I wander over to the alfresco area and look out at the lights of Sydney. Jackson appears at my side, pulls me in for a cuddle and passes me a glass of champagne.

“I have a flight to catch tomorrow morning, and I’m gonna be a mess.”

“Stop whinging. It’s your last night here. You’ll be all tucked up in first class anyway, no doubt, so you can sleep off your hangover.” I suddenly get goose bumps up my spine as I sniff Jackson’s neck.

“Have you changed your aftershave?” He frowns as he looks down at me.

“No, why?”

“I thought I could smell Givenchy.” That fucking Cameron King is in my head again; I take a sip of my drink.

“That’d be me, Kitten. The Givenchy, I mean.”

My stomach hits the floor, catapults back through my body, bounces off my rib cage, travels up to my throat and plummets back down to my toes before settling somewhere around my pelvis. I actually feel myself sway, so I close my eyes and open them twice before I turn around and look behind me. He’s wearing a grey suit, a grey tie and a white shirt. He’s here, right here, in Australia, in this club. He’s right here, standing in front of me, just as tall, dark and handsome as ever, only with a few more flecks of grey in the stubble around his jaw.

“Fuck, Tiger, what are you doing here?”

“Kitten, really? That’s so not ladylike.”

“We gonna go there? We really gonna fuckin’ go there, Tiger?” He gives a little headshake and looks down at the ground. His eyes hit my shoes and travel up my body, lingering over my chest. He licks his lips as his eyes meet mine, and this little high-pitched sound, sort of like “uhh,” escapes from somewhere inside me. Our eyes lock, and we both just stare silently for a long moment. He reaches out and brushes his fingertips gently over my cheek

“You look stunning, Kitten.”

Without thinking, I reply, “You look totally fuckable, Tiger.” He closes his eyes and drops his hand to his side. His eyes suddenly open and move to land on Jackson, who’s shifting beside me. He puts his hand out.

“Cameron King. I’m an old friend of Georgia’s.”

“Jackson Bell, and I know exactly who you are.” I turn and look at Jax with a frown; why so hostile, I wonder.

“Cam, this is my cousin Jackson who I’ve been staying with.” I watch his reaction; his shoulders relax slightly and his frown lessens. His eyes move back to mine.

“Can we talk, Georgia, please?”

I nod. “Of course.” I look around and spot some seats over by a water feature.

Cam follows my gaze, looks back between Jax and myself, and says, “I’ll meet you over there. Nice to meet you, Jackson.” Jax says nothing.

“What’s your problem?” I hiss at him.

“He’s here for you. He’s come all this way for you, George. You haven’t seen him for a couple of years, you speak to him on the phone last weekend, and suddenly he’s here?” Okay, so that’s probably true, but I don’t see why that’s a problem. Should I?

“And your point is?”

“And my point is, he’s come for a reason, and he’s not leaving here without what he came for. Just be careful, that’s all I’m saying.” I lean in and kiss Jax on the cheek.

“This is Cam. I trust him with my life; he would never hurt me.” Shoot other people, yeah, but he would never hurt me; that I’m sure of. Jax nods.

“As long as you’re sure, but if you leave, let me know. I’m gonna go and find my sisters.” I nod and watch him walk away before I turn and head towards Cam. He stands as I approach and reaches out for my hand.

“Let’s get out of here. I feel like we’re being watched.”

“We probably are, but there’s loads of paps out the front. How am I gonna get past them?” He pulls out his phone and makes a call, giving directions to whoever’s on the other end to go around to a back set of doors. He grabs my hand and leads me through the club. Spillers Groove Jet is playing, and I giggle as I start singing “If This Ain’t Love” to myself. Why I’m finding this song amusing, I have no idea.

He leads me through a set of emergency exit doors after swiping some sort of card through a gadget on the wall to get them to open. We then get in a goods lift, along with three bar staff. We remain silent the whole time, then the doors to the elevator open and we are in a service area. He leads me to another set of doors and we are outside, a dark car waiting with the engine running. The driver jumps out and has the doors open before we reach it; we both slide into the back seat.

“Mine or yours?”

I look up at him. “Excuse me?”

His eyes meet mine. “Hotel, Kitten, we going to mine or yours?”

I stare at our joined hands for a moment. My whole body tingling and covered in goose bumps.

“We’re going to talk. Just to talk, Kitten.”

I nod. “Mine, please, I’m leaving early in the morning.”

“Where?”

“Australia.”

“Where are you staying, not where are you leaving. Fuck, Kitten, how much have you had to drink?”

I giggle at my mistake. “A lot, actually.” I’d assumed the last ten minutes my head was spinning because of Cam’s presence, but I think the vodka shots also had something to do with it. He shakes his head as I keep my eyes on him. “Am I frustrating you?”

He frowns as he looks at me. “What makes you ask that?”

I smile at the memory. “I asked you once why you are always shaking your head at me, and you told me it was because I frustrate you.” He brushes his thumb over my knuckles, then brings my hand up and kisses the back of it.

“I told you a lot of things back then.”

“You did.” I hear him let out a long breath, and he leans back into the seat of the car and looks over my face.

“And I meant every word. Now, where are you staying?” He meant every word? He told me he loved me back then; I wonder if he still does. I wonder if I should tell him about the conclusions I have come to regarding my feelings for him. My eyes feel heavy, my head woozy, and for some reason, that horrible lump is back in my throat. “Georgia, hotel? What’s the fucking name of the hotel you’re staying at?”

“The Pitt on Marriorriott… The street, The Marriott.” I know what I mean; I just don’t seem to be able to make any sense.

“The Marriott on Pitt Street?” he asks. I nod. “You’re fucking wasted; you need some water. Did you eat dinner?” I shake my head. “You’re skin and bone, Georgia; we need to fatten you up. Sober you up and fatten you up.” All these years, and it’s like nothing’s changed. Cam has, for some reason, always made me feel safe and tears sting my eyes; the alcohol is obviously making me feel emotional. “What’s wrong, Kitten; what you thinking?” He smiles, ever so slightly. “What’s going through that pretty head of yours?”

I shrug. “They’re all wonky. My thoughts are fuzzy, mixed-up and wonky,” I tell him sincerely.

“That’s because you’re so fucking pissed, Kitten.”

“I am not pissed and don’t swear, Tiger; it’s not gentlemany. It’s not geltemenly… It’s not fucking nice.” He throws his head back, gives that big Cam laugh, and I burst into tears.

“Fuck, Kitten. Fuck, please don’t cry; I hate it when you cry.” He undoes his seatbelt, pulls me into his lap, and it’s instant. I feel safe and cherished. He feels like home and all of this just makes all the guilt feel so much fucking worse. I’m here, with him, being held, by him, on the first anniversary of my husband’s death, and it’s so many kinds of wrong that there’s probably not a number big enough to count them all.

* * *

We arrive at my hotel after a completely silent journey. I get myself together enough to stop crying, and Cam helps me out of the car. He holds my hand as we walk through the lobby and head for the elevators. Despite being the only ones inside, we ride in silence, but as soon as we walk through the doors of my room, Cam speaks.

“I don’t want any bullshit from you, Kitten. What’s going on? What happened last weekend, and what were all the tears about in the car?” I turn around and meet his gaze the best I can. He’s only just inside the room and he leans back against the door, folds his arms across his chest and crosses his long legs. I can see his jaw move as he either grinds his teeth or chews on the inside of his cheek; I’m not sure which. “Talk to me, Kitten. I need to know you’re doing okay.”