She drank some wine and said with a rueful smile, ‘It seems we have something in common. I’m forever finding myself attracted to the wrong kind of man.’
Leaning back in his chair, Jude watched her through narrowed eyes. ‘Have you worked out why?’
‘If only I could. I’d give anything to understand why I choose men who’ll hurt me.’
‘Hurt you?’ He looked shocked. ‘But surely that doesn’t happen every time?’
‘Too many times, I’m afraid.’
She sighed, and suddenly she found herself needing to explain. Perhaps it was the relaxing glass of wine, or perhaps she felt more comfortable with Jude now that he’d revealed something about his own dating issues.
She found herself spilling the entire sorry story of her relationship disasters, starting with Dimitri in Melbourne and then Dave on the rodeo circuit.
Surprisingly, Jude was very good at listening—every bit as good as Alex was. Emily went on to tell him about her attempts to take control of her dating.
‘You know your problem, don’t you?’ said Jude.
Unsure how to respond, she simply stared at him.
His mouth quirked into a lopsided smile. ‘You’re such a stunner, Emily, guys can’t help themselves. And on top of that, your job puts you in a position of power, so you attract men with big egos who see you as a trophy.’
‘So they didn’t really care about me, just the way I looked?’
He shrugged his shoulders. ‘It happens.’
Jude was probably right, Emily realised, thinking about Michael.
Oh, help. Michael.
For large chunks of today, she’d managed to push him out of her thoughts, but now she was remembering everything. The whole picture of their relationship unrolled in her mind like a tragic movie—the way he’d courted her so persuasively, the lavish gifts he’d bought for her, the late-night phone calls from Adelaide, the South Pacific holiday they’d planned together…
Then the Facebook page…
It was only when Jude reached across the table and squeezed her hand that Emily realised she’d been sitting silent for too long, a glum statue, wrapped in her unhappy memories.
Now, the pressure of Jude’s strong, warm fingers wrapped around hers was incredibly comforting.
Perhaps it was a little too comforting. Without warning, all the pain and emotion she’d been holding inside seemed to swell and burst up through her.
Her mouth pulled out of shape as she tried to explain. ‘He said he loved me.’ It was almost a wail. ‘He told me he loved me.’ Her voice broke on a choking sob.
And then, as if she’d cracked wide open, she began to weep without any hope of stopping.
In a heartbeat, Jude was out of his chair and beside her, wrapping his strong arms around her shaking shoulders.
‘I’m s-s-sorry,’ she spluttered against his neck.
‘Don’t be,’ he murmured. ‘You need to let it out.’
Then he was hugging her and she was out of her chair and clinging to him with her face pressed into his shirtfront, while his arms supported her and he murmured soothing noises into her hair.
It was some time before Emily’s sobbing subsided and she was aware of Jude’s fingers stroking the back of her neck…gently…so wonderfully gently. Beneath her cheek, his chest was a solid wall of strength, and she thought that being in his arms might very well be the most comforting sensation she’d ever experienced.
She couldn’t remember ever weeping all over a man before. She’d always done her weeping after they’d left her.
Now, with some reluctance, but feeling strangely calmer, she lifted her head. ‘Thank you,’ she said softly, taking a step back out of Jude’s embrace. ‘I seem to be stretching your hosting duties way beyond reasonable bounds.’
‘Emily, holding you in my arms is hardly a chore.’
For a moment she thought he was going to kiss her again. She certainly wouldn’t slap him if he did, and when she looked into his eyes she saw a dark grey heat that suggested he knew this.
The air was practically crackling with electricity.
Surely that was dangerous.
They’d both agreed that another kiss mustn’t happen. It would be like jumping from the fire back into the frying pan.
She gave a shaky laugh. ‘Isn’t a crying woman a man’s worst nightmare?’
To her surprise, Jude touched her cheek and wiped a damp tear track with the pad of his thumb. His eyes were serious as he smiled. ‘You’ve been meeting the wrong men.’
‘Well, yes, I think we’ve established that.’
She took a deep, necessary breath, grateful for his understanding, and especially grateful that neither of them had undermined this healing moment with another kissing mistake.
Why let attraction ruin a promising friendship?
‘Thanks, Jude. I think it was cathartic to let that out. I must admit I feel much better.’
Quite miraculously better, Emily realised as they carried their dishes to the sink. She could think of Michael now without an accompanying surge of anger and shame. For the first time she could see him clearly for what he was—a silly, weak man who hadn’t deserved her love, and who certainly didn’t deserve his nice wife and family.
Thank heavens she’d been strong enough to tell him off and to send him packing. She was especially grateful that Michael was fully aware of her disdain for his behaviour.
She felt a new confidence now, a sense that in time she would be able to move on.
* * *
Much later, in bed, Emily thought about all of this again calmly. It was rather amazing that she’d come to Brisbane to seek comfort and understanding from Alex, only to receive it from a totally unexpected quarter—her cousin’s temporary houseguest.
Jude was such a surprise package. A bit of a tall, dark, handsome mystery, really.
She thought again about the odd moments when she’d caught him looking worried, and she wondered if there was any way she could help, or whether, in fact, it was time for her to leave. She could go and visit Granny Silver for a bit. Perhaps she should suggest it to Jude in the morning?
She didn’t want to outstay her welcome.
CHAPTER FIVE
EMILY wasn’t given the chance to make this suggestion the next morning. Jude jumped the gun.
By the time she came into the kitchen he’d already made breakfast for both of them. A coffee pot was ready on the table, and there were bowls of pink grapefruit sprinkled with brown sugar, with boiled eggs and buttered toast to follow.
‘I’m seriously impressed,’ she told him. ‘Seems you’re a man with hidden talents.’
‘Needs must,’ he countered. ‘I’ve decided to drive home to the mountains today. I have quite a few things to do there, so I wanted an early start.’
‘Oh, right. Good idea.’ Emily hoped she didn’t sound as disappointed as she suddenly felt. Really, this reliance on Jude for company was a worrying trend. For heaven’s sake, hadn’t she been thinking of moving out today?
As if he’d sensed her disappointment and felt responsible, Jude said, ‘You could come with me if you like.’
Emily gulped on the piece of grapefruit she was eating, shocked by the leap of pleasure his suggestion triggered. Not only would she enjoy a drive into the mountains, but she was also curious about Jude’s home. And the prospect of another full day in his company was very attractive.
That, however, was the danger.
The more time she spent with Jude, the more she liked him.
She was increasingly confused about her feelings, actually. After Michael, she’d been relieved to meet a man she could be friends with, without the threat of romance. Jude’s kiss had been a stumbling bl
ock. He’d been on his best behaviour ever since then, yet she was still worried.
Yesterday, she and Jude had drawn quite a lot closer. She’d never experienced anything quite like that conversation in the park, watching the heron. Or the comfort of his hug when she’d had the Michael meltdown.
But there’d also been tummy-tingling thrills that bothered her with mounting frequency, and this was a problem Emily couldn’t ignore.
Apart from the slip with the kiss, Jude hadn’t made any attempt to attract or seduce her, and yet she was plagued by a sense of building excitement whenever she was with him.
It was quite different from anything she’d experienced before.
She was quite sure that travelling to his mountain retreat would only add to her problems. It was a step too close. Too intimate. She should be pulling back from this man, not drawing closer.
Besides, Jude was probably just being polite with his belated invitation.
‘I’m afraid I can’t come,’ she said carefully. ‘I’ve already made plans for today.’
There was a flash in Jude’s eyes that might have been disappointment, or relief.
But his response was cheerful enough. ‘That’s OK.’
Fortunately, he was too polite to ask what her plans for the day were. She would have been hard pressed to answer him. Perhaps he understood her wariness about getting too close. No doubt he shared her caution.
She wondered if she should mention her plan to leave, but he was keen to be on his way so she decided to leave it till his return.
‘Don’t hang about here, Jude. I can tidy the kitchen. I might give the apartment a once-over as well.’
‘There’s no need. I could never keep this apartment up to Alex’s spotless standards so I’ve hired a woman to take care of it. Today’s her day. She’ll be here about nine.’
With a quick smile, he grabbed an apple for the road. ‘I’ll see you later then.’
* * *
It was the weirdest day for Emily. She knew it was madness to feel so fidgety and lost simply because Jude was away for the day. She’d been quite pleased with her idea to clean the apartment as a thank-you present, but if a cleaning woman was on her way there was no point. So, at a total loose end, she caught a bus into the city for a little retail therapy.
By mid-morning, however, she’d only bought another of Jude’s books and a beautiful scarf for Granny Silver’s birthday. After that, she wandered aimlessly up and down the Queen Street Mall, unable to dredge any further interest in shopping.
In a coffee shop she ordered a latte and sat in a booth by a window, nursing her mug, savouring the coffee’s smoothness and its soothing rich flavour. Staring out at the passing faces in the street, she allowed herself, for a fanciful moment, to imagine what it would be like to live with a writer, like Jude, in a secluded mountain hideaway.
Would she miss her job at the bank, or would she jump at the chance to follow her secret yearning to start her own online business?
Her happiness would depend on whether the writer in question had been honest with his feelings and truly loved her.
Whoa. Emily almost spilled her coffee. She couldn’t believe she’d allowed her mind to wander into such crazy territory. It was so utterly pathetic.
Clearly, being on leave from work was not good for her.
When her phone rang with a friendly quack, she grabbed it from her bag, grateful for the distraction, although a part of her silly brain was instantly hoping that the call was from Jude.
It was from Alex.
‘Hi, Emily.’ His voice, coming all the way from Germany, sounded wonderfully clear and near. ‘How are you?’
‘I’m fine, thanks. How lovely to hear from you. How’s Frankfurt?’
‘Mad. Fascinating. Inspiring.’
‘Sounds exciting.’
‘It is. Listen, I’m ringing quickly between appointments to find out how Jude is. I could only get a cleaning woman at home.’
‘Jude’s fine. He’s gone home to Mount Tamborine for the day.’
‘Really? That’s fantastic. So it’s nothing serious?’
‘Sorry, Alex. I don’t know what you mean.’ Tendrils of alarm snaked through Emily’s insides. She gripped the phone so tightly she almost crushed it. ‘What are you talking about?’
* * *
Jude stood on the deck at the back of his house, drawing deep lungfuls of fresh, sparkling air as he stared at the breathtaking view of lush rainforest-covered mountains.
He was glad he’d come home. There’d been a risk of another headache attack on the winding roads, but he actually felt fine, and now he took a long soul-wrenching look at the place where he’d made his home. He never failed to be uplifted by this majestic scenery.
There was something almost spiritual about its beauty. So much grandeur in the tumbling steepness of the hillsides. So many shades of green in the tree canopies and the undergrowth of lianas and ferns and palms. Even now, in the middle of the day, a wispy veil of white mist drifted around the tallest peaks.
At the thought that he might never see any of this beauty again he felt…gutted.
Gutted in the worst sense of the word. Empty. Bleeding.
Dead.
Hell.
What would you think of me now, Dad?
His father had always been so stoical about illness. Jude would never forget the day his barrister dad collapsed after being away in Sydney all week for an important court case.
Quite late on a Friday evening, Max Marlowe had come into the living room, tossed his leather briefcase onto a chair, turned to the sideboard to pour a Scotch, then pitched forward onto the Oriental carpet. It turned out that he’d burst his appendix and nearly died.
Later, the family learned that Max had been in pain all week, but he wouldn’t allow anything to interfere with winning his court case. He was damned if he’d complain about a bit of bellyache.
‘Silly old fool,’ Jude’s mother had said.
Jude had searched her eyes for a glimmer of fondness, anything to counter her scoffing tone, and he’d been mortified when he hadn’t found it.
A groan broke from him now. He knew it didn’t really make sense but, more than ever now, it felt important to be as tough as his old man. He had to shake off his negative thinking.
Closing his eyes, he centred his thoughts on the sounds around him, focusing on each bird call that came to him. Some were delicate and bell-like, others sharp and strident—the calls of the whipbird, the catbird, the rifle bird and the trillers…the overhead screech of a flight of rainbow lorikeets. And, way below in the valley, the distant sound of a creek cascading over rocks.
He tried to take comfort from this… Even if he couldn’t see, he would still be able to hear. All of this. Every musical note.
But somehow…
It wasn’t enough…
Damn. He was being morbid again. No doubt, he’d be in a better mood if Emily were here to cheer him up.
At the thought of Emily, Jude’s grip on the railing tightened. Against reason, against his best intentions, there was a very good chance he was falling for her. Seemed crazy, really, that he could feel this way on the strength of one brief kiss.
Well…one kiss and several days of her company and of feeling at ease to a degree that was quite extraordinary. Then again, perhaps he’d simply been intoxicated—as had others before him—by her smile and her dancing blue eyes and the fiery silk of her hair.
It was a miracle that he hadn’t kissed her again last night. As he’d held her in his arms while she wept over that lowlife ex, Jude had drawn on willpower he hadn’t known he possessed. Which suggested that there was more going on than his physical need for her.
Emotions were involved.
> A jagged sigh escaped him. He couldn’t have chosen a worse time for emotional entanglement. There was no way it could work. Given Emily’s history with men, she was sensibly avoiding new relationships, so even if he was totally well she wouldn’t want to get involved.
Bottom line…he wasn’t well, so the option for involvement wasn’t even there.
Besides, with his lifestyle he had nothing to offer a career-focused bank manager. Which meant he was facing his old problem, with a whole new set of health problems on top of it.
The reality was—and here was the biggie—if he lost his sight he would not tie himself to any woman. He’d buy a tape recorder and the dreaded voice recognition software and he’d spend his days dictating his books into a machine.
The thought chilled him.
He loved writing, loved it with a passion that he rarely admitted to anyone, and he’d fought hard to make this career his.
His parents had been dead against it. They were determined that he would study Law, but while Jude was fascinated by the cause and effects of crime, he had no desire to follow in his parents’ footsteps.
No chance of happiness there.
Naturally, they believed he’d wasted his university years, studying Arts with no clear career path, and they’d given him little support during his years of hard slog and rejection while he was trying to find a publisher—writing long into the night and working as a newspaper reporter by day.
His satisfaction had come from loving his work, but could he still love it if he had to dictate his stories?
He hated the idea. He was a writer, not a speaker, and while some writers were also great oral storytellers, Jude knew he didn’t share that talent.
Hell, how would he cope if the writing dried up?
Another chill crept over his skin like so many spiders. Giving the railing an angry thump, he turned and went inside the house.
Later, in a calmer mood, he made a final tour of his home, taking mental snapshots of favourite items and rooms. He wondered if he should tell Emily, when he got back, about his impending operation. If she was going to stay on in Alex’s apartment, it was only fair that she understood what was going on.
Falling for Mr. Mysterious Page 7