one should be an island.
Someone was playing the harmonica. Blake pressed the heels of his palms to his eyeballs as the familiar childhood sound drifted overthe pool’s still blue water and through the open window.
Tipped back as far as the recliner would go, he lay in the study’s darkness while a bevy of hammers battered away at the back of his skull. Darth Vader and Luke were fighting their alltime classic laser battle inside his eyeballs. The nausea was still at the high-tide mark.
Had Lissa gone partying? Probably, after that scene against the wall. He’d had to get rid of her—it was that or lose his pride. Throwing up at a woman’s feet was never going to be a good look.
The tune switched to a country and western ballad he remembered playing as a kid. It had been an old distraction. He’d taught himself to play harmonica while he waited alone for his mother to come back from one of her endless meetings. A foster home would have offered more. Lissa’s mention of her tonight had brought the memories back and reminded him why he didn’t allow emotion to clutter his life.
His father had been no better at the parenting game. Predictably he’d tired of the marriage and lived a separate life under this very roof. But by some miracle they’d conceived Blake. What a joke.
He’d learned early on not to depend on others for emotional or any other kind of support. Janine had reinforced that learning in his late teens.
Love equals vulnerability.
Women looking for more than the casual date soon discovered he wasn’t that kind of guy. As long as they were on the same wavelength he was happy to indulge whatever games they wanted to play, but the moment he got a glimpse of those stars in their eyes he was off.
And now there was Lissa.
Too young, too inexperienced, too-delicate Lissa. He hadn’t missed the flicker of real fear in her eyes when he’d backed her up against the wall just now and guilt sat uncomfortably alongside the roiling in his gut.
Definitely off-limits to guys like him.
The strip of golden sand was strewn with shells, driftwood and dead palm leaves where the rainforest met the sea. The heavy pounding at the back of his skull was gunfire and the sound of his boots on the hard-packed sand.
Blake looked over his shoulder.
Torque crouched on the sand, frozen.
Blake dodging bullets. Dragging him across the beach. Torque’s cry as he fell, knocking him off balance. Rocks coming up to meet him as he fell.
‘Blake. Blake, wake up.’
He jerked awake like a panic-stricken diver out of oxygen. Lissa’s voice, her tone calm but firm and instantly grounding. A wave of relief flooded over him as his eyes blinked open.Ghostly light from the muted TV screen lit the living room.
He was on the couch and she was perched on the arm rest, watching him with concern in those pretty eyes. He remembered coming out here, unable to find sleep in the study.
Relief quickly turned to a storm of humiliation and he started to lift his head, which felt like a ripe watermelon.
How long had she been watching him?
‘You okay?’
Her cool light fingers on his brow both soothed and embarrassed. A bloody rerun of last night.
He pushed her arm away. ‘Yeah.’ His mouth was dust dry. He didn’t know if it was the result of being caught napping or the sight of her in nothing but that wispy white nightdress. In the TV’s soft glow he could see the outline of her nipples against the sheer fabric.
He closed his eyes and imagined diving back into the cool, dark ocean.
‘Are you still in pain?’
His eyes blinked open again. She was looking at his pack of prescription painkillers on the coffee table.
‘No.’
Not the kind of pain you’re referring to.
‘I’m fine.’
‘You didn’t sound fine.’
He swore silently to himself. Had he called out? Made an idiot of himself? Ignoring thevague residual dizziness, he pushed up, set his feet on the floor and said, ‘How was the party? I didn’t hear you come in.’
Someone was playing the harmonica. Blake pressed the heels of his palms to his eyeballs as the familiar childhood sound drifted overthe pool’s still blue water and through the open window.
Tipped back as far as the recliner would go, he lay in the study’s darkness while a bevy of hammers battered away at the back of his skull. Darth Vader and Luke were fighting their alltime classic laser battle inside his eyeballs. The nausea was still at the high-tide mark.
Had Lissa gone partying? Probably, after that scene against the wall. He’d had to get rid of her—it was that or lose his pride. Throwing up at a woman’s feet was never going to be a good look.
The tune switched to a country and western ballad he remembered playing as a kid. It had been an old distraction. He’d taught himself to play harmonica while he waited alone for his mother to come back from one of her endless meetings. A foster home would have offered more. Lissa’s mention of her tonight had brought the memories back and reminded him why he didn’t allow emotion to clutter his life.
His father had been no better at the parenting game. Predictably he’d tired of the marriage and lived a separate life under this very roof. But by some miracle they’d conceived Blake. What a joke.
He’d learned early on not to depend on others for emotional or any other kind of support. Janine had reinforced that learning in his late teens.
Love equals vulnerability.
Women looking for more than the casual date soon discovered he wasn’t that kind of guy. As long as they were on the same wavelength he was happy to indulge whatever games they wanted to play, but the moment he got a glimpse of those stars in their eyes he was off.
And now there was Lissa.
Too young, too inexperienced, too-delicate Lissa. He hadn’t missed the flicker of real fear in her eyes when he’d backed her up against the wall just now and guilt sat uncomfortably alongside the roiling in his gut.
Definitely off-limits to guys like him.
The strip of golden sand was strewn with shells, driftwood and dead palm leaves where the rainforest met the sea. The heavy pounding at the back of his skull was gunfire and the sound of his boots on the hard-packed sand.
Blake looked over his shoulder.
Torque crouched on the sand, frozen.
Blake dodging bullets. Dragging him across the beach. Torque’s cry as he fell, knocking him off balance. Rocks coming up to meet him as he fell.
‘Blake. Blake, wake up.’
He jerked awake like a panic-stricken diver out of oxygen. Lissa’s voice, her tone calm but firm and instantly grounding. A wave of relief flooded over him as his eyes blinked open.Ghostly light from the muted TV screen lit the living room.
He was on the couch and she was perched on the arm rest, watching him with concern in those pretty eyes. He remembered coming out here, unable to find sleep in the study.
Relief quickly turned to a storm of humiliation and he started to lift his head, which felt like a ripe watermelon.
How long had she been watching him?
‘You okay?’
Her cool light fingers on his brow both soothed and embarrassed. A bloody rerun of last night.
He pushed her arm away. ‘Yeah.’ His mouth was dust dry. He didn’t know if it was the result of being caught napping or the sight of her in nothing but that wispy white nightdress. In the TV’s soft glow he could see the outline of her nipples against the sheer fabric.
He closed his eyes and imagined diving back into the cool, dark ocean.
‘Are you still in pain?’
His eyes blinked open again. She was looking at his pack of prescription painkillers on the coffee table.
‘No.’
Not the kind of pain you’re referring to.
‘I’m fine.’
‘You didn’t sound fine.’
He swore silently to himself. Had he called out? Made an idiot of himself? Ignoring thevague residual dizziness, he pushed up, set his feet on the floor and said, ‘How was the party? I didn’t hear you come in.’
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