TAMARA HUDDLED AGAINST the bench in her kitchen, waiting for the toaster to pop. Wet hair hung down her back. Blow-drying it would take energy she didn’t have. Tomorrow it would stick out in all directions but right now she didn’t care. All she wanted was to eat something fast before slipping between the clean sheets she’d put on the bed that morning. To fall asleep and forget all the horrors of the day.

Those poor little kids, broken, in agony, some damaged for ever. The parents’ distress had been equally harrowing. Not something she’d have considered from a parent’s perspective until that thin blue line had entered her life. Never before had she seen such despair, so much shock, all at once.

The day the fraud squad had turned up at her family home had been shocking, but in a very different way; certainly not life-threatening, only life-changing. Back then, the press she had been used to, following her around to photograph her latest outfit or hairstyle, or who she’d dined with and where, had turned on her. Painted her the same black shade as Peter. From that day on she and the media had come to a mutual understanding. They disliked each other; a far cry from the fawning she’d grown up knowing and enjoying. These days, loath to attract attention of any kind, she no longer wore supermodel clothes or spent a fortune on make-up and hair. Nowadays she hid behind dull and duller.

A sigh escaped. What a day. And she’d thought telling Conor about their baby had been difficult. It had been a breeze compared to what those poor parents were dealing with.

Ding-dong. The doorbell was loud in the quiet space.

Her neck cricked painfully when her head snapped up. Who was here at this hour? She didn’t have visitors at any hour. Staring at her bedraggled reflection in the microwave door, she hoped whoever was out there would take the hint and go away.

Ding-dong.

Pulling the belt of her bathrobe tight, she took another moment to stare at the image gleaming back at her. Whoever it was, they’d soon take a hike when they saw her looking like something hauled out of a dumpster.

Ding-dong.

Persistent. ‘Yes, yes, I’m coming,’ she muttered as she gave in. Opening the front door, a gasp escaped her. ‘Conor.’ Might have known, considering the persistence aspect.

‘Did you check to see who was out here before you opened the door?’ he growled.

She hadn’t given it a thought. ‘Hang on.’ She made to close the door and peek through the eye-hole just to wind Conor up. How else to deal with him when she could barely remember her own name?

He was too quick for her, splaying his hand on the door to keep it open. ‘Can I come in?’

Don’t tell me we’re going to discuss our baby now.

She’d be at a huge disadvantage, her brain only functioning on low. Yet she stepped back, breathed him in as he passed. Her body succumbed to the scent of man with an overlay of antiseptic. ‘You’ve come straight from the hospital?’ she finally managed.

‘I wanted to make sure you’d got home all right and was coping with what went down in ED today.’

Of course she was. And wasn’t. ‘There’ll probably be some nightmares, but I’m fine.’ He cared enough to check on her? When he had to be feeling as shattered as she did? Raising her eyes to his, she found concern and something she couldn’t interpret fixed on her. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered around the lump suddenly clogging her throat. When was the last time a man—anyone, for that matter—had shown her such care? No one since her father had become ill with the dementia that had taken him from her. Not even Peter had managed to pull on a mask that had suggested he’d been genuinely concerned for her any time. One of the lesser reasons he was now her ex. ‘Thanks,’ she repeated.

‘Come here.’ Conor wrapped her up in a strong yet gentle hug, held her against his warm length and lowered his chin to the top of her wet head. ‘It’s been a huge day.’

Tamara’s arms lifted to his waist without any input from her brain. She snuggled her face into his chest. ‘Massive,’ she agreed.

‘You were amazing with your little patients. So caring, understanding, unflappable. I’ve worked with a lot of nurses and you are one of the best.’ A large, warm hand ran soft, soothing circles over her back. Slowly, slowly, the tension ebbed away, leaving her feeling comfortable with Conor.

Seriously? Oh, boy. That made her feel so good. ‘I could say the same back to you.’ And mean it as much as she believed he meant it.

‘So...’ Conor hesitated. ‘You’re okay now you’ve come down off the high brought on by the adrenalin rush today cranked up?’

‘I’m shattered so I don’t want to discuss our baby and how we’re going to deal with this situation tonight. I don’t believe I can be as focused as I need to be for that.’ Conor holding her like this made her feel as though she could tell him anything, open up to him, explain how she hoped their future—their baby’s future—would unfold. And probably give too much of herself away.

‘I came around to make sure you were all right. I also needed to hear you mention the pregnancy again. It’s been a blur from the moment Michael knocked on my office door.’

Leaning back in his arms, she gazed up at him. ‘We are going to have a baby.’

‘Right.’ Those blue eyes locked on hers, and this time the electricity that often flowed between them was quiet. More of an accepting, compliant force. But he’d have his own agenda. Everyone did. While talking about her training to become a doctor, he’d mentioned his plans for the coming years, starting with an application he’d sent in for a position in an emergency department in Sydney Hospital.

Had he heard whether he’d got the job? She tensed. Where would that leave her and the baby? Free to raise her child as she chose? Or would he demand she follow him across the Tasman? If Conor turned out to be as manipulative as Peter had then she wished him to Siberia. Neither would she be following. Her exhausted muscles contracted some more. There was a lot to learn about this man before she could begin to make any plans for her and baby’s future.

‘Easy does it,’ Conor murmured above her. ‘Relax. We can put off in-depth and meaningful conversations for another day.’

Sure thing. She tried to pull out of those compelling arms. Conor simply tightened his hold, keeping her spread against him. Giving in, she went with the moment, absorbed his strength, his warmth, him.

Who knew how long they stood there, holding one another? All Tamara understood was that she didn’t want to move ever again. She’d temporarily found her safe place in Conor’s arms, and to pull away would sever whatever had brought them together. To move apart would bring back all the doubts and questions, would waken her up to the reality that she didn’t know her baby’s father well enough to put their needs in his hands. Or to trust him to do what was right for her. At the moment she was beyond leaving his arms, no matter what the consequences.

Finally Conor lifted his head and tilted it back to look down into her eyes. ‘I’ve ordered Thai. It should arrive any minute. I had to make sure you ate something more than a piece of toast.’

‘How’d you know that’s what I’d have?’

‘It was a guess. Might know you better than you think.’ He smiled, a slow cautious lifting of those clever lips. ‘Can I take a shower before we eat?’

‘Help yourself.’ Or should she be kicking him out? She was still edgy about him being here.

Conor dropped his arms. ‘Thanks, Tam.’

‘Don’t call me Tam.’ It was an automatic response. She didn’t deserve her dad’s pet name any more.

His eyes widened but all he asked was, ‘Where’s the bathroom?’

‘In the interests of saving you what little energy you’ve probably got left, follow me.’ As if her flat needed a map. ‘Here. Help yourself to towels under the basin. I’ll pull on some proper clothes and warm the oven for the Thai so you don’t have to rush.’

Conor ran his knuckles lightly over her cheek. ‘Stay like you are. I’m only here for a short while and you’ll be wanting to head to bed as soon as I’ve gone.’

Bed and Conor in the same thought should’ve cranked up her desire levels. They didn’t. Right now she was all out of anything but the need to eat and sleep. And by the exhaustion rippling off Conor he wasn’t any keener to get naked with her either. ‘Okay.’ Anyway, something as intimate as sex wasn’t happening while they were grappling with this new situation. She couldn’t afford to let him under her radar. The more caring and concerned he was for her the more worried she was he might want to take something from her.

Ding-dong. Her doorbell didn’t ring as often in a week as it had tonight.

‘I’ll get that. Take your time. There’s plenty of hot water.’ She closed the bathroom door before Conor said anything that could possibly change her mind and start to stir up her hormones. If he began peeling his clothes off in front of her, well... Risky, given how comfortable she was feeling with him. Almost as if she’d take a step off the edge to follow him. Almost. Went to show the state of her brain. Messy. Chaotic. In need of sleep.

‘This green curry is delicious,’ Tamara told Conor twenty minutes later as they lounged in her sitting room, laden plates on their knees. Hardly fine dining but very cosy. Her mother would have kittens if she saw her daughter like this in front of a man, especially as she was wearing a bathrobe that had seen better days a long time ago.

But you walked away from me, Mum, so your opinion doesn’t count.

‘I wasn’t sure if you liked spicy food so I went with middling chilli.’

‘It’s yummy.’ Her taste buds were in overdrive and even her unreliable stomach was happy, though usually it was used to hot curry.

‘Glad you like it.’ Conor shuffled further back in the armchair he’d snagged earlier, pretending he wasn’t yawning and all the while looking exhausted.

Then she thought of the cosy factor and the happiness retreated a step. Doing cosy with Conor when they had massive issues lying between them did not make sense. Even without the baby, cosy wasn’t an option for her. Cosy would suck her in and leave her wide open for Conor to make everything go his way. At the moment she knew so little about him. Being sexually attracted to him didn’t mean anything in this situation. She needed to get up to speed, and fast. Like checking the legal process for keeping her baby in New Zealand if he wanted to take it home to Ireland any time. Forewarned was forearmed. Protecting herself. Something she hadn’t known to do with Peter. ‘When you’re not at work, what do you do with your time?’

His head tipped back and he blinked. Not expecting any questions? ‘I run quite a lot, do the occasional half-marathon. Socialise, go fishing with Mac, visit places within easy driving distance.’

‘Playing the tourist? I can’t see you following the umbrella-waving guide and listening to a taped explanation about the geysers in Rotorua or the Hole in the Rock up north.’

His alluring mouth lifted in a wry smile. ‘I am a visitor to this country. I might be working but I also want to see some of the sights. There’s so much that’s stunning. I could spend months just travelling the length and breadth of both islands.’

‘Why do you want to go to Australia, then?’ Or would that now be on hold?

Conor sat up straighter, stared at some place behind her. ‘It’s time to move on. Staying in one place too long often leads to complications.’ Definitely holding back. ‘Okay, make that it was time to move on. Everything’s up in the air since your announcement. Apart from becoming a father.’

‘You intend returning home some time?’ Would he expect her to follow wherever he decided to go? Did she want to?

‘Dublin is where I grew up, where all my family live. Dublin is who I am—what I am.’ Was it her imagination or had his accent thickened?

‘If that’s how you feel, why leave in the first place?’ What would it be like to live in Dublin? There was nothing to keep her in Auckland. On a positive note, there’d be no interfering television crews to bug her in Ireland.

He’d been yawning when she’d asked that question, but instantly his mouth slammed shut. The relaxed mood had gone in a blink.

When he didn’t answer she gave him a break and changed the subject. ‘Maybe you should stop running if it makes you so tired.’

‘Never.’ One word, spoken firmly, quietly, but full of don’t go there.

It was all too much. They were going round in circles, and she didn’t have the energy to try to figure it all out. Her eyes were itchy with tiredness, her head heavy and her body past ready for sleep. So she let it go. A voice in the back of her head was saying, Look what happened last time you didn’t ask the questions. Not that she’d have got the right answers from Peter. Worry fired up. She bit down on it. Not tonight. ‘You want a hot drink before you go home?’

He shook his head, the tightness in his shoulders easing again. ‘You’re right. I need to head away, give you some space. I’ve seen you’re okay.’ But he made no effort to move. ‘It’ll be time to get up and go to work soon enough.’

‘Do you have to remind me?’ Tamara hauled herself upright. ‘I’m having some camomile tea.’

Conor’s eyes locked on hers, causing her to hesitate.

Here we go. He’s going to say something about the baby, and what we’re going to do about it.

Her defences were rising and she made ready to protect herself.

‘Thanks for this interlude.’

Thanks in full Irish lilt was not like thanks in Kiwi-speak. It came with warmth and intrigue and passion. It sent funny tingly sensations down her legs, along her arms. It said things she was certain Conor did not intend. And she had not expected. ‘I didn’t do anything.’

‘Exactly. You could’ve started in on me about the baby, but instead you’ve been quiet and thoughtful.’

‘I’m tired too.’ Her breath stopped in her throat as she waited for the other shoe to fall.

‘Exhaustion’s puffing off you in clouds. It already was earlier in ED, which is why I had to make sure you’d got home safely and were looking after yourself.’ Those lips twitched. ‘After bad days at work I usually pace back and forth across my tiny apartment for hours on end. Tonight I don’t feel wired, just shattered, yet okay with knowing I did everything I could for those kids, that I couldn’t have done any more.’

‘You’re an amazing emergency specialist, always going the extra distance for your patients.’

Surprise lifted his thick eyebrows. ‘But I never stop questioning myself, wondering what else I could’ve done. It’s why I became an ED specialist in the first place. To save people.’ Conor’s hands tensed, his whole body winding tight. His mouth was flat as he dragged in air, then expelled it immediately. Those sunny summer eyes turned darker than an Auckland overcast day.

There was something else going on in his head that she had no line to.

Conor needed a hug.

Like that would solve anything. More likely he’d push her away. Wise man. Shoving her hands deep into the pockets of her robe, she turned for the kitchen and that tea, trying to ignore the painful squeeze her heart was giving.

They’d once shared a great night together that she’d enjoyed more than she’d have thought possible. Probably because she’d wanted nothing else from him than some fun. But that was it. End of. Except there was now a baby lying between them. There was no room for her heart to have its say.

Listening to her inner voice would undo all the effort she’d made over the last two years to get back on track. It’d also take more courage than she possessed, and would mean a breakdown of all the strictures she’d placed on herself to keep safe.

‘Tamara.’ Conor leaned against the doorjamb, watching her watch the kettle. He inhaled, sighed out the breath. ‘Thanks. Again.’

‘No problem.’ Please go. Before she said something she regretted.

In a low, rolling version of that bone-melting accent Conor said, ‘Don’t be afraid to show me your true feelings or thoughts.’

Slowly turning, she stared at him, her heart now clunking heavily against her ribs. ‘I’m not,’ she muttered, and had to suffer the disbelief in his eyes. Fair cop. ‘Okay, I’ve learned that showing my feelings about anything usually has severe repercussions.’ When his mouth opened to spill words—a question?—she rushed in to cut him off. ‘Not tonight.’ Probably never. ‘We’re both in need of sleep, not long, convoluted conversations.’

Damn, but her head hurt. A steady throb pounded behind her eyes, matching her heart. There was only one cure. Bed. Alone. So she needed to drink her tea to help obtain that oblivion, and see Conor out the front door before hitting the sack. Not necessarily in that order either.

Why was the water taking for ever to boil?

* * *

Conor’s eyelids were weighed down as he tried to open his eyes. ‘Where the hell am I?’

He scoped the room, semi-lit from the hallway light, saw the cream leather armchairs and sighed. Tamara’s place. Now he could feel that leather beneath his backside where he was sprawled along the matching couch. With a blanket covering him. When had Tamara put that there? Had to be her. There’d been no thought of him staying when they’d finished their meal and dumped the plates in the sink. No, he hadn’t even done that much tidying up. She’d gone to make herself tea and he couldn’t remember another thing after that. Except the ease with which he’d shifted from the chair to the couch and laid his head on a cushion.

The ease that had settled over him almost the moment he’d walked through Tamara’s front door, despite his misgivings about coming here when they had a massive problem to deal with.

Careful. He’d be taking risks soon. Risks he’d spent the last fourteen years fighting. Risks that had had him finally fleeing Ireland and family and heart-aching despair. He couldn’t imagine falling in love and getting married, having children. Children who might inherit his cardiac problem. A wife who could find herself bringing up their children alone because the big one had got him.

Conor sat up. Threw the blanket aside. Falling in love would mean breaking the rules that ran his life, kept everyone safe. So it wasn’t happening.

A vision of Tamara looking gorgeous in her thick, faded navy-coloured robe with her dark blonde hair gone wild from her shower. Part of his brain had been functioning correctly when it had kept him from following through on the desire that had kicked up at the sight of her. It would’ve been the worst move possible, and there’d have been no thanks from Tam.

Don’t call her that. The shortened version of Tamara disturbed her, for reasons he knew nothing about. And wanted to know. No, he mustn’t. Knowing meant caring, meant sharing. But to him she was Tam. He just had to keep that to himself.

Time he was out of there. He needed to go home to his randomly put-together collection of furniture that was more practical than inviting; a home that spoke of moving on, not settling down.

Nothing like this warm and welcoming nest created with what he suspected were top-of-the-range furnishings. Not that he knew a lot about these things but this home seemed classy. That sideboard made of polished wood that he didn’t recognise was stunning in its simplicity. In fact, everything was understated in a grand way. Was this why she didn’t have a lot of spare money to go to university with? A shopaholic gone wild? If so, only when it came to her home. No money was wasted on clothes.

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