remembered too well how painful it was when her mother would bring home a new boyfriend, include him in every aspect of their lives, then yank him out again after the break-up.

Josie wouldn’t—couldn’t—do that to Tommy. The full-moon list had been created to protect him. And her.

So while she was tempted by Jake’s offer, she wasn’t sure she should accept it. She’d thought about the handsome bartender too many times the past few weeks. If she had sex with him again, wasn’t she sort of tempting fate and running the risk of developing feelings for him?

As tough as she tried to pretend she was, Josie knew when it came to matters of the heart, she was way too soft.

A man lingered at the edge of the dance floor by her table and gave her a friendly smile. It wouldn’t take much effort on her part to show interest, to invite him over.

Josie glanced over her shoulder and watched Jake deal with the two drunks by the door. Apparently a fight had been brewing between them, but somehow Jake had calmed the waters. They were laughing at something Jake had said. She smiled. Then she ignored the stranger and stood up, approaching Jake just as the two men shook his hand and said goodbye.

“Hey, gorgeous.” Jake glanced at his watch. “It’s only been fifteen minutes. Are you coming to give me the brush-off?”

She shook her head. “No. I don’t want to wait an hour.”

Jake’s eyes darkened with lust and her body responded instantly. “Come with me.”

Talking Sense

Serenity Woods

Love—and healing—can come from the most unexpected places…

Sensual Healing, Book 3

Still hurting physically and emotionally after a tragic car accident, Mia Nicholls has everything but love on her mind. Until quiet, sexy Colm Molony—a man who barely registered on her romantic radar—gives her a more-than-friends birthday kiss that really rings her bell.

The minute he laid eyes on Mia, Colm knew she was trouble, which is one reason he’s kept his distance. The other is that he’ll be leaving New Zealand to go back to Ireland at summer’s end. Yet when he touches Mia’s watch, his supernatural ability to sense others’ emotions kicks in, and his instinct to soothe her private pain overrides his intention to stay away.

While away on a course together, talk leads to massage, then to a game of strip whist, culminating in a physical relationship that turns emotional faster than either expected. But when a shocking event threatens to upset Mia’s tenuous equilibrium, Colm must untangle himself from his own past before he can save her wounded heart from slipping beyond his reach.

Warning: Includes men in rugby shorts, strip whist, an unashamedly romantic hero performing heroic acts, and a touch of the Twilight Zone.

eBooks are not transferable.

They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

11821 Mason Montgomery Road Suite 4B

Cincinnati OH 45249

Talking Sense

Copyright © 2013 by Serenity Woods

ISBN: 978-1-61921-553-5

Edited by Imogen Howson

Cover by Angela Waters

All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: July 2013
www.samhainpublishing.com

Table of Contents

- Dedication
- Chapter One
- Chapter Two
- Chapter Three
- Chapter Four
- Chapter Five
- Chapter Six
- Chapter Seven
- Chapter Eight
- Chapter Nine
- Chapter Ten
- Chapter Eleven
- Chapter Twelve
- Chapter Thirteen
- Chapter Fourteen
- Chapter Fifteen
- Chapter Sixteen
- Chapter Seventeen
- Chapter Eighteen
- Chapter Nineteen
- Chapter Twenty
- Chapter Twenty-One
- Chapter Twenty-Two
- Chapter Twenty-Three
- Chapter Twenty-Four
- Chapter Twenty-Five
- Chapter Twenty-Six
- Chapter Twenty-Seven
- Chapter Twenty-Eight
- Chapter Twenty-Nine
- Chapter Thirty
- About the Author
- Look for these titles by Serenity Woods

- Also Available from Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

- Copyright Page