A sliding door opened at the cabin next to Amy’s, and he trained his binoculars. The same old fogeys he’d seen earlier, they were doddering about and assisting each other. His parents had detested each other in private. In public they were fawned over as “such a lovely devoted couple.” He felt the bile rise in his stomach at the thought of the parents he hadn’t seen in twenty years. Why the hell would old people come to a place like this?
He couldn’t see the parking lot and wondered if Amy’s yellow jeep was there. He shinnied down the trunk, walked back to the campsite, grabbed a beer from the cooler, and took the tiny path to the fallen log. Staying close to the edge of the main path, he circled around to face the front of the lodge and the parking lot. There was an old beaten-up truck with Queensland license plates, a bright red Range Rover with Victorian license plates, another four wheel drive with handicapped plates, two Bungumby jeeps with the name splashed across both front door panels, and no sign of Amy’s yellow jeep.
If he’d been checked in, he’d have the answers to his questions already. He would have observed the comings and goings. He stopped in his tracks. But now there was Amy to deal with. Hell, he could still check in. He had cash. Only Meg knew him. If he could take her aside and tell her not to let on that she knew him, it might work, especially if he stayed close to his own cabin.
She’d brought her breakfast to the lagoon this morning. Hadi held him at gunpoint, turned the freakin’ Glock on him, when he’d said he was going down to talk to her. She’d splashed her toes in the water, and walked around the lagoon to the tiny path. Probably forgot she’d left the paper bag she’d carried the damn food in. All he’d had was a stale donut and a beer. After she’d left, he’d sniffed the damn bag and drained the last few drops of the coffee, a cappuccino, and he’d scraped the remainder of the foam off the sides of the cup with his finger and sucked at it like a puppy at a teat. It pissed him off that he was being forced to camp out, and he’d rolled the cup into the bag and tossed it up the path after her.
He’d never been angry at Meg before, but this living in the jungle was getting to him. He missed her, really missed her. Fuck Col, and Hadi. He’d pack up camp and take a swim in the lagoon to clean up. He’d hike up the hill to the highway. He’d need a car. He could hitch a ride to the petrol station down the highway and see what they could come up with.
****
Amy lay in the hammock, her hair still damp from swimming, the book open and resting on her chest. She’d pulled on a tank top and a clean pair of shorts and decided to get out of the room while Jake showered. Kirstie had gone back to her cabin, claiming she needed a nap. She’d given Amy a big know-it-all smile, smart kid.
Jake came outside wearing just a pair of shorts. “Move over,” he said, and climbed into the hammock, causing it to dip and sway.
Amy laughed and tried to get her balance. She let the book fall and gripped the sides with both hands. Once he was in, and the hammock had stopped swaying, she let go and tumbled into him.
“Good,” he said. “Now we can take a nap.” He settled down and flung an arm across his eyes
Who the heck wanted a nap
? She rested her head on his chest, blowing air over his nipples.
He shuddered. “Knock it off. I’m tired.”
“So, go inside and lie down on the bed. Nobody invited you into the damn hammock, you know. It was your choice, Turner.” She leaned down and retrieved her book.
“I know, but I wanted to be with you.”
“Well, this isn’t comfortable. I’m going inside.”
“Amy.”
She struggled out of the hammock and stood. “What?”
He reached over, took her hand but kept his eyes closed. “I thought we’d give everyone something to think about. You know, the soon-to-be remarried couple, lying together in the hammock, getting all romantic and stuff.”
He didn’t want her. It was all about a cover, all about his damn job. What had happened down at the lagoon meant nothing. He’d been acting. “Well, I think a post-orgasmic glow would be more titillating,” Amy said dryly.
Jake shot up in the hammock, eyes wide, the hammock swaying wildly from his sudden movement. “What?”
“You heard me.”
“Is that an invitation?” he asked with a smirk.
“Whatever. But now I’m in a bad mood.”
“Hey, if you’re serious, I’m ready. I can do bad mood.”
“You’d probably do anything,” Amy said with a huff. She wrenched her hand out of his and went inside and plopped onto the bed.
The sliding door opened and Jake peered around it. “Is it safe to come in?”
Amy rolled her eyes and stretched out on the bed. “Yes, and close the damn door. You’re letting the hot air in.”
He closed the door and the shutters. “I’d like a chance to rephrase my comment from outside.” He jerked his head toward the hammock and ran a hand over his chin.
“Which one?”
“I meant, I understood and could deal with bad moods.”
“Oh. Well good, because I’m in one.”
“I’m a bit out of practice. But I used to be good at the emotional stuff.” He came over and sat on the end of the bed. “So, what can I do to make it better?”
“Nothing.” She closed her eyes. “Lie down and talk to me. Tell me some stories.”
Jake stretched out beside her. “Scary, or non-scary?”
“Non-scary.”
“Oh. I do the other ones better.”
He sounded so serious Amy had to open her eyes. When she caught his puzzled expression she burst out laughing. The poor guy had been ratting through his files trying to find something nice to talk about, with a woman who was in a snit for no reason.
“What’s funny?”
“You. Men in general, I just don’t get you guys.”
“Oh, and women are really easy to understand,” he said with a chuckle and stroked a finger along her arm. “So tell me all about your psychology practice.”
“Nothing much to tell, I’ve only been in it for a year. I’m struggling to make ends meet, but it should be better in another year. I’m building my clientele, getting the word out.”
“What do you mean struggling?”
“Paying the bills, and building the practice.”
“What about your father. Doesn’t he help?”
Amy turned toward him and propped her head up on one hand. “I’m thirty-five years old, Jake. Why would my father be taking care of me?”
“Yeah, I suppose, it’s just, well…he has the money.”
“It’s his money,” Amy said. “And he can do whatever the hell he wants with it. I want my own money.”
“So, you’re not trying to find Firth because it’s your inheritance?”
“Damn you, Jake.” Amy slung her legs off the bed. She turned her back to him. “Is that what you think?”
“No. I’m just asking.” He touched her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you mad. Come on, stay with me. I just wondered why you were so determined. Why you left Sydney to come up here.”
“You’re not painting a pretty picture of me,” Amy said, but she lay back down.
“So why
are
you doing it?” Jake settled himself behind her, spooning her. “Chasing after Firth, I mean?”
“It’s complicated, old issues from childhood, always having to prove my abilities to the men in the family and failing. Let’s change the subject. What’s with the nightmares?”
He dropped kisses on her shoulder and back. “Oh, sorry, didn’t think I’d woken you.”
“You probably woke the whole damn resort.”
“That loud, huh?”
“Yeah, you’re a tormented soul, aren’t you?” She turned to face him and flicked his jaw with one finger.
“Mmmm.” He hesitated a few seconds. “One of the reasons my wife left me.”
“How long were you married?”
“Three years, divorced for about the same. She was a good woman, but after my partner died—” He shrugged. “Guess I withdrew. I kinda got to like it on the dark and lonely side.”
“Wallowing in self-pity, huh?” Amy gave a short laugh.
“Guess you could say that.”
“So, these nightmares, do you remember them? I mean, are they vivid? Do they come at about the same time of the night? Is it the early hours of the morning? What triggers them?”
“Hey, slow down,” Jake said with a laugh. “You’re sounding like the old fart on the force, the one who quizzed me.”
“Oh, so you saw a therapist?” Amy asked.
“Yeah, twice, I’m all cured.”
Amy laughed and hit him on the arm. “Guys!”
“I don’t like to talk about it.”
“Nobody ever likes digging deep, Jake. But I can help. I’ve done quite a bit of therapy for nightmares and a lot are linked to post traumatic stress disorder.”
Jake pulled himself up higher onto the pillows. “The old…the psychologist said that.”
“Well, if ever you want to talk about anything, I’m here. We’ve got lots of time on our hands and no television, or other means of entertainment.” Tiny frowns flittered across his brow, and he pressed his lips tight, then released them, then frowned again. She knew he wanted to talk about it, but he wasn’t quite ready. She wouldn’t push him. When he was ready he’d find her.
“Yeah, well, I’m not being deliberately insulting or anything, so don’t get all bent out of shape when I say this.” He held her gaze. “I don’t see how my nightmares and you being a sex therapist would have any connection.”
Amy laughed. “You’re right. I wasn’t implying a sexual connotation to your nightmares. You just need to face the fear and work your way through it.”
“What fear?”
“There is almost always a deep seated fear, and it causes the panic attack, or the nightmare, or the phobia. Sorry, I sound like I’m giving a lecture, but they’re all interconnected and usually relate to post-traumatic stress disorder.”
“What’s the most common fear?”
“Probably loss of control, you see it with kids after earthquakes and natural disasters, with the soldier remembering being in the bunker waiting for the enemy, and with the woman attacked and raped.”
Jake nodded.
“Think about Kirstie. She told me every time her parents argued she got this rush of panic. She’d wake up sweating at night. The next day she’d go to school and act out her craziness with the ‘wrong crowd.’ It’s the perfect example of the fear of loss of control. Teens often feel powerless or they lash out at the people hurting them, thinking they’ll regain some sense of control in their lives.”
“You know your stuff.”
“Therapy is therapy. I did have to study all of the different aspects of psychology before deciding on which sub-specialty best suited my nature.”
Jake narrowed his eyes. “I don’t see you as a sex therapist.”
“What do you see me as?”
“I don’t know much about the specialties, but you’re dynamite around kids. I saw how Kirstie took to you. I listened to how you drew her out and saw how she responded. She’s been a troubled girl for over a year now, even got a fake I.D. so she could get the damn tattoos. I think today was the first day she cut loose and played around like kids should play.”
Those were a hell of a lot of words coming from Jake. She squirmed a little. She should tell him the truth about her psychology practice. Tell him she’d been playing around, teasing, but she supposed it wouldn’t really matter because he’d never have to know. It wasn’t like they would see each other again after this trip was over. And he wasn’t going to go back and discuss this with Daddy.
“What?” he asked.
“I was remembering something Daddy had said to me.”
“You should call him.”
Damn
. “I will, eventually, when I have something important to say.”
Jake reached over stroked her arm again. “You look sad,” he said. “I’m sure you’ll fix your relationship with him.”
Amy stiffened. “Who said it was broken?”
“Damn it, Amy, I can’t get a break here. I was just trying to say something nice. Your father had mentioned a rift, but he’d also intimated how important you are to him. How he cares about you and wants to protect you—”
“Control me, is more like it.”
“Look, he worries.”
Amy sat up and glared at him. “Jake, don’t try to tell me about my father. You’ve known him for all of two months. I’ve known him for thirty-five years. He’s a control freak. He uses money as bait.” She calmed herself, aware her voice had risen. “I broke away from his clutches after I split from Firth. I wanted to show him I had worth. I wasn’t some goddamned trophy wife or some pretty little girl who could be bought off with a trinket. Even with the changes I’ve made, he still calls me
Princess.
So go figure.”
“You sure you’re not being too hard on him?”
“Jake!”
He raised his hands. “Okay, I’m done.”
“And by the way, quit calling me kiddo. I’m not his princess and I’m not your kid.”
He pulled her toward him and wrapped his arms around her. “Close your eyes and go to sleep.” He dropped kisses on her forehead, on her eyelids. “Let me hold you. We won’t talk. Talking for us isn’t good.”
She snuggled against Jake’s chest; his crinkly hair tickled her face and she inhaled the muskiness of his skin. Her anger dissipated as he stroked her back in long leisurely sweeps. He felt strong, masculine, and safe. Her eyes flew open. She didn’t need a man to make her feel safe. She was strong, determined, and capable. And she was intelligent and—
“Shhh,” he said and gripped her tighter.
Damn.
He even knew when she was thinking.
Chapter Thirteen
Amy extricated herself from the tangle of arms and legs. But Jake felt so damn good. She closed her eyes for a few minutes and savored the warmth and comfort of pressing tight to his side. He was out cold.
She raised her head and looked at the clock, it was almost six thirty. Sarge had tapped on the door earlier and said Helen was fine and they should all go to dinner around seven p.m. Jake moved in, tangling around her, and pulling her closer. Her body went into overdrive, but she eased his arm off her waist.
“Oh, no, you are not going anywhere,” Jake said, his voice still husky from sleep.
He rolled her onto her back and pinned her arms. He kissed her mouth, ears, neck, and then down over her chest. She laughed and squirmed beneath him, pretending to resist. Her nipples strained against the fabric of her bra and she wanted to be free of her clothing. Her body heated up from within, her skin tingling and itching with the desire to rub against him, all over him.