Four Weddings. Fiona Lowe
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was that image of a waterfall when she needed it? Terror roared in her ears. She tried to breathe in and out slowly, focusing on the breath.
The firmness of Tom’s back against her chest was soothing as his warmth trickled through her. Her breaths came more easily.
Like spring sunshine after a long winter, his heat gently warmed her, calming her, bringing a languid peace. She relaxed against him, the contours of her breasts and belly moulding to the muscles and sinew of his back.
The bike steadied.
You can let go now, the scary bit’s over. The cotton of his shirt softly caressed her cheek.
The bike took a curve, leaning into the bend. I need to lean into the curves to avoid motion sickness.
You need to keep a safe distance.
She hummed a song to herself, blocking out the argument in her head. This was transportation. Nothing else.
Bend after bend, curve upon curve, she swayed with Tom and the bike, keeping her eyes closed, drinking in the sensation of heat, wind and motion. Holding reality at bay.
The bike slowed to a crawl.
Disappointment rammed through her and reality jolted back into place. She dropped her arms from Tom’s waist, resting them on her knees.
He brought the bike to a halt, kicked out the stand and hopped off. ‘Sorry about the rough patch, but I wanted you to see this.’
Pulling off her helmet, she followed the sweep of his arm. She gasped. ‘I had no idea. I had my eyes closed most of the time.’
Tom laughed. ‘I thought you might have, but the view’s worth a few bumps, isn’t it?’
She stood up and turned slowly. Everywhere she looked towering mountains dominated, a stunning mixture of red earth, green trees and grey scree. Way below them a river wound its way through the mountains and in the distance a tiny village perched precariously on a ridge, with crops clinging to a steep face. ‘It’s amazing. It’s like being on the top of the world.’
He nodded, a smile of understanding rippling across his face. ‘Beyond those mountains is China.’
‘Really? Vietnam shares so many borders. It’s mind-boggling for a girl from a big island.’ Walking slowly, she approached the cliff edge. ‘It always stuns me to think that water can carve out such a mighty gorge.’ She stepped forward wanting a closer look, to peer way down at the river below.
As her foot touched the ground, an agonising cramp gripped her left leg. Shafts of pain radiated into every muscle and tendon. She gasped, throwing her arms out to steady herself as her leg collapsed under her.
‘Careful.’ Tom’s hands grabbed her, pulling her to his side as he eased her down to the ground. ‘I don’t want to lose you over the edge.’
Her heart pounded, adrenaline meshing with fear. ‘Thanks. That could have been nasty.’
A questioning look mixed with concern radiated from his eyes. ‘Let’s look at that leg. It seems to bother you quite a bit.’
‘It’s fine, really.’ She tried to pull her leg up toward her chest, away from him. A spasm spiralled from hip to toe, clenching every muscle. She bit her lip against the blinding pain.
‘It’s not OK at all.’ He pushed the sole of her shoe up, flexing the foot against the cramp.
Red-hot pain shot through her, slowly easing as the counter-pressure wove its magic. Her shoulders slumped as the pain receded. ‘That’s better, thank you.’
She expected him to release her foot but instead his hand brushed the cotton of her trousers up to her knee. He laid his fingers against her skin, gently kneading her calf, slowly unbunching the knots of tangled muscles.
Rockets of delicious sensation streaked through her. A pulse point fluttered in her neck, fire burned in her belly. His hands on her skin sent waves of longing lapping against her reinforced defences.
You know not to trust a man. Keep a safe distance.
Panic surged. ‘You really don’t have to do that, I’m fine now.’ She tried to pull the leg of her trousers back down over her lower leg.
He raised his dark brows as his hands stilled on her leg. ‘My fingers are telling me otherwise, Bec. I notice you limp and obviously the extra strain of being on your feet for days has taken its toll.’ His finger traced a long red scar down her leg. ‘What happened to you?’
The locked memory creaked open. She forced it closed. ‘I broke my leg.’ She tugged the cotton against his hands. Please, don’t go there.
‘It must have been a nasty break to leave you with some shortening and a limp.’ His expression was neutral but his eyes burned with determination to find out more.
Buried memories bubbled inside her, their pain always snagging her at unexpected moments, dragging her down to the sordid mess that had been her childhood.
She didn’t want to go back there.
She stared into his eyes. Genuine caring reflected back to her, coupled with resolve. He wouldn’t let it go, he’d keep at her until she told him. If she refused to open up to him now she’d only be putting off the inevitable.
She drew her legs up to her chest, hugging her arms tightly around her knees, wrapping herself in a protective layer to withstand the inevitable resurgence of pain. ‘My father pushed me down a flight of stairs, fracturing every bone in my leg.’
TOM’S BREATH SHUDDERED out of his lungs as an image of Bec, sprawled on the ground in pain, thundered through him.
Of all the scenarios he’d run through his head, that had not been one of them. The aura of fragility he’d occasionally glimpsed swirled around her, then vanished with a stiffening of her shoulders.
It was as if she was rising through her pain. Her courage awed him.
She lightened her grim expression with a wry smile. ‘Bet you weren’t expecting that explanation.’
He should have anticipated this ironic reaction from her—facing the facts head on, deflecting any sympathy. He had a sudden urge to hold her close, wanting to hug her, but every ounce of her petite frame screamed, Do not touch.
So he stuck with the facts. ‘You’re right, I was thinking more along the lines of a car accident or being thrown off a horse. How old were you?’
She took in a deep breath. ‘Sixteen and sassy. Sixteen, naïve and stupid.’
He hated the way she implied that part of what had happened had been her fault. ‘All of us are naïve at sixteen, Bec.’
She shook her head. ‘I should have known better. Anger had been part of my life for as long as I could remember. My father’s rages were legendary. My mother protected me, taking the brunt of his fists to keep me safe, but eventually he wore her down and wore her out. She committed suicide when I was thirteen.’ Her flat voice delivered the words, devoid of any emotion. Only her white knuckles betrayed her pain.
The image of his father’s weather-beaten face, creased with a laconic grin, flooded Tom’s mind. He’d only ever known love from his adoptive father. The only father he could remember.
White rage burned inside him, hot yet impotent, uselessly directed at a faceless man who had caused so much pain. ‘So you lost your mother and your buffer?’
She nodded. ‘But I quickly worked out that if I studied hard at school, agreed with most of what he said and retreated into the background of his life, I could get away with being screamed at rather than hit.’
Deep inside