‘Oh, no. You know what first births are like, it’ll be ages yet.’ Connor’s mouth turned down and he raked a hand over his hair. Adam recognised the jittery voice, the shaking hands of a man half-frightened to death. ‘Okay. Okay. Right. We’ll be fine. You just stay here and win the quiz for us. I’ll call you.’
She slicked a kiss on his cheek. ‘Make sure you do. I want to be first to hear. Give her my love.’
‘Okay.’ Connor nodded, his eyes on Skye but his brain obviously elsewhere. Adam felt a twinge of sympathy for the man. He had a big night ahead. ‘We’ll be fine.’
‘Now we know what he’s scared of.’ Adam watched as Connor pushed his way through the crowd, greeting each pat on the back with a handshake. ‘The whole town seems excited about this birth. Is it something special?’
‘Every birth’s special.’ Skye smiled. ‘But Mim and Connor’s baby kind of belongs to all of us. Those two are the life blood of the place.’
‘As it should be.’ All his life he’d been looking for this kind of community, acceptance, sharing good times. Now he’d found it he didn’t know if he could fit in.
He’d joined up to belong to something and it had worked, for a good part of his time there. Leaving had been the right thing to do, but it had rendered him homeless in too many ways. But the community focus of Atanga Bay had a real comforting feel about it. Maybe he’d chosen the right place to settle. If he could settle at all. ‘For a doctor he looks terrified.’
‘For an about-to-be father I think that’s probably right. How exciting.’ Skye sat down, her eyes glowing. Colour rushed back into her cheeks. She had a pretty mouth, Adam noticed for the hundredth time, full lips hidden underneath a swathe of lipstick. Red. Not as dark as the other day. But glossy. Kissable.
No. She’s leaving. On a jet plane.
Skye had plans. They didn’t involve him. Couldn’t. And he’d sworn off any kind of long-distance relationship. What chance would he have with a woman he hardly knew if his five-year marriage hadn’t survived the fallout of his injury?
He didn’t want to find out. Not with Skye. Even if everything about her called to him on a deep level. Had lit something inside him that he struggled to extinguish every time he spent five minutes in her company. And that appeared to be threatening to set blaze to his rationality.
She gave the pretence of biting her fingernails. ‘What a night! A labour and the quiz. No pressure, huh? Calm under fire, right? Let’s bring this victory home, soldier boy.’
‘Sure. No pressure. I’d rather be here than watching a woman in labour. I’m not brave enough for that.’
But now it was just a team of two. He was duty bound to stay even though every part of him strained to leave. But he couldn’t leave her in the lurch and let them lose this silly pub quiz. Her black-gelled spikes tickled his head as she pored over the list of top ten most common phobias, in Latin. The lace on her top framed her pale collarbones, revealing a sweet dip he imagined running his finger along.
No. First she’d intrigued him but now it was torment just being next to the woman.
He inwardly counted to ten, scraped his chair back a fraction. Putting all thoughts of attraction to the back of his mind. Right there, out of harm’s way. At the back.
She just continued her chatter, unaware of the weird sensations running through his body. Damn. Would his body stop now? Please?
He forced himself to relax, to allow the luxury of softened muscles, deeper breaths. ‘Okay. Focus. What do you know about phobias?’
‘Not a whole lot to be honest. Some of the names are dead giveaways. But some … I couldn’t even guess.’
She pushed the list towards him. ‘Look, the first three are easy. Spiders, snakes and heights. But pteromerhanophobia? Like pterodactyl? Fear of dinosaurs perhaps? Or would that be Flintstone-o-phobia? How can you be afraid of something that’s extinct?’
‘It’s a fear of flying.’ Knowing it didn’t make it any easier to deal with.
Her eyes widened. ‘Really? Are you sure?’
‘Yes. Absolutely sure. Pteromerhanophobia, or aviatophobia.’ It didn’t matter which fancy name they attached to it, it all boiled down to the same thing. Terror. Falling through nothing. The screech of metal. Death.
Adam’s mouth dried as adrenalin rushed through his veins. Hell, did his body have some kind of grudge against him? First his unbidden reactions to Skye, now this.
Damn. He’d got over this. The shrink had diagnosed it as PTSD, had said he’d work through it and that time healed. He was running out of patience.
Pull yourself together, Miller.
He focused on the pain in his ankle, controlled his breathing, flexed his foot on the floor. Hard surface. The pub’s solid foundations beneath his feet. Reminded himself he needn’t fly anywhere soon. Ever again, if he could help it.
Semper quietus. Always calm. Whoever had thought that motto up hadn’t taken a skydive from a burning chopper without a parachute.
When he looked over at Skye she was blissfully ignorant of his discomfort. Her forehead creased as she pored over the questions. A study in concentration. A study in sensuality as she tapped the end of the pencil against her cheek. The black of the graphite stark against the pale cream of her flesh. Sense took over. They had a time limit on this round.
Concentrate. He hauled in a breath of beer-soaked oxygen and took hold of the pencil to stop his hand from shaking, filled in the gaps on the form. ‘Yes, it’s definitely a fear of flying. You’re right, named after the pterodactyl I presume, the dinosaur bird thing.’
‘Wow. Well done. Any others?’
He settled into a change of subject. ‘Trypanophobia is a fear of needles.’
‘And you know that because …?’
‘We had a lot of new-recruit fainters. Wanted to learn how to kill a man with their bare hands but couldn’t stomach a tiny needle in their arms.’
‘I’m impressed. Go you. So, cynophobia … any ideas?’ She pointed a slim finger at him. ‘We’re so close to winning this darned thing.’
‘I haven’t a clue. I guess everyone’s scared of something. What other things are people afraid of? What about you?’
‘Me? Oh … nothing.’ For once her smile slipped. Her mouth puckered as she thought. From the hesitant look in her eyes he knew there was a lot more to it than that. He recognised a hedged answer when he saw it.
‘Oh, come on. There must be something. The dark? Creepy-crawlies? Monsters?’
‘Nothing. I can’t think …’
She’d been hurt somehow—by that man in Auckland, no doubt—and she might believe she hid it well, but that sunny smile didn’t fool him.
He knew how to put on a brave face like the rest of them. When everything around was crashing down. When even silence was unbearable. When you didn’t think you could stand the pain any more. But you had to. Because at least you were still alive. Then when the physical pain stopped, the guilt rose like black smoke, filled the gaps.
She shrugged. ‘Okay. My phobia? Clipping my wings. Staying in Atanga Bay for ever. Not seeing the rest of the world before I die. I don’t want to be hemmed in. Is that claustrophobia, then? You?’
‘Is there such a thing as pub-quiz-ophobia? I’m getting real close to that.’ He watched the smile on her face grow and enjoyed the jolt of pride for putting it back there.
‘Time’s up. Now I’ll do the marking.’ Mike collected the paper.
‘Excuse me.’ Someone tapped Adam’s