Her Dom's Secret Past Page 3

  My thoughts turned to that gorgeous hunk of man—was he single or was there a beautiful partner lying on the chaise, waiting for him to come back from his stroll along the beach?

  Regretfully, a man like that certainly wouldn’t be single. I thought he’d held himself as if he were in pain, remembering the way he had stood then sat. I’d also noticed a rather bad limp when we walked. I wondered if perhaps he was recuperating from an injury or illness. Would his partner jump up and show concern when he returned, or would they merely act as if he were fine?

  He was very handsome.

  I couldn’t get him out of my mind. I couldn’t remember another man affecting me the way he did. Of course, that sexy British accent helped. I thought back to other relationships I’d had.

  In my thirties, I’d had a few but none lasted more than a month or so. Maybe I was picky, maybe my expectations were too high, but there really wasn’t that spark, that overwhelming sensation of adoration that I’d been told people have when they’re in love.

  Becky and Cass were prime examples—they’d been married forever and yet it was obvious to everyone they were still in love. Neither could keep their hands off the other, they still wrote love notes to each other, and still kept the fires raging. It was the same with Charlie and Justin—their love for each other was so obvious to anyone. I, on the other hand, had never experienced that blinding burst of magic when I touched a person, I had barely raised a miniscule ember until now.

  I closed my eyes, pretending to sense the spark of electricity from John’s hand. I imagined how his fingers would caress my skin and ran my own hand up my body. Even the thought of him touching me made my nipples hardened.

  Hell, now I was faced with a hunk that pushed a hell of a lot of buttons and a lot more, who was probably at this very moment making love to his soul mate… Fuck, just my damn luck!

  Chapter Four

  John

  I couldn’t help the grin on my face. The last thing I expected was to meet someone as cute as Anabelle. I figured she was in her late-forties, maybe a little older, but boy was she lovely. There was something about her that sang to me like never before. I’d always been drawn to full-figured women, and Anabelle had curves aplenty. I could imagine wrapping my arms around her with all that luscious flesh to squeeze and caress. I loved the messy wild hair she had. Crazy color, but it actually suited her.

  The first thing I did when I got inside the villa was copy the few dozen photos I’d taken, making sure I didn’t copy the ones I’d taken of Anabelle. I’d keep the USB in my pocket until I saw her again. I hoped it would be soon.

  Standing, I tried to stretch carefully, lifting my shirt at the same time. The jagged cuts across my abdomen, my thigh, and my shoulder still appeared raw to me, and I knew it would be months before I was back to my usual self. At least my old handler had ensured I had this lovely villa for two weeks to recuperate before I moved into my new home.

  He hadn’t been all that impressed when I told him I’d intended to quit before this all happened. When I’d promised I’d do only one more job, neither of us had the vaguest inkling it would end up with me being shot a few times and clinically dying as well.

  The whole exercise had gone belly-up. It had been a farce from start to finish, and I’d had serious misgivings before we’d even began. I told him my concerns, but he was my boss and I had to go in regardless. Despite the idea in movies, most of the time my type of work was pretty mundane and safe. There was a lot of sitting around, a lot of research before people like me get sent in. Naturally, things could go wrong, the same as in any other job, but of course when they went wrong in my line of work, people died.

  Anyway, this last job had ended up as a shootout with the whole op blown wide apart.

  When I recovered, I’d heard my bosses had caught a mole who’d sold intel on me to the ‘asset’. Basically, the whole thing was a major fuck-up and I’d been compromised big time. Fucking bad luck for my last job.

  News went out that I was dead. The idea was to ‘delete’ me completely. My handler had arranged my ‘funeral,’ to add authenticity to my reported ‘death’. I wondered who’d stood by my graveside, who’d mourned me. I had no one I was close to me. Impossible to develop relationships when I had to change my identity, go undercover, and sink deep into an op. My boss also decided I would be shipped off to the other side of the world to spend out my remaining years.

  Still, my handler and the department had pulled out all the stops and my boss had dragged in every favor to arrange my speedy immigration to Australia. All those weeks in the hospital had given him plenty of time to get things done. I was sure he felt guilty how things had gone because he organized everything right down to this place.

  After working for him personally for over twenty years, he knew my likes and dislikes. He’d found a house for me to live in, to call my own. I was lucky I had inherited wealth from my late parents because the pay for my line of work was pretty poor. Truth was we didn’t do it for the money, we did it for the love of our country.

  I intended to spend my retirement casting a line, pottering in the garden, doing plenty of cooking, and just relaxing. The house I now owned sounded perfect to do exactly that. It was set on ten hectares of river-fronted land, but I’d had yet to see it in the ‘flesh’, so to speak.

  It was in a place called Marlow in New South Wales, and it sounded like living in the middle of nowhere, but actually it wasn’t that bad—about a twenty-five minute drive in one direction to the thriving Central Coast and Gosford, or to Hornsby in the other direction. Plus, it was only an hour’s drive into the heart of the Sydney CBD.

  I’d seen hundreds of photographs and instantly loved it. A huge Appalachian style lodge, nestled high on the rocky northern banks of the Hawkesbury River with expansive 180-degree views. It was a master-craftsman built Cypress log structure with cathedral ceilings and was glass fronted. There were two separate bedroom wings—one containing the master suite and the other three guest bedrooms. There was even clear access for a helicopter to land, not that I owned one, but I could pilot one.

  I was glad I hadn’t had to deal with all the paperwork of getting me secretly out of one country and permanently into another. The idea of me living in Australia meant I was a long way away from anyone I’d had dealings with in the past. Security was always foremost. In my previous ‘career’, I’d come up against some very nasty characters who would have taken great delight in wiping me off the face of the earth. The idea was that now I was officially dead and buried, they’d forget all about me.

  Still, everything had been done to ensure no one could connect me to my old life in England, even down to changing my name—again. The downside was I could never return, not if I valued my life, but in truth there was nothing or no one to return for—that was what I got for working undercover for over thirty years for an obscure secretive government department.

  Now it was just a matter of healing, and this lovely place would certainly help.

  I pulled my shirt back down then tried to roll out the cramp in my left shoulder. It was a mess, but it would heal fully. As well, the muscles around my middle were tight but fortunately, I’d turned at the exact moment the second bullet was fired and it ripped across my stomach from one side to the other rather than carve its way right through my body. I walked across the room, my limp pronounced from the third bullet that had torn through my upper left thigh. I could honestly say that three bullets didn’t treat my body well. How the hell I survived was beyond me, and I could only grovel at the feet of the surgeons who wove their magic.

  Yes, from now on I’d wear a few interesting scars. That limp would be with me for a long time, but I was alive. Time to do all those things I’d put off, like meet the woman of my dreams, and suddenly there was a candidate in the next place up from my villa. Somehow I’d have to get to know her and hope that she liked what she saw because I certainly liked what I’d seen so far. I hoped to see more.

  The storm
rolled in quickly and by three, I had to shut up most of the house. A strong wind beat the rain against the glass, setting up a loud drumming. I hoped it would clear tomorrow because I wanted to see if I could accidentally on purpose meet Anabelle again. Funny, I’d never really been hooked on a woman. Yes, I’d had my share of romances but there had never been one woman that set me on fire. Somehow, don’t know why, Anabelle had lit a tiny flame in my heart and I actually wanted to fan those sparks until they raged. I’d never believed in love at first sight, but as soon as I saw her it had sent my pulse racing. Now I knew it was possible.

  Picking up my new phone again, I scrolled through the photos I’d taken of the seal encounter—there were far more of Anabelle than the seal. Even though we’d never spoken, as soon as I saw her sitting on the rock engrossed in her book, I was smitten. The wind was blowing through her wild hair and it was like a halo around her face. I grinned, looking at the picture showing it—pink and purple among the white. That was part of her attraction, the wild hair, the wonderful curvy figure.

  When we’d started talking, I saw her amazing light-green eyes. They were actually a light-emerald color and I couldn’t recall ever seeing that shade before. She also had full kissable lips that I wanted to taste and lick. As soon as I feasted my eyes on her lush and plump bottom lip, I figured it would be very delicious to kiss and tease. She had a lovely voice as well, lilting and soft with that Aussie accent. I could listen to her talk all day.

  Damn, all this thinking about her made me hard. I’d definitely need a cold shower or a distraction. I grabbed a book and settled on one of the settees, my legs on an ottoman. I must have dozed off because the next thing I knew, the book was on the floor and it was almost five-thirty. Yawning, I stood. It wasn’t easy to do yet but it was getting better each day. The rain had stopped, but it was still rather bleak outside. I stripped off, not bothering with clothes, grabbed a towel, and walked through the dining room and out to the pool.

  My physio back in England had told me swimming would help the damaged muscles in my leg and abdomen. So I swam. Up and down the pool, switching off completely. I still couldn’t do overarm properly. Instead, I mindlessly chalked up a few laps in a sort of one-armed breaststroke until my body screamed at me to stop. Hauling myself out of the pool was beyond me at the moment and I swam to the Jacuzzi, sitting in it for half an hour until my protesting body grew silent. Wading to the stairs, I got out and dried off, then pulled on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt.

  I headed for the kitchen and ended up making myself a stir-fry. I liked to cook, always had, and now I had plenty of time to indulge. I spent the rest of the evening chilling out with a glass of white wine and a mindless DVD before turning in around ten-thirty.

  ****

  Next morning, the sun was shining brightly as I wandered out onto the patio and studied the ocean. Would I go for a dip or not? I walked to the edge of the sand and glanced along the beach.

  Damn!

  Adorable Anabelle was walking up the beach toward her villa, obviously after swimming. Fuck, missed her.

  Okay—I’d need a new plan of action. Maybe I’d have breakfast, wait a while, and then casually wander up to the rocks, and hopefully she’d be outside. I had to remember tomorrow that she seemed to like going for an early morning swim, although a glance at the clock told me it was after nine. I made myself a couple of Weetbix with fruit then took my cup of coffee outside. I stood at the top of the sand, digging my toes in, and breathed deep.

  The salty tang of the sea mixed with the iodine scent of drying seaweed and the aroma of my coffee. There was a slight hint like the smell of dead fish, yet over it all, the clean freshness of unpolluted air. They all invaded my nostrils. Gazing up and down the beach, I noticed there was not a soul in sight. Plenty of seagulls though. I shifted my gaze upward. There was a bird high in the sky, making lazy circles. I exhaled. All was right with my world. I’d been here a few days and already my mental health, as well as my physical, was improving. The first day I’d spent most of it asleep, trying to catch up with flying out here then the drive across country.

  After finishing my coffee, I decided on a walk. The physiotherapist had told me wading in water would be good for my leg, and I figured I’d head up toward the rocks near Anabelle’s. I put the USB stick in the pocket of my shirt, dragged on an old pair of shorts, and then set off.

  I’d walked in water before, during my rehab, but never had to contend with waves. Before, it had been in a pool. I managed to get out to mid-thigh depth, but it was hard going, I lost count how many times I almost fell. Stupidly, I was determined to reach the rocks, but by the time I touched them, I puffed and groaned like an old man.

  Now I was limping badly—maybe I’d overdone it.

  That was wrong—I’d definitely overdone it. I wasn’t used to not being fit. All my life I’d prided myself on my physical condition, and now I was hobbling around like I was in my nineties. Angry I couldn’t even walk in the water without almost collapsing, I somehow managed to clamber out, my shoulder and leg making it damn hard. I actually had to drag myself onto the closest rock and then tried to get my racing pulse under control. My leg burned from the exercise, my shoulder ached, and my stomach felt as if I’d been shot again. I wondered if I’d be able to make it back.

  Man, was I stupid with a capital ‘S’.

  Chapter Five

  Anabelle

  After my early-morning dip, I showered and had breakfast. By the time I’d tidied up, it was around ten-thirty. Glancing out, I saw John wading pass. Maybe I was wrong, but he seemed to be making heavy weather of it. As I watched, he actually seemed to crawl onto the rocks and sat heavily. It reinforced my idea that he was recuperating from something.

  I gave him five minutes, then picked up my sun hat and went out. Trying to act casual, I kept my eyes focused on the ground, occasionally picking up a shell or a piece of pumice. Slowly, I made my way to the start of the rocks. I lifted my head and pretended to notice him for the first time. Smiling, I gave a little wave and made my way over to where he sat.

  “Good morning.”

  “Hello, Anabelle. How are you?”

  “Great. You?”

  He nodded. “Fine.”

  Fine? Yeah, and I’m only twenty-one.

  I noticed a sheen of perspiration on his forehead and he was holding his body rather gingerly. I knew he was way far from fine. He was almost a hospital case. I didn’t want to bring attention to it but at the same time I was rather concerned about him. Should I just ignore his obvious discomfort or mention it?

  Maybe I should keep quiet.

  “Do you live close?”

  That should be a safe topic.

  “I own a house in Marlow. I’m taking a break down here.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  Marlow, that didn’t ring a bell.

  “What about you? Just having a break?”

  “Yes, things have been rather hectic at work so it’s nice to unwind.”

  “What sort of work do you do?”

  “I own a bridal boutique, make one-off designer gowns.”

  “That’s different. Been doing it long?”

  “All my working life, although in the beginning I worked for someone else until I got enough experience under my belt. What about you, what type of work do you do?”

  “I’ve actually recently retired, used to have a government job.”

  “Ah, a pencil pusher.”

  He gave me a grin and said, “Something like that.”

  We were sitting close to the edge of the rock shelf and the tide was now coming in. If we stayed where we were much longer, we’d both be soaked. I pointed out the incoming waves.

  “Think we may have to de-camp unless you want to get very wet and swim to shore.”

  John studied the surf. The waves broke very close and the spray was damp on my skin. I thought I heard John give a little groan.

  “You’re right. Time to move.”

  I got to my fe
et and moved a few steps away, and then turned back to John. I didn’t mean to watch, but he was really struggling to get to his feet. I stepped back and held out a hand.

  “Need a lift?”

  He gave an embarrassed grin but did take my offer. Once again, that shock of electricity passed between us as he carefully stood.

  “Thanks, I’m a bit stiff.”

  “Ah. I thought you were limping yesterday.”

  He gave a one-shouldered shrug and dropped my hand.

  I crossed my fingers behind my back and said casually, “Feel like a coffee? Not too far to walk to my place.” He hesitated and I quickly said, “You’re probably wanting to get back to your wife. Sorry.”

  “Actually, I’m here alone. I’m not married, and yes, I’d love a coffee. I was trying to judge the distance to those nice sofas on your patio.”

  Woo hoo! He wasn’t married. I shaded my eyes, squinted toward my villa as if gauging the distance back to my place.

  “Gee, it’s a long walk. Has to be at least twenty meters.”

  He gave me a look that sent shivers down my spine and shook his head.

  “Very funny, woman. I think I can make it.”

  We slowly walked across the sand and onto my patio. John almost fell into a seat with a soft moan. That sheen of sweat on his face had increased tenfold and I realized he hadn’t been joking when he said he was trying to gauge the distance.