Kisses had always been demanding or threatening—taking, never giving. This had been neither of those things. This had been … Wonderful. Amazing. Terrifying.
She didn’t want to feel like this.
She refused to feel like this. Feelings like this meant danger. She knew that. It was why she didn’t get involved with anyone.
That was hardly a kiss, Bec. It was a dare.
She glanced over a sea of black-haired boys to the tall black-haired man, whose face was streaked with wiliness and who was aiming a ball straight at her.
It had just been a dare. Of course it had. Everything was the same as it had ever been between them. Colleagues who respected each other and got along well.
Then he grinned at her.
Part of her protective wall melted.
The ball shot straight past her, into the goal.
‘WHAT’S ON THE agenda today, boss?’
Tom looked up from reading the letter from his mother that Health For Life had couriered to him from Hanoi.
Bec sat down opposite him and bit into a croissant, the buttery flakes clinging to the edge of her lips.
He clenched his fist under the table to silence his fingers, that screamed to be allowed to brush the crumbs away. His lips tingled, demanding to kiss the crumbs away.
That was not going to happen.
He’d stolen a kiss at the soccer game two days ago. The memory of the softness of her lips against his had stayed with him, revisiting at regular intervals. He hadn’t planned to kiss her, but when she’d looked at him with her eyes shining like sun-kissed water, with her warm body pressed in against his own and her hidden curves fitting against his body, a kiss had seemed like the most natural thing in the world.
But that didn’t mean it had been the right thing to do or that he should repeat it.
He refilled his coffee cup with the strong, fragrant brew the Vietnamese specialised in. An early-morning heart starter. ‘You can have a day off today and visit China Beach. It’s Vietnam’s premier surf beach. It’s gorgeous and it was made really famous by a TV show.’ His chatty tone sounded forced even to his own ears.
She narrowed her gaze, her face sceptical. ‘Hmm, and are you taking the day off?’
He squirmed under her penetrating gaze. ‘I have some paperwork to do.’
She sipped her coffee. ‘Hin mentioned something about going to an orphanage.’
Hell. He’d wanted to go to this orphanage on his own. It was one of four left on his list to visit. He needed to study the records, the lists of children who had been housed there. He was looking for clues, a needle in a haystack. Hoping for some tiny piece of information that might send him to his biological mother and end his two-year search. ‘I’m visiting the orphanage.’
She set her cup down very carefully. ‘Is that code for “You can’t come, Bec?"’
Guilt twisted inside him. ‘Anyone can visit an orphanage and, heaven knows, there are plenty of them.’
A flash of irritation rippled across her vibrant eyes, chased away by curiosity. ‘But you would prefer to go on your own?’
Damn it. She was too perceptive. Nothing got past her. He’d have to bluff his way through this.
Act casual. ‘I thought you’d enjoy a day off and you can take in some history at the same time.’ Liar. ‘But, sure, you’re welcome to come. I do have some admin work to do there, but while I’m busy with that I’m sure the kids would love a visit from you. But personally I’d choose the day at the beach.’
She tilted her head and wrinkled her nose, considering his answer. ‘Great. I’ll just put on some sunscreen.’ She stood up.
He breathed a sigh of relief. For the first time since they’d met she was actually showing some sense and taking time off.
She fixed him with a steely look. ‘I’ll be ready to leave for the orphanage in five minutes.’ She walked out of the room.
Hell, she’d outplayed him again.
* * *
Nothing.
Tom pushed the slim folder away from him, trying to halt the familiar rush of sadness that threatened to overcome him.
Hopes raised. Hopes dashed.
Hin squeezed his shoulder. ‘Records were destroyed in 1975. Sorry.’
Tom took in a deep breath at the familiar story. ‘Yeah, thanks for trying.’
He thanked the orphanage administrator by presenting her with a gift, and then he left the office.
‘You have three more orphanages left on your list?’ Hin walked beside him.
‘I have. But right now I think I need a break from this.’
Hin nodded, understanding on his face. ‘Just let me know when, and I will come with you.’
‘Thanks, mate. I appreciate your support.’ Tom shook his interpreter’s hand.
‘Catch you later. Now I’m going surfing. You’ll find Bec with the babies.’ Hin grinned cheekily as he strolled out of the grounds.
Ever since the old woman had insisted that Bec was the woman for Tom, Hin had taken every opportunity to tease him about her.
Shaking his head at the need for humans to matchmake, he crossed the yard toward the baby room of the orphanage. On the way he promised a group of primary school age boys a game of soccer after their classes had finished.
He pushed open the nursery door to a sea of cots. His heart contracted in pain. Sixty cots lined up in rows with only enough space between them for the staff to walk sideways up the narrow aisles. Babies lay on their backs, staring at mobiles, their little legs kicking out from blue and white gingham nappies.
Bec stood in the middle of the room holding a baby against her chest, her cheek resting against the crown of the child’s head.
She raised her head and turned toward him, a trail of tears staining her face.
His heart lurched from one pain to another. Orphanages confronted every belief and value a person held, and offered up a brutal mix of reality and hope.
He flattened the urge to wrap her in his arms and protect her. Not that he could.
He made his way over to her, trying not to knock the cots. As he drew closer he realised the child she held was over a year old and his legs hung down against Bec, completely lacking in tone. His almond-shaped eyes, dark and blank, tore at him.
He plastered a smile on his face. ‘Who have we here?’
‘This is Minh. He’s got mild cerebral palsy and I think his hearing is impaired.’ Bec’s voice cracked. ‘I just had to pick him up. He looked so much like he needed a cuddle.’
‘Every kid here needs a cuddle.’ He ran his hand over the child’s head. ‘The staff do their best and we have some fabulous volunteers. They come for three months and run some great programmes in orphanages across the country.’
‘But this little guy needs physiotherapy and probably a hearing aid.’ Bec kissed the top of his head before laying him down in the cot, carefully placing a stuffed toy in his hands. ‘In Australia his disability would be categorised as mild to moderate and there would be so much assistance he could get to maximise his potential.’ She turned to him. ‘He needs a loving home. What about overseas adoption? That would be perfect