His frown doubled. ‘If I wasn’t here, you wouldn’t have been aerating the pitch with your heels in the first place.’
True enough. Romy collapsed onto the passenger seat and swung her good leg in, then carefully lifted her damaged one beside it. ‘Do you mind driving?’
His expression answered for him. He crossed around to the front of the car and then slid in behind the wheel. The interior light faded as soon as his door closed and he turned the key she passed him too hard, double-jacking the motor.
She stiffened in her seat. She and anger didn’t play well. She’d spent a lifetime trying to avoid conflict with her father; she didn’t need it in her new life in the country. Sitting right beside her.
But it looked like conflict had found her.
They drove out of town in complete silence, not even the radio to provide some light relief. Simply breathing felt like wading through congealed molasses. She fixed her stare out into the inky darkness, trying to ignore Clint’s tangible simmer.
Failing.
Angry-Romy was all tuckered out. Being mad was too much work. Reasonable-Romy hopped from foot to foot in the wings, waiting for her chance to get a word in.
It came.
Running away from him without a word had been rude. She’d kissed him willingly. He hadn’t forced her to spear her hands through his hair or press her mouth to his throat. Those were her decisions. And she’d run because of the whole military thing—
Liar.
The little voice shocked a gasp out of her. Clint glanced sideways at her briefly through the darkened cabin, then tracked his attention back onto the road ahead.
Tell the truth, girl.
The Colonel. Relentless about honesty and personal responsibility. She frowned into the night. It was the truth! Wasn’t it? She took herself back to that darkened doorway, relived the feelings. Clint’s power, his confidence. The broad, hard contours of his shoulders. The short, sexy spikes of his newly cut hair. The way he’d shielded her with his body from prying eyes. She’d responded to all the parts of him that were classic military.
Her eyes rounded in the reflection of the side window as she realised. She hadn’t run from that part of him, she’d run towards it. Even in heels. The capable, military part of him was attractive to her on a primeval, fundamental level.
She blew out a confused breath. ‘The last time I had sex I got pregnant.’
Amazing, really, that he didn’t drive clear off the road. But his voice was tight when he finally spoke. ‘Excuse me?’
Romy took a deep breath. ‘It was also the first time I had sex. Which would pretty much make it the only time I’ve had sex.’ Oh, for crying out loud, she couldn’t even stop saying ‘sex’ around him.
He glanced over at her, confused. ‘You’ve had one sexual encounter in your life and you got pregnant out of it?’
She shrugged her shoulders, too casually. ‘I’m the reason young girls are warned about the first time, I guess.’
He glanced between the road and her. Twice. On a curse, he slammed the brakes and pulled off into a lay-by, cutting the motor and staring at her in the darkened car.
She returned the stare. Then she couldn’t stand it any longer. ‘For two years it was all about surviving my father, protecting my baby. After that I had a toddler to raise and food to scrounge together. By the time Leighton was at school I’d kind of…gone off the whole…romance thing.’
He shook his head. ‘Just once?’
Romy balled her fists. He really wasn’t getting her. ‘Can we move past the slack-jawed shock, do you think?’
‘You’re practically a virgin.’
Okay, so maybe he was on the same page. She cleared her throat. ‘I…really don’t count that first time at all. So…yes.’
‘Why doesn’t it count?’
‘I was—’ Half in shock? Violently drunk? Present-absent? ‘—not really involved.’
Clint’s eyes focused on her.
‘Were you forced?’
She shook her head, flushing. ‘I wanted to rebel against my father. The guy was just my weapon of choice. But I also chose not to actively…participate…in the end.’ She couldn’t. It was why she was twenty-six and had never been properly kissed. Let alone loved. ‘Obviously I didn’t plan to…didn’t realise I’d get pregnant.’
A high-pitched creaking sound filled the little Honda. Romy realised it was Clint’s hands squeezing the life out of her leather steering-wheel cover. He muttered an obscenity under his breath.
Her defences shot up instantly. ‘Don’t judge me, Clint.’
Wow. Thinking it and saying it were two very different things. There was a kind of power in actually verbalising the words.
Don’t. Judge. Me.
His eyes zeroed back in on hers. ‘Judging you? You’re practically a virgin, Romy, and I was about to take you up against a wall in an alleyway. How do you think that makes me feel?’
She lifted her voice to match his. ‘Don’t judge yourself either. I just wanted you to understand why I took off like that. It was rude and I’m sorry.’
Words failed him. Then he laughed, strained and thin. ‘You don’t sound sorry—you sound really ticked off.’
‘If you keep pushing me I will get ticked off.’ Lord, it was amazing to speak her mind! ‘I simply wanted you to know why I left.’
‘I assumed it was the military thing.’
She stared at him, breathing heavily. ‘So did I, at first.’
‘But not now?’
Her voice dropped to a bare whisper. ‘It still bothers me, Clint. I would be lying if I said it didn’t. But I recognise that it’s a big part of you.’
Wordless seconds ticked by. Romy studied her hands. Then he finally spoke, steady but low.
‘I go to the city. About four times a year…’
She lifted her eyes to his profile. Was he finally going to share something with her?
‘…to meet with a woman by the name of Adrienne Lucas.’
A vortex opened up deep in Romy’s belly.
‘Dr Adrienne Lucas of the medical corps. It’s a condition of my leave that I check in regularly with her.’
Romy looked up at him, her stomach settling. ‘Check in?’
‘She’s a shrink, Romy. She treats me.’
‘What are you on leave for?’
‘They call it medical leave. I call it leave of last resort. It was that or retire from the corps entirely. The corps wanted me to stay.’
‘But you didn’t want to?’
Silence.
‘What happened?’
Clint made a noise in the back of his throat. His fingers beat a steady rhythm on the steering wheel. ‘They called us the force of choice. One of Australia’s elite squadrons. It meant we were posted deep inside conflicts all over the world. Reconnaissance, retrieval, extractions. We saw things no one should have to look at. Eventually you get used to seeing those things. And to doing them.’
Romy