she might be feigning sleep. Had the sex, too, been a way of
putting off answering the inevitable questions? No , he decided, that
was my doing . He smiled to himself, remembering. Although he had only
intended to console her, not race her off to bed, she had been no passive
participant.
Great sex aside,
he had been rather taken aback by the mention of a stepfather. What stepfather?
In the whole time they’d been together, Jacinta had not said one word about the
man. He doubted it was something that could easily slip your mind, but on the
other hand, whenever he asked about her past, she tended to be extremely
evasive. All he knew was that Jacinta had never known her father, and that when
she was fifteen, she and her mother had moved from Perth to Melbourne. Now that
she had let that much slip, would she open up to him?
Brett’s last
thought before drifting into an endorphin-induced sleep was at least he
understood what had prompted her antagonistic attitude toward Craig. He
reminded her of her stepfather.
CHAPTER 21
Tuesday dawned overcast, the dark
heavy clouds reflecting Jacinta’s mood. Monday had started badly with, first,
her apparent sighting of her stepbrother, followed by Grace Kevron’s bizarre
visit, and finally the confrontation with Craig Edmonds. But surely, Brett’s
decision to move back in should have overridden all that. After all, wasn’t it
what she wanted?
She shoved aside
the bedclothes, rolled on to her side and sat up, her legs dangling over the
edge of the bed. No question, her feelings for Brett were as strong as they had
ever been. However, she wasn’t certain of his feelings. The last thing she
wanted was for him to stay with her out of pity or some sense of duty. Telling
her he loved her in the afterglow of sex didn’t count.
Yawning, she
stood up and padded to the bathroom. A long, hot shower, followed by a
breakfast of tea and toast, left her feeling almost human again.
She was sipping
her second cup of tea, thinking about the mess her life was in and indulging in
a little self-pity, when the phone rang. Brett’s cheery ‘good morning’ lifted
her spirits no end, allaying her fears that he had snuck away from the house
that morning harbouring regrets. Dropping his voice to a low, sexy growl, he
told her how much he wanted her. She laughed. Love or lust: right at that
moment it didn’t matter. Still smiling, she hung up.
The doorbell
rang and she skipped to answer it, half-expecting to see a grinning Brett,
phone in hand. Who else would be calling at such an early hour? With a smile at
the ready, she flung the door open. Her face dropped.
Narelle stood
forlornly on the doorstep, a tartan suitcase in one hand and a blue boxy toilet
bag in the other. Her eyes, red and swollen shut, were no more than slits in
her tear-stained face. Her brunette curls, tied back off her face, only
accentuated her pallor. Without a word, Jacinta relieved Narelle of her
suitcase and ushered her inside.
“I’m so sorry,”
blubbered Narelle. “I didn’t know where else to go.”
“Don’t be
silly,” said Jacinta, lugging the heavy suitcase into the hall. “I’m glad to
help.” And she was genuinely pleased to see Narelle, but she could just imagine
what Brett would say if he knew. Not to mention Craig. Did she have a death
wish? Perhaps, but she couldn’t in all good conscience turn Narelle away. Part
of it, she realised, was also fuelled, rightly or wrongly, by guilt. In her
pursuit of a story, she hadn’t stopped to think of the possible consequences.
Narelle was
dressed unseasonably in jeans, black boots and a thick, woolly red jumper. It
was a muggy day, the heavy cloud cover pushing up the humidity, yet Narelle,
instead of sweating, was shivering.
Jacinta
collected a blanket from the linen cupboard in the hall, and took Narelle
through to the living room, leaving the bags sitting on the hall floor. After
settling Narelle on the sofa and swaddling her in the blanket, Jacinta
putting off answering the inevitable questions? No , he decided, that
was my doing . He smiled to himself, remembering. Although he had only
intended to console her, not race her off to bed, she had been no passive
participant.
Great sex aside,
he had been rather taken aback by the mention of a stepfather. What stepfather?
In the whole time they’d been together, Jacinta had not said one word about the
man. He doubted it was something that could easily slip your mind, but on the
other hand, whenever he asked about her past, she tended to be extremely
evasive. All he knew was that Jacinta had never known her father, and that when
she was fifteen, she and her mother had moved from Perth to Melbourne. Now that
she had let that much slip, would she open up to him?
Brett’s last
thought before drifting into an endorphin-induced sleep was at least he
understood what had prompted her antagonistic attitude toward Craig. He
reminded her of her stepfather.
CHAPTER 21
Tuesday dawned overcast, the dark
heavy clouds reflecting Jacinta’s mood. Monday had started badly with, first,
her apparent sighting of her stepbrother, followed by Grace Kevron’s bizarre
visit, and finally the confrontation with Craig Edmonds. But surely, Brett’s
decision to move back in should have overridden all that. After all, wasn’t it
what she wanted?
She shoved aside
the bedclothes, rolled on to her side and sat up, her legs dangling over the
edge of the bed. No question, her feelings for Brett were as strong as they had
ever been. However, she wasn’t certain of his feelings. The last thing she
wanted was for him to stay with her out of pity or some sense of duty. Telling
her he loved her in the afterglow of sex didn’t count.
Yawning, she
stood up and padded to the bathroom. A long, hot shower, followed by a
breakfast of tea and toast, left her feeling almost human again.
She was sipping
her second cup of tea, thinking about the mess her life was in and indulging in
a little self-pity, when the phone rang. Brett’s cheery ‘good morning’ lifted
her spirits no end, allaying her fears that he had snuck away from the house
that morning harbouring regrets. Dropping his voice to a low, sexy growl, he
told her how much he wanted her. She laughed. Love or lust: right at that
moment it didn’t matter. Still smiling, she hung up.
The doorbell
rang and she skipped to answer it, half-expecting to see a grinning Brett,
phone in hand. Who else would be calling at such an early hour? With a smile at
the ready, she flung the door open. Her face dropped.
Narelle stood
forlornly on the doorstep, a tartan suitcase in one hand and a blue boxy toilet
bag in the other. Her eyes, red and swollen shut, were no more than slits in
her tear-stained face. Her brunette curls, tied back off her face, only
accentuated her pallor. Without a word, Jacinta relieved Narelle of her
suitcase and ushered her inside.
“I’m so sorry,”
blubbered Narelle. “I didn’t know where else to go.”
“Don’t be
silly,” said Jacinta, lugging the heavy suitcase into the hall. “I’m glad to
help.” And she was genuinely pleased to see Narelle, but she could just imagine
what Brett would say if he knew. Not to mention Craig. Did she have a death
wish? Perhaps, but she couldn’t in all good conscience turn Narelle away. Part
of it, she realised, was also fuelled, rightly or wrongly, by guilt. In her
pursuit of a story, she hadn’t stopped to think of the possible consequences.
Narelle was
dressed unseasonably in jeans, black boots and a thick, woolly red jumper. It
was a muggy day, the heavy cloud cover pushing up the humidity, yet Narelle,
instead of sweating, was shivering.
Jacinta
collected a blanket from the linen cupboard in the hall, and took Narelle
through to the living room, leaving the bags sitting on the hall floor. After
settling Narelle on the sofa and swaddling her in the blanket, Jacinta
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