Page 6 of Her Dom's Secret Past

Chapter Four

John

I couldn’t help the grin on my face. The last thing I expected was to meet someone as cute as Anabelle. I figured she was in her late-forties, maybe a little older, but boy was she lovely. There was something about her that sang to me like never before. I’d always been drawn to full-figured women, and Anabelle had curves aplenty. I could imagine wrapping my arms around her with all that luscious flesh to squeeze and caress. I loved the messy wild hair she had. Crazy color, but it actually suited her.

The first thing I did when I got inside the villa was copy the few dozen photos I’d taken, making sure I didn’t copy the ones I’d taken of Anabelle. I’d keep the USB in my pocket until I saw her again. I hoped it would be soon.

Standing, I tried to stretch carefully, lifting my shirt at the same time. The jagged cuts across my abdomen, my thigh, and my shoulder still appeared raw to me, and I knew it would be months before I was back to my usual self. At least my old handler had ensured I had this lovely villa for two weeks to recuperate before I moved into my new home.

He hadn’t been all that impressed when I told him I’d intended to quit before this all happened. When I’d promised I’d do only one more job, neither of us had the vaguest inkling it would end up with me being shot a few times and clinically dying as well.

The whole exercise had gone belly-up. It had been a farce from start to finish, and I’d had serious misgivings before we’d even began. I told him my concerns, but he was my boss and I had to go in regardless. Despite the idea in movies, most of the time my type of work was pretty mundane and safe. There was a lot of sitting around, a lot of research before people like me get sent in. Naturally, things could go wrong, the same as in any other job, but of course when they went wrong in my line of work, people died.

Anyway, this last job had ended up as a shootout with the whole op blown wide apart.

When I recovered, I’d heard my bosses had caught a mole who’d soldintelon me to the ‘asset’. Basically, the whole thing was a major fuck-up and I’d been compromised big time. Fucking bad luck for my last job.

News went out that I was dead. The idea was to ‘delete’ me completely. My handler had arranged my ‘funeral,’ to add authenticity to my reported ‘death’. I wondered who’d stood by my graveside, who’d mourned me. I had no one I was close to me. Impossible to develop relationships when I had to change my identity, go undercover, and sink deep into an op. My boss also decided I would be shipped off to the other side of the world to spend out my remaining years.

Still, my handler and the department had pulled out all the stops and my boss had dragged in every favor to arrange my speedy immigration to Australia. All those weeks in the hospital had given him plenty of time to get things done. I was sure he felt guilty how things had gone because he organized everything right down to this place.

After working for him personally for over twenty years, he knew my likes and dislikes. He’d found a house for me to live in, to call my own. I was lucky I had inherited wealth from my late parents because the pay for my line of work was pretty poor. Truth was we didn’t do it for the money, we did it for the love of our country.

I intended to spend my retirement casting a line, pottering in the garden, doing plenty of cooking, and just relaxing. The house I now owned sounded perfect to do exactly that. It was set on ten hectares of river-fronted land, but I’d had yet to see it in the ‘flesh’, so to speak.

It was in a place called Marlow in New South Wales, and it sounded like living in the middle of nowhere, but actually it wasn’t that bad—about a twenty-five minute drive in one direction to the thriving Central Coast and Gosford, or to Hornsby in the other direction. Plus, it was only an hour’s drive into the heart of the Sydney CBD.

I’d seen hundreds of photographs and instantly loved it. A huge Appalachian style lodge, nestled high on the rocky northern banks of the Hawkesbury River with expansive 180-degree views. It was a master-craftsman built Cypress log structure with cathedral ceilings and was glass fronted. There were two separate bedroom wings—one containing the master suite and the other three guest bedrooms. There was even clear access for a helicopter to land, not that I owned one, but I could pilot one.

I was glad I hadn’t had to deal with all the paperwork of getting me secretly out of one country and permanently into another. The idea of me living in Australia meant I was a long way away from anyone I’d had dealings with in the past. Security was always foremost. In my previous ‘career’, I’d come up against some very nasty characters who would have taken great delight in wiping me off the face of the earth. The idea was that now I was officially dead and buried, they’d forget all about me.

Still, everything had been done to ensure no one could connect me to my old life in England, even down to changing my name—again. The downside was I could never return, not if I valued my life, but in truth there was nothing or no one to return for—that was what I got for working undercover for over thirty years for an obscure secretive government department.

Now it was just a matter of healing, and this lovely place would certainly help.

I pulled my shirt back down then tried to roll out the cramp in my left shoulder. It was a mess, but it would heal fully. As well, the muscles around my middle were tight but fortunately, I’d turned at the exact moment the second bullet was fired and it ripped across my stomach from one side to the other rather than carve its way right through my body. I walked across the room, my limp pronounced from the third bullet that had torn through my upper left thigh. I could honestly say that three bullets didn’t treat my body well. How the hell I survived was beyond me, and I could only grovel at the feet of the surgeons who wove their magic.

Yes, from now on I’d wear a few interesting scars. That limp would be with me for a long time, but I was alive. Time to do all those things I’d put off, like meet the woman of my dreams, and suddenly there was a candidate in the next place up from my villa. Somehow I’d have to get to know her and hope that she liked what she saw because I certainly liked what I’d seen so far. I hoped to see more.

The storm rolled in quickly and by three, I had to shut up most of the house. A strong wind beat the rain against the glass, setting up a loud drumming. I hoped it would clear tomorrow because I wanted to see if I could accidentally on purpose meet Anabelle again. Funny, I’d never really been hooked on a woman. Yes, I’d had my share of romances but there had never been one woman that set me on fire. Somehow, don’t know why, Anabelle had lit a tiny flame in my heart and I actually wanted to fan those sparks until they raged. I’d never believed in love at first sight, but as soon as I saw her it had sent my pulse racing. Now I knew it was possible.

Picking up my new phone again, I scrolled through the photos I’d taken of the seal encounter—there were far more of Anabelle than the seal. Even though we’d never spoken, as soon as I saw her sitting on the rock engrossed in her book, I was smitten. The wind was blowing through her wild hair and it was like a halo around her face. I grinned, looking at the picture showing it—pink and purple among the white. That was part of her attraction, the wild hair, the wonderful curvy figure.

When we’d started talking, I saw her amazing light-green eyes. They were actually a light-emerald color and I couldn’t recall ever seeing that shade before. She also had full kissable lips that I wanted to taste and lick. As soon as I feasted my eyes on her lush and plump bottom lip, I figured it would be very delicious to kiss and tease. She had a lovely voice as well, lilting and soft with that Aussie accent. I could listen to her talk all day.

Damn, all this thinking about her made me hard. I’d definitely need a cold shower or a distraction. I grabbed a book and settled on one of the settees, my legs on an ottoman. I must have dozed off because the next thing I knew, the book was on the floor and it was almost five-thirty. Yawning, I stood. It wasn’t easy to do yet but it was getting better each day. The rain had stopped, but it was still rather bleak outside. I stripped off, not bothering with clothes, grabbed a towel, and walked through the dining room and out to the pool.

My physio back in England had told me swimming would help the damaged muscles in my leg and abdomen. So I swam. Up and down the pool, switching off completely. I still couldn’t do overarm properly. Instead, I mindlessly chalked up a few laps in a sort of one-armed breaststroke until my body screamed at me to stop. Hauling myself out of the pool was beyond me at the moment and I swam to the Jacuzzi, sitting in it for half an hour until my protesting body grew silent. Wading to the stairs, I got out and dried off, then pulled on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt.

I headed for the kitchen and ended up making myself a stir-fry. I liked to cook, always had, and now I had plenty of time to indulge. I spent the rest of the evening chilling out with a glass of white wine and a mindless DVD before turning in around ten-thirty.

****

Next morning, the sun was shining brightly as I wandered out onto the patio and studied the ocean. Would I go for a dip or not? I walked to the edge of the sand and glanced along the beach.

Damn!

Adorable Anabelle was walking up the beach toward her villa, obviously after swimming. Fuck, missed her.

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