Runaway Bride

by Barbara Hannay

  She didn’t want to listen to boring common sense. She’d devoted enough time to duty and to doing the right thing and right now she didn’t want to dwell on the emotional consequences of such rashness. Emotions could be such a nuisance. Life would be so much simpler without them.

  Tonight she was brimming with memories of Damon’s kisses all those years ago. Perhaps, if they’d consummated their love back then, she wouldn’t be burning with lust and curiosity now. But they’d waited in their teens. They’d actually had it all planned—they’d even bought condoms from a pharmacy out of town—but then Damon had been arrested.

  End of story.

  Tonight Bella ached to discover the new Damon, the sexy, experienced man of the world. Over dinner this evening there’d been several times when she’d seen a flash in his eyes that had been so fierce and fiery it had lit a thousand firecrackers inside her.

  But how could she expect him to guess she was interested after the huge fuss she’d made about separate rooms?

  Right now, Damon was standing with his finger poised on the remote, waiting for her answer. What could she say? No, I have a better idea. Why don’t we start ripping each other’s clothes off?

  Bella sighed, and wished she’d had more experience with casual sex. ‘Sure,’ she said, despondently realising she was not going to magically turn into a femme fatale. ‘Put the TV on. I’ll—um—make a cup of tea.’ She headed towards the kettle. ‘Would you like one?’

  ‘No, thanks.’ A popular mystery series flickered onto the screen and Damon made himself comfortable, removing his shoes and socks, slipping the belt from his jeans, un-tucking his shirttails and letting them hang free.

  Of course, Bella imagined slipping her hands under his shirt and exploring his hard, satiny muscles. Oh, man.

  She wondered again if she should try to signal her new mood. Should she stand in front of the TV and do a slow striptease? Sit on the edge of Damon’s bed and undo his shirt buttons? Just grab the remote and tell him straight out what she wanted?

  For her, there was nothing else in this room but a six-foot-tall, shockingly sexy male.

  Damon’s eyes, however, were focused on the television. He flicked the remote, surfing channels till he came to a news story set overseas. There’d been a car bomb, apparently, and officials were being questioned. His attention was captured.

  No longer relaxed, he sat up, leaning forward, face intent, frowning, pointing at the screen. ‘That guy’s a murderer. He’s wormed his way into security. I know him. Damn it, he’s playing both sides. And they’re not asking the right questions.’

  It was another facet of the new Damon. A man she no longer knew, a man whose interests lay in countries that were oceans away, in societies she didn’t understand.

  Even as she thought this Damon jumped up and started to pace the room, his eyes still fixed on the screen where a man in dark glasses was being questioned and giving his assurance that the bombers would be quickly tracked down and arrested.

  Damon groaned, quickly snatched up his mobile and began to dial. ‘Greg, it’s Damon. Yes, Damon Cavello. Yes, I’m still in Australia. Listen, are you monitoring Channel Twelve?’

  Without a glance in Bella’s direction, Damon made his way to the door. ‘Well, get on to it,’ he said as he pushed the door open and stepped out. ‘They’re letting the “Grasshopper” off the hook. Surely they must know the truth about this bloke.’

  The door closed behind him and reality hit Bella like several buckets of cold water. How could she, the girl Damon left behind, the girl who’d never been to university, and who’d never left Queensland, hope to recapture his interest?

  Stifling a sigh, she switched on the kettle, angry that she’d let her foolish fantasies take hold. Damon was behaving true to form and he was keeping the promise he’d made when she’d agreed to come away with him.

  Okay, maybe he had looked at her with unmistakable interest, but that was probably his modus operandi with most single women.

  She might as well make coffee, not tea. She was going to be awake all night anyway.

  CHAPTER SIX

  LYING in the dark, mere feet away from Bella, and pretending to be asleep, Damon endured—no contest—the worst night of his life. It mightn’t have been quite so bad if Bella wasn’t as restless as he was, but she was tossing and turning like someone in a fever. At times she even threw off the sheets offering Damon a perfect, moonlit view of her.

  He could see her hair shining like a pale river of silk on the pillow, her hips curving enticingly beneath her thin cotton nightshirt, her shapely legs, sleek and smooth. Ripe for touching.

  If he’d shared a room with any other woman he would, almost certainly, have bedded her by now, broken engagement notwithstanding. In many cases, a romantic disappointment had proved an incentive.

  But Damon wasn’t taking any risks with Bella’s heart. Not again.

  He knew he’d hurt her last time, but he’d been sure she got over that long ago. Tonight, however, talking about the steps he’d taken to set himself up with an interesting career, he’d seen the lost, lonely look in her eyes, and he’d felt like a traitor, a selfish jerk.

  If only she knew how it had killed him to walk away from her. He’d done it for her own good, had been convinced she was better off without him. But tonight … he’d been forced to see that she wasn’t happy.

  If anyone deserved happiness, Bella did. But what could he do?

  He couldn’t offer her any more emotional security now than he could at eighteen. He was a long-term outsider, an observer. A gypsy forever on the move. He enjoyed women’s company from time to time, but he always moved on.

  Besides … sex with Bella could never be casual …

  Not for him …

  If they slept together now, and then he left again, they would only stir up deeply buried anguish. His scars and hers.

  Why invite pain?

  No. It was best to stay clear.

  Stifling a deep urge to sigh, Damon rolled over, closed his eyes and tried to ignore the powerful signals that his body was primed for action.

  His plan to relax might have worked. He might have cleared his head of any thoughts of the long-ago sweetheart lying so close beside him if her bed hadn’t creaked, and if he hadn’t heard an even deeper, more wretched sigh from her.

  Unable to curb his curiosity, he turned a few degrees, and opened one eye.

  Bella was sitting on the edge of her bed. A patch of moonlight made a silver halo of her hair and outlined her shoulders and the shape of her breasts through the thin fabric of her nightshirt.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked more gruffly than he’d meant to.

  ‘Sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I didn’t mean to wake you.’

  ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Yes. I’m fine. I’m just having trouble getting to sleep.’

  You and me both. ‘Would it—ah—help if I turned down the air conditioning?’

  ‘No, it’s not too hot.’

  ‘Do you need a drink of water?’

  ‘I’ve got one, thanks.’ With an unconsciously graceful motion, Bella lifted her hair away from the back of her neck and gave it a little twist. Then she let it fall again. Beneath her nightshirt, her breasts rose and fell in intoxicating unison.

  Had she no idea?

  Or was she deliberately trying to drive him crazy?

  Damon closed his eyes, pretending to be sleepy. The alternative was to leap up and haul her into his arms, to bury his face in the warm, sweet-smelling curve of her neck, to let his hands reach beneath her flimsy night-wear.

  ‘Damon?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Do you ever wonder what it might have been like if we’d—you know—gone all the way?’

  He jolted upright, heart pumping, fighting for air, breaths coming in ragged bursts. He stared at her in dismay.

  Finally, he managed to speak. ‘What kind of question is that?’

  A burning one, he thought, answering h
imself.

  Bella didn’t reply, but he knew she was watching him. Her face was in shadow and he couldn’t see her expression. He fervently hoped she couldn’t see his.

  But perhaps she did see something in his face. Suddenly, she let out a little cry and covered her face with her hands. ‘I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I asked you that.’

  He wanted to leap out of bed, to gather her in to him. Wanted to kiss her from head to toe, to strip her nightshirt from her and make love with blinding passion and aching sensitivity. Wanted to lose himself and find himself. In her.

  At the very least, he wanted to reassure her that he understood her question and her need to voice it. It was the same question that had burned inside him for ten years.

  As young lovers he and Bella had been wildly passionate and inventive, and so many times, they’d come to the brink of the final act. But in a small, gossipy country town like Willara a guy had to be so careful. While Damon had been reckless about his own safety, with Bella he’d been super-careful.

  He’d planned and he’d waited with excruciating impatience … and then he’d wrecked everything … and it was too late.

  Now, here she was, asking: Do you ever wonder what it might have been like?

  And, God help him, here they were, consenting adults alone in a motel room. All he had to do was reach out. Touch her. And she would be his. He’d never desired another woman the way he wanted Bella.

  If he was honest he would tell her: yes, I’ve wondered and I’ve regretted a thousand times.

  Instead he remained silent and Bella sat very still for a very long time. Damon wished he knew what she was thinking and feeling. Was she crying? He was desperate to turn on the light, to see the expression on her face. His hand hovered by the light switch.

  ‘I’m really sorry,’ she said at last. ‘From the moment I heard you were coming back, I was determined that I mustn’t try to revisit the past. I don’t know what came over me. I just started wondering—what if things had worked out—differently? Please, Damon—can you forget what I said?’

  It was his chance to be honest, to tell Bella his regrets.

  But it was too late. He was a different man now. They’d both changed, and for months now Bella had been under a great deal of strain. Her plans to travel with Zoe were on the right track—far safer than conversations in the dark about sex and regrets and lost possibilities.

  Damon cleared his throat. ‘Sure. There’s no use digging up the past. I won’t give it another thought.’

  To his surprise, Bella accepted this without comment. She lay down again and pulled the covers up tightly under her chin, and once she was settled she didn’t move. Eventually, Damon heard her steady breathing and knew she was asleep.

  His chances of following her example were zero.

  Bella woke to a knock on the door and the arrival of the breakfast tray. As she struggled up onto one elbow, she saw Damon coming from the bathroom, already dressed and in the middle of shaving. As he came to the door and collected the tray one half of his jaw was covered in white lather, while the other half was smooth and tanned and ultra masculine.

  Remembering last night and her stupid gaffe, she cringed. Oh, God, how on earth had she let that question out? What must Damon think of her?

  The only way she could ever forgive herself was to cling to the excuse that she’d been totally thrown by the scary ordeal of being locked up. Even so, she might have stayed hiding under the covers if the aroma of freshly brewed coffee hadn’t been so enticing.

  ‘Good morning.’ Damon’s greeting was bright and breezy as he set her tray on the nightstand beside her. ‘Coffee and grainy toast. That’s what you ordered, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, that’s lovely, thanks.’ She couldn’t quite meet his eyes and was grateful she was able to hide beneath her sleep-tumbled hair.

  ‘We don’t have a great deal of time,’ he said. ‘The senior sergeant will be here at eight-thirty.’

  His tone had shifted to businesslike and Bella wondered if he was as keen as she was to pretend that last night’s silly question had never been raised. Slightly cheered by this possibility, she sat up and reached for her coffee pot.

  Just then, her mobile phone rang.

  ‘It’s from my father,’ she said, picking up the phone. ‘Oh, good news. It’s a text message with the name and address of Paddy’s old army mate in Port Douglas.’

  ‘Fantastic. Perhaps we should give them a call?’

  ‘It might be a bit early for elderly people. I’ll try mid morning.’

  ‘Sure. That’s fine.’

  Already, Damon was tucking into his breakfast and Bella was grateful that he behaved as if her embarrassing question hadn’t bothered him in the slightest. She was so grateful now that she hadn’t said more about her generally unhappy experiences with boyfriends.

  All in all, they’d reached a sensible position. It was best to leave their past well behind them. Last night’s small problem was unlikely to rise again. From here on they’d be sure to have separate rooms.

  Their personal issues were behind them.

  Senior Sergeant Rod Jemison was in a talkative mood as he drove Damon and Bella back to Rockhampton. He was keen for Damon to sit beside him and, as Bella was adamant that she was happy to sit alone in the back, he had little choice.

  Once they took off, however, Rod Jemison said cheerfully to Damon, ‘So, can you fill me in about your father?’

  Momentarily, Damon considered asking him to stop the car right there and let him out. It wasn’t an option, of course, and he was grateful for his years of practice at hiding his innermost thoughts and feelings. Just the same, he suspected the sergeant had sensed his negative reaction.

  ‘I served with your father,’ Rod Jemison continued. ‘In fact, I spent five years working with Jack Cavello.’

  ‘Yes, well …’ Damon cleared his throat. ‘We don’t see much of each other these days, so there’s a chance you know more about my old man than I do.’

  The sergeant nodded, happy to talk about the places where he and Jack Cavello had been stationed together. He even told a couple of funny stories.

  Then, without warning, he said, ‘Jack’s very proud of you, you know.’

  Bloody hell. Just in time, Damon choked back a protest. The poor, deluded policeman probably thought he was saying the right thing, but he had no idea.

  Jemison shot Damon a piercing, sideways glance. ‘I’ve seen the scrapbooks—and the DVDs.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Damon swallowed a fiery rock that had lodged in his throat. ‘I—uh—don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘The scrapbooks with all your news stories. And your TV reports. Jack’s taped the lot and stored them on DVDs.’

  ‘I think you must be mistaken.’

  ‘No mistake, Damon. I’ve seen them. Jack made me sit down in his lounge room and look at the scrapbooks while he gave me chapter and verse about you.’

  ‘He did?’ Damon’s question was little more than a whisper.

  This was impossible. His dad couldn’t have taken that much interest. He couldn’t have cared. A tidal wave littered with buried emotions rushed over him. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t move, could barely breathe.

  Rod Jemison was watching him. ‘Have I surprised you?’

  Surprised? Damon had been less shocked the time he’d been hit by a sniper’s bullet.

  ‘Yes, I’m surprised,’ he managed at last. ‘My father and I didn’t—ah—don’t get on. As I said, I haven’t seen him for quite a—while.’

  ‘I knew you two didn’t see eye to eye when you were young,’ the other man said quietly. ‘But I assumed Jack had smoothed things out between you.’

  Not a chance, Damon thought morosely, but he remained silent, his thoughts whirling with memories of his father’s dark, angry face as he loomed over him, strap in hand. Or the way his father had stood to attention by the door of the courthouse, never meeting his son’s eyes as he faced the magistrate. An
d then an earlier, even more painful memory of eating meals in unbearable silence while a cold war raged between his parents.

  Like his mother, he’d been glad to escape.

  ‘I know there were problems,’ Rod Jemison continued. ‘It’s well known in our circles that Jack Cavello charged his own son for joy-riding. The interesting thing is he never regretted it, because you became so successful. He was so damn proud you turned out so well.’

  Damon’s face flamed uncomfortably. There was nothing he could say. He was fighting anger and despair in equal parts and damn near crying. The danger of breaking down appalled him.

  The older man went on. ‘It’s not unusual for fathers in the police force to be too strict with their own kids. It’s so easy for youngsters to go off the rails and sometimes they never come back. That’s the fear of all fathers, especially policemen.’

  At the cost of estrangement from their sons, Damon thought miserably.

  By now they were back in Rockhampton again, sweeping over the bridge that crossed the Fitzroy River. In a matter of moments, Sergeant Jemison was pulling up outside a car-hire agency. Damon emerged from the police car, feeling dazed and pummelled, as if he were staggering, defeated, from a boxing bout with a world heavyweight champion.

  His head was reeling with images of scrapbooks filled with his news stories, of DVDs, compiled, no doubt, with his father’s typically methodical care. Without warning, he was seized by an emotion so deep and melancholy, it seemed to tear at his soul.

  Somehow, he managed to thank Rod Jemison for the lift, and as the police car took off once more he was aware of Bella standing on the footpath beside him. He turned to her and saw that her eyes were brimming with shimmery tears.

  She’d heard everything, of course, and more than anyone she could understand how shocked and shaken he was. Without saying a word, she reached for his hand.

  Her fingers were cool and slender and Damon grasped them tightly. She stepped closer, her lovely face eloquently distorted with emotion. It was almost as if they’d been caught in a time warp, as if they’d gone back to a past where they were once again a special unit—just the two of them together, against the world.