forget.” Sienna had some sympathy for him. In a way she’d experienced a similar situation, not physically but emotionally, finding herself disastrously out of her depth before she fully realized what had happened. But it wasn’t, she reminded herself, a matter of life and death. Just as Brodie had survived his moment of truth, she’d survived the gaping wound in her heart.
It hadn’t been easy, and it wasn’t her first such mistake, but she was determined it would be her last. She’d never again been quite so vulnerable. Nowadays she was in charge of her emotions, not allowing them to escape her control. Life was much more comfortable that way.
“Something the matter?” Brodie asked, startling her.
Her expression must have betrayed her. She thrust the unwelcome memory back into her subconscious where it belonged. “Nothing,” she said brightly. “I need all the other gear too. Wet suit, flippers, mask, dive computer…”
He helped her choose the rest of her equipment, and when they were both satisfied, she said, “How do you want me to pay for this? Is a credit card okay?”
“Sure, or leave it until we get back. I’ll deliver it all to the boat for you. Are you moving to the Sea-Rogue?”
“I think I’ll stay on at the Imperial until we leave tomorrow.” There wasn’t much privacy on board, and Camille and Rogan might need as much of it as they could get before the boat sailed. Since their Easter wedding, they’d only snatched weekends together while Camille finished the semester and Rogan made preparations for PTS’s project.
“Let me know when you want to park your car at my place,” Brodie offered. “When I’m not here I’ll be at the Sea-Rogue or my place.”
“Where do you live?”
“Five minutes’ walk. If you wait around until closing time—” he glanced at his watch “—which isn’t far off, I’ll show you. Why don’t you have dinner with me there? We could get to know each other a bit before we start the trip.”
Sienna knew it was important to get on with other members of the crew, but stalled, giving herself time to consider. “Can you cook?”
“Sure I can cook. Did you think I was offering so you’d cook dinner for me? You won’t have to lift a finger—and that’s a promise.”
She didn’t actually say yes, but somehow he took it for granted that she’d accepted, and half an hour later he was ushering her through a wicket gate and along a short path to a tiny cottage with a disproportionately large garage toward the rear.
A curve of corrugated iron hooded the veranda at the front of the cottage, giving it a sleepy look. Wide wooden steps creaked as Brodie led the way up them and opened a lead-light-paneled door flanked by long old-fashioned windows.
Inside, the board floors had been varnished to a soft sheen and dressed with rugs. The furniture was minimal but Brodie pointed her to a big, comfortable sofa—chosen, she assumed, to accommodate his large body when he wanted to sprawl on it and watch the small TV set that sat in a corner.
She guessed that someone had removed a wall, replacing it with a wide arch that defined areas of the roomy living space. Besides the sofa, there were two double-seaters, a low coffee table and the TV trolley, while bookshelves lined one wall. The kitchen was separated by a polished wooden counter doubling as a dining table, with two high-backed wicker chairs pushed under it on the sitting-room side.
“Drink?” Brodie offered, opening a cupboard. “Gin, beer, wine—white or red?”
Sienna settled for white wine and he poured two. After handing hers over, he plunked himself down in one of the two-seaters. Lounging back with his long legs spread in front of him, he inquired, “Do you like nasi goreng?”
“It’s a rice dish, isn’t it? I think so. I like rice.”
“Good.” He raised his glass. “To the Maiden’s Prayer and a more successful voyage for us than her last one.”
“I should hope so!” Sienna said, and tasted the wine—cool, fruity and with a pleasant zing to it.
He drank some of his wine and lowered the glass. “How long have you known Camille?”
“A couple of years, since I started at Rusden.” Longer than her husband had known her. “I hope Rogan appreciates her.”
“He does. Rogue’s a lucky man. She’s gorgeous.”
“She is beautiful.” Sienna didn’t have Camille’s spectacular looks, only she had never been short of men to take an interest. But she’d become wary of being too eager and open, of giving too much and receiving too little. She would never fall into that trap again.
“So are you,” Brodie said.
“Please, I don’t need any empty compliments.”
“The compliment,” he said, “was sincere. Clumsy,” he acknowledged with a wry grin, “but sincere.”
Sienna couldn’t help a small laugh at his chagrined expression.
He picked up his glass and said, “I’ll start the rice.”
“Can I help?”
“Nope. I told you, all you have to do is appreciate while I work.”
Not hard, she thought. Any female—and she was one—could hardly fail to appreciate a man as good-looking as Brodie, especially when he was cooking for her, with evident enjoyment and expertise. As a seduction technique it was probably almost fail-safe. Not that he seemed to have any such intention at the moment.
She moved to one of the wicker chairs and they talked about the planned voyage while he chopped and sautéed and added ingredients to the mixture simmering on the stove.
He refilled her glass and she began to feel pleasantly relaxed, resting her elbows on the counter in front of her while a tempting aroma filled the big room, and night began to darken the corners.
Brodie switched on lights in the kitchen, but behind her the room remained shadowed.
He handed her a fork and put two well-filled plates on the counter, then pulled out a stool from under it and sat down opposite her, offering red wine.
“I’ll stick to white,” she said, allowing him to refill her glass again. She’d be walking to the Imperial so wasn’t too bothered about drinking, but would make this the last glass. She didn’t want to go reeling back to the hotel. And besides, experience and the tug of reluctant attraction that Brodie engendered in her was a warning to take care not to let down her accustomed guard over her emotions.
The nasi goreng was fragrant, spicy and delicious, but she couldn’t quite finish the pile he’d heaped on her plate, pushing the remains away regretfully.
“You don’t like my cooking?” he growled.
“It’s wonderful, but just a bit too much for me.” She looked up and realized he’d been teasing.
“You didn’t do too badly,” he conceded.
He put crackers and a couple of cheeses on the counter, which she nibbled while he made coffee.
“Shall we sit over there?” he suggested when he’d poured it, indicating the darkened sitting room. “There’s a light switch by the door if you want to turn it on.”
Wondering if he’d noticed her slight hesitation, Sienna flicked the switch, then settled on one end of the big sofa.
Brodie took the other end. “We could watch some TV if you like,” he offered.
“I don’t mind, if you want to.”
“Not specially. Most of it’s pretty depressing.”
Brodie probably didn’t allow himself to be depressed often. He seemed like the kind of person who tackled life head-on and if something bothered him he’d do something about it,