Dreaming Of... Australia: Mr Right at the Wrong Time / Imprisoned by a Vow / The Millionaire and the Maid

His eyebrows shot up. ‘Really?’

‘Really. I’m going to pull together all the stories I’ve collected about people who grabbed their futures by the throat and took a crazy chance. People like Dorothy. And how that paid off … or didn’t. But the important thing is that they were the navigators of their own destiny one way or another. Oh! That could be the title … Navigators!’

He stared at her, bright interest in his eyes as her brain galloped ahead. ‘Good for you, Aimee.’

Her lungs struggled to reinflate as the full impact of all that focus hit her. She pushed them to co-operate, and it was almost harder speaking now than back in her squished Honda. ‘And it’s not because you made me feel like what I do isn’t complete … It’s because it’s not complete. These particular stories always resonated for me. I just never recognised it.’

Sam smiled. ‘I love the idea, Aimee. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.’

She straightened, took a deep breath and held his eyes. ‘Let me do you.’

His whole body jerked back.

‘Your story!’ she rushed on. ‘Oh, my God … Let me interview you for your story.’ Heat surged up her throat and she knew there was nothing she could do to change that. Intense Sam was only half as gorgeous as Sam in a full belly-laugh, but he treated her to one now, as she stumbled out of the awkward moment. ‘I want to include some more contemporary stories as well, and you’re about the most proficient navigator I’ve ever met. I’d love to include you.’

‘My story’s not really all that interesting, Aimee.’

‘Everyone’s story is interesting, Sam. Just not to them.’

He stared at her. ‘You’re serious? You want to put me into your book?’

‘I want to thank you—’ She held up her hand as he went to interrupt. ‘In a way more meaningful than just an award nomination or a couple of cups of coffee. You were present at the moment that redefined my life and I want to reflect that importance.’ She sat up straighter. ‘So, yes, I want the man that saved my life in my book.’ Such naked insistence still didn’t come naturally to her, but she squashed down her instinctual discomfort.

‘Can I think about it?’

She took a fast breath. ‘No. You’ll refuse if you think about it.’

His smile then warmed her heart. ‘Look at you, getting all take-charge.’

Her laugh burbled up into an excited squeak. ‘I know!’

‘Maybe you know my story already.’

‘You’re a modest man, Sam. It’s part of your charm. I understand that you won’t want this story to be some kind of reflection of how important you think the work you do is, but I really want it to reflect how important that work is—was—to me.’ She forced herself to keep her stare locked on him, even while every cell of Old Aimee demurred, whispered that her insistence was ungracious. Not feminine. Scandalous. ‘Please say yes.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘What’s involved?’

‘You’ll hate it,’ she said without the tiniest pause. ‘It involves more coffee.’

A hint of a twitch in his left eye was the only clue that he was smiling on the inside. But it was enough. ‘If we’re going to have more coffee I need some food to soak it up,’ he said. ‘Are you hungry?’

‘Ravenous.’

Suddenly she was. After months of barely picking at even the most delectable meals. Sam was going to be in her book. Sam was going to share a little bit of himself with her.

And an entire afternoon.

All of a sudden her chest didn’t feel large enough for the organs in it as she squeezed out speech. ‘What time’s your flight?’

He stared at her, his eyes carefully neutral. ‘Late enough.’

It was beyond refreshing to see a woman inhale her lunch the way Aimee did, despite their plates being piled high with home-cooked Italian food and herbed bread. He was so used to Melissa and her friends either fussing about the dressing on the tiny salad they were expecting their bodies to function on, or getting stuck into something more substantial and then punishing themselves endlessly for enjoying it.

The kind of unabashed feeding frenzy he was witness to now reminded him of home. Of his family.

They’d taken their meals to a more comfortable booth, and chatted about other rescues he’d worked on in the past year, and about her heritage work, and whether either of them had been in Canberra before, and then, before he’d even looked away from her, a waitress had materialised from nowhere and was clearing their empty plates and bringing more coffee.

‘I may never sleep again,’ Aimee joked as she blew the steam off her fourth latte.

But there was something about this afternoon: something blindly indulgent that made a bottomless cup of coffee and pasta carb-loading seem as reasonable as his almost gluttonous need for conversation.

Aimee’s conversation.

He knew she was intelligent from their hours in the car, but back then she’d been suppressed by pain and medication and—if her epiphany was to be believed—by her own personal demons. But this Aimee had a lightness and an optimism so untrained and raw it was almost captivating. Like a newly emerged butterfly testing out its wings. Definitely engaging. And thoroughly contagious. So much so that by the time she slid a little digital recorder from her handbag into the centre of the cleared table and set it to record he was no longer dreading his decision to help her out.

‘You carry that with you everywhere?’

‘Yup.’

Her eagerness touched him almost as much as her innocence prickled at his senses. Taunted him. Drew him. ‘You really are excited by this book, aren’t you?’ he said.

Her green eyes sparkled. ‘Beyond words. This idea is one hundred percent mine—sink or swim, for better or worse.’

He twitched, but only slightly. Was the mention of marriage vows intentional? A reminder to both of them to keep things professional? If so, it was it was well timed.

‘So …’ She adjusted the recorder and pointed one end towards him. ‘Tell me about your family. You’re the oldest of … what was it? … seven?’

‘Eight. Second oldest.’

‘Big family.’

‘Lots of love to go around.’

‘That’s nice. So no one went wanting?’

He reeled a little. ‘Uh …?’

She smiled so serenely it took the edge off his anxiety about where this was going. ‘Don’t worry—this isn’t some kind of exposé. I just want to get to the heart of your background. I like to leap right in. It saves lots of preliminary warm-up.’

Plus, they’d been warming up all afternoon, technically speaking. ‘Okay, uh … no … No one went wanting.’

‘How much of that was thanks to big brother Sam?’

He thought about that. ‘We all pitched in and looked after each other. Dad worked pretty long hours so Mum needed support.’

‘Were you her favourite?’

‘There’s a loaded question.’ He laughed. ‘I felt like her favourite, but I’m sure every one of my siblings would say the same. Mum was good like that.’

‘Tell me about your parents. How did they meet?’

Sam took her through what he knew of the romance that was his parents’ marriage. Some of the challenges, the wins, the losses, their decision to come to Australia and start a new life.

‘Sounds almost idyllic.’

‘It wasn’t without its challenges, but my folks have worked their way through every major bump in their road to happiness. They’re great role models.’

‘How many of you are married?’ she asked.

He blinked. ‘Just me and one sister.’

‘Too hard to live up to for everyone else?’

His stomach tightened. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean your parents’ example. Pretty tough act to follow?’

He struggled against the automatic bristling that came when anyone criticised his family. She was just curious. And she wasn’t all that far off the mark, in truth. ‘I think we’d all consider it inspirational. Not demoralising.’

She watched him steadily. ‘That’s nice, then.’

‘Yeah, it is.’

‘Is that how it is for you?’

His chest matched the tightness in his gut. Here it comes. The subject neither of them was mentioning. ‘What?’

‘Your marriage. Do you aspire to a relationship as strong as your parents’?’

‘You’re assuming it’s not already like that?’ And that was a big call on just a few hours’ collective acquaintance in which the topic had almost never been raised. He couldn’t stop his arms folding across his front.

A hint of colour pinked her cheeks and highlighted the deep green of her eyes. It galled him that his body noticed that even when he was annoyed. He forced his hormones to heel.

‘You’re right. I am. Sorry. I just …’

But she swallowed back whatever she’d been about to say. So he called her on it: partly to see just how strong her reinforced spinal column really was, and partly because he wanted to see what had made her assume as she had. If he was giving off clues to strangers that his marriage wasn’t rock-solid, did that mean Mel might pick up on them, too?

‘Just what?’

A dozen expressions chased across her expressive eyes and finally resolved into caution. ‘She didn’t come. Today,’ she added when he just stared at her. ‘Today was a really big deal and she didn’t come. And I know that the complimentary air tickets were for two because I didn’t use my plus-one either.’

She had no one to bring. His antenna started vibrating with a bit too much interest at that piece of information and so he buried it under a landslide of hastily whipped up umbrage and forced his focus where it belonged. Defending Melissa was second nature.

‘She works. Hard.’

‘I know. You said.’ Then Aimee leaned forward and he got a flash of cream curve as her breasts rose and fell. ‘But so does your father, and I’m guessing he would have moved the earth to be there if it was your mother shaking the Governor General’s hand and being recognised by his country.’

A cold, twisted kind of ugly settled in his belly. It was sixty percent righteousness, forty percent guilt, and one hundred percent reflex. He’d had exactly those thoughts himself. ‘Are you offering me relationship advice? Seriously?’

His subtle emphasis on you didn’t escape her, and the hurt and disappointment in her expression were immediate. As if she’d been suspending breath, waiting for something to happen.

And he’d just been that something.

Shame bit—down low.

‘No.’ She smiled, but it was half-hearted and without the luminosity of before. ‘That would be like asking me to get you out of a stricken vehicle on a mountain. It’s just not in my skill set.’

He hated his own overreaction almost as much as how fast she was to put herself down when challenged. Both smacked of long-standing defensive tools. So her healing was still a work in progress, then.

She went on before he could. ‘But I do know something about people. And subtext. I’m trained to read between the lines.’

‘My relationship with Melissa is not fodder for your book,’ he stated flatly.

‘You think your wife is not material to your life story?’

He wiped his hands purely for the satisfaction of throwing his serviette down onto the table. The international symbol for this discussion is over. ‘I think if you want to include her then we should get her agreement.’

This was where a polite person would step back, oil the waters. Aimee just leaned forward. ‘You’re protective of her.’

‘Of course I am. She’s my wife.’

‘You love her.’

‘She’s my wife,’ he reiterated.

Her perfect face tipped. ‘Why are you so defensive?’

‘Why are you so pushy? Are you upset I didn’t tell you I was married? I met Melissa through one of my brothers, we were together two years and then we got married. End of story.’

Except that was complete bull. There was so much more to their story.

A hint more pink crept into her cheeks. Or was it just that the colour around it had faded? She leaned forward again, lowered her voice. ‘Why didn’t you mention her to me before? There were so many opportunities.’

A dangerously good question. Was it because he’d felt the simmering something between them in their perilous little nest on the mountainside and hadn’t wanted it to evaporate? Was he that desperate for a hint of attraction, even back then?

Uncertainty clenched, tight and unfamiliar, in his chest.

‘It was none of your business.’ Present tense included. How do you like that subtext?

Her face froze and her fists curled into nuggets on the table. She took a moment collecting herself. It reminded him of something …

‘I …’ She pressed her lips together, sat back.

It hit him then—what he was being reminded of. Aimee looked right now as she’d looked back on that mountainside. Pale … stiff. When she’d been in shock, but trying not to let on. It was such a direct echo of how she’d looked all those months ago, hanging off the side of the A10, that he couldn’t help the memories surging in. How close he’d felt to her when she was toughing it out in the darkness. How impressed he’d been at her calmness under pressure. How open she’d been with him about her fears and vulnerabilities. How hard he’d worked to keep her safe.

How connected he’d felt to her.

Apparently mutual.

Even now, after he’d just been a bastard and hurt one of the most open and innocent people he knew rather than manning up to his own inadequacies.

It was palpable.

He shifted to dislodge his body’s intense focus.

‘You know …’ Her face twisted in concentration. ‘I owe you an apology, Sam. I’ve spent so much time dwelling on those hours up in the highlands I think I’ve …’ she physically grappled for the right word ‘… infused them with too much meaning. That day was life-changing for me, but it really was just business as usual for you. No wonder you’re uncomfortable with the nomination. With my obsession on having you in my book.’ She reached forward and turned off the recorder, her eyes averted. ‘I’m so sorry.’

Shame gnawed at his intestines. He was being an ass. ‘Aimee …’

She forced her earnest gaze back to his. ‘I wanted to do something as meaningful for you as you did for me that day. And I don’t have anything to give you other than my interest and the way I see your story fitting into my book. I can’t offer you anything else to express how much you did for me.’

‘You don’t need to.’

‘I do need to. For me. I need to … balance the scales.’ She reached for her handbag. ‘But I’ve forced a connection that isn’t there for you, and I’m sorry.’

Everything inside him twisted. ‘Don’t leave …’

Her laugh was brittle and her hurried words were for herself. ‘I’ve already made a fool of myself with you once. I really should learn from my mistakes.’

That kiss. So she did remember it. ‘Aimee—sit …’

A tiny frown braved the storm of recrimination blustering around it. ‘I wish you all the best for the future, Sam.’ She was on her feet and swinging her bag onto her shoulder, and then a heartbeat later she was stepping away. Walking away. Doing what he should do. What was best all round.

But he knew he wouldn’t. He stood.

‘So that’s it?’ The corner of his lip practically curled. ‘Thanks for saving my life, Sam. Have a nice life.’ Two people at nearby tables tried very hard to pretend they hadn’t heard that.

Aimee slowly turned back to him, her face guarded. ‘You want my firstborn in return?’

Frustration ripped at him. He was screwing this up. Royally. ‘Don’t leave, Aimee.’

She stood like the proverbial salt pillar, indecision etched into her expression. So he battled on. Risked exposing his true self. ‘Your rescue was not business as usual—though it should have been. I don’t know what that means, and I don’t want to read into it, and I absolutely don’t want to do anything about it.’ He sucked in a breath, and the people at the next table abandoned their efforts to not listen in. ‘But you of all people asking me about my marriage was just too …’

He ran out of courage. And words. And air.

Her handbag slipped off her shoulder and she twisted the strap in her hands. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’

‘No. Not at all.’ But, yes, he really did. Aimee Leigh was the last person he should want to talk about his marriage with, but just then she was also the only person he could imagine talking about it with.

‘All right.’ She collected the handbag in front of her. Its next stop was surely back on her shoulder and swinging out through the door.

Suddenly all his priorities shrank down to just one simple one: keeping Aimee in this café. ‘But I don’t want us to part like this, either. I’m sorry for snapping. I’m … not used to talking about my personal life.’

She smiled, and it was so full of sorrow she might not have bothered. ‘No. I think we should quit while we’re ahead. I’ll pretend you never answered as you did if you’ll pretend I never asked what I did.’

‘Make-believe works for you?’ He hoped so, if it meant her last memory of him wasn’t his being an ass.

The handbag was up and on her shoulder now. ‘Let’s both agree to try.’

She was turning, and he missed her already. ‘What about your book?’ It was desperate, but if it kept her here …

She paused, but didn’t turn back. She looked at him over her shoulder. ‘Maybe another time. Bye, Sam.’

‘I’ll hold you to that!’ he called as she moved decisively through the door.

And then she was gone.

Again.

This time it was his fault.

CHAPTER SEVEN

THE universe wanted her to resolve this, clearly.

If it didn’t, it would have left well enough alone and allowed her to just walk out of that café and never see Sam Gregory again outside of her dreams. Now here he was, in the rock-hard flesh, leaning casually on the counter of the airport coffee lounge with his back to her, wearing a light, earthy sweater and sinfully snug jeans.

Her throat tightened just slightly. It had to be a bad thing that she knew him so instantly from behind.

The weeks of separation hadn’t done a thing to scrub him from her mind. If anything the passage of time had only exaggerated him in her subconscious. And six days of anticipation since she’d agreed to the State Government’s request hadn’t helped her to be ready for this moment.

If anything they’d made it worse.

She stopped just a few safe feet from him, suppressed her natural urge to get closer, and took a deep, confident breath. ‘Sam.’

Nothing.

She stared at his oblivious back. His broad shoulders shifted just slightly and his right foot tapped on the edge of the counter’s kick-bar. She caught a flash of a white wire poking from his ear.

Was he … dancing?

While her stomach ate itself from the inside? Clearly this wasn’t as big a deal for him.

She cleared her throat and laid her fingers on his warm bicep to get his attention.

He jerked with surprise, then turned and smiled at her, yanking earphones from his ears. He quieted the tinny tsss-tsss with the press of a button in his pocket.

Warm eyes rained down on her and her stomach tumbled in on itself. ‘You came. I wasn’t convinced you’d actually show up.’

She almost hadn’t. Should she be trusted with Sam on an interstate flight? Spending her days in close confines with him? Staying in the same hotel? He hadn’t got any worse smelling since she’d last seen him, and the texture of his sweater screamed touch me.

She tucked her hands behind her back before she experimented to see if the front of it was as soft as the back. ‘Your department was responsible for saving my life and it cost them a lot in equipment and manpower. Coming along on this promotional tour is the least I can do to repay them.’

Even if it put her heart at significant risk.

He took her carry-on bag from her and turned for the check-in area. ‘Apparently we made quite a splash with the public that day in Canberra. My boss’s boss wanted this.’

‘You didn’t?’

He chuckled. ‘More time in the spotlight? No, thanks.’ Then his eyes found hers. ‘But I’m not sorry I get to see you again. I hope to handle myself a bit better this time around.’

Aimee frowned. Straight back into awkward territory. Oh, well, since they were already here … She took a quiet breath and asked as casually as she could, ‘Melissa not with you?’

Was it wrong that she wanted him to say yes almost as much as she hoped he’d say no? Having his wife along would solve an awful lot of problems.

‘Ah … Three days away from work is more than she could swing. Some imminent breakthrough on an ice shelf project.’

‘A what?’

‘She works for the Australian Antarctic Division. She’s been studying fracture patterns in ice shelves.’

He’d said Melissa was smart. Foolishly, she hadn’t believed him. She’d thought it was just what people said about their spouses. ‘At least I can bring my work with me. Transcription goes wherever I do.’ She looked around anxiously for inspiration. ‘So … We’ll be talking to schools?’

Talking to schoolkids was another tick in the pro column for coming along: the opportunity to share what she’d discovered about herself during that twenty-four hours on the mountainside. She’d needed quite a few ‘pros’ to outweigh the big three-lettered ‘con’ scrawled in the other column.

S.A.M.

‘I think so. And some Victorian volunteer groups. Their Parks and Search and Rescue services are separate up there.’

‘So this is about more than just publicity?’

‘Not for the department, but for me I look forward to the chance to talk to others in the field. Share expertise. Bring something new back to my team.’

‘Sounds like we’ll be busy.’ If there was a God.

‘I think there’ll be some down time.’ His blue eyes seemed to turn luminous.

Oh. Great.

Aimee struggled to generate small talk until their flight was ready for boarding. Then getting on the plane and seated and into the air knocked off a good thirty minutes. She busied herself with the in-flight magazine, flicking pages she wasn’t reading. It helped keep her from thinking about the way Sam’s thigh pressed into hers in the tight seating. And how she was going to survive three days up close with him.

He leaned over the armrest. ‘You know, we could probably use this time to get to know each other better.’

If eyes could get whiplash hers would have needed that neck brace he’d once given her. ‘What?’ she choked, half afraid of the answer. But only half.

‘For your book. We never did finish that interview.’

Oh. ‘No. I kind of blew that on my last question.’

His lips twisted. ‘What question? I thought we were forgetting that. Do you have your recorder?’

She slipped it out of her handbag a little too keenly. When had she started so thoroughly hiding behind her job? She wanted Sam in her book, no question, but she could do it without his wife being in it. Leaping in on his marriage hadn’t been premeditated, but her subconscious had definitely acted with intent.

Now Sam was buying into her folly. But, as gift horses went, he was a pretty good-looking one.

‘You’re sure about this? I’ll need to ask you about Melissa.’

He took a breath. ‘Why don’t we start there? Get it out of the way? I promise not to be reactive.’

A non-reactive man? Another novelty. Assuming he could pull it off. She lowered her food tray, sat the recorder on it gently and pressed the red button.

‘How old were you when you married?’ she asked over the hum of the jet engines.

‘Twenty-one.’

Wow. That made her feel like an old spinster at twenty-five. ‘Young. Is that a Catholic thing?’

‘It’s a Gregory thing. We don’t believe in wasting time.’

His smile was gentle, and she grew aware of how big he was in the cramped seat next to her. Her heart kicked up She shook her head to stay focussed. ‘How did you even know who you were at twenty-one, let alone each other?’