Runaway Bride

by Barbara Hannay

  ‘Thanks, but we’ll be fine here,’ Bella cut in, ignoring Damon’s frown. They had no transport and this motel room was their only option.

  Besides, she was embarrassed about making a fuss over sharing the room. For heaven’s sake, she was a mature, twenty-first-century woman not a nervous virgin in a Jane Austen novel. ‘The twin room will be lovely,’ she said, flashing a confident smile. ‘Thank you.’

  Chin high, she avoided meeting Damon’s gaze. No doubt he was amused by their new situation.

  ‘Do you serve meals?’ she asked.

  ‘Sure, miss. The breakfast menus are in your rooms. Dinner’s at seven in the dining room. I think it’s a roast tonight.’

  They were handed the keys and as they left Reception Bella couldn’t help thinking about the many women Damon had shared rooms with in heaven knew how many countries. Her own experience was rather limited. She hadn’t had many boyfriends.

  It wasn’t for lack of trying, but for some reason she’d never really fallen deeply in love, and she’d rarely got to the stage of going away for a weekend with a boyfriend. There’d been one dismal attempt when the guy in question had forgotten to mention he was a mad keen golfer.

  He’d booked a resort with a golf course, and he’d disappeared with his clubs from breakfast till dinner, and Bella had been bored out of her tree. The evenings hadn’t gone well, either.

  On tenterhooks now, she took a deep breath as Damon pushed open the door.

  The room was as faded and worn as she’d expected, and the furnishings were out-of-date ugly, rather than attractively old-fashioned, but any motel room was a darned sight better than the police lockup.

  Sinking onto one of the beds, she was suddenly exhausted by their ordeal. Sitting in a cell and doing nothing had totally worn her out. Until, that was, a quick glance at the dark, broad-shouldered male sauntering past the end of her bed wiped her tiredness in a blink, and replaced it with a brand-new edginess.

  Damon, naturally, looked totally relaxed as he made himself at home, unpacking his duffle bag, putting his shaving gear in the bathroom, plugging in his mobile phone to recharge, filling the electric kettle.

  Too late, Bella realised she’d been feasting her eyes on him. So not a good start.

  To distract herself she made phone calls to her father and Kent. Not the easiest of calls, given that she wanted to dodge any hint of their brush with the law and she hated lying. However, her dad reassured that he was really well, which was great news. And although he hadn’t heard from Paddy, he was confident he could find out the name of her grandfather’s old army mate in Port Douglas.

  ‘I’ll ring you as soon as I’ve got it,’ he promised.

  When Bella contacted Kent he reassured her that the wedding cancellations had been pretty much smooth sailing.

  ‘Thanks to Zoe Weston’s help,’ he added.

  Bella was intrigued by the warmth in Kent’s voice when he spoke about Zoe, and she wondered if there could be an attraction growing between her two closest friends.

  She might have brooded over Kent and Zoe some more if she hadn’t been dealing with her own attraction issues. Despite her best intentions, she felt a deeper connection with Damon after their shared trouble with the police. Not unlike the bond she’d felt all those years ago. The two of them against the world.

  The feeling both scared and excited her. She knew jolly well that there was absolutely no point in falling for Damon again. He’d come home to Australia on a flying visit to attend the wedding and to see his grandmother. Very soon he’d be gone again, disappearing overseas for another decade or more. Allowing her old feelings for Damon to resurface was a useless and dangerous exercise.

  After all, when it came to choosing boyfriends or, for that matter, fiancés, her track record was pretty poor.

  Just the same, the sad truth was her fears about sharing this room with him were caused more by her own vulnerability than a concern that Damon would try to seduce her. Just the intimacy of sleeping in a bed next to Damon Cavello and sharing a bathroom with him were enough to set her brain racing down all kinds of wrong tracks.

  One minute she was thinking that a fling would be nice—just for old times’ sake. Next she was reminding herself that, inevitably, her emotions would come to the party and she’d end up in a worse mess than ever.

  It was rather maddening that Damon was ultra cool about their situation.

  ‘Coffee?’ he asked as Bella finished her phone calls.

  She nodded gratefully. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘With milk and one sugar?’

  ‘Yes, please. You have a very good long-term memory.’

  ‘Nothing long-term about it. I don’t think you even drank coffee when I knew you before.’

  ‘Actually, you’re right. I didn’t. I was still addicted to milkshakes. So how did you know how I take my coffee?’

  His eyes twinkled. ‘Breakfast this morning.’

  Duh. ‘And you were taking notes, I suppose?’

  ‘A good journalist has to be sharp-eyed, like a good detective.’

  He handed her a steaming mug of coffee, and held out a little packet of biscuits. ‘I’ll let you have the one with the chocolate-cream filling.’

  ‘That’s very generous, Damon, but no, thanks. I couldn’t manage it. I’m still trying to digest those doorstop sandwiches they gave us at the police station.’ The thick corned beef and pickle sandwiches had settled heavily in Bella’s stomach.

  Setting his mug on the nightstand beside his bed, Damon kicked off his shoes, then lounged on top of the striped cotton bedspread, legs stretched in front of him and crossed at the ankles. He was wearing grey-and-black chequered socks that hugged the shape of his feet.

  There was something incredibly private and domesticated about a man in socks, Bella thought. She dragged her gaze away from his feet. ‘So tell me. What else have your sharp journalistic eyes observed?’

  ‘You love wearing fancy nail polish.’

  Her hands curled instinctively. Nail polish was her thing. Didn’t Damon like it? ‘I didn’t mean observations about me.’

  Over the rim of his coffee cup, he eyed her levelly. ‘What do you want then? My observations about global warming? World peace? The state of Queensland’s highways?’

  She rolled her eyes to the ceiling. ‘You’re still a smart aleck, Damon Cavello.’

  ‘And you’re still gutsy, Bella Shaw.’

  His praise was so unexpected her cheeks began to burn.

  ‘I was so proud of the way you handled yourself today,’ Damon said with surprising warmth.

  ‘But I was petrified.’

  ‘It didn’t show.’

  Something—a certain spark in his eyes—made her heart do a slow tumble turn. ‘I took my cue from you, Damon.’

  Their gazes linked and held, and Bella could feel an electric charge leaping between them.

  Or was that her imagination getting carried away?

  She looked down at her hands. ‘I mean … I knew you must have experienced all kinds of dangerous situations … a lot worse than what happened to us today.’

  ‘That’s true.’ He traced the rim of his coffee mug with his thumb. ‘I’ve had a few close calls.’

  ‘Have you been hurt?’

  ‘Not as badly as a couple of my colleagues, but I did get nicked by a sniper’s bullet once.’

  ‘Ouch.’ Bella flinched. The thought of a bullet hitting Damon anywhere horrified her.

  ‘I was lucky,’ he said with a quick grin. ‘It grazed me across the arm.’ He touched the top of his biceps. ‘I was only out of action for a few days.’

  ‘You make light of it, but I’ve read horrifying stories about foreign correspondents. About them being detained and imprisoned. Your work really is dangerous, isn’t it?’

  ‘It can be …’

  After a slight hesitation he said, ‘In some places if you’re detained, there’s always a risk of being sold on to the highest bidder who will ransom you, or worse.�
��

  ‘Oh, God.’ A flare of hot panic ripped through Bella. ‘That couldn’t happen to you, could it?’

  Frowning, Damon pinched the bridge of his nose between a thumb and forefinger.

  She guessed he was considering the best way to answer her. ‘Don’t pull your old trick of covering up the bad stuff with a joke, Damon. I can handle the truth. Have you been in that kind of danger?’

  ‘Not often.’

  ‘But it’s happened?’

  He let out a heavy sigh. ‘There was one time I was definitely going down that track. I was lucky. My driver, who was also my interpreter, was incredibly courageous. He had family contacts, and he dropped enough names and was so insistent that I only ended up paying a substantial fine, and I was able to continue.’

  Bella drew a long, deep breath and let it out slowly. It was beyond awful to realise Damon had come so close … ‘How do you cope, living with danger on an almost daily basis?’

  She’d told him she could handle this subject. She hoped he couldn’t see how rattled she was.

  Damon’s broad shoulders rose in an offhand shrug. ‘I try to stay aloof.’ ‘Detached?’

  ‘Yes. Especially in a war zone. As soon as you start to take sides you’re asking for serious trouble. A foreign correspondent has to be impartial. If you don’t focus on that, you’re soon caught out.’

  ‘So you have to suppress your emotions. All the time.’ Something Damon was very good at, Bella thought.

  An awkward silence descended and Bella couldn’t think of anything to say. She looked down at the final inch of coffee in her mug, sipped it and discovered that it had gone cold.

  She supposed it was time to change the subject. ‘You must be exhausted after driving all night,’ she suggested. ‘Would you like to take a little nap before dinner?’

  ‘Hell, no.’ Damon leapt from the bed as if it were electrified. ‘I’m not your grandfather, Bella.’

  He looked down at her, reminding her again of just how broad-shouldered and rugged he was. And then he grinned at her. ‘But I’ll take a shower.’

  Which left Bella to lie there on her bed, flushed from the surprising warmth of Damon’s sudden smile, and trying not to think about him stripping naked and showering on the other side of a very thin wall.

  She buried her face in her pillow.

  Dinner in the dining room was very ordinary. The room was too brightly lit and it was crowded with a dozen or more tired-looking salesmen who were either sitting alone with their newspapers, or chatting in small groups while downing the tall glasses of beer that accompanied their dry, overcooked roast.

  Bella was the only female in the room, and with her bright green eyes and golden hair she was a pretty butterfly amidst a crowd of dull moths.

  She’d changed into slim white trousers and a soft green-and-aqua top in a floaty, feminine fabric, the kind of top that kept a man thinking about what lay beneath….

  He pictured her in a romantic setting … at the edge of a tropical sea, perhaps, where whispering palm trees were silhouetted against the sky, and a gentle, balmy breeze brought the scent of frangipani. Their table would be covered with a crisp white damask cloth and positioned as close as possible to the water.

  There’d be iced champagne and mouthwatering, freshly caught seafood, delicately spiced and cooked to perfection. A selection of tropical fruit for dessert.

  They’d watch the moon come up over the sea and—

  ‘A penny for your thoughts.’

  Damon blinked. Bella was looking at him with a bemused smile and he wondered if she’d asked him a question.

  ‘Sorry, I’m being very bad company. My mind was—ah—miles away.’

  ‘In Afghanistan, I suppose, or the Middle East?’

  ‘A bit of both,’ he lied. ‘It’s a bad habit.’

  ‘Thinking too much about work?’ Bella shrugged. ‘That’s one problem I don’t have right now. I’ve resigned from my job.’

  ‘When you thought you were going to be a farmer’s wife?’

  Her lips tilted in a small, self-deprecating smile. ‘Exactly.’

  Perhaps unwisely, Damon said, ‘I have to admit, I could never picture you in that role.’

  ‘No, I don’t suppose you could. When you knew me I had very different plans.’

  ‘What were they?’

  He saw a flash of pain in her eyes, the hasty biting of her lower lip before she swiftly looked down at her plate and began to cut her meat with the concentration of a brain surgeon. Eventually she said, with a forced, airy brightness, ‘I can’t remember exactly what I had planned back then.’

  Damon knew she was lying and he felt a surge of guilt, remembering his abrupt departure from Willara and Bella’s tears. He’d had to get away and he couldn’t have taken her with him. He was wrong for her.

  He was still wrong for her. She wanted a secure, settled life.

  ‘I don’t ever remember you talking about becoming a journalist,’ Bella said, deftly changing the subject. ‘How did that happen?’

  Damon shrugged. ‘Violet rang me when the Year Twelve results came through, and I found out I’d miraculously managed to score a place at university. I’m not sure why I chose to study journalism. I think I liked the idea of discovering new stories every day.’

  ‘A bit like discovering what’s around the next bend in the road?’ ‘Yes, I guess so.’

  ‘But how could you afford university, and living away from home?’

  ‘I managed to defer the fees, and I got myself two part-time jobs. One behind a bar, and another as a kitchen hand. A mate let me rent a spare bed in his grotty flat.’

  ‘Was it hard to make the jump from journalism graduate to foreign correspondent?’

  ‘I think I was lucky. Lots of journalists want to be foreign correspondents, so it’s very competitive. But I headed straight overseas when I graduated, so by the time I applied for the foreign post I’d already worked on papers in Singapore and Hong Kong. I’d made a lot of contacts, and that proved to be a handy foot in the door.’

  ‘I can understand why you like it. You get to cover all the really big stories. War, famine, earthquakes.’

  ‘Yeah … it’s a tad more exciting than reporting on the local school fête.’

  Bella’s response was a sad smile that chilled him to the bone. More than ever he was aware of the different paths their lives had taken after he’d left her behind.

  ‘Now you can make new plans,’ he suggested. ‘You can start a new chapter.’

  ‘Yes, but my problem is I don’t actually see any clear role for me now.’

  ‘Will you look for another job?’

  ‘Probably, but I don’t want to make any plans until we find Paddy and Violet and get them safely home.’

  ‘Now that is my responsibility,’ he said. ‘You shouldn’t have to worry, Bella. I’m confident we’ll have smooth sailing from here.’

  ‘Don’t say that too loudly. The gods might hear you.’

  Damon could see she was almost serious. No surprise, really, given everything that had happened to her. ‘Let’s be optimistic,’ he suggested.

  ‘You’re right.’ She shrugged and gave a sheepish smile. ‘I used to be optimistic, but somehow I seem to have lost the knack.’

  ‘You’ve had a lot to worry about, and it’s all been other people’s troubles. Now it’s time to plan for things you want.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re right.’ She didn’t sound hopeful.

  Determined to cheer her, Damon raised his glass. ‘Here’s to happier times ahead.’

  Letting her glass clink against his, Bella smiled. ‘Yep. Here’s to happier times. I’ll hold that thought.’ She took a sip, then set the glass down again. ‘There’s always travel. Zoe and I were planning to travel before the engagement. It would be great if she’s still interested.’

  ‘Well, if you decide to travel, I’m your man. I can offer you all kinds of advice.’

  ‘I suppose you’ve been to every coun
try.’

  ‘Almost.’

  ‘Zoe and I might have to consult you,’ she said, almost coyly. ‘How much do you charge for your travel advice?’

  They walked back to their motel room, down a dimly lit path, where occasional garden lamps afforded Bella tempting glimpses of Damon’s gorgeous profile. She knew this meal hadn’t been anything remotely close to a date. But just being around Damon again made her feel all wistful and wanting.

  There’d been moments when Damon had looked at her across the table when she’d wanted to leap out of her chair and into his lap.

  Other times she’d felt horribly depressed, as if her whole life had been one huge stuff-up and she’d missed out every step of the way. Damon, meanwhile, had fixed his eyes on a goal and gone after it.

  Let’s be optimistic … he’d said. Right now her most optimistic thought involved kissing him. Making love.

  A whole night lay ahead of them … a fantasy waiting to happen.

  Here she was, all grown up and alone with her high-school sweetheart for one long night in a motel room in the middle of nowhere. No chance for meddlesome gossip.

  And the bonus was—Damon was even more attractive than he’d been in his bad-boy youth. Maturity hadn’t just given him broader shoulders and an air of confidence, he was worldly and experienced, with a brooding, mysterious aura that made him disturbingly sexy.

  He was still as dangerous as ever, of course.

  That was the hitch. Bella was all too aware of the risks. If she gave in to her impulses with Damon tonight, she had to accept that he would break her heart again.

  They’d left one lamp on in their room, and its soft yellow glow made the furnishings look less faded.

  Damon dropped the keys on a bedside table and reached for the TV remote. ‘Do you want to catch a little TV before we hit the hay?’

  ‘TV?’ Bella’s mind was on a completely different track. In fact, she’d been so carried away, she’d almost convinced herself that she could risk a fling with Damon and deal with the emotional fallout later.

  Okay, yesterday she’d been determined to remain a flirtation-free zone, but tonight she had to ask how, in heaven’s name, she could keep up that façade when every cell in her body screamed to be in Damon’s arms?