Page 6 of The Mistletoe Wish

It was loneliness.

Nothing more.

She rubbed at her waist where it was if she could still feel his firm hands – steadying her, reassuring her, protecting her – all those emotions she wanted no part of and was certainly not worthy of receiving. She couldn’t tear her eyes from him as he toed off his muddy boots near the door before positioning his swag on the floor.

He was tall but then so were most people given that she was only two inches over five feet. Not bulging with muscles like a gym-junkie, he nevertheless obviously kept himself fit as revealed when he pulled off his sweater. His black tee-shirt moulded to a taut abdomen and firm upper arm muscles. Not strictly handsome and certainly nowhere near a ‘pretty-boy’, his well-cut features coupled with a square chin radiated a strength of character that was more appealing. At least to her.

Awareness rippled, her skin prickled, and a very unwelcome ache bloomed in places she had locked away years ago. Or was it a need? How long had it been since she’d enjoyed warmth and companionship? How long since she’d experienced … love?

Drawing a slow breath, she attempted to ease the sudden racing of her pulse as she scooted across the bed, putting as much distance as she could between them. Her back pressed to the wall, she picked up the folder in hands that felt like they’d turned into jelly and forced herself to read the first page.

“Anything we should know about?” His smoothly modulated voice broke into her jumbled thoughts, and she jumped a little.

When she glanced up, she caught his considering gaze. He was sitting cross-legged on his swag and rubbing his damp hair with a towel. Those mocha dark eyes of his had not missed her startled reaction. Now she was well and truly cemented in his mind as nervy, maybe even someone who would need looking after twenty-four-seven. And that was not her.

Her former life as an inner-city cop meant she’d not only experienced but handled plenty of hairy situations. Then, of course, had come the exposure of her terrible mistake to her friends and parents. And her fellow officers. She’d diminished herself in their eyes and fully deserved the punishment that had been dealt. Another brutal lesson that had toughened her outer shell so much that sometimes in the early hours of the morning, she wondered if the person she had once been was dead and buried for all time.

“Not as yet.” She could hardly fess up that not even one word had sunk into her brain.

“Mmm. My suggestion is that we seek alternate legal advice.”

“Bit late now. We both signed that document,” she couldn’t refrain from pointing out.

Her snarky tone earned a hard stare from his end. “True. However, I hardly believe that you’re keen to live hand-to-jowl with a strange man for the next twelve months. I want to check exactly how water-tight those conditions actually are in case there’s room to manoeuvre. No need to put either of us through any undue … inconvenience.” For some reason, his smooth voice and reasonable explanation only served to irk.

“Since Ty is the only solicitor in town these days, I suppose you’ll be making a trip to a larger town? Like Newcastle? Sydney?” And hopefully that would keep him away for more than forty-eight hours!

Darim folded the damp towel into a perfect rectangle before lying down on his swag and linking his hands behind his head. Merriment oozed from his twinkling eyes and his lips tipped upwards. “Trying to get rid of me? Sorry, honey. That is so not going to work. I need this house.”

“Well, so do I!” hissed Sara from between gritted teeth. Drat the man. “And my name is Sara.”

“My apologies. Sara.”

Uncertain whether she felt annoyed or amused or childish or maybe all three, she clamped her mouth shut.

“Good night,” he said quietly.

Without taking another look at him, Sara reached over and extinguished the lantern. Yawning, she curled into the throw rug. She squeezed her eyes shut but no matter how hard she tried, his wicked smile stayed with her as she drifted off. All she could hope for was that he would remain out of her dreams.

Triumph floodedthrough Sara as she was presented with the award for the best hand-woven llama rug of the year; the same one which was displayed in all its rich reds, vibrant yellows and deep azure-blue glory on the wall behind the podium.

Applause vibrated. Paparazzi flashed lights and clicked cameras. Hammering pounded.

Hang on –hammering?

Frowning, she attempted to stay immersed in the wonderful sensations of success and achievement. As she wriggled on the narrow camp bed, she began to sink back into her dream.

The sudden piercing screech of a high-pitched power tool sliced into her head. The last remnants of sleep along with all those feel-good emotions scattered in all directions like a flock of startled pigeons.

Opening her eyes, she stared blankly at the shadowy rafters above her head. A flurry of dust drifted down as something grey and furry dashed along a beam then with arms outstretched glided through the air to land on top of the stove. A pair of dark, round glistening eyes looked at her. A possum. Now that she could deal with. But that teeth-rattling noise was quite another thing. She pushed to her feet and the possum leapt to the floor before dashing out of the open door.

The open door.

And she knew exactly who had left it open! Probably hoping that she would scream and panic at the sight of the cute specimen of wildlife that had entered the shack while she’d been sleeping. Wincing, she pushed back a tangle of hair from her face with an impatient hand as the clamour from outside reached new peaks. After one brisk tug at her top, she marched across the small room and onto the rear verandah.

“Sorry. I hope I didn’t wake you,” called a deep, smooth-as-whipped-molasses voice that was becoming far too familiar to her ears.

Barring her teeth, her gaze fixed on the man welding the power tool. “Of course not. I always like to get an early start to the day.”

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