Talking Sense (3 page)

Why, he wasn’t sure. It wasn’t as if his life had been filled with examples of failed relationships. Niall and Kathleen had been married thirty-four years now. One of his sisters had been married seven years, the other five. Both were happy.

But whenever he thought about settling down, fear crept over him of what would happen if, after six months, or a year, or five years, his partner decided he wasn’t worth the commitment. The thought of becoming so emotionally involved with someone, and then losing her, filled him with horror. Deep down, he knew the fear of rejection was something to do with the loss of his real parents, even though realistically he was aware they hadn’t abandoned him on purpose. But as illogical as it was, the fear was there, and because of that he remained single.

Not that he was too bothered about it at the moment. Life in Dublin—and now New Zealand—was busy, and he didn’t really have time for anything more serious. Teaching was exhausting, especially with the extracurricular activities and sports teams he helped to run, plus he volunteered at the museum at the weekends. One day, he thought he might meet someone whom he’d love enough—and who’d return his affection enough—to convince him to settle down, but marriage, mortgages and kids seemed a long way off, something he planned to do in the future, like learning about astronomy or visiting Machu Picchu.

So he hadn’t expected trouble when he came to New Zealand. He’d taken the job at the Wellington school to experience education in another country and to pay the bills, and he’d looked forward to making a few new friends, maybe dallying with a girl or two along the way if they weren’t out for anything serious.

And then, that first Monday morning after Waitangi Day when he’d sat in the corner of the staff room waiting to be introduced with the rest of the new teachers, Mia had walked in.

Uh-oh
, had been his first thought. Immediately, he’d known she had the potential to cause him trouble.

Not that she’d taken much notice of him. As usual, he’d done his party trick of tipping over the chair as he’d stood when his name was called, following it up with a particularly talented spill of coffee down his shirt when he shook hands with the principal, and the first time he’d been introduced to Mia, he’d knocked her armful of folders to the floor and spent most of their conversation apologising for his clumsiness.

She had remembered his name, which surprised him, and she’d sat and chatted to him at their first history department meeting, but he suspected it was more out of politeness than anything. Certainly he hadn’t detected any feelings of attraction from her, and in a way he was relieved by that, because he knew he’d be in trouble if Mia felt for him even a fraction of the desire he felt for her. So he’d kept out of her way, content to admire her from afar, knowing it was best that he didn’t get involved.

Then again, he hadn’t been a monk. When his mate David had introduced him to Juliet—pretty, spirited and too busy with her job in Parliament House to want anything serious—he’d been happy to indulge in a brief, lighthearted affair. But Juliet had recently moved to Christchurch to help out with the rebuilding of the city after the earthquake earlier in the year. After she left, he’d been determined not to get involved with anyone else as he only had a few months left in the country.

But now he’d given the gorgeous Mia a birthday kiss and asked her out for the evening. For Christ’s sake, what was wrong with him?

He’d been unable to resist trying to comfort her. Back in September, he’d heard about the car crash, and the fact that a child had died in the accident. He’d offered his sympathy when she first came in with the neck brace, but she’d kept herself to herself and hadn’t come into the staff room much, and to be honest he’d been too busy with work and finding his father out of hours to think much about how she was feeling. Had he known how bad she was…

What? What would he have done?
Nothing’s changed
, he told himself. He couldn’t get involved in anything serious.

Still, he couldn’t fight the glow that spread through him from her obvious pleasure at his suggestion for the evening.

“So it’s a…” He went to say
date
and caught himself.

She raised her eyebrows, eyes dancing. “Yes?”

“Appointment.”

She laughed. “Yes. It’s an appointment.”

“Shall I pick you up?”

She agreed, fastening her watch back on her wrist, and told him her address.

“I’m meeting David at six—I’ll pick you up at ten to,” he said.

“Sure.” She smiled. “Now I really must go and get ready for the next lesson.”

“Of course.” He stood and walked around the table, offering an arm for her to hold onto as she got up. She looked at it for a moment, then accepted it, grimacing as she got to her feet.

“Grace is right,” he said. “You don’t win awards for being in pain, you know. It’s not helping anyone.”

“It makes me feel better,” she said quietly. Then she bit her lip as if she hadn’t meant to say that. She put her bag and laptop on the table and paused for a moment. “I suppose you think that’s stupid.”

“I think it’s perfectly understandable.” He fixed her with a firm stare over the top of his glasses. “Doesn’t mean it’s right, though.”

She blinked, meeting his eyes, and the memory of her lips pressed to his—cool and soft—sprang into his mind. The way her eyelids had fluttered shut briefly as she allowed herself a few seconds of pleasure.

“Nobody deserves to be in pain, Mia,” he said softly.

She looked out through the window, her gaze miles away, reaching across the city to the harbour and the Cook Strait beyond. Her dark hair feathered across her pale cheek, and he itched to tuck it behind her ear for her. “But I killed a boy, Colm. How can I carry on living knowing every day his family has to cope with the fact that he’s never going to grow up?” She bit her lip again as if she was trying to stop the words leaking out—as if voicing them was a weakness. He got the feeling she hadn’t expressed this concern to anyone else.

“I don’t know,” he said honestly, touched she’d confided in him. “I suppose you get up, breathe, get through the day, go to bed again. And you keep doing that, because although time doesn’t make things go away, it does make things more bearable. But being in pain isn’t going to solve anything. Punishing yourself won’t bring him back, Mia.”

Her eyes filled with tears.

“Oh crap.” He cursed himself, wondering if he’d inherited his innate ability to put his foot in it from his biological father. “I didn’t mean to make you cry on your birthday.”

“Actually, it’s kind of a relief to talk about it.” Her voice was husky, and she glanced around as if afraid of being overheard. But the only other person in the staff room, the woman who kept the kitchen in order, was busy tidying up the coffee cups, and the rest of the room was deserted.

“You can always talk to me,” he said.

Mia turned her big, shiny green eyes back to his and gave him a crooked smile. “Thank you. You’re a good friend.”

“Yeah,” he said, wishing he didn’t feel like a heel, because he should have been thinking kind, friendly thoughts and instead all could think about was kissing her again until he brought a happy smile back to her face. “You have lots of friends, though. Haven’t you spoken to Grace about it?”

She shook her head. “I don’t want to worry her. She’s got the baby to think about, and also Ash—her husband—is being stalked by a crazy woman. She says she’s not worried about it, but I know she is. I don’t want to give her anything else to worry about.”

“What about your parents, brothers and sisters?”

She shrugged. “They’d talk to me if I asked them. But everyone’s caught up in their own lives.” She frowned, puzzled. “I’m not quite sure why I’m talking to you, actually.”

“I have the kind of face that makes people confide in me.”

“That must be it.” She tried to smile again, but her eyes glistened, and she wrapped her arms tightly around herself in a protective gesture.

“Oh honey…” He gave in to his instinct to comfort and drew her into his arms. She stiffened for a moment, and then she rested her cheek on his shoulder and softened against him. He sighed, holding her gently, afraid of hurting her, and stroked her back as he murmured soothing words.

Her hair smelled of lavender and orange blossom. He enjoyed the smell as he held her, wishing he could tilt her face up to his and kiss her, and take away some of those lines of pain around her eyes. He gave her a squeeze. “You all right, little Clio?”

She stiffened in his arms. Slowly, she drew back and looked up at him. Her eyes were wide with shock. “What did you call me?”

He blinked. “Clio. She’s the Greek muse of history. There’s an illustration of her in the
Year Ten Guide to Ancient Greece
that looks just like you.” Alarm filtered through him at the strange look on her face. “Sorry, did I say something wrong?”

“No. No.” She scratched her nose. “Kind of. No.” She looked completely dumbfounded. “Did I know that? I didn’t know that. Did I?”

“Are you all right? Do you want to sit down?”

“Have you called me that before?”

He was sure he hadn’t—he’d only seen the illustration a few days ago. “Um, I don’t think so. Is there a problem?”

She cleared her throat. “No, it’s okay.” She drew back and rubbed her nose. “Thank you for the hug.”

“Anytime. Nobody should be unhappy on their birthday.”

She tucked her hair behind her ear and picked up her laptop. “Until tonight, then?”

“Yeah. See you just before six.”

She opened her mouth as if to say something else, and once again a light flush stained her cheeks. What was she thinking? Was she going to tell him? But she gave a little shake of her head and turned away.

He watched her walk off, trying not to stare at her tight butt. He could still feel her pressed against him, like a bed where the owner had arisen and left an imprint behind in the crumpled duvet. The scent of her lingered in his nostrils, and the taste of chocolate frosting in his mouth reminded him of how soft her lips had been, pressed against his.

So much for remaining distant. And now he had to go concentrate, first on the Russian Revolution for an hour, and then on the ancient Egyptians and the process of mummification. He sighed as he walked off. If anything was guaranteed to bring him back to earth, that would probably do it.

Chapter Four

Mia didn’t tell Grace about the Clio thing. Later in the day Grace caught up with her and asked what happened with Colm when she left, and Mia told her he’d asked her out for the evening. But she didn’t mention that he’d called her a name she’d dreamed about the night before.

Why, she wasn’t sure. Mainly because Grace would call it “a sign” and make more of it than it was, and use it as an excuse to try to get her to date, and she didn’t want the hassle. But she also kept it to herself because something inside her had come to life when he murmured the name in her ear. Something quiet and private that she didn’t want to share with anyone else. She’d connected with him in an invisible, chemical way that had sent a tingle down her spine— unrelated to pain for once. It didn’t mean anything. But the sheer coincidence of it made the hairs rise on the back of her neck.

Of course, it could have been something to do with the fact that he’d kissed her as well. And given her a hug. If she was honest with herself, she knew he found her attractive. It was obvious in the way he looked at her, and all the classic signs of attraction were there—touching her “accidentally”, brushing her arm or her hand as they spoke, leaning toward her when he smiled, and she was pretty sure she’d caught him looking down her blouse when she bent forward one day. Although that could probably be said of any heterosexual male.

Bearing in mind what Grace had said on the field as they watched him play rugby, she’d studied him after he kissed her, her fingers touching her lips absently as she’d watched the way a dimple appeared in his cheek when he laughed, and how kind his eyes were. When he’d hugged her, she’d breathed in his lemony aftershave and the hairs had risen all over her body as he brushed her back with gentle fingers. Her cheek had rested against firm muscle, and she’d been unable to stop thinking about how her heart had pounded when he’d pressed her lips to hers. He was so quiet and unassuming she’d overlooked how gorgeous he was.

But that was where it ended. Even if he was attracted to her, she wasn’t going to get involved. He wasn’t her usual type at all, and she wasn’t going to get embroiled in a quick fling no matter how long it had been since she’d had sex. The old Mia would have jumped on him double quick time without a thought of how it was going to pan out. The new Mia was more circumspect.

Still, she couldn’t see the harm in going to the museum with him. That was hardly going to end in an all-night orgy, and it
was
her birthday after all—she deserved some sort of treat. She loved museums and the thought of seeing the ancient Celtic manuscripts had genuinely given her a thrill, even though she knew most people would have nodded off at the mere thought of them.

In the end, the day couldn’t pass quickly enough, and she went home and ate her dinner with more eagerness than she’d experienced in a long time. Then she had to decide what to wear. What was suitable for an “appointment” at a museum on one’s birthday? She didn’t want to look as if she’d taken hours on her appearance as she would if she were going on a date. Equally she wanted to look slightly different from how she looked at work, although she couldn’t put her finger on why.

She changed outfits several times, but eventually settled on jeans with a pretty blouse the same colour as her eyes, and a casual black jacket she knew emphasised her slimmer-than-usual figure.

He knocked on the door at exactly five fifty p.m., and she knew she’d worn the right thing when a smile spread over his face as she opened the door.

“Hiya,” he said. “You look nice.”

“Thanks,” she said breezily, trying to quell the wave of pleasure that washed over her at his words. “So do you.”

It was true—for once he’d forgone his cords and, like her, wore jeans, which made him look ten years younger, and a tight All Blacks rugby shirt under his jacket that clung to eye-poppingly defined muscles. Where had they come from?