steering wheel.
She glanced at her watch, wondering why Justin was working so late and gasped. ‘It’s ten o’clock! I didn’t ring Leighton.’ It was too late to call now; the boys would probably be in bed.
‘He’ll be fine. Call in the morning.’
Being managed irritated her as much as the fact that Clint was once again giving her parenting advice. She reached for her mobile. ‘What if he needs me?’
He slid his hand over hers to prevent her from flipping her phone open. ‘Then he would have called you. Seriously, Romy. Let him enjoy a night away.’
Away from me? She measured her words before uttering them. ‘You think I overprotect him.’
‘I think you’ve done an amazing job with him…’
But…
‘…but he’s growing up and he’s going to start needing some space from Mum now and again.’
Romy knew he was right, but she didn’t like having it pointed out by a virtual stranger. No, her inner voice condemned. She may have only met him a week ago but Clint McLeish was less of a stranger than the small handful of people she’d known her whole life. He just seemed to…get her.
‘Are you speaking from personal experience? Did you value your space even as a kid?’ she asked.
He looked at her, surprised. ‘I guess I did, yes. I was eight before my brother came along, so I learned early to entertain myself.’
A younger brother. No wonder he knew how little boys could be. He’d watched one growing up.
‘What happened to your parents?’ Romy knew he owned WildSprings outright. Had they died?
‘They split after twenty-five years together.’ He coughed. ‘Mum met someone else. She moved to the US around about the same time I enlisted.’
Wow. ‘What happened to your brother?’
‘He was only ten. He went with her to America.’
She watched the tension play out across his features and tried to imagine how that would have divided a son’s loyalties, even a nearly grown one. ‘That must have been hard.’
He shrugged. ‘It made me a prime catch for the Taipans. The most effective operators have little or no family ties. Nothing to come home to. Nothing to hold them back on missions.’
Nothing to live for?
‘With his whole family gone Dad didn’t really have a good reason to stay. He sold up half the land to a neighbour and joined his brothers in Tasmania on the proceeds. He signed the remaining property over to me. To give me somewhere to come home to.’
‘To an empty house?’ Romy didn’t have to like him to empathise with that.
Clint’s smile was grim. ‘I only came here because it was empty. I was no fit company back then.’
She risked poking the stick a bit further in, her curiosity piqued. ‘Why not?’
Like an angry sea anemone, he shut down before her eyes. ‘Don’t interrogate me, Romy.’
Whoops, too far.
She sighed. ‘You should really get out with people more often, McLeish. Your social skills could do with some polishing.’
She turned to stare out into the darkness. The silence was hardly golden. The fork in the track separating her house from Clint’s came up in the headlights. He slowed the ute to turn.
‘What are you doing?’ Her head snapped around.
‘I’m following your advice. Getting out with people more often. I’m taking you to my place.’
The lurch of anticipation in her chest was warning enough. She could not be alone with him in his house. Not while she was so emotionally raw from the evening’s events. She needed fortification before she tackled this. ‘No, you’re not!’
He read the panic in her voice. Glanced at her. ‘You’ve never seen my house. You’d like it.’
‘I’d like it in the daytime just as much.’
‘I’m talking about a short visit, Romy. Grabbing something to eat. As your growling stomach keeps reminding me, I kept you out through dinner.’
Embarrassed, she pressed an hand to her belly. But being so close to him all evening had triggered a different kind of appetite altogether. And she absolutely, categorically, could not hunger for this man.
‘I have food at my house. Take me home, please.’ The tightness in her whole body seeped out through her words.
He slowed the car to the side of the track and dropped it back to a quiet idle. He turned in the seat and pinned her with his eyes, a deep frown cutting over them. ‘Romy, I’m talking about a simple meal between colleagues. Nothing loaded.’
She stared at him boldly. ‘Simple? I bet you’ve never shared a meal at home with a colleague in your life.’
His gaze fell away briefly. ‘All the more reason to break the cycle. We’ll just eat together. I don’t know…talk.’ He gestured helplessly. ‘I can work on my people skills.’
The reluctance in his expression helped her to relax. It seemed entirely genuine. Could two people want to spend time together less? Her lips quirked slightly. ‘You’ll make something normal to eat?’
He laid his large hand over the left side of his chest in a pledge. ‘No extreme cooking.’
Her breath caught at the intensity in his eyes, despite his light manner. Colleagues. Someone needed to remind her body of that, the way it was straining to lean closer to him. ‘Okay. Sorry to have overreacted.’
He looked at her seriously. ‘You weren’t wrong about my people skills—I am out of practice. I should have asked. Again.’
‘You should have, yes.’
His burning gaze threatened to flame right over her. ‘Romy Carvell, would you like to have a meal with me? See my house? No strings attached?’
Amazingly, the answer, now he was actually asking instead of telling, was yes. She nodded.
‘Thank you.’ He cranked the ute into gear and bumped off along the track.
In less than two minutes, they were there. Her breath caught high in her chest at the first sight of his infamous tree house. It was aptly named.
Built around majestic tree trunks, the timber-and-glass house seemed to grow out of the forest surrounding it. Light glowed invitingly inside and he parked the ute right beneath its sprawling supports. Moments later she climbed the timber staircase leading into the house.
‘This is amazing. You built it?’ Since when did military training encompass this level of construction skill?
‘It’s part kit home and part architect modified. I got assistance in as I needed it, but otherwise I constructed it myself.’
‘It took two years?’ He’d said something about living in her cottage for that long.
‘I wanted to get it right.’
She looked around at the open-plan sensation as he swung the entry door inwards. The two enormous tree trunks seemed to push through the floor and extend way up to a high-pitched roof. The entire front wall was glass, framed by more timber. It looked out onto the same view as Leighton’s window but from the other end of the gully.
She was almost speechless. ‘You did get it right. This is beautiful.’
The place oozed sanctuary. The mix of natural materials, space and light was healing all in itself. She turned to look at him. ‘You should be really proud of this.’
The