Aussie Rules Read online

  He had his hands on the steering wheel, gripping tight. “Yeah?”

  She leaned into the truck to get a good look at his face. His comfortable, kind, and yes, damn sexy face. It was her own shame that it’d taken her so long to see it. “It did.”

  “What?”

  “It thrilled the hell out of me.” She gulped in a breath. “You know. To hear it. No one’s ever…” Here she faltered, but only because it was so important that she get it right. “No one’s ever loved me before. Well…Mel does, but I’m thinking that’s a different kind of love.”

  His smile was slow and real and loosened the vice she’d had on her heart for too long. “Yeah, different.”

  “Danny, I have to tell you, I need time to—”

  “I know. I’m not going to rush you, don’t worry.”

  “I have no idea how long I need.”

  “So we’ll just let it all play out. Get in.” Leaning over to the passenger side, he opened the door.

  “But…”

  He smiled, and her entire inside melted. “Trust me?” he asked softly.

  She smiled helplessly in return. He was the most passionate, wonderful man she’d ever met.

  And hot. He was damn hot. “I think I do, actually. But…” He’d said he loved her. She hadn’t said it back. She didn’t know if she could ever say it back—

  “You’re thinking too much,” he said.

  “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “Deem, I’m not taking you to elope. Just a ride.”

  “Oh.” She laughed at her foolishness and got in.

  His smile warmed her as she’d never been warmed. “Been surfing lately?”

  Pulling on her seatbelt, she shook her head. “I don’t have my bathing suit.”

  “Been skinny-dipping lately?”

  She tossed her head back and laughed. Laughed. “No,” she said, the first thing she’d been certain of all day. “I haven’t.”

  “Well, then.” His grin was adorable, with a pinch of wicked tossed in.

  She loved wicked, and as they peeled out of the parking lot, she laughed again.

  Mel couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t the heat, which felt unusually sultry and steamy as thunder clouds moved in. It wasn’t worry about her future, she’d signed the lease, which lay folded on her table.

  But still, the restlessness rolled through her.

  Giving up on bed, she moved to the dark living room, sitting in the picture window as the storm hit, arms curled around her legs, chin on her knees, lost in thought about what she’d learned today about Sally.

  It was nearly impossible to reconcile her memories: Sally teaching her to use a wrench, letting her take the controls in the air at age thirteen, showing her how to carefully run a preflight check, and never, ever scrimp on the details…Sally letting her land for the first time, ruffling Mel’s hair and saying, “Good job, kid, you’re a natural, just like me.”

  Sally hugging her hard after getting her pilot’s license, her eyes filled with tears, saying, “Stay just as you are, kid, just as you are.”

  And Mel saying, “But I want to be just like you,” and Sally slowly, sadly, shaking her head.

  “God.” Mel drew a deep breath, and another, but her throat still felt tight, her eyes burned. “Goddamn.” Because how was she supposed to have these good memories while knowing Sally was a criminal who’d hurt innocent people?

  She was not going to cry again, earlier today had been enough to last her years. She should have been mortified at that, but Bo had made it okay. What was it about him that always made it okay?

  She’d always thought of herself as work. All work. But she was coming to understand there was more to life, and also, more to her.

  And that no matter what happened, she was going to be okay.

  But a little part of her couldn’t help but wonder, what would it be like if Bo wanted to stay at North Beach? With him in her life, she’d do much more than fly, that was certain now.

  She’d love.

  The thought knocked her back a few breaths, and then the soft knock on her door startled her further. Padding to the door, she frowned. “Dimi?”

  “Try again.”

  Bo.

  Everything within her reacted to that unbearably familiar voice. Everything within her wanted to throw open the door and jump him, but she set her forehead to the door and told herself that she had to give him up at some point, the sooner the better. She’d probably have managed to resist him if he hadn’t knocked again.

  Chapter 25

  Mel closed her eyes. Resist. She could do it.

  She had to do it, because this was much more than a physical want. This was the kind of ache that couldn’t be assuaged with just another quickie, amazing as that quickie would be, and Bo couldn’t, wouldn’t, offer more.

  He was leaving.

  Damn it, hadn’t she given herself enough disappointments?

  He didn’t knock on the front door again, and she breathed a sigh that she told herself was relief, which backed up in her throat when another knock came.

  The back door, this time.

  She saw him through the glass. Lightning flashed, revealing his face, his eyes, which glittered with a whole host of things she couldn’t begin to guess at.

  “Mel.”

  She stared at him. Shook her head. She felt too weak, too vulnerable.

  “Open up.” He spread his hand on the glass. “Please?”

  Ah, hell. It was the please, uttered in that Australian drawl, in that low, husky voice that followed her into her dreams. She pulled open the door, let him slip in, then walked away from him, back through the living room to her large picture window.

  Putting her hands on the sill, she stared out into the dark night, extremely aware of the man behind her in the dark, silent. Waiting.

  The wood floor creaked beneath his feet as he came close in the charged silence. Around her the awareness heightened, and she drew a shaky breath.

  Still, neither of them spoke.

  The rain hit, slashing at the windows. Bo came closer still, moving without a sound but she didn’t need to hear him, she felt him, with every fiber of her being.

  Go away. Please, go away.

  Don’t go.

  With her mind and body playing tug-o-war, she felt a little off center. “I can’t do this, Bo.”

  “I haven’t asked anything of you.”

  His voice came out of the dark. Disembodied.

  But not distant. Never distant. She had a feeling she could be in a coma and just hearing that low, whiskey, Aussie voice would bring her out and awake.

  And aroused.

  Without looking at him, she pressed her forehead to the window. Looking at him would be bad, like looking at an open box of donuts.

  Irresistible bad.

  Gotta have one bad.

  Can’t stop at just one bad.

  In fact, if she looked at him and he spoke, the combination would probably cause her to spontaneously combust.

  From behind her, he touched her hair.

  So close. He was so close she could feel the strength of him, his breath at her temple. “Mel.”

  “It’s late,” she whispered, still pressing her forehead to the glass.

  “I know. I was in bed, staring at the ceiling.”

  “Ah.” She felt the reluctant smile tug at her mouth. “A noble bedtime activity.”

  “I can think of a better one.”

  Her entire body tingled, reacting in the predictable way as she squeezed her eyes shut. “Is that why you came?”

  He touched her again, trailed a finger over her neck, nudging her oversized T-shirt off one shoulder. Simple touch. Complicated feelings. “Bo.”

  “I was lying there.”

  “Studying the ceiling.”

  A huff of breath escaped him. “Yeah. Picturing you here. Devastated from today.”

  She craned her neck to look at him now, the low light casting his face in bold relief. “So you dro