If You Can't Stand the Heat...

by Joss Wood

  Jack placed his arm behind his head to stretch out his arms and Ellie noticed his chest muscles rippling, his six-pack contracting, that nasty scar lifting. She forced herself to take her mind off his body and concentrate on his words.

  ‘Nothing’s happened...’

  Dammit, he simply wasn’t going to open up. Ellie felt a spurt of hurt and disappointment and hopped off the wall. ‘Okay, Jack, don’t talk to me. But don’t treat me like an idiot by telling me that nothing happened!’

  Ellie headed for the front door and was stopped by Jack’s strong arm around her stomach.

  ‘Geez, Ellie. Cool your jets, would you?’

  Ellie whirled around, put her hands on his chest and shoved. Her efforts had no impact on him at all. ‘Dammit, I just want you to talk to me!’

  ‘If you gave me two seconds to finish my sentence then you’d realise that I am trying to talk to you!’ Jack dropped his arms and pointed to the Morris chair. ‘Sit.’

  Ellie sat and pulled her feet up to tuck them under her, her expression mutinous. She’d give him one more chance, but if he tried to fob her off with ‘nothing happened’ again she’d shove him off the wall.

  Jack sat on the edge of the wall. ‘Kenya was a fairly routine trip in that nothing unusual happened. I hit the streets, found my contacts, got some intel, reported. I worked, hung out with the rest of the press corps.’

  Ellie pulled a face. ‘Sorry.’

  Jack placed his hand behind his ear. ‘What was that?’

  Ellie glared at him. ‘You heard me. So if the trip was fairly routine, then what’s bugging you?’

  ‘Exactly that...the fact that the trip felt so routine. Unexciting, flat.’

  Ellie scratched her forehead. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand.’

  ‘I’m not sure if I understand either. There are certain reasons I do what I do. Why I do it. I need the adrenalin. I need to feel like I’m living life at full throttle.’ Jack must have seen the question on her face because he shook his head. ‘Maybe some day I’ll tell you why but not now. Not tonight.’

  Not ready yet. She could respect that. ‘Okay, so you need the thrill, the buzz of danger...’

  ‘Not necessarily danger—okay, I like the danger factor too—but in places or situations like that there’s always a buzz, an energy that is so tangible you can almost reach out and taste it. I feed on that energy.’

  ‘And there wasn’t any this time?’

  Jack closed his eyes. ‘Oh, there was—apparently. Everyone I spoke to said that there was something in the air, a sense that the place was on a knife edge, that violence was a hair’s breadth away. The journalists were buzzing on the atmosphere and I didn’t pick up a damn thing. I couldn’t feel it. I felt like I was just going through the motions.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘There are different types of war correspondent. There are the idealists—the ones who want to make a difference. There are the ones who, sadly, feed off the violence, the brutality. There are others who use it to hide from life.’ Jack scrubbed his hands over his face. ‘I report. Full-stop. Right from the beginning I knew that it wasn’t my job to save the world. That my job was to relay the facts, not to get involved with the emotion. I have always been super-objective. I don’t particularly like making judgement calls, mostly because I can always see both sides of the story. Nobody is ever one hundred per cent right. But I always—always!—have been the first to pick up the mood on the street, the energy in the air.’

  ‘Do you ever take a stand? Get off the fence?’ Ellie asked him after a short silence. ‘Make a judgement call?’

  Jack thought about her question for a moment. ‘Personally or professionally?’

  ‘Either. Both.’

  ‘When it comes to political ideologies I am for neutrality. Personally, I’ve experienced some stuff...gone through a lot...so when bad things happen I measure it up against what I went through and frequently realise that it’s not worth getting upset about. So I don’t get worked up easily, and because of that I probably don’t get involved on either side of anything either.’

  Whoa! Super-complicated man. ‘Okay, so getting back to Kenya...’

  ‘I made an offhand comment to Mitch about feeling like this and that led to a discussion about me. He said that I’ve become too distant, too unemotional, too hard. He used the word “robotic”. Am I robotic, El?’

  Ellie stood up, sat on the wall next to him and dropped her head onto his shoulder. ‘I don’t think you are, but to be fair I haven’t seen you in that situation or seen you report for a long time—six months at least.’

  ‘He also said that I’m desensitised to violence, that I don’t see other people’s pain. That I’m becoming heartless.’

  That was rich, coming from her father, Ellie thought, the King of Self-Involvement. Except her father was very good at what he did, so he might have a point. But Ellie didn’t believe that Jack was as callous as he or her father made him out to be. It was more likely that he used his emotional distance as a shield.

  ‘Is not caring just a way to protect yourself from everything bad you’ve seen?’

  Jack shrugged. ‘I have no idea. Mitch said that I’m burnt out, that it’s affecting my reporting, that I’m coming across as hard. He said that I need to get my head in the game, take some time off to fill the well. We had a rip roaring argument...’

  ‘He sent you home?’

  Jack looked rebellious. ‘As much as he likes to think he does, Mitchell doesn’t send me anywhere. I left because there wasn’t much more to report on except for rehashing the same story.’ Jack stared at his feet.

  ‘Is he right? Are you burnt out?’ Ellie asked quietly, keeping her temple on his shoulder.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘I think you need to give yourself a break. You were beaten up in Somalia, stabbed, kicked out of the country. You’ve just come back from a less than cheerful city. When did you last take a proper holiday, relax...counter all the gruesome stuff you’ve witnessed with happy stuff?’

  ‘Happy stuff?’

  ‘Lying on a beach, surfing, drinking wine in the afternoon sun. Napping. Reading a book for pleasure and not for research. Um...sleeping late. In other words, a holiday?’

  ‘Not for a while. Not for a very long time,’ Jack admitted, placing his broad hand on her knee.

  ‘Thought so. Maybe you should actually do that?’

  ‘I don’t know how to relax, to take it easy. It’s not in my nature. I like moving, working, exploring. I need to keep moving to feel alive.’

  ‘Maybe that’s what you’ve conditioned yourself to feel...but it’s not healthy.’ Ellie yawned and reluctantly lifted her head off his arm.

  Jack stood up and ran a gentle hand over her hair. ‘Get some sleep, El. There’s no point in us both being exhausted.’

  Ellie didn’t think about it. She just stood up, wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her cheek on his bare chest. ‘Don’t beat yourself up, Jack. Mitchell might think he’s always right, but he’s not.’

  ‘I kind of think he might be this time.’

  ‘Well, I hope you didn’t tell him that. You’ll never hear the end of it.’ Ellie placed her forehead on his chest and kept one hand on his waist.

  Jack stood ramrod-straight and for the longest minute Ellie held her breath, certain that he would push her away. Eventually his arms locked around her back and he buried his face in her hair. Ellie rubbed her hands over his back, met his miserable eyes and ran her hand across his forehead, down his cheek to his chest. Her hands dropped, brushed the waistband of his shorts, and she felt tension—suddenly sexual—skitter through his body. She moved her hands to put them on his hips and felt his swift intake of air.

  ‘I missed you,’ he said, his voice gruff.

  ‘I missed you too.’

  Jack closed his eyes and his arms tightened and his lower body jumped in reaction to her words. She could feel his heat and response through her light cotton shirt a
nd sleeping shorts and she wanted him...

  She didn’t want to want him. She couldn’t afford to want him.

  She forced herself to say the words. ‘I need to go to bed, Jack.’

  Jack immediately released her and she suddenly felt colder without his heat.

  ‘Go on up. I’m going for a run.’

  Ellie nodded. ‘Thanks, by the way.’

  One eyebrow rose. ‘For...?’

  ‘Talking to me. I thought you were mad at me, so it was a bit of a relief. Sorry I jumped to the wrong conclusion in the beginning.’

  Jack sent her a small grin. ‘Next time you jump to conclusions I won’t give you a second chance.’

  Ellie patted his chest. ‘Yes, you will.’

  ‘I’m afraid you’re probably right,’ Jack said softly, and jogged down the stairs.

  * * *

  The night was warm and the streets were deserted, and the sea was his only companion as he ran along the promenade, his feet slapping against the pavement. Sweat ran down his temples and down his spine into the waistband of his shorts. His body felt fluid but his mind was a mess.

  God, it felt good to run. Apart from the fact that it kept his heart working properly, it was easier to think when he was running.

  He hadn’t lied to Ellie—he hadn’t connected with the story or the atmosphere in Kenya and that worried him—but he certainly hadn’t told her the whole truth. How could he? How could he explain to her that he’d spent his days in Kenya missing her, thinking about her? He’d never allowed anyone to distract him from the job at hand, yet she had. He’d be walking the streets, seeing an old man whittling away at a piece of wood, and he’d think Ellie would crouch down next to him and demand to know what he was creating. He’d drink his morning coffee at the hotel and wish he was standing on her veranda, watching the endless blues and greens of the sea.

  His nights were a combination of fantasy and frustration, thinking about what he wanted to do to and with her amazing body.

  When he’d seen her on the wall that afternoon he’d come back his thumping heart had settled, sighed. And he’d known he had the potential to fall deeper and deeper in trouble. Emotional trouble.

  He’d known her for only days and she’d stirred up all these weird feelings inside him. Why? What was it about her that made him feel as if he’d stepped outside of himself? He could talk to her. He wanted to talk to her. Take this evening, for example. He would never have spoken to any of his previous girlfriends like that...hell, he’d barely spoken to them. He’d just flown in from wherever, climbed into bed, kept said girlfriend in bed until he needed to leave and then left. He didn’t know how to act as part of a couple on an on-going basis, and before he’d landed in Cape Town he’d never come close to being tied down by anyone or anything. He excelled in saying goodbye and never looking back. He’d had a second chance at life and he’d made a promise to live it hard, because he’d always believed it would be an injustice to live a small life...to confine himself to a humdrum job...to be shackled by a house or a lover.

  His beliefs, so firmly held for so long, were starting to waver.

  And that was why he’d scuttled out of Ellie’s house last week. He hadn’t needed to go to Kenya but it had been a damn good excuse to put some distance between them.

  Jack stopped and, breathing heavily, placed his hands on his hips. In the low light of the sodium streetlights he stared out to the breaking waves as clouds scuttled across the moon. Little in life made sense any more... He could easily have gone back to London after Kenya but he’d headed south instead. What was happening to him?

  He’d been shot, beaten up and stabbed. He’d sneaked behind enemy lines, walked into the compounds of drug cartels, through whorehouses filled with the dregs of humanity who’d slit his throat just for the fun of it—just to get a story. He’d seen the worst of what people could do to each other and yet he’d never felt fear like this before...

  He was terrified he was becoming emotionally involved with her—would do practically anything to stop that happening. Ellie had hit the nail squarely in one of their many conversations; he was an observer, not a participator. Involvement with her would require a decision, taking a stand for her, sticking around, partaking in a life together.

  He didn’t want to do that—wasn’t ready to do that. Wouldn’t do that. He needed to find some perspective, reconnect with his beliefs, reaffirm his values. Jack nodded at the sea. He had to make sure that he kept some emotional distance, guarded against any deepening of their relationship. It was the sensible decision—hell, it was the only decision.

  And while he was making major decisions he really needed to decide what he was going to do about Brent’s memorial service. Go or not? He was starting to feel that he needed to, that he needed to honour Brent, to say thank you for the gift of his life. But would seeing him make the Sandersons’ day worse? Would being there deepen the guilt he felt?

  Maybe he shouldn’t go.

  Jack swore as he resumed running. This was why it was better not to examine his thoughts and emotions too closely. It just confused him. And, talking about being confused, what had Ellie meant when she’d said she had thought that he was angry with her? Why would she think that?

  Jack intended to find out.

  EIGHT

  Jack pounded up the steps and flung open her bedroom door. He knew she wouldn’t be asleep and she wasn’t. She was sitting up in bed, working on her computer. Didn’t she ever give work a rest?

  ‘Why are you working?’ he demanded crossly.

  ‘I’m not. I’m catching up with friends.’

  ‘At one in the morning?’

  ‘Excuse me, at least I’m not the one running after midnight!’ Ellie closed the lid of her computer and tapped her finger against it. ‘Did you just burst in here to give me a hard time generally or was there a specific reason?’

  Jack walked into the room and stood at the end of her bed. ‘You said that you thought I was mad at you. Why, Ellie?’

  Ellie plucked the sheet with her fingers and felt her face flaming in the dim light of her lamp. ‘It’s not important.’

  Jack sat on the edge of the bed and placed his hand on her knee. ‘I think it might be. Talk to me, El.’

  Ellie shook her head and placed her computer on her bedside table. ‘Jack, it really doesn’t matter since you haven’t made any...since we’re not...’

  ‘Sleeping together?’ Jack sounded puzzled. ‘Are you upset that I’m not sleeping with you?’

  ‘Yes...no. I don’t know. I thought you’d changed your mind about...me.’

  Jack’s expression was pure confusion. ‘Let me try and decode that from girl-speak. Firstly, I couldn’t run out of your house, not call you, then come back and expect to jump into bed with you. I thought we needed some time, and I’ve been dealing with all this other crap, so...’ Jack rubbed the back of his neck. ‘I changed my mind...? Hold on a sec—did you think that I didn’t want to sleep with you? Why on earth wouldn’t I want to sleep with you?’

  ‘Good grief, Jack, you can’t expect me to verbalise it!’ Ellie cried.

  ‘Well, if you want me to understand what’s going on in that crazy head of yours, yes! Because I am lost!’

  ‘I wasn’t any good and it couldn’t have been much fun for you,’ Ellie mumbled. ‘And I backed off midway.’

  There was a long silence and Ellie felt Jack staring at her head. When he eventually spoke Ellie could hear the regret in his voice.

  ‘Have you been worried about that since I left?’

  ‘Mmm.’

  Jack swore. ‘And I left here with a rocket on my tail, not even thinking... Dammit!’

  Ellie looked up at him. ‘So you weren’t mad that I said no?’

  ‘Disappointed? Yes. Cross? Absolutely not.’

  ‘Oh.’

  Jack played with her fingers. ‘Why did you stop, by the way? What happened?’

  ‘My brain started a running commentary as soon as we got to m
y bedroom. I started to second-guess what we were doing—what I was doing. And whether I was getting it right.’

  Jack cradled her cheek with his hand. ‘Making love is not a test to be graded, sweetheart. Come on—cough it up. What else were you worrying about?’

  ‘Whether I was enough for you. Whether I was practiced enough. Cellulite...other crazy girl stuff.’ Ellie stared at a point beyond his shoulder.

  ‘You don’t have a centimetre of cellulite, and if you do I so don’t care. And if we’re trading thoughts about that night then I should tell you that I’m sorry if I went too fast for you. I’d thought about having you so many times, in so many ways...and I guess I was nervous too.’

  ‘Why were you nervous? You’ve had lots of sex before.’

  ‘Yes, but I’ve never had sex with you!’ Jack exclaimed. ‘What? I’m not allowed to be nervous? I finally get the girl I’ve been fantasising about in bed and suddenly I’m a stud? It doesn’t work like that, Ellie. The first time you make love to someone it’s always the first time. I’m also worried about pleasing you. It never works out perfectly. We don’t know each other’s bodies, what the other person likes and/or doesn’t like. It falls into place with time.’

  Ellie continued to stare at her bedclothes.

  ‘Sweetheart, I really need you to talk to me, to tell me what you’re thinking,’ Jack said quietly, his voice persuasive.

  Ellie lifted her head and looked at him with sad eyes. ‘Thank you for that—for saying all of that. And you’re probably right. We just need time.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  Ellie held his gaze. ‘But we have a problem. By my calculations, and from everything you’ve told me, you’re staying another week at the most. Then you’ll leave...probably around about the time we can start making mountains move. So my two questions are: how fair would that be to either of us? And, really, what would be the point?’

  ‘It doesn’t have to be love, Ellie. It doesn’t have to be for ever. It can just be two people who are attracted to each other giving each other pleasure and company. The point can be...’ Jack encircled her neck with his hand and smoothed his thumb over the tendons in her neck ‘...this.’