Page 56 of Last Breath

‘No.’ Her shoulders sagged into the mattress. ‘I didn’t.’

‘Then that’s the only fact that matters.’ He breathed out. His fingers twitched, pins and needles prickling through limbs that longed to comfort her. It was inhuman, wasn’t it? To not comfort someone, just with a pat of a hand, a squeeze of a shoulder? But he’d never been able to comfort Nella like that. He didn’t touch her. Ever. Except for when he’d carried her out of the car when she’d fallen asleep on the drive back from the Sally Sue kidnapping. He’d brushed her hair out of her face and put her faded Sleeping Beauty blanket over her. He’d never told her he’d done that – he wasn’t sure why. Maybe because he’d felt like he’d indulged himself in that moment, unable to stop the smell of her hair and perfume filling him with feelings he should not be feeling. Thoughts he should not be having about the eldest Barbarani.

Did that make him as bad as Oliver?

No. He’d never even consider pushing his way into a woman’s bed without being invited. He’d never kiss someone whose mouth was closed, who tried to turn away. Jett knew when a woman was telling him she wanted him, but he’d been accused of ruining romantic tension by asking permission. And he was smart enough, and self-aware enough, to know that a woman like Nella would never even entertain the thought of his lips on any part of her unless he was the only person available to administer CPR.

So maybe that meant he was smarter than Oliver.

Who he was going to murder.

‘Does anyone else know? Did Clarkson?’

‘He knew Oliver was in my room. And I told my mum once.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yeah.’ She matched his surprised tone. ‘Big mistake. I was drunk. You know what she said to me? You’ll love this, she said, “For goodness sake, Antonella, you always make such a drama out of everything. Every woman at one point in her life has been entered by a man when she didn’t feel like it.”’

‘I don’t love that.’

Her back rose in a shaky breath.

He couldn’t tell Nella what her words made him want to do to Oliver. He knew that wasn’t what she needed to hear right now. He couldn’t be the person who held her, he couldn’t be the guy she leant on. But he could do something that didn’t involve crossing any of the invisible lines between them to show her he’d heard. That although he couldn’t really understand, he was sorry anything like that had happened to her. To anyone, but especially her.

He pulled a thick blanket from his top dresser shelf. She didn’t look up until he’d draped the whole thing across her. It swallowed her like an avalanche, making her look small and vulnerable.

‘It’s not Sleeping Beauty,’ he whispered, as he tucked the corner by her elbow, ‘but it’s warm.’

She swivelled to face him. His head hadn’t moved from where he’d bent down, and her eyes flared wide in sharp realisation.

He left his face there for as long as he dared, too close to hers, he knew that. He shouldn’t be able to feel her warm breath, or see the gaps between her eyelashes. Her eyes traced his face for something. But whether she found it or not, he’d never know, because he hated the feeling of people looking at his face too long – miners trying to imagine gold below the jagged, desolate surface of the earth when none existed – and he pulled away, grabbing a book from his bedside table.

‘You smell good tonight,’ she said.

He was so caught off-guard that the paperback almost slipped out of his grasp.

‘I thought I’d better take one of my bimonthly showers,’ he said lightly, slipping the book under his elbow and moving towards the light switch at the top of the stairs.

‘Is it for her? The cologne?’

‘The guy at the shop said it would attract all women within a ten-kilometre radius or my money back.’

‘You’re avoiding the question.’

‘I always smell like this.’

‘No.’ Her voice was thick. ‘You don’t.’

His feet wouldn’t move.Just go. Walk down the stairs. One foot. Next foot. It’s not that hard.

‘Is she smart?’ Nella was facing away from him again, but it felt like she was breathing right into his ear.

‘Yes,’ was all he could manage, his throat constricting like her nails were clamped around it.

The silence throbbed. When he finally swallowed, it was as loud as the crack of a gun.

‘Is she pretty?’