Hero Duty (11 page)

He punished himself with another two minutes of cold shower, then focused on getting ready for dinner.

Jessica hadn’t been the only one buying new clothes that afternoon. He’d bought good quality trousers and the sort of expensive shoes that went with them, and because you could leave the army, but it wouldn’t always leave you, he’d also bought shoe polish and spent twenty minutes shining them. He’d also bought a shirt and tie the salesman recommended. Jessica could tell him if he’d need the tie.

Shaving was an automatic procedure. The contours of his face were all hard edges. His square jaw was fair warning to anyone interested that he could out-stubborn a mule.

The shirt was white, making him wonder why he’d bothered to buy one so expensive when he had two other cotton ones in his bag. But the shirt was for Jessica, and his own pride. He’d be a fitting escort for her tonight.

He looped the tie around the collar and crossed to the bedside table. Wallet and keys went into his pockets. He hadn’t bought a jacket. The spring night was warm enough to go without his leather jacket and so he left it hanging over the back of a chair.

They had forty minutes before they needed to leave for her stepmother’s house. Brodie walked out to the balcony and stood watching the sunset flood Sydney Harbour with orange and gold. That was kind of the effect Jessica had on his life.

The click of a door opening inside the hotel suite broke his reverie. He swung around and paused.

Jessica stood with one hand on the back of a sofa for balance as she adjusted the fit of a shoe. Her hair was tied up somehow, leaving her shoulders mostly bare above a smoke-grey dress that hugged her curves. The dress covered everything and ought to have looked modest.

Brodie figured it was his own tamped-down but still burning desire that made the dress look an invitation to sin. It was as if the soft fabric waited to be brushed aside to reveal her body. It tempted and he wanted to succumb.

He walked in from the balcony. ‘You look beautiful.’

Her pearl necklace emphasised the purity of her skin. She touched the necklace. ‘It was Mum’s. Pops gave it to her when she turned eighteen. I often wear it for luck, under my shirts. I wore it that day I met you in Jardin Bay. Pearls need a woman’s skin to warm them and keep them alive.’

So did he. But now wasn’t the time.

Above the necklace, her face was quiet, composed. Only her eyes showed her strain. Their blue had deepened and dulled, and it wasn’t a trick of the grey dress.

‘I feel sick,’ she said.

He took two quick steps forward.

She put a hand on her stomach. ‘Nerves. I’m all tensed up. Can we go? I know we’re a few minutes early…’

Suspense could be more demoralising than the fight itself. Brodie had lived it. ‘Of course. Do I need the tie?’

She paused in scooping a fluffy pale-purple wrap from the back of the sofa.

He felt the moment when she truly looked at him.

Then she looked away, fussing with the fall of the wrap around her bare shoulders. ‘No, it’s a family dinner. If Derek’s wearing a tie, he’ll be the one over-dressed.’

‘But you’re glamorous.’ He rolled the tie up and left it on the coffee table. In three steps he caught her up as she headed for the door.

The scent of her perfume, subtle and exotic, wove an insidious magic.

‘I’m wearing battle armour.’ She fumbled with the door handle.

He had to hold himself back from reaching around her to deal with it. But the gesture would have brought them too close; her back against his front.

She got the door open. ‘Nerves make me clumsy.’

‘Leave it to me.’ He shut the door behind them and checked that the lock had engaged.

She didn’t wait, but headed for the lift and stabbed the call button.

When the double doors opened to a half-filled cab, he gave up resisting temptation and put a guiding, possessive hand to her waist, placing himself between her and the lift’s other occupants.

She stood stiff enough to shatter.

Reluctantly he dropped his hand, but they still stood closer than strangers or friends.

The lift doors opened to the foyer and she dashed out as if pursued by wolves. Her high heels clattered on the tiled floor.

‘Whoa.’ He caught her elbow as her right foot slipped and used her momentum to swing her into him, steadying her with his strength.

For a heartbeat she rested there, then pulled away.

He frowned as he released her. ‘I’ll get the car. You wait here.’

***

Jessica resisted the urge to huddle into the slight warmth of her lavender pashmina. Any comfort would be illusory and not worth the price of people’s curiosity. She remembered to stand tall. The new clothes had been purchased to give her confidence, except their magic had eroded with the scene in the hotel suite.

Brodie had the trick of making her feel special, as if he shared some part of himself only with her. It lured her in, so that she trusted and took risks she otherwise wouldn’t.

She would have made love with him that afternoon. Almost had, if the two strangers hadn’t walked down the corridor and broken the moment…

Reminded where he was and with whom, Brodie had pulled back.

The pain of that rejection, a fundamental rejection of her feminine sexuality, lodged in her like ice. She didn’t know which would kill her first: the spreading ice, or the boa constrictor tightening viciously as dinner with Portia and Derek loomed.

Through the glass doors, she saw Brodie pull up in the rental car. She plunged out, her graceless haste slowed by her clumsiness in the high heels. The result probably looked as if she had all the poise the hated modelling class in school holidays had tried to instil. The heels forced her to walk slowly and emphasised the sway of her hips.

She opened the passenger door before Brodie could get out and do so for her. He re-clipped his seatbelt as she slid in. Over the new car smell, she recognised the clean, citrus scent that was his and flinched. It was too intimate. It reminded her that she knew how his skin tasted.

He inserted the car smoothly into the stream of Sydney traffic and switched off the radio. ‘What do you need from me this evening? I’m not much of a conversationalist. I tend to only talk when I have something to say. Do you want me to respond to comments from Derek and Portia or should I be silent?’

She watched the busy road give way to quieter side streets and the emergence of tall mansions set in their own grounds.
Nearly there
. ‘Whatever you prefer.’

‘I’m here for you.’

The ice inside her grew splinters and hurt. It was true. He was here for her — and then, in the most important ways, he wasn’t. She’d hired him, but she kept forgetting, and so did he. But then, he’d remember first and pull away.

‘Just stay close,’ she said. ‘When they remind me that I’m alone is when I give in.’ He said something under his breath. It sounded angry, but she didn’t catch the words. ‘Don’t let me promise anything.’

‘I won’t. Only a bastard would trap you into a commitment this weekend. Take the time to grieve for your dad, or be angry with him, or whatever you need. I can’t guess what Portia has planned or thinks that this memorial weekend will achieve, but you make it give you what you want.’

‘All I want is to get through it.’

‘Then that’s what we’ll do.’ He braked as the high wall of the family mansion loomed. ‘And when I think you’ve had enough, we’ll leave.’ He pressed the intercom button and spoke into it. ‘Jessica’s here.’

‘Thank you, Mr Carlton.’ Mae’s polite voice.

The gates opened.

Brodie drove in and parked by the front steps.

Portia, Derek, and his fiancée Anabel’s cars would be in the garage. Jessica had long ago accepted her guest status at the house she now knew she owned. How many times had she arrived here in a taxi? First from boarding school, sometimes to find the house empty of anyone but Mae, other times from university, but generally then she’d driven herself.

Brodie unbuckled her seatbelt. ‘Are you going to get out?’

‘I’m terrified.’ She would have leapt out of the car with the confession, but he caught her arm. She collapsed back against the seat and looked at him.

‘Do you remember that I was a sergeant?’

‘Yes.’ Bewildered.

‘I never left a man behind.’ He got out, came around and opened her door. When they walked up the steps, his hand was at her waist.

She didn’t want to admit how good that felt.

Mae opened the front door. Jessica bent and hugged her.

‘Crab cakes for dinner,’ Mae whispered.

Jessica wondered how she’d snuck her favourite dish onto the menu. ‘Thank you.’

A small hand patted her shoulder and released her. ‘They are waiting on the deck.’

Of course they were, Jessica thought bitterly. The deck was where she was most vulnerable. At least the darkness changed Sydney sparkling waters from blue to shimmering darkness reflecting the city lights. In this case, darkness held fewer memories.

Although she and Brodie were ten minutes early, Portia, Derek and Anabel had already gathered and held drinks. Outdoor heating kept away any suspicion of a chill and the clever lighting turned Portia and Derek’s hair to gold and brought out the tint of flame-red in Anabel’s mane.

The latter studied Brodie with frank appraisal.

Jessica barely had time to notice before Portia surged forward.

‘Darling.’ Portia bestowed air kisses and a look of grieved disappointment. ‘I had hoped for a family meal.’ Her brief nod acknowledged Brodie’s presence. ‘But then, this is a difficult time, and for you it brings up terrible memories of the loss of a parent. Some unstable behaviour is to be expected.’

The honeyed hostility Jessica had braced for. The hint that Portia and Derek would try to push a diagnosis that she was unstable hit hard.

She made a mental note to ensure her lawyers would control her affairs if she couldn’t. She’d see to it Monday.

‘How are you, Mrs Carlton?’ Brodie didn’t make the mistake of standing protectively close. That would have weakened Jessica’s position. ‘I’m sure people will understand and forgive you entertaining so soon after losing your husband.’

The look Portia shot him was venomous. ‘The weekend is in Ian’s memory.’

‘And on Jessica’s money,’ Brodie continued.

Jessica stared up at him, appalled. What happened to quiet support? That was an outright declaration of war.

‘Get out,’ Derek said. He put his glass on the railing where he’d been lounging and strode forward. ‘You don’t get to come in here and insult my mother.’

‘Nor does she get to insult Jessica.’ Brodie looked down from his greater height. ‘I’m just laying down the ground rules.’

Anabel laughed. ‘New rules!’

Her mocking cry brought a bitter, sullen expression to Derek’s handsome face. He clenched his fists. ‘Shut up, Anabel.’

Anabel drained her glass. Whatever it was must have been potent or else she really didn’t care what she said. She dropped the glass and it shattered on the stone terrace. ‘Oh no, darling. I don’t have to listen any more. New rules. You’re not rich and I’m no longer your honey-bunny. Do you know even Daddy was convinced that Ian’s money would be yours? And instead, all he left was debts.’

Jessica forgot about appearing strong and independent, and stepped into Brodie’s shadow. Some people thrived on high drama. Not her. If Derek’s engagement was about to detonate, she wanted shelter.

‘You want to go back to the hotel?’ Brodie adjusted her pashmina.

‘No,’ Portia said sharply.

‘Of course she does,’ Anabel said. She’d never looked more beautiful. The short little black dress clung to her model-thin figure. ‘What woman wouldn’t rather have him and a hotel room than your blood-sucking company?’

Wow.
Jessica’s eyes popped. She hadn’t had much to do with Anabel and had carelessly dismissed her as a younger version of Portia. Instead, Anabel was very much her own woman.

‘If we’re to talk of blood-suckers,’ Derek began. ‘You did a nice job of bleeding me of money; a car, jewellery, an apartment…’

‘You ate it up,’ Anabel spat at him. ‘You got off parading me around. I was your trophy. Daddy a judge. The family name meaning something — not like yours.’

‘Bitch.’

She bared her teeth at Derek. ‘But you didn’t live up to your side of the bargain. Where’s the money, Derry boy? Oh, that’s right. It’s your stepsister’s. You’re completely useless. Selfish in bed.’

‘I think I do want to go,’ Jessica said quietly to Brodie.

‘No. Anabel is leaving,’ Portia said.

‘I sure am.’ Anabel heard her. ‘I am leaving, and I’m glad to go. Be a relief.’

The four of them stood frozen as the staccato clicks of her high heels faded towards the front door. Its slam echoed through the house.

‘This is your fault.’ Derek rounded on Jessica.

Brodie put himself between them.

‘Wait, Derek.’ Surprisingly, Portia tried to intervene. ‘I never liked Anabel. She might have her family name, but she — ’

His ugly laughter silenced her. ‘Anabel just demonstrated what all our friends are doing, if less dramatically. Your high-tea club cancelled, didn’t they?’

Plastic surgery had given Portia plump lips that she carefully coated in pink. When she compressed them in sudden anger, her real age seemed obvious. Not old, but not young. Too old to willingly contemplate building a new life.

‘See?’ Derek jeered. ‘As a wealthy widow you’d have fitted right in, but Jessica wrecked that.’

Brodie’s shoulder was between Jessica and her family. She flattened her cold hand on his back. His muscles rippled and stilled under her touch. ‘I did nothing.’

‘You told the whole damn world that the money was yours. Not ours. We could have handled the situation in the family.’

‘The lawyers knew,’ Jessica said shakily. ‘Joe, Numbat.’

But Derek wasn’t listening to reason. ‘You could have told them you trusted me.’

A gasp of disbelieving laughter escaped her. As if.

Derek swung a punch.

Brodie had time to step aside or deflect the punch. Ample time. Derek’s punch had conviction behind it, but little skill. However, Brodie managed to hold onto logic, even as protective rage flooded his body with the need to act. It would be better if the fault lay completely one-sided, with Derek. Jessica was tucked safely behind him, out of danger, and that was what mattered.