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Desperate. Destitute. But no longer alone.
She’s stayed hidden for six years. What harm could it do to attend her best friend’s wedding miles away from home? But the handsome actuary is the last person she expected to find on the dance floor.
He knows who she is and the encounter causes an unwelcome reality check. She must protect her son. Emma made a promise, to hide and stay hidden.
From him.
But the old chemistry is still there. Just his smile is enough to plunge her back into confusion. So, she does the thing that worked last time. She runs.
The journey home to her dismal house in the poorest sector of the city is fraught with danger. Even the taxi driver is too afraid to venture onto the housing estate. Emma is now trapped in a prison of her own making, fearful of a knock on the front door.
She knows it’s coming. She knows he’s coming.
This time, she has nowhere left to run. And the one who helped her last time is no longer taking her calls.
Readers say, “This was impossible to put down.”
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The Actuary
The Calculated Risk Mystery Series
K T Bowes
Published by Hakarimata Press
Copyright 2015
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I promise not to send Rohan Andreyev after you...maybe.
Yes please, I’d love my free starter library
Acknowledgment
It’s gratifying when someone likes my work enough to want to be part of it. Although I have invented the character of Allaine, I have used her real name with her permission and I’m grateful for her ceaseless encouragement.
I also want to acknowledge Dave Carson, UK, who helped me with some particularly difficult chapters relating to the main character, Rohan Andreyev. His help was based on his own painful experience and I’m grateful for his openness and honesty with me. I sincerely hope I’ve managed to do justice to his daily struggle.
Contents
Would you like to be part of it?
Acknowledgment
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
The Actuary’s Wife
Please can you help me?
About the Author
Other books by this author:
Last Chance
Disclaimer
Chapter 1
“Congratulations, Susan!” The dark-haired woman leaned in and kissed her friend on the cheek. Her porcelain skin flushed with the heat of the room. “You look so happy; I’m pleased for you.”
“Oh, Emma! It’s been a long time coming. I feel lucky.”
Emma wrapped her arms around her friend, trying not to get lipstick on the delicate fabric of her ivory wedding dress. Over her shoulder, she saw Susan’s new husband, Frederik. Handsome and sophisticated, his salt and pepper hair suited his rugged appearance. “He’s pretty fit,” Emma whispered in her friend’s ear, laughing at Susan’s squeal of delight.
“My sister says he is,” she sniggered, covering her mouth with her palm. “She described him to me before she introduced us.”
A rush of warmth heated Emma’s leg, and she glanced down, smiling at Susan’s white retriever. He grinned back, his tongue lolling sideways as he slumped onto his backside and yanked the harness from his blind mistress’ hand. “Oh, Jay!” Susan complained. “I know you’ve had enough, but this is my wedding day!”
“He did a good job of escorting you down the aisle.” Emma stroked the soft, downy hair of Jay’s crown. She smoothed her thumb along the bridge of his nose and the dog closed his eyes with a heavy sigh. “You’re such a flirt!” she chastised him, ruffling his feathery ears and shaking her head. Dark curls cascaded over her shoulders and bounced with the movement.
“It’s been a beautiful day.” Susan sighed. The strobe lights caught her red hair, giving her an ethereal glow. “You’ll stay longer, won’t you?” She couldn’t see the uncomfortable expression which crossed Emma’s features as she battled with issues Susan couldn’t comprehend. The borrowed green silk dress bit into Emma’s waist and the rental car outside needed returning to the hire company by midnight. The thought of the three-hour drive south in the dark daunted her.
“Just a little while,” Emma promised. “But then I must get Nicky home. We had an early start this morning.”
“Well, say goodbye before you leave, won’t you?” Susan’s face pleaded with her as Emma nodded and squeezed her hand. “I wanted to talk about your work in the school archives. We’ve been using this amazing system with ours. I thought it might help.”
“I’d love to, but I have to go soon.” Emma winced as the band started up after its intermission, deafening everyone nearby. The guide dog whined and glanced towards the open door and the prospect of an escape. “Would you like me to walk you to Frederik?” Emma yelled over the din and Susan nodded.
“Yes, please. I think if I ask Jay to take me, I’ll end up at the car.”
Emma laughed. “Oh gosh, yeah. Remember the time you told him to take you to the vet’s, and he walked you around for hours and then took you home?”
“Pardon?” Susan shrieked back and Emma shook her head, leading her friend by the hand towards her new husband. He chatted to a group of men who’d just arrived.
The place teemed with bodies and Emma sighed as she recognised one of them. Her six-year-old son stood at the side of the buffet table, paper plate towering with food. His blond wavy hair spilled over a face covered in chocolate. He grinned, displaying brown teeth covered in goo, and waved, his bright blue eyes sparkling with mischief. His plate tipped and a sausage roll bounced to the floor. Not realising it fell from his plate, he looked up at the ceiling to see where it came from and then back at his mother. She held her free hand up in the air, fingers splayed and mouthed, “Five more minutes.”
The child nodded with enthusiasm and began cramming delicacies into his mouth, making use of the time left to get his fill. Emma cringed, hoping nobody else noticed their poverty on show. She weaved through the bodies, navigating Susan and Jay towards the landmark of Frederik’s head, which rose high above everyone else’s. As Jay noticed Emma leading him back into the throng, his feet ceased their happy padding across the dance floor. He stopped dead.
Susan yanked on Emma’s arm in warning, but Jay made a valiant rush for the open door and hauled the two women after him. He cut through the dancing crowd like a heat-seeking missile, making his bid for freedom with the women as ballast. Susan had no choice with her wrist caught in the strap of his leash and her fingers clamped around the handle of the harness. Emma displayed extreme loyalty, clinging to her friend’s other hand for dear life and clomping along in the borrowed heels.
From the corner of her eye, Emma saw Susan halt as Frederik’s capable hand seized the harness and terminated Jay’s unauthorised kidnapping of his bride. Unable to stop, Emma sped past the knot of man, woman and dog, teetering on the top step of the open doorway as Susan released her hand. The concrete stairs rose to meet her. A strangled scream escaped her lips, and she raised her arms to protect her face.
The incoming male took the full brunt of her hasty exit. Emma bounced off his hard chest and ricocheted backwards, only saved by his strong fingers grabbing her upper arms. Lights burst in her vision as headlights flashed on in the darkened car park and a freezing wind whipped around the flimsy dress. Emma paused on the top step, panting with adrenaline and exertion. She focussed on the smart black jacket and white shirt to buy herself time. A red tie snaked up and over his shoulder where the wind had blown it.
“Thank you,” she gulped. A glance at the front of her dress revealed her escaping cleavage as the buttons slid free under duress.
“Are you all right, Emma?” Susan’s voice rose nearby and Emma nodded as she fumbled with the fiddly pearl buttons. “What happened to Emma?” Susan repeated. Emma fastened the top button, groaning as the next one down popped open again.
“I’m fine, thanks. Just catching my breath.” Her chest heaved but as the blood stopped pounding in her head, she realised her saviour still held onto her arms.
Susan complained behind her, admonishing Jay for his inappropriate behaviour.
“You made it!” Frederik’s hand appeared in Emma’s peripheral vision and the newcomer released one of her arms to shake it. “Awesome!” Frederik gushed. “I’ll find my wife a seat and then we’ll talk.”
“Oh, bloody hell!” Emma huffed as another button sidled free of its hole. A familiar snort of laughter stilled her fingers. Her head whipped up, her brain already rationalising the case of mistaken identity.
“Here, let me, vozlyublennaya.” The man pressed the button back through its hole, the backs of his fingers sending darts of pleasure shooting from the soft rise of her breasts to the flame igniting behind her navel.
Emma gulped and pushed his hand away. “I’m fine!” she bit. “Thanks for your help.” Her cheeks flamed with embarrassment. She took a step sideways and found her path blocked by the stride he took to match hers. “I’m leaving.” The words caught in her throat. She’d imagined this same moment a million times over the last six and a half years. The clever words she’d conjured retreated and left her with nothing to say.
“Emma.” The half-hearted rebuke held sadness, and his hand still gripped her arm. Her heart bounced in her chest.
The tall Russian looked as striking as she remembered. A strand of his disobedient blond fringe flipped across his left eye. His long lashes bumped against it in lazy arcs. Vibrant blue eyes stared at her, bright like azure diamonds with the eyebrows raised in question. “Hi, Em,” he said, the timbre of his voice touching the deeper, buried parts of her soul.
“I think you’re mistaking me for someone else.” Emma straightened her shoulders and glanced towards the dance floor for help. To her irritation, the Russian threw his head back and laughed.
“No, there is only one of you.” He smiled, but the expression didn’t reach his eyes.
“I need to go.” Panic entered Emma’s voice. She peered past him to see Frederik, and a disgraced Jay settle Susan in a chair at the side of the dance floor. He didn’t look her way, engrossed in his task of soothing his dishevelled bride. Jay hurled himself under the table and closed his eyes.
Emma took another step sideways, and the Russian blocked her. “If you want to dance, we need to be over there.” He pointed at the polished wooden floor where the wedding guests gyrated in groups in front of the DJ. Emma followed his gaze, but he used the distraction to slip his arm around her waist. “Just like old times,” he whispered. The blankness of his expression jarred with the words.
“I don’t want to dance, Rohan.” He ignored her protest and steered her towards a space on the floor. Emma groaned as the music changed to a slow dance and his lips curved upwards in a smile which displayed even teeth. He settled his palms on either side of her waist and steered her hips in gentle arcs. Emma resisted until she caught sight of her son pushing a muffin between his lips. He shoved it in whole and found himself unable to chew. Emma peeled her gaze away from his antics, desperate not to draw attention to their connection. She’d promised to stay hidden so this wouldn’t happen. Anton would kill her.
Afraid of putting her child at risk, Emma forced herself to relax. Deceit would be the only way out of her predicament. She slipped her arms around Rohan’s waist, cut by the flash of hope which flitted across his azure irises. His left hand snaked to the centre of her back, the right resting over her hip. “So, how has life treated you?” He raised his voice against the music, his mouth close to her ear. Emma closed her eyes against the rising flood of emotions fighting for dominance in her disloyal heart.
“Good,” she lied. “Lovely to see you again, Rohan, but I need to help Susan.”
“Stay a moment.” He fingered a lock of her chestnut hair, watching in fascination as it wound around his finger before plummeting down her back. He selected another one and repeated the exercise as though the years hadn’t passed and left scars on them both. Emma whipped her head away and scanned the room, trying to locate her son without making it obvious. She didn’t need to search far. He slumped on a chair next to the deserted buffet table with a half-eaten mountain on his plate. His eyes bulged in his pale complexion. Emma ground her teeth in frustration at the thought of a three-hour drive with a vomiting child.
“I’ll check on Susan and come back.” She withdrew her hands from around Rohan’s waist and half-turned, her body already punishing her for breaking contact.
“Okay.” His resignation made Emma’s breath catch in her chest. He gave her a reluctant smile, revealing the dent from a scar above his lip and another beneath his right eye. Emma’s gaze betrayed her, straying from his sparkling blue irises to his full lips and back again. His smirk blossomed like a lightning strike. Catching her up before she could resist, he placed his hand behind her neck and tugged her towards him. The tender kiss paralysed her from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. His dangerous tongue blazed a trail around hers, their combined heat both familiar and deadly. Emma pressed her palms against his chest, feeling the rippling muscles beneath his shirt. Time stood still, conning their hearts and minds into believing it would have somehow worked.
But it wouldn’t have. With an act of will based on a heartfelt promise, Emma broke the connection. Her sharp inhale contained regret as she touched her index finger to lips swollen by the familiar kiss.
“Em!” He shouted her name as she fled the dance floor.
“Quick, we’re leaving!” She snatched her son’s slender wrist and headed towards the toilets. A red fire exit sign shone from the end of the corridor.
“You can’t use that door!” someone called from behind her. The sound of an alarm covered the female voice as Emma pushed on the horizontal rail and the door flew open. A narrow staircase led to the car park and Emma took the steps two at a time. Her son trotted after her, grabbing his churning stomach.
“Mum!” he complained. “Don’t bounce me. I’m gonna puke!”
“Get in the car.” Emma pulled a key fob from her bra and depressed the button. The headlights flashed as the doors unlocked. She hauled open the passenger door and pushed the child inside with a shove. His wide blue eyes studied her as she ran around the front of the vehicle and flung herself into the driver’s seat. “I’ve got a bag,” Emma puffed. “You can be sick into that.” She whipped off her borrowed stilettoes and hurled them behind her. “You’ll feel okay once we get going. I’ll put on the air conditioner.”
“But my booster is in the back!” His voice rose in a whine and Emma’s frayed patience snapped.
“I’ll stop and sort everything out as soon as we get away from here,” she promised. “Please, Nicky, just do as I ask.”
“Fine, then!” he complained. “But if a police officer tells you off, it’s coming out of your pocket money, not mine! I enjoyed talking to Harley Man before you ruined it!”
Emma revved the engine and released the handbrake. Panic made her forget to put the car into gear. “Nicky!” she exclaimed, desperation in her voice. “Harley Man isn’t real! He’s just a character from a book. He can’t talk to you.”
“But he does, Mum.” Nicky forgot about his sickness to protest the injustice. “My friends have seen ‘im. He stops and talks to me and he came here tonight!”
“Okay, Nick, okay.” Emma fumbled with the switch for the central locking in the darkness. She banished talk of her son’s imaginary friend to the back of her mind as she dealt with their escape. The wheels of the rented saloon spun in the gravel. Emma remembered the headlights as she sped towards the front doors of the hotel, flicking them on and blinding the attendant.
Her heart sank as the handsome Russian emerged from the doors at a run, his suit jacket hanging open and his tie flapping in the breeze.
“That’s your friend what you kissed.” Nicky dug his seat belt into the latch. “Harley Man saw him kissin’ ya. He said, ‘Uh oh, that’s not gonna end well.’ What does that mean, Mum? What won’t end well?” He lifted his slender hand and waved through the side window as Emma floored the gas and careened the vehicle past the steps. Rohan reached the bottom as they sped by, hurling himself backwards and away from the wheels. Emma showed no sign of stopping. She saw his mask of agony in the rear-view mirror and knew she’d never forget the disappointment she saw there. Anton would kill her for this.
Emma’s throat tightened as she navigated the minor roads until meeting the motorway, a sick sensation rising in her stomach. Her hands shook on the steering wheel and she gripped it until her knuckles shone white against the reflection of streetlamps on the windscreen. She glanced sideways at her small son and wished it could have been different. Her shoulders slumped. An alternate path would not have included Nicky and she couldn’t imagine life without his sunny optimism.
An hour later, Nicky squealed and dipped forward in his seat. He craned his neck to look in the side mirror. “There he is!”
Emma swerved and swore. “Don’t do that!”
“But he’s behind us, Mummy, look.”
“Nicky, who?” Panic created a knot in her throat.
“Harley Man! It’s Harley Man!”
Emma peered in the rear-view mirror at the motorcyclist. He kept a steady pace, his visor obscuring his facial features. Another vehicle remained between them. She held her breath and monitored his movements, but he didn’t venture closer. Emma relaxed. The car behind her slowed, and the motorcyclist indicated and switched to the outer lane. He passed her, showing no interest. Emma cursed herself for buying into Nicky’s overactive imagination as the bike sped ahead.
Nicky flopped back in his seat and disappointment couched his tone. “You scared ‘im off! It’s rude to stare!” He slapped his thighs with his palms. “I don’t know when I’ll see ‘im again now.”
Emma sighed as her son sulked next to her. Her mind strayed to thoughts of the Russian and she battled with the sensuous image of his strong fingers caressing her most sensitive places. Stifling an involuntary sob, she pressed the back of her hand against her forehead.
Nicky sat up, his contrition instant. “Sorry, Mummy. I’m sorry. It’s not your fault. Harley Man will come again, he always does.”
“Yeah, he certainly seems to.” Emma kept the sarcasm from her voice as she fought the inner tide of misery. She focussed on the motorway, grateful for the tiny hand that reached over and rested on her thigh.
At the first service station, they stopped and used the bathrooms. “I can go in the big boy ones,” Nicky insisted, veering off towards the men’s toilets.
“Er, I don’t think so, buddy!” Emma grabbed the back of his shirt and pushed him through the door adorned with a female silhouette. Nicky turned to face the cubicle wall while she used the facilities, disgusted with his demotion to child status.
“It’s oomiliatin’,” he complained.
“It’s life!” Emma retorted. “Did you really think I would let you go into a gent’s toilet in the back end of nowhere in a service station, with every nomad weirdo passing through?”
“I can take care of myself,” Nicky said, his voice filled with touching sincerity. “When Big Jason jumped me last week, I kicked him in the jewels.” He turned around as Emma flushed the toilet, his blue eyes alight with victory.
Emma righted her dress and looked down at her son. “Big Jason is a forty-year-old midget!” she said. “I could defend myself against him.”
“He’s not a midget!” Nicky’s tone held indignation. “He’s a dwarf with delicate bones. Midget is a rude word to him.”
Emma bought Nicky a bottle of mineral water to help the nausea from his overindulgence. She topped up the car with petrol and prayed it would still look full when she dropped it off at the rental depot. They stood in the queue to pay and Nicky let out a whelp of excitement. “It’s Harley Man!”
Emma cringed and pressed her hand against the top of his head. “Shush,” she hissed.
The motorcyclist drew a wallet from his tight leather pants. The assistant pointed to his head. “We’re not meant to serve you unless you remove your helmet.” He leaned forward to deliver his ultimatum. “We get robbed by people covering their faces for the cameras.”
The motorcyclist shrugged. He held up a credit card in his gloved hand. The assistant took it and ran it through the machine while grumbling. The payment completed and the cash register spat out a receipt.
“Hi, Harley Man. Remember me?” Nicky threw his shoulders back and Emma winced.
The motorcyclist waved, and she glanced away, embarrassed by her son’s exhibitionism. The protective leather gear appeared sprayed onto the man’s toned body and Emma dropped her gaze to his bottom.
“See ya later, Harley Man.” Nicky waved and gave him a beautiful smile involving his entire face.
Emma cringed, ignoring the tug on her skirt. “Harley Man ruffled my hair,” Nicky whispered, his eyes alight with pleasure. “Told ya.”
Emma nodded, her mortification complete. Her son’s fixation with Harley Man bordered on needing a psychologist, not that his underfunded, forgotten primary school had access to such professionals. She sighed and pushed away thoughts of her dwindling bank account. Her part-time wage just about covered the rent, her last trip to the benefits office ending in failure. Unless she was prepared to set the Child Support Agency on Nicky’s father, any added financial support would run out before the end of the week.
Emma fixed Nicky’s rented booster seat into the front of the vehicle, settled him in and left as he nodded off to sleep. With a sigh, she headed south to Lincoln, and the government owned house on the notorious Greyfriars Estate.
She dropped the car at the rental company’s depot and pushed the key through the letterbox. It seemed an age before the taxi arrived to drive her home. Nicky slept on the back seat as they moved through the silent city, the cathedral towering above them like a judgement. The trouble started when the driver double checked her address. “I’m not driving on that estate,” he scoffed.
Emma argued with him. “It’s literally down there! I can see the house from here!”
“Well, you bloody walk there then.” He halted the vehicle and released the central locking. “That’s forty quid.”
Emma leaned forward in her seat. “So, you won’t drive onto the estate, but you’re happy for me to walk in the dark with a sleeping child?”
The man shrugged. “You choose to live there. Pay up, or I’m calling the cops.”
Emma leaned forward and threw the cash onto the passenger seat. She hitched the sleeping Nicky over her shoulder before exiting the vehicle. He balanced there, his slender body dangling like a rag doll’s. Emma hoisted him higher and kicked off her shoes, bending her knees and collecting the stilettos from the pavement. Turning the pointed heels outwards, she kept one in each hand to defend herself. Nicky’s limp body tugged her to one side. “I didn’t choose to live here,” she hissed through the open passenger window. “Nobody wants to live on this estate. God forbid you ever hit hard times.”
“Oh, sod off!” he replied. He pulled away from the curb, activating his central locking at the same time as closing the electric window.
It took Emma five minutes to walk through the darkened no-go area. The smashed streetlamps offered no reprieve. She walked barefoot, listening out for sounds of danger. Many pairs of eyes watched, but she arrived home unharmed with sore feet from the frozen ground and a blister on her heel.
Chapter 2
“Mum!”
“I’m upstairs, love.”
The house shook as Nicky clomped up the stairs in his trainers. Emma saw no point telling him to remove his shoes indoors. The bare wooden floors played hell with the soles of his threadbare socks. “Mum!” He yelled from the top of the stairs and she poked her head around her bedroom door. “Oh, there you are.” He strode towards her, his spine stiff with importance. “I took your dress back to Marie’s house, but she’s not there. Kane said his dad gave her a slap last night. She went to the hospital.”
“Really?” Emma’s eyes widened, and she pressed her fingers over her lips. “I told her he’d do it again.”
Nicky preened at the enthusiastic response to his news flash, misunderstanding its gravity. “And I saw Big Jason McArthur outside their house smokin’ weed. He said he’s gonna come round and give you one.” Nicky licked his lips and frowned. “Is he gonna give you a slap or a weed stick?”
“Neither. We take nothing from Big Jason, remember?”
Nicky followed her from one side of the room to the other, tripping over the sleeping bag serving as Emma’s bed. “Mum, if he tries to give you something you don’t want, I can give ‘im a slap.”
Emma squatted next to her son. Concern flashed in his blue eyes. “No babe. He’s a smack addict and a patched gang member. You’re a beautiful six-year-old boy with an enormous heart, and it won’t end well for either of us.”
“Well, I’ve been thinking about it and I reckon me an’ Mo can pop the tyres on his Harley instead.”
“Seriously Nicky, I need you to stay out of trouble. And anyway, it’s not a Harley, he just says it is.”
“Okay then.” He glanced at his feet, but his lips curved upwards in a secret smile.
Emma’s brow furrowed. “Don’t do it, Nicky. I’ll get cross!”
“Oh.” His shoulders slumped in disappointment. “Mum?” He fixed his gaze on her face. “I saw that man last night kissin’ you for a real long time. And you liked it. Why did he kiss you?”
Emma gulped. “He gave me a new year’s kiss.”
Nicky rolled his eyes. “Well, that’s dumb! It’s only November!”
“He’s Russian.” Emma bit her bottom lip and stalled, transferring clean washing from the washing basket into the open suitcase on the floor. “Everything is upside down in Russia.”
“What even Christmas?” Nicky spat the sentence with indignation. “That’s terrible!”
“Yep.” Emma avoided his perceptive gaze and dropped the lid of her suitcase. “Please, can you wheel your suitcase in here for me? Then I’ll put your clean clothes into it.”
Nicky skipped to his room and rolled his wheeled wardrobe through the door. He hadn’t zipped it up, and a sock trailed against the bare boards. He halted in front of Emma. “I miss Nana Lucya’s house,” he whispered. “With proper beds and wardrobes and stuff. When can we go back there?”
“Nana Lucya died, remember?” Emma’s heart constricted in her chest and she rested her hands on Nicky’s slumped shoulders. He pressed his cheek against her stomach and wound his free arm around her waist.
“But I miss her, Mummy,” he sniffed. “And I miss having furniture.”
“Me too,” Emma whispered. “Me too.”
Nicky balanced his chin on Emma’s waistband. “Mum? Nana was a Russian too.” His blond brows furrowed. “But she had Christmas and new year at the right time. Maybe you should tell the man he’s got it wrong.”
“Yeah.” Emma faked her smile, realising her mistake too late when pitched against her intelligent son. Each year it became harder to deflect his questions. “But I don’t have enough phone credit.”
Nicky sighed and collected his pile of clothes from the basket. “That’s a shame,” he mused. He fitted his school uniform into the suitcase and dragged the zipper closed, pausing with his fingers touching the handle. “Do you think we’ll ever have a washing machine again? It hurts your hands cleaning our clothes in the sink.”
“One day.” Emma forced a brightness into her tone and hid her cracked fingers behind her back. It wasn’t a great time to mention that things were about to get harder. Nicky spun his suitcase on the floorboards and left the room, pulling it behind him. Emma winced as the left wheel released a pitiful squeak.
She breathed out slowly and bent to suppress the sick feeling in her stomach. Thoughts of Lucya’s house took her to Anton and then to Rohan. She pulled her mobile phone from her jeans pocket and stared at the screen. She’d heard nothing from Anton for weeks. Her fingers moved across the keys as she typed a message. ‘Are you okay? I’m getting worried.’ She sent her concern into the ether, not even knowing if it reached him.
A sudden flash of realisation bit into her consciousness and she paled. Her fingers shook as she typed another message, this time to Susan. ‘Please don’t give my number or address to Rohan Andreyev. It’s important.’
Her thumb pushed the button to send her plea, and the phone vibrated. “Insufficient credit?” She let her head fall back and closed her eyes against the stained ceiling. “Fantastic,” she breathed. Her palms pressed against her thighs and she fought for calm. “Susan won’t betray me.” She comforted herself with the unquestioning loyalty of her friend. They’d limped through university together, one with a toddler and the other coming to terms with progressive blindness in her late forties. Emma trusted her. “She won’t give it to him,” she concluded with a nod of satisfaction.
“I hope you don’t either!” Nicky appeared in her bedroom doorway, cocking his head to one side.
“You hope I don’t what?” Emma switched her mind back to the present.
“Give Big Jason IT!” His eyes widened as he spotted a pair of shorts which had slipped onto Emma’s sleeping bag. “Ah, there they are. I need those for sports on Monday.”
“I won’t be giving Big Jason anything!” Emma promised, shivering at the thought.
“Marie did!” Nicky swung his shorts around his head. “That’s why Kane’s dad gave ‘er a slap and put ‘er in the hospital.”
Emma shook her head and exhaled. She stared around her at the near derelict house and wondered how much longer she could pretend she was coping.
Chapter 3
The insistent knocking rattled the front door in its frame. Emma hid just inside the kitchen and waited for the visitor to leave.
“What ya waitin’ for, Mum?” Nicky peered over the banister. “Is it the repo man?”
Emma lowered her voice and rolled her eyes. “There’s nothing left to take! Hide in the cupboard in case it’s trouble.”
Nicky kissed her elbow as he ran along the hallway, shutting himself in the cupboard under the stairs. Emma watched as he closed the door. The knocking grew louder, and she feared for the cracked window in the centre of the door. “I’m coming!” she growled, hoping to create an impression of someone fiercer.
The watery mid-afternoon sun glinted off the broken glass in the street, contrasting with the expensive black Mercedes Benz parked in her driveway. Emma creaked the door open and saw the vehicle first, surrounded by a crowd of her neighbours. They collected beside it, touching the paintwork like zombies around a corpse.
“Nice welcome.” The visitor stood on the lowest step, his shoulder leaned against the pillar holding up the wooden porch. His arms ended at the wrists, his hands dug into his pockets.
Emma paled and stared at Rohan. “What the hell are you doing here?” Her voice squeaked. She shot a nervous glance at the crowd behind him and cringed. “Are you trying to get me killed?” she hissed.
“I’ll karate chop ‘im!” Nicky burst from the cupboard under the stairs, waving his arms and kicking his legs in an uncoordinated goose step.
“Bloody hell, it’s Harry Potter!” Rohan blinked and a smirk spread across his lips.
Nicky stopped when he saw Rohan. He cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. “Oh. It’s that man with the upside-down Christmas.”
“Pardon me?” Rohan’s brow knitted.
“Don’t fart in front of my mum.” Nicky pushed his way between Emma and the door frame, spreading his arms out wide to protect her.
“Sorry, what?” Rohan straightened and removed his hands from his pockets. Half the rotten door frame tumbled onto the frayed doormat and the rest stuck to the back of Rohan’s jacket.
“I think he’s a bit simple, Mum. Look, he broke the door frame. Will I get Fat Brian to beat ‘im up?”
“No! Nobody needs to beat anyone up today, thank you.”
“But he thinks Christmas is upside down and that I’m a magic boy. He isn’t normal. I’ll get Fat Brian.”
Nicky took a step towards the door and Emma grabbed hold of the back of his sweater. He made exaggerated choking sounds. “Pack it in!” Emma warned him. “But yes, get Fat Brian, please. Tell him I’ve got a problem.”
“Seriously?” Rohan straightened to his full height, another piece of crumbling wood falling from his shoulder and landing on the floor. Emma counted four woodlice running for their lives. She knew how they felt. A tell-tale vein pulsed beneath Rohan’s jaw. “I turn up to talk to you and you want someone called Fat Brian to beat me up?” He looked a mixture of dismayed and irritated. He shook his head. “Not gonna happen.”
Emma ground her teeth. “Don’t be ridiculous! How much cash do you have?”
Rohan’s jaw dropped. “What?”
“Just answer me.” Emma watched the crowd of onlookers edge closer to the shiny black car. He followed her gaze and opened his mouth to speak as a skinny male tattooed from forehead to waistband, tried the locked passenger door.
“About fifty quid,” he replied, sounding stunned. “Why?”
Nicky appeared at the end of the driveway, flanked by a pensioner with gang tattoos on his bare chest and swear words on his cheeks. Rohan hid a smirk at the unfortunate spelling mistake on his forehead. Fork off wound through the wrinkles in a beautiful font, but at the violence in the man’s eyes, Rohan wiped all expression from his face to leave a regimental, nondescript mask.
“You all right, girl?” Fat Brian couldn’t fit on the front step at the same time as Rohan. He shoved past him, ridges of hairy flesh smelling of lager and cigarettes. His flaccid chin and bulging stomach hung just inches from Emma’s delicate frame. He waved his arm at Rohan. “I can get rid of this loser for you. Just say the word.”
Rohan raised his eyebrow and took a step nearer to Brian. His lips split in a smirk as Brian scurried sideways like a ballerina. “You thought that ten minutes ago,” Rohan growled. “Yet, here we are.”
“Thanks for coming, Brian.” Emma’s lips curved into a forced smile. “My visitor’s car is becoming something of an attraction. I wondered if you’d take care of it for me. He won’t stay long.”
Fat Brian smiled, displaying two pink rows of gums. “Hell yeah!” He held his hand out towards Rohan with enthusiasm and waggled his fingers.
“Brian will take your car to his house until you want to leave.” Emma pursed her lips and waited for Rohan to take the hint.
With a roll of his eyes, he drew a fifty pound note from a wallet in his trouser pocket. He handed it over and Brian stretched out his other hand.
“That’s all you’re getting.” A dangerous glint sparkled behind Rohan’s irises. A stormy hue back-lit them.
“Give Brian your keys.” Emma lowered her voice but smirked at the horror on Rohan’s face.
He drew out the key fob and seemed to choke as he placed it on Brian’s sweaty pink palm. “I’m assuming you’ve got a full driving licence?”
Brian gave a gummy smile. “I don’t believe in corrupt political certification.” He jangled the keys and set off towards the crowd of forty people, waving away the hands which stroked the shiny metallic finish.
Rohan turned to watch Brian start his car, rev it a few times and screech off down the street. He opened his mouth and then closed it again, as though subduing his misgivings. He shook his head at Emma and remained on the step, one eyebrow quirked in question.
“You might as well come in.” She sighed. “Turn around first, though. You’re wearing half my dry rot on your jacket.”
“I liked that car!” Rohan gave an exaggerated exhale and Emma laughed.
“You’ll get it back when you leave. I’ll send Nicky round to Brian’s and he’ll bring it here. That’s what the fifty quid paid for. Safe keeping. Nobody will touch it on Fat Brian’s driveway. But they will on mine.”
“Fat Brian likes my mum,” Nicky added. He stood on one leg and pressed the heel of his left foot over the instep of his right. “When ‘is missus beats him up, he sleeps on our lounge floor. Lots of people with nowhere to go do that, sleep at our house. My mum’s real kind.” Nicky smiled at Emma and she hung her head. Her heart gave a flip flop of pleasure at her son’s approval. He observed the blond man with open curiosity, and his next question sent Emma’s brain scrambling. “Where do you come from?” he demanded. “You sound like my nana.”
“Nicky!” Emma’s voice wavered as she interrupted him, pointing a shaking finger towards the stairs. “Please play in your room for a few minutes while I talk to our visitor?”
The child scoffed like an old man. “Play with what, Mum, my sleeping bag?”
“Try doing your homework!” She glared at him and he wrinkled his nose.
“It’s too easy. I did it in class.”
Emma ground her teeth, and he took the hint, climbing the rickety stairs with his hands stuffed deep in his pockets. He stopped at the top to continue his complaint from a distance. “I know you just wanna talk about me.” His gaze slid to Rohan and Emma winced. “Oh, and Big Jason asked me to give you a message.”
“Thanks!” Emma stopped his repetition of something vile and waved him aside. “I don’t want it.”
Rohan blinked as he drank in the conversation’s gist and Emma withered inside, sensing his judgement. He heaved in a sigh. “You’re raising your child in a freakin’ war zone, Em! The Helmand Province looks like a suburb in Chelsea compared to this.”
Emma shrank from the reference to his time in the army. “You get used to it.” She turned away and walked towards the kitchen, muttering under her breath, “Or you kill yourself.”
Rohan followed her but kept any further opinions to himself. She placed water into a saucepan and lit the gas hob. While she waited for it to boil, she put instant coffee into two mugs. “I don’t get many visitors,” she admitted. She waved the wonky spoon in his direction, not admitting she often got uninvited and unwanted visitors. The spoon’s handle twisted into a double bend, the result of one of Nicky and Mo’s spoon bending competitions. She dropped it into the sink with a clang.
Emma pushed the kitchen window open and lifted a carton of milk from the windowsill. She sniffed it before adding the white liquid to the mugs. A mark on the tiles beneath a microwave nook showed where a fridge had stood before she sold it to pay Fat Brian’s protection fee. She added boiled water from the kettle and handed Rohan the mug with fewer chips in the rim. He took it, his blue eyes never leaving her face. “How did you find me?” She leaned her backside against the battered work surface. Rohan looked around for somewhere to sit, before giving up and leaning against the door frame.
“Do you own nothing?” His soft tone aimed at disarming her. He ignored her question.
Emma shrugged. “Things come and go. Sometimes other people need things more. I owned a dining table for a while, but Marie up the road borrowed it for a family party. The party turned nasty, and the table became collateral damage.”
Rohan closed his mouth with a snap before running his free hand across his chin. Emma heard the scratching of his blond stubble against his palm. It sent a curious shiver through her.
“I asked how you found me.” An edge sped up her sentence and Rohan exhaled.
“Frederik got your address from Susan.”
Emma jerked upright and coffee slopped over her wrist. “That’s a lie. She’d never betray me!” Her brown irises flashed with fury.
Rohan’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. “She doesn’t know. He did me a favour.” As though to qualify their deception, he added, “He served as my sergeant at Camp Bastion.”
“Yeah, I guess you would all stick together!” Emma plonked her coffee on the counter, looking at the handle in surprise as it came away in her hand.
“Em, talk to me. What the hell happened? I got back from Afghanistan and you’d gone.”
Emma hardened her face and her heart. She pointed at the doorway. “Well, thanks for stopping by. Fat Brian lives at number forty-three. It’s a three-minute walk on foot and he’ll have put the word out on the estate. You should be fine.” Emma squared her shoulders and her jaw showed through her cheek.
“Don’t do this.” Rohan placed his mug on the counter. He folded his arms. “We’re not still kids, Emma.” He jumped as a sharp tapping sounded against the kitchen window.
“What’s going on in there?” a muffled voice called. Rohan bridled at the tattooed face peering through the window.
“What the hell?” he murmured. He didn’t finish the sentiment.
“Go away, Big Jason!” Emma closed her eyes against the sight of the man’s wobbling head. His arms flew out wide as he tried to balance. “I’ve told you to stop standing on my flowerpots to look in the window!”
“Just looking out for ya, darlin’.” The tattooed lips disappeared backwards with a cry of pain.
“He keeps doing that. I bet he’s squashed my broccoli.”
Rohan stared at the ceiling. “It’s a circus for weirdoes,” he breathed.
Emma cringed at the incongruity of the situation. “It kinda is, hey? There’s Fat Brian and Big Jason. And I’m the Bearded Lady!” She snorted and Rohan frowned.
“You have a beard?” His Russian accent made it more of a statement.
Emma swallowed. “Well, this is awkward.” She waved her hand. “No.”
Rohan glanced at the window as though he’d spotted a sniper. “Just come in here!” He seized her arm and led her into the hallway, walking ahead of her to check the cracked window in the centre of the front door. Then he crushed Emma against his chest without warning. It caught her off guard, and she didn’t resist. His familiar scent filled her nose and mouth, banishing her common sense and sending her spiraling back in time. She gasped as he tilted her chin with his index finger and kissed her. A flame lit behind her navel and his lips trembled over hers. It felt right, her head filling with the sensation of coming home. Then a voice rose in her memory, determined and sincere.
‘Stay away from him, Emma. Promise me?’
“No!” She pushed at his chest, clattering against the wall behind her and hearing the clink of plaster crumbling into the cavity between the layers of brick.
“Emma, is that boy my son?”
“Rohan, leave things the way they are, please?” Emma’s inner panic sent her scrambling around him.
“No, I can’t. Why did you run away from me? My mother said things.” His sentence petered out, taking his mother’s assumptions with it.
“Don’t talk to me about her!” She halted, jabbing her finger into his chest. “Never mention her name! It’s taken me years to forget her.” Emma’s breath caught, and she lifted her hands to cover her eyes. Her chest heaved. The inner pain carved her insides with the accuracy of a blade, and she writhed against the memories. Rohan’s arms wrapped around her, promising a comfort she couldn’t accept. “Please go,” she whispered. “I need you to leave.”
He lifted Emma’s chin and a mask of confusion covered his face. “I need to understand, Em. Please, just give me that?”
“No.” Emma inhaled and wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her ratty fleece. “I’m not revisiting the past for your benefit. You can’t upset Nicky.”
“I’m already upset.” Nicky’s voice echoed in the empty hallway. He peeked around the top spindle of the banister, his face ashen. Emma exhaled as she heard a clunk against the wood.
“Lay the baseball bat down, Nicky!” She ran her sleeve across her eyes and nose before facing him. “Everything is fine. Go to your room, please.”
“No, I can’t because you’re cryin’. And everything isn’t fine. We’ve no food and there’s no money in the electric metre. It will run out in the dark again and I hate that.”
“I’ll take care of it. Put the bat away and I’ll see if there’s anything nice in the cupboard for tea.”
“There isn’t.” Nicky rose and dragged the bat across the bare floorboards. “I’ll put it back, but if that man’s being mean to ya when I get downstairs, I’m gonna chop ‘im.”
Rohan watched the space Nicky vacated and then dropped his gaze to Emma’s face. She saw the reflection of her empty house in his irises and bit her lip. “You can’t stay here.” He shook his head. “I won’t let you.”
“I have a job here and responsibilities. We’re fine and you have no authority over me.”
Rohan stuck out his chin and straightened, casting a shadow over Emma. “We both know that’s not true. You’re not fine and you seem to have forgotten signing a contract giving me authority over you. I won’t leave you here.” He folded his arms and splayed his legs in challenge.
She snorted. “Stay here then. See if I care.”
“Thanks for the invitation.” Rohan set his jaw, his blue eyes flashing the colour of grit.
Emma shrugged, tired of the battle and tired of her life. A nagging voice in her mind welcomed someone else getting up every couple of hours to investigate each strange noise in case of intruders. She lifted her chin in defiance. “Then you should visit a cash machine. Because if you don’t give Fat Brian another fifty tomorrow, he’ll sell your car piece by piece.”
Chapter 4
“I’m gutted about my car.” Rohan sighed in the darkness. Emma rolled her eyes and smiled.
“It’s okay for tonight. But Sunday isn’t a great day to leave town. Everyone gets drunk after tea. Brian will forget who you are if you turn up wanting your car. Last weekend his wife clouted him round the head with a frying pan and he was senseless until Tuesday.”
“I’m astounded you noticed!”
“You sound so snooty. I don’t remember you being like this.” Emma turned on her side.
Rohan shuffled on the sleeping mat, grunting in annoyance as the shared fleece and coat slipped off his body and left him uncovered in the freezing cold room.
“You’re such a baby!” Emma complained. She opened out her sleeping bag and shunted her mat against his. She caused a draught by flipping the bag into a wide rectangle and draping it across them both. Rohan lifted his head off the foam mat and scooted over, groaning as he buried his face in Emma’s pillow.
“It smells of you,” he whispered.
“In what way?” Emma’s voice betrayed her nervousness. She feared her living conditions made her and Nicky smell bad and that nobody had the courage to tell her.
Rohan inhaled. “Shampoo and perfume. I’ve missed you so much.”
Emma smiled in the darkness and pursed her lips. She couldn’t thank him for the compliment, for fear of where it might take them. “Just get some sleep,” she whispered. “Sometimes the neighbours get drunk and fight. You won’t get any peace if that happens. The cops and the council won’t come out here at night so we’re on our own.” Emma turned on her side facing away from him, stunned when Rohan moved across behind her. He fitted his long body against hers, laying his left arm along her side to enclose her. His fingers fluttered against her waist. She inhaled slowly and tried to stop the intense craving in her stomach from blossoming into full blown lust. She couldn’t be with this man, ever.
“I didn’t know it was possible to be so creative with such a tiny amount of food.” Emma heard the smile in his voice. “It was like the feeding of the five thousand. Jesus couldn’t have done better with a few slices of bread and a tin of tuna.” She ignored his observation, and the silence vibrated between them. “Night,” he breathed against the back of her neck.
Rohan lifted onto his elbow and leaned over her, planting a single, tender kiss against her temple. Emma bit her lip and held her breath. She remembered every inch of his body, ingrained into her mind during happier times. A memory of their shared passion in the Gretna Green motel sent a flush to her cheeks and made her squirm beneath the sleeping bag. She writhed away from his embrace. Still dressed, Rohan slipped his hand beneath her pyjama shirt. Emma inhaled as his fingers settled over her bare stomach. She waited for him to explore further, but he didn’t. Rohan sighed in satisfaction. He lowered his shoulder to the sleeping mat and buried his nose in her curls.
Emma bit back tears. The ridged silver stretch marks from her pregnancy accused her from beneath his touch. Anton had said he must never know the truth. The knot of worry about Anton surfaced again. Why hadn’t he called or visited?
Emma woke with the night at its darkest, her body tense and alert. She stopped and listened, taking her bearings and preparing herself to defend her son. She groped for the cricket bat, panicking when she didn’t find it behind her pillow. Bare windows faced the silent street, black orifices displaying scudding clouds and a half moon. Emma listened for shouts or breaking glass but heard nothing. Yet, something had woken her. A sense of wrongness crackled in the surrounding air.
She remembered Rohan’s presence as he produced a choking sound from the back of his throat. He’d rolled away from her in his sleep and lay sprawled across his mat. He kicked out and caught her calf, causing pain to blossom through the muscle. Emma shuffled sideways and turned to face him.
“He’s dead,” he hissed. The words bubbled from his lips. “They’re all dead.”
“Who?” Panic lit a fire beneath her and she shoved at Rohan’s shoulder. “Who’s dead, Rohan, who?”
He muttered a name she didn’t know, and she relaxed. “Not Nicky?”
Rohan’s fingers clamped around her wrist. “It’s too late!” His wide, staring eyes showed no recognition. His irises glittered like azure gems in the moonlight, and his nails dug into her skin.
She hissed in pain. “Let go of me!” Her voice rose. “You’re dreaming. Rohan. It’s a dream.”
He lashed out with his right leg and caught Emma’s shin. She yelped and bent her legs behind her. Pain ricocheted as far as her knee and bloomed into her thigh. Rohan’s other hand slid over her hair and he gasped. “Where’s your helmet?” Panic edged his voice. “Don’t move, there’s shrapnel everywhere.” He gave a pitiful whimper. “My leg. I can’t feel my legs.”
“Ssshh, Rohan. It’s okay.” Emma worked her arm free from his grip. She kneeled next to him and faltered, unsure what to do next. “Your legs are fine.” She ran her hand from his thigh to his knee. “It was just a dream, see?”
Rohan’s forehead glistened with sweat in the moonlight, and Emma gnawed on her lower lip. She reached out and pressed her cold palm against his head. “Ro! Wake up!” She stroked his face, running her fingers from his temple to the roughness of his jaw. He inhaled as though lacking oxygen, his breath hot and ragged. “What happened to you?” Emma whispered. She leaned over him and cupped his cheeks in her cool hands. Her heart ached, reminding her of how much she’d once loved him. He’d represented her entire world until the day he’d walked out on her, choosing her last behind a war that didn’t need him.
She kissed his forehead and then his nose, sensing him still and his breathing ease. When her lips touched his, she realised her mistake.
Rohan jumped from hell to heaven with breathtaking speed. His nightmare contained no kisses and his chest gave a violent jerk as he swam free of sleep. His muscular arms crossed behind Emma and hauled her against him. She cursed her body as it responded to his frenzied kiss. A new road to destruction yawned beneath her.
Rohan’s lips caressed hers and they struggled for breath between them. His fingers hauled at the buttons of her nightshirt. Emma’s brain played a dangerous game with her sanity. Yes. No. Yes. No. No.
“Stop!” She broke the kiss with a gasp. His heated body acted as a furnace, thawing the ice in her heart. Emma vibrated with the thud of Rohan’s heart through his chest wall.
“Did I hurt you?” His whisper contained sorrow and confusion, still groggy from sleep. His belt buckle dug into her stomach.
“No.” Emma swallowed. “You had a nightmare. I couldn’t wake you.”
He released the fabric of her nightshirt and rolled onto his back. His chest rose and fell with the rhythm of his erratic breathing. “Sorry,” he murmured.
Emma tried to sort out the sleeping mats and failed. When she lay down, the cold floorboards dug into her hip. “Who died?” She used her clasped hands as a pillow and rested her cheek against her knuckles.
Rohan groaned. “Not now, Em. I can’t talk about it now.” He swallowed, the sound loud in the darkness. He grunted and used his stomach muscles to rise, loosening his shirt and slipping it over his head. The scent of sweat and damp fabric hung in the air.
Emma frowned at the metallic clank accompanying his movement. She reached out a hand to his silhouette and touched the dog tags nestled between his pectoral muscles. Rohan stilled as she caressed the familiar surface, reciting its contents in her head. Her fingers explored the chain, the tiny links fiddly and delicate. It was unbreakable until snapped by the hand of another soldier as he collected his fallen brother’s identity.
Emma sighed and let it drop, jarred by the metallic clank of protest. “You’re still serving.” Her tone sounded flat.
“No.”
“When did you leave?” Her brow furrowed in the darkness.
“Six years ago.”
Emma leaned up on her elbow and stared at him. Her hip wedged in the gap between the mats and the discomfort fuelled her anger. Would knowing that fact have made a difference? “Does Anton know?” She asked through gritted teeth. “Does he?”
Rohan exhaled. “We’ll talk tomorrow.” He shifted against the mat and the sleeping bag pulled taut between them.
Emma made a trip to the bathroom and checked the time on her phone. She drank from the tap over the sink, not wanting to put lights on downstairs and waste electricity. She returned to the bedroom to find Rohan rearranging the sleeping mats and straightening their meagre coverings. “You’re not staying here,” he growled. The moonlight danced across his white hair, playing with the highlights and creating a glow around his head.
“You’re not the boss of me.” Emma slumped onto her mat and pushed her feet beneath the sleeping bag. “Don’t think you can turn up after six and a half years and tell me what to do!”
“Too late.” His teeth flashed in the darkness and Emma ground her jaw.
“I just have to call Fat Brian,” she growled. “He’ll get rid of you.”
Rohan forced a low snort of laughter. “He already tried as I entered the estate. One of his mates is nursing a headache and I think I broke the other one’s arm.”
“Whatever!” Emma pouted. After a moment’s silence, she commented, “I hope you’re joking. You gave him your car.”
“You gave him my car.” Rohan lay down and released a tired breath. The sleeping bag rustled as he turned to face her. “He won’t do anything to it. Wouldn’t dare.”
Emma’s lips twisted into a smirk. Nobody on the estate crossed Fat Brian. He was the Godfather of Greyfriars. “They probably did some joy riding and then pushed it into the river.” The thought brought her no comfort. “You’ll need to leave the estate to call a taxi,” she added. “The driver won’t pick you up here.”
Rohan’s hair moved against the mat. “Fat Brian won’t touch my car.” He sounded so certain, she left him to his delusions.
She drifted off to sleep in the silence, a veil of sadness draping itself over her head.
Emma woke at six in the morning to the sound of the dawn chorus. She loved how the birds sang with the same enthusiasm on the Greyfriars housing estate as they would at Buckingham Palace. Rohan’s arm weighed down her left side, pinning her to the floor. As he stirred and yawned, his fingers brushed across her bare waist. Emma gasped and her stomach tensed.
He groaned. “I haven’t slept on the floor since my army days.” He rolled onto his back and shifted around, cracking his spine. “It sucks. I don’t know how you do this every day.”
Emma sat up and shrugged. She rolled her neck and exhaled. “I don’t have a choice.” She pursed her lips and stilled, realising she’d given him another excuse for dismantling her independence. The frigid air nipped at her toes as she edged from beneath the sleeping bag and opened her suitcase.
Rohan bent his arms and rested his head on his wrists. He watched her through narrowed eyes. “When did you move here?” He tried to remove the heat from the loaded question.
Emma swallowed and dug in her suitcase for clean underwear and a blouse suitable for work. “Almost two years ago.” She glanced back at him and her hair framed her face, a tangle of black curls tumbling over her shoulders.
“Why here?”
