Wedding Party Collection: Don't Tell The Bride. Kelly Hunter

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       EIGHT

      Lena woke the next morning feeling clearer-headed than she had in days. Trig wasn’t there—she remembered him rolling over and gathering her close and kissing her temple and then telling her he was heading out to get breakfast. She’d told him she’d come too, but she hadn’t opened her eyes or properly woken up, and when she’d murmured something along the lines of five more minutes he’d told her it was five in the morning and to go back to sleep.

      A command she’d been only too happy to follow.

      So her husband was an early riser. She’d been an early riser too, back in the day when surfing had been an option, or sea kayaking had been an option. Kayaking might still be an option, come to think of it. Plenty of backwaters not too far away from Damon’s beach house.

      Or maybe it was time to get a pretty little cottage of her own, somewhere on the river. A cottage with panelled half-walls, high ceilings and bay windows. A yesteryear cottage that cried out for Persian carpet runners and wide verandahs. Her family would think she’d gone nuts—but she could put an indoor bathing pool in one of the rooms if she got creative enough. She could fit it out like a Turkish spa.

      She was still in that lovely dream place where anything was possible when Trig came back with breakfast. Strawberry yoghurt today, and mixed nuts and flaky pastry and some kind of spicy scrambled egg.

      She sat up and pushed her tangle of hair away from her face. Every night she plaited it and tied it off with a hairband. Every morning the hairband had disappeared and the plait was a tangle. She hoped Trig liked the dishevelled look.

      She should probably let him in on the granny cottage idea as well. ‘Do you think any shops here sell marble water-spouts and feature walls? And tiles like the ones in the pool yesterday?’

      ‘Why?’ He handed her a cup of tea and bent down to place a fleeting kiss on the very edge of her lips.

      ‘I want a Turkish bathing room in the cottage we’re buying on the banks of a lazy river.’

      ‘We’re buying a cottage?’

      ‘On the banks of a lazy river. So that I can get up and go kayaking and you can get up to no good with a tool belt.’ Trig’s father was a carpenter-builder. His older brother was a builder as well and Trig had spent many a school holiday with a tool belt strapped to his waist. Lena had the niggling suspicion that Trig’s father resented the hell out of the Wests for leading Trig away from the family business.

      ‘You want me to put on a tool belt?’

      ‘Only when you’re not out protecting national secrets. And if it’s hot on the banks of that lazy river you can lose the shirt. I might even make a calendar of you looking like that. You could be Mr January all the way through to December.’

      ‘Don’t you dare.’

      ‘Oh, I dare. You should know that by now.’

      Her husband smiled his wide, happy smile. ‘I’ve missed you,’ he said, and then his gaze slid to the rings on her wedding finger and his smile dimmed. ‘How’s the head?’

      ‘The bump is on its way down.’ She took his hand and slid it through her hair. ‘Feel.’

      He did. Damn but he had a nice touch. She closed her eyes, tilted her head back and let him cradle the weight of it in that big hand of his. ‘Mmm.’

      He let her go in a hurry and retreated to the other side of the table.

      ‘You are the shyest person I know when it comes to physical affection,’ she told him grumpily.

      ‘Doctor’s orders.’

      ‘I’m going back there today, just to get that particular directive lifted.’

      ‘You still can’t remember squat.’

      ‘I’m remembering a little more each day. I’m on disability leave from work. And I just failed my physical.’

      Trig grunted.

      ‘I was a slow waddling duck for those pickpockets. ASIS isn’t going to put me back in the field. Not sure I want to go back in the field if all I’m going to be is a liability. I need a new focus. Maybe a whole new career.’ She eyed him curiously. ‘Have you ever thought of quitting the business?’

      ‘Not yet.’

      ‘But you took a desk job.’

      ‘You remember that?’

      ‘Didn’t you?’

      ‘Yeah.’ He rubbed at his temple.

      ‘What’s it like?’

      ‘Lot of analysis.’

      ‘Frustrating?’

      Trig gave a reluctant nod.

      ‘You could return to fieldwork.’

      ‘What? And leave you all alone in the little house on the river? Who’d put the Christmas decorations on the roof?’

      So he had altered his work focus because she’d been forced to alter hers. The confirmation gave her mixed feelings. On the one hand Lena was grateful that she was so well loved. On the other hand she was dismayed that he’d chosen to limit himself in order to be there for her. She wasn’t that needy. Was she? ‘You want to put Christmas decorations on the roof?’ she asked lightly.

      ‘I want Christmas decorations everywhere.’

      Maybe it was time she expanded her earlier dream. ‘I’m having second thoughts about the little house on the river. I think we need a big old farmhouse instead, with sheds to house all the toys and decorations when they’re not being used. And if we’re living on the river, I want a powerboat. A really fast one. I could take up speedboat racing.’

      ‘Yeah, that’s really going to encourage me to leave you there by yourself.’

      ‘You could take up speedboat racing as well. I seem to recall having a quarter share in a plane that I could sell.’

      ‘Handy,’ he said dryly.

      ‘Isn’t it? I thought I might ring Jared today. Or Poppy. And I got a phone message in from someone only the name’s not ringing any bells. Amos Carter.’

      Trig frowned. ‘Let me see it.’

      She handed over her phone and Trig found the message and frowned some more.

      ‘Who is he?’

      ‘An old work contact.’

      ‘Jericho3, Milta Bodrum Marina,’ she said next. ‘Is it a boat or a missile?’

      ‘Don’t know.’