by Andrews, Amy
Like it or not, they’d caught a slow ride. They were going to squashed close like this for way longer than was probably good for her sanity.
The doors closed and several people carried on their conversations while Callie feigned interest in the carpet. But the heat from Sebastian’s arm rubbed against hers and as more people got in and the passengers shifted to accommodate them, she was pushed closer until her breasts were brushing against his side and her nostrils were full of his healthy male scent.
No amount of carpet gazing could negate the fact that she was in an enclosed space squashed up against a sweaty, muscular man she was already way too hot for, at the mercy of her raging hormones.
When they reached their floor Callie pushed through the people in front and practically jumped from the lift. She was almost at her door when Sebastian caught her up.
‘I’ll see you later, then?’ he said.
‘Yep.’ Callie’s lock whirred and clicked and she pushed open the door throwing a, ‘Good luck today,’ over her shoulder as she disappeared inside her room.
Callie had no idea if Sebastian was in the audience when she presented her paper on the latest clinical drug trial Jambalyn had been involved in. The lights on the stage were too bright to see anyone from her vantage point and she hadn’t noticed him in the audience prior to the session commencing.
Despite knowing that several other sessions were running concurrently — most way more interesting than hers — she couldn’t quash a streak of disappointment.
None of the audience questions had come from him — not that they would, seeing that he’d been heavily involved in the trial too — and he wasn’t around afterwards either. She felt curiously flat about it as she helped herself to fresh muffins at morning tea and chatted with interested delegates about her paper and the anti-psychotic’s practical applications in a community setting.
And then it was Sebastian’s turn. Brent gestured to her when she entered the room and Callie made her way over, sitting when he patted the seat beside him. It was a few rows back but quite central with a great view of the stage.
Sebastian was busy talking to the tech guys and didn’t see her but it didn’t stop her gaze wandering to him as Brent kept up a running commentary of witty observations on the rest of the audience.
Sebastian crouched down to accept a hand-held microphone from one of the tech crew and she couldn’t help but notice the tempting pull of his trousers across his truly fabulous backside. She sighed.
‘Earth to Callie,’ Brent called.
Callie dragged her gaze away. ‘I’m sorry.’ She smiled to cover her confusion. ‘What were you saying?’
Brent opened his mouth but was interrupted by the chairperson calling the audience to order. He chuckled. ‘Never mind.’
Sebastian was introduced. And an impressive introduction it was. She knew about his work in the prison system and his negotiator role with the police and that, prior to coming to Jambalyn, he’d been seconded to the department of defence and been overseas.
But she’d had no idea he’d spent the last two years counselling defence personnel in Afghanistan. Her heart thudded, thinking about him in such risky environments.
If she’d hadn’t known from that first day on the bridge that he was utterly impressive, she certainly did now. And if that wasn’t extraordinary enough, he smiled and then started to talk and commanded the attention of every single person in the room from the second he opened his delectable mouth.
And not just the women.
His presence dominated the stage and the audience hung on his every word. Like a Shakespearian actor or an ancient Greek orator - captivating, compelling, charismatic.
He spoke for an hour, presenting his paper - The Shadows of Vietnam: Four Decades On - and Callie doubted whether a single person moved a muscle throughout. His voice and the subject matter were mesmerising and Callie was totally drawn into the complex issue.
Stats, clinical research and observations of the continuing effects on family units of psychologically damaged soldiers who’d fought a lengthy, controversial war were outlined. Sebastian talked about another generation of children growing up in the shadow of the Asian conflict as grandchildren of veterans suffered the long-term consequences of having a parent grow up in a dysfunctional family unit dominated by PTSD and other attributable psychological conditions.
The speech was made all the more poignant because Callie knew he spoke from the heart. Even if he hadn’t already told her his father had been to Vietnam she’d have known. As a child born into a family unit completely broken by mental illness, she could tell that this wasn’t just distant clinical observation and conjecture.
There was a depth of honesty in his words that couldn’t be garnered from research and clinical practice alone. Listening to him, it was evident that he truly understood the subject matter. That he was intimate with it in a way that clinicians who hadn’t lived it weren’t.
For Sebastian, this was personal.
Callie could barely breathe, thinking about the type of things Sebastian must have witnessed, must have had to deal with growing up. Things a child shouldn’t ever have to confront. Things that robbed children of their precious carefree years. That could irrevocably damage them.
The mere thought of a bewildered red-headed boy —vulnerable, worried and old beyond his years — clawed at her gut. Tears burned the backs of her eyes and she shut them hard to deny the moisture an outlet.
It was always the children that suffered.
Later that afternoon Callie stood in her hotel room, her hand on the doorknob mid-twist. She hesitated. Dropped her hand. Then changed her mind and reached for it again. Then dropped it once more as her heart galloped in her chest.
She should just leave it alone. Keep things the way they were. On an even keel. Crossing the hallway and knocking on Sebastian’s door would be a stupid move. She was too emotional at the moment. His presentation had really struck a chord and affected her and, try as she may, she just couldn’t get the image of that little red-haired boy out of her head.
Except the Sebastian in the room opposite was far from a little boy
She turned away. Took a step or two back towards her bed and then stopped again. Completely indecisive. Her gut was telling her to seek him out. Her head was telling her to stay put.
And then fate interfered.
A loud knock rattled the door and her heart leapt in her rib cage. She turned and walked slowly, almost in a trance. She knew who it was even before confirming Sebastian’s presence through the peephole.
Callie placed her forehead and the flat of her palm on the door for a moment, gathering her nerve. Then she pulled it open, a smile plastered on her face. ‘Sebastian.’
He was lounging against the doorjamb, his jacket and tie removed and the top two buttons of his shirt undone. His sleeves were rolled up and he had bare feet. He looked tired. Exhausted. And she had an overwhelming urge to step into his arms and lay her cheek against a broad pectoral.
He held up two long-necked beers with wedges of lime jammed into their openings. ‘I felt like a beer.’
Callie hesitated, tempted beyond belief. She shouldn’t. She really, really shouldn’t. Being alone in her room with him would really blur the professional boundaries they’d both worked so hard at keeping in place.
Her gaze dropped from his earnest expression, centring on a tempting stretch of throat where the knot of his tie should have been.
‘I think you have a better view than I do,’ he murmured.
Callie swallowed. She certainly did now!
Knowing she didn’t have it in her power to deny him, not when he looked so worn-out, she reached for her beer then stood back. ‘Come through.’
****
Sebastian exhaled and pushed his lime wedge into the bottle neck with his thumb. He took a swig and pushed off the shoulder shoved against the doorframe. His arm brushed hers and a heat wave rippled outwards from the point of contact, down his arm a
nd up to his shoulder and chest.
He made a beeline for the balcony. The king-size bed taunted him as he went past it. A brief image of tumbling Callie onto it mingled with the fragrance she wore and he sucked in a perfume-laden breath. For a second he even felt a little dizzy.
This was crazy. He didn’t know why he was there. But she’d made it perfectly clear last night from her Cinderella act that she wanted to keep the status quo so he needed to push any images of her and him and the king-size bed firmly out of his mind.
He felt restless after the unexpected emotion of his presentation, that was all. He hadn’t expected to feel so drained. And after a couple of hours of being with people who all wanted a piece of him, wanted him to be the Sebastian Walker, it was bliss to be with someone who had gone to great pains to not be with him.
Even if it was just sharing a beer and talking.
And when she’d opened the door and his gaze had taken in her silky, electric-blue blouse, the one she’d worn while presenting her paper earlier that day, he’d been lost.
His steps faltered as his gaze fell on another item of clothing. The purple dress was draped over the arm of a plush old-fashioned winged chair placed near the sliding door. Bloody hell, was the woman trying to kill him?
With clothes?
Unable to help himself, he ran his finger over it as he passed. It wasn’t quite how he’d imagined getting his hands on the dress but it felt cool and glossy against the pads of his fingers.
And beggars could not be choosers.
They sat at the small table on the balcony and for a few moments Sebastian allowed the sights and the sounds of the river to absorb him. The Yarra looked like mercury in the afternoon light, the setting sun throwing dark shadows and tarnishing the water silvery black.
She cleared her throat. ‘I wanted to congratulate you on your paper,’ she said. ‘You were...It was magnificent. And very well received. There were too many people wanting a piece of you after to tell you at the time.’
Sebastian regarded her for a moment. She was nervous - her gaze everywhere but on him. Which was just as well as he tried to distract himself from thoughts of how soft her blouse would feel beneath his fingers.
‘Thanks. You were pretty good yourself.’
Now, that got her attention. Her gaze met his and held. ‘You were there?’
Sebastian heard the note of doubt in her voice and nodded. ‘Of course. You were great.’
‘I wasn’t fishing for compliments, Sebastian.’
‘I know. But you were.’
She waved her hand dismissively indicating she was done with the topic as she glanced out over the river but not before Sebastian had caught her brief look of relief. He hated that she’d even doubt herself but clearly she wanted to move on.
‘Which sessions are you down to see tomorrow?’ he asked, changing the subject.
They chatted about the merits of the different sessions on offer the next day for quite a while as the late afternoon sky passed into the muted hues of twilight around them. They kept things strictly business - conference-related topics only and even indulged in a second beer from her bar fridge.
‘What time’s the dinner tonight?’ Sebastian asked, dragging his eyes off the city lights starting to dance on the water to consult his smart watch, surprised to find it was nudging six-thirty.
‘Seven-thirty,’ she said as she took a swig from her beer.
Sebastian watched as Callie raised the long-necked bottle to her mouth and pressed it against her lips suppressing the groan rumbling in his throat. They must just be two work colleagues talking shop but watching her drink was torture.
There was something exceedingly sexual about it and the catch in his groin every time she sipped had started a fever pounding through his blood. She was staring out over the river in quiet contemplation and he was afraid that if conversation didn’t continue between them soon, he might just haul her into his lap and start kissing her.
‘What are you thinking about?’
‘Your father.’
Sebastian paused, the bottle halfway to his mouth. ‘My father?’
‘Your paper...it felt deeply personal. I know what it’s like to grow up in a family rules by mental illness and I was listening to you talk and...’
And what? Sebastian waited for her to continue. What was she trying to say?
She shrugged. ‘I felt for you. I wondered if you were ever as scared and confused and worried as I used to be. I wondered if he was...violent.’
Sebastian placed his beer on the table between them. Like
the lights reflected in the polished glass surface of the Yarra he could see the empathy shining in her eyes. It wasn’t a subject he often talked about.
People didn’t really understand.
But he knew she did. And after talking about it already today, albeit in an abstract kind of way, he felt strangely compelled to tell her more.
‘No,’ he murmured. ‘He wasn’t violent, just... dysfunctional. He had bouts of crippling depression and suffered from night terrors. He was severely agoraphobic. He couldn’t work. He had chronic indigestion. He smoked and drank too much. But he wasn’t a nasty drunk. If anything, I was probably... ignored. It was as if I was...invisible a lot of the time.’
Callie grimaced. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘I think the fact he was forty before I was born probably didn’t help. I wasn’t just born or even a kid during those war years, so he didn’t have a connection with me pre Vietnam.’ He shrugged. ‘It could have been worse. And my mother did the best she could but she didn’t know how to cope with any of it.’
Callie nodded. Why would she? Wedding vows didn’t come with PTSD manuals. ‘I notice you didn’t draw any parallels in your paper between the Vietnam experience and your own more recent experience overseas.’
Sebastian dropped his gaze. ‘I didn’t want to dilute the paper’s focus. But rest assured, PTSD is alive and kicking among our military personnel.’
He took a deep pull of his beer as the skin on his scalp and at the back of his neck crawled. An image of an explosion flashed in his mind’s eye. He gripped the bottle tighter hyper aware of Callie’s gaze on his profile.
‘Don’t the defence forces have their own psychs? I didn’t think they outsourced.’
Sebastian kept his gaze firmly planted on the Yarra. ‘They do.’ His lips twisted into a bitter smile. ‘But my reputation preceded me.’
She frowned. ‘Sebastian?’ She reached out her hand and covered his. ‘Are you okay?’
He nodded. ‘I’m fine.’
‘You know,’ Callie said her thumb absently rubbing over his knuckles, ‘someone very wise once told me that sometimes it’s easier to talk to a person you don’t know that well.’
He looked down at her hand. A hand that had touched every part of his body. A hand that knew him pretty damn well. Each pass of her thumb felt like a stroke to his belly. ‘Really.’ He glanced at her and smiled. ‘I’m okay.’
She didn’t look like she believed him but she did drop the subject. Not his hand though. ‘It must be a bit of an anticlimax, working at Jambalyn, after all that adrenaline.’
Sebastian’s breath grew thicker as her touch continued. Working at Jambalyn had been a godsend. ‘Jambalyn has been a fantastic experience. After the Middle East I needed...I wanted ...to be somewhere where positive outcomes were tangible. To see that mental illness can be managed and people can go about their lives. I didn’t want to be the Sebastian Walker, PTSD guru. I wanted to get back to the basics.’
‘That seems like a very reasonable aspiration,’ she murmured. ‘It isn’t always a picnic in the community, though.’
Sebastian was mesmerised by the circular motion of her finger against his skin, his gaze glued to the action. ‘No, I know that. But it’s good to see, to know that there is hope.’
Where he’d just come from, there hadn’t been a lot of that.
She nodded, absently stroking the pad of her thu
mb down his fingers now. ‘It can be very rewarding,’ she agreed.
Sebastian almost groaned out loud. He was trying really hard here but a man had limits. ‘Callie...’
The thick plea in his half whisper/half groan scorched right through to Callie’s womb and brought her attention to the liberties her thumb was taking.
What the hell?
She’d moved this into personal territory. Sebastian had been perfectly content talking about the conference and she’d gone and dragged them in to murky waters.
Talking about his father and then his stint overseas. She was touching him, for God’s sake!
Callie withdrew her hand as if she’d been rapped on the knuckles and stood abruptly. ‘You better go.’
He stood too. ‘No. Wait.’
‘No, really,’ she said as she crossed to the sliding door between the balcony and the room. ‘I have to get ready for tonight. Wash my hair. Do my...’ She stepped inside the room, faltering momentarily as the bed beckoned. ‘Nails.’
‘Callie.’
She headed towards the door, desperate to get him out. ‘I guess I’ll see you there,’ she threw over her shoulder as she flayed herself mentally for such a serious lapse in judgement.
Just because she could empathise with him, it didn’t negate the facts of their supposed to be platonic relationship.
He caught up with her at the bar fridge, snagging her arm and spinning her round, pulling her up hard against his body.
‘I don’t want to go,’ he muttered then swooped his mouth down to claim hers.
Callie was stunned for two seconds before her body ignited and she opened her lips to him on a strangled moan, clinging to his sleeves for dear life. He pulled away for a moment, his peridot eyes glittering with reckless desire. ‘I want to stay. I want you.’
He returned to ravage her mouth groaning deep in the back of his throat when she opened to his hot, demanding tongue, matching his intensity with her own. His hands found her waistband, tugging at her blouse, then he was lifting it over her head and off, his hands cupping her breasts, his head lowering to suck her nipple through the fabric of her bra and when she whimpered, ‘Sebastian,’ he yanked her bra cup aside and took her nipple into his mouth.