Chapter 1
Miri blamed the pelican.
If it hadnât greeted the dawn with a comically wide yawn of its great bill and an awkward ruffled spread of its wings, like a toddler staggering with sleep, then she wouldnât have laughed.
If she hadnât laughed, then Action Man wouldnât have looked up at the balcony and caught her watching.
âAre you busy?â heâd shouted up.
Her fingers tightened around the mug of her soothing herbal tea. No caffeine for her.
She couldnât ignore him. It would be rude. And it would be even worse to get up and go inside. There was only so often a woman could retreat from life before losing her self-respect.
âI mean, are you working today?â he called.
She put the mug on the railing and leaned over the first-floor balcony. âI donât know you.â She pitched her voice midway between conversation and a shout.
He grinned and came closer, standing below her. Sunlight glinted on his cropped fair hair and showed darker sweat patches on his tight grey T-shirt. Black running shorts revealed lean, powerful thighs and calves.
Not that she could see the length of those legs from this angle, but sheâd been watching him for the last two weeks, timing her early morning cuppa to include the sight of him against the incredible backdrop of Sydney Harbour at dawn.
âIâm Tad Robertson, Sergeant Thaddeus Robertson from the Water Police.â He sketched a reporting-for-duty salute.
Marine Area Command was just down the shore from her borrowed apartment.
âDo you have some ID?â
âOn me?â Comically, he patted the tight shirt and flimsy shorts. They couldnât hide the muscles of his body, let alone a badge.
âNever mind.â She picked up the mug of tea.
âI thought we could go to the zoo.â
âPardon?â Tea sloshed.
âRide the ferries and go to the zoo. Public and safe. A good first date.â
First date.
âYouâre nuts.â So was she, for being tempted. âYou canât pick up women as you run past.â Although he did have the body for it. Probably women tried to pick him up. She shook off the thought. âShouldnât you be at work?â
âDay off. The zoo has a baby giraffe. I saw it on the news.â
He had to be psychic. She loved giraffes, collected statues of them, and had seen the same news story on TV. Only she hadnât been able to summon the energy to get herself to the zoo. It wasnât a lack of physical energy. It was âa malaise of the soulâ, to quote her Sorbonne-educated gran.
âThirty minutes,â he said. âIâll meet you back here in thirty minutes. Wear your walking shoes.â
He ran off, moving with purpose, and with the power and control of a well-trained body.
She could believe he was a sergeant: he was bossy. Still she leaned over the railing, craning her neck for a final view of him, a mighty fine view â and he looked back!
Smart-ass.
He turned around, running backwards a few steps, to salute her. âThirty minutes.â
Yep. Definitely a sergeantâs voice.
She sipped her tea as a small act of defiance, but as he jogged around the red-brick house on the corner she knew sheâd be downstairs in thirty minutes. Heâd done the impossible and ignited a spark of interest in her.
A lot of things changed for her seven weeks ago, but apparently she still couldnât resist a dare. Especially one who looked like Sergeant Tad Robertson.
***
Tad ran the familiar harbour-side path back to Marine Area Command on auto-pilot, his mind filled with the vision of the woman heâd just invited on a date. He shook his head, silently laughing. He still didnât know her name, only that sheâd appeared two weeks ago, always alone, always on the balcony in the early morning. Heâd changed the routine of his training so that he ran past daily.
Maybe it had been too long between
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