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“If you’re worried about me because of my leg and my, er, tendency to take a tumble or any of the things like meeting stray spiders or… like I said, I don’t need the company.” Still he didn’t say anything. “I guess what I mean is, you don’t have to do it because you feel sorry for me.”
“Do you think that’s why I offered?” he asked softly. “Because I feel sorry for you?”
“No.” She lifted her chin. “But if you do, please don’t. If that makes sense.”
“It makes sense.” God, they were going round in circles here. He put the cup down and said, “But what if I’m coming becauseIwant to?”
She blinked at him owlishly. “Sorry?”
He sighed and studied the back of his hands. “You’ve heard the saying tidy desk, untidy mind?” He glanced up and she nodded. “That’s my reality at present. Things aren’t that great inside my head, and I need to do something to change that.”
His sudden honesty was disarming, charming. “I guess with the wedding… like, reminding you…” she ventured.
“Yeah, sure, that hasn’t helped. But this has been going on too long. Nearly six months. I have a book to finish, and seminar dates I can’t bring myself to set. None of it feels do-able. I came to Perth to escape for a while, to put my head back together, but I’m at risk of hiding out, and putting off—living.” He sighed. “I have to get back to Sydney, get the apartment on the market, get on with my life… but I also feel like I needsomethingto change before I can do that. Something to jolt me out of this space. Because all my usual coping strategies just aren’t cutting it…”
Her heart bled for him. She nodded. “An emotional reset button.”
“Yeah, that’s it exactly. And… I don’t know why or how, but being around you… you’re a little bit wacky, you know.”
“Aw, gee, thanks.”
“Sorry—” He gave a self-deprecating huff. “I guess what I meant was, you make me laugh… and that’s kind of refreshing. And what I need. Sounds selfish, doesn’t it? But… if you really want to make that trip across Australia, I guess what I’m trying to say is, I’m up for the journey. And maybe I can be useful. At least share the driving. Check the engine from time to time. Remove huntsmen.”
“Please don’t mention them by name.” She gave a shudder to hide her chuffed-ness. Wow! She made him laugh; that was kind of—nice.
“Comfy chair,” was all she could muster.
“Very. I invest in the best.”
“The Shaggin’ Wagon isn’tthatcomfy to be honest.”
Oliver leaned forward, elbows on his knees. His shorts rising up around his quads wasn’t the least bit distracting. “Guess that means we’ll stop and stretch our legs more.”
“And it’s not really your style—after driving Porsches.”
“Yeah, serious downgrade.” Damn that cheek crease when he smiled. But at least it had pulled her gaze away from his legs. “I think it will be good for me not to drive a Porsche for a while.”
“You might regret saying that. When your bum’s bruised to buggery.”
He laughed out loud and she bit her lip. And when she glanced at him, she saw his eyes, dark and almost wolfishly hungry, on her mouth.
The question she couldn’t bring herself to ask was… would this be good for her?
Or was she putting her heart in a precarious position? One where it might just end up getting far more than bruised to buggery?
Strong at the broken places.It was written in her journal back home in round, childish letters. It would take more than being a wee bit infatuated with Oliver Blake to break her.
So, for the second time in two days, she said, “Deal.”
“Deal.” He flashed that award-winning smile. “And this time I’m not remotely smashed.”
