One stupid night hunting a kleptomaniac dog and he was feeling just what he’d felt ten years ago. As if here was the half to his whole. As if something had been ripped out of him ten years back and this woman was the key to getting his life back.
This wasn’t about him. It couldn’t be.
‘There are lots of guys out there, Abby,’ he said in a voice that was none too steady. ‘Guys who’d marry you in a heartbeat. Guys who’d love Kleppy. Don’t marry Dexter.’
‘Get out of my way.’
‘You’re better than this, Abby.’
‘We’ve had this conversation before. Philip’s better than any of us. He wasn’t stupid. He’s dependable.’
‘He’s boring. He doesn’t like this town.’
‘How can you say that? He lives for this town.’
‘He spends his life criticising it. Making reasons why he should go to conferences far away. Where are you going on your honeymoon?’
‘You’re suggesting we should honeymoon at Mrs Mac’s Banksia Bay’s Big Breakfast?’
‘No, but…’
‘That’s what I’d have done if I’d married you.’
Her words shocked them both.
The unsayable had just been said.
The unthinkable had just been put out there.
‘Abby…’
‘Don’t,’ she said and pushed and Kleppy got caught in the middle and yelped his indignation. ‘Now see what you’ve done.’
Kleppy wagged his tail. Wounded to the core.
‘Think about it,’ he said, but softly, knowing he’d gone too far; he’d pushed into places neither of them could contemplate going.
‘I’ve thought about it. Thank you very much for your help tonight.’
‘Any time, Abby, and I mean that.’
‘I’ve accepted all the help from you I’ll ever accept.’
‘You can’t say that. What if you need help over the street in your old age? There I’ll be in my fading cop uniform, all ready to hold up the traffic, and there you’ll be with your pride and your walking frame.
She gasped and choked, laughter suddenly surfacing at the image.
‘That’s better,’ he said. ‘Abby, can we be friends?’
Friends. She looked at him and the laughter faded. Her eyes were indescribably bleak.
‘No.’
‘Because of Ben?’
‘Because of much, much more than that.’
‘Don’t go near the Finn boy. He’s trouble?’ he said.
‘More than that, too,’ she whispered. ‘You know I… You know we…’
He didn’t know anything, and he couldn’t bear it. She was looking at him with eyes that were so bleak the end of the world must be around the corner, not the marriage of the year, Banksia Bay’s answer to a royal couple-a wedding that had been planned almost since she was a baby.
She hesitated for just a fraction of a second too long and logic and reason and everything else he should be thinking flew straight out of the window.
He took her shoulders in his hands. He tugged her to him-dog included-and he kissed her.
One minute she was angry and confused, intending to wheel away and stalk into the house, dignity intact.
The next minute she was being kissed by Raff Finn and her dignity was nowhere.
Second time in two days? She felt as if her body had opened to this two days ago and she’d been waiting for a repeat performance ever since.
Only this wasn’t a repeat performance. Tonight she’d been scared and lonely and emotional, remembering so much stuff that her head was close to exploding even before Raff’s mouth met hers.
It was no wonder that when it did she couldn’t handle it.
She liked control. She was a control girl. Her emotional wiring was neat and orderly.
His mouth touched hers and every single fuse blew, just like that.
Her circuits closed down and every one of the emotions she’d been feeling during the night was replaced, overridden by one gigantic wire that sizzled and sparked and threatened to blow her tidy existence right out of the water.
Raff Finn was kissing her.
She was kissing Raff Finn.
Or…maybe she wasn’t kissing. She was simply dissolving into him.
Ten long years of control, ten years of carefully recreating her life, was forgotten. All she could feel was this man. His hands. His mouth. The taste of him, the smell, the sheer testosterone-laden charge of him.
Raff. The man who was kissing her totally, unutterably, mind-blowingly senseless.
She had sensations within her right now that she didn’t know existed. She didn’t know feeling like this was possible. If she had…
If she had, she’d have gone hunting for them with elephant guns.
Oh…
Did she gasp? Did she moan?
Who knew? All she knew was that her mouth was locked on his and the kiss went on and on and she didn’t care. She didn’t care that it was three in the morning and she was engaged to Philip Dexter and Raff Finn was a man her family hated. Raff Finn, six foot two, was holding her and kissing her until her toes curled, until her mind was empty of anything but the taste of him.
This was a pure primeval need. It had nothing to do with logic. It had everything to do with here and now. And Raff-a man she’d wanted since she was eight years old.
Here, now and…and…
‘Is that you? Abigail?’
Uh-oh.
This was Banksia Bay.
It was three in the morning.
She lived next door to Ambrose Kittelty and Ambrose watched American sports television all night on Pay TV-as well as watching out of his front window.
Banksia Bay. Where her life was never her own. Could never be her own.
‘It’s Abby all right.’ Somehow, Finn was putting her away from him and she could have wept. To have him so close… To know she could never… Must never…
‘Is she kissing you?’ Mr Kittelty sounded almost apoplectic.
‘Bit of trouble with a dog,’ Raff said smoothly. ‘I’m helping the lady get him under control.’
‘You looked like…’
‘Took two of us to get him settled. Seems okay now. You right, ma’am?’
‘That’s Abrahams’ dog,’ Ambrose said.
‘Yes, sir, the same dog that took your boot from the bowling club,’ Finn said. ‘Still causing trouble.’
‘Get him put down,’ Ambrose said and slammed down the window.
‘I didn’t know Ambrose and Phil were related,’ Raff said and any last vestige of passion disappeared, just like that.
She felt cold and tired and stupid. Very, very stupid.
‘Thank you for tonight,’ she said, and she couldn’t keep the weariness from her voice. ‘Don’t…’
‘Come near you any more?’
‘That’s right,’ she whispered. ‘There’s too much at stake.’
