Journalist Sadie Bliss is on a mission to prove herself as a world-class reporter.
But three things stand in her wayâ¦
1. Dangerously mouthwatering photographer Kent Nelsonâheâs far too brooding and arrogant.
2. A road trip across the Outback with the above distractionâdid she mention she doesnât do sleeping under the stars?
3. An insatiable longing to throw her rule book out of the car window⦠Because what happens in the Outback stays in the Outback. Right?
DRIVING HER CRAZY
âHow are you feeling?â Kent asked as he pulled into a gas station. âTired?â
Sadie shook her head. Strangely she wasnât. Driving through the eerily flat landscape on a cloudless, practically moonless night had been weirdly energizing. Like she was in a spaceship, floating through the cosmos.
âYou want to see if we can make the Northern territory border? Itâs another couple of hours but itâll cut the trip down tomorrow. We can pull off to the side of the road and catch a few hoursâ kip before moving on?â
She pursed her lips. âCamping, huh?â
Kent shot her a derisive look. âIâd hardly call it that. But itâs something you should try at least once in your life.â
Sadie looked at him. At his mouth.
Her, him and a billion stars.
And his mouth.
âOkay.â
ABOUT AMY ANDREWS
Amy Andrews has always loved writing, and still canât quite believe that she gets to do it for a living. Creating wonderful heroines and gorgeous heroes and telling their stories is an amazing way to pass the day. Sometimes they donât always act as sheâd like them toâbut then neither do her kids, so sheâs kind of used to it. Amy lives in the very beautiful Samford Valley, with her husband and aforementioned children, along with six brown chickens and two black dogs.
She loves to hear from her readers. Drop her a line at www.amyandrews.com.au.
This and other titles by Amy Andrews are available in ebook formatâcheck out www.millsandboon.co.uk.
This book is for all women out there
who have ever looked in the mirror and headed straight for the chocolate/wine/Tim Tams. And for men with rose-colored glasses.
PROLOGUE
Sadie Blissâs breath caught at the emotive image. Wandering through the ritzy New York gallery surrounded by a crowd of A-listers who blinged and glittered so much it hurt her eyes, she was stopped in her tracks by its starkness.
The background murmur of voices and clinking of champagne glasses faded as the world shrank to just the photograph, the centrepiece of the exhibit.
Mortality.
Sheâd seen it already, of course, in Time magazine, but there was something so much more immediate about it this close. As if it had just been snapped. As if the tragedy were unfolding before her eyes.
She felt as if she were standing in the daunting arid landscape, weighed down by the heat perfectly captured as it shimmered like a mirage from the sand. Smelling the jet fuel from the twisted Black Hawk carcass that sheâd seen in the other shots. Hearing the cries of the young soldier as he clutched one bloody hand to his abdomen and reached the other rosary-beaded one into the impossibly blue sky. Calling for someone. God maybe? Or his girlfriend?
Watching his tears turning the grime on his face to muddy tracks. Tasting his despair as life faded from his eyes.
The caption beneath said: Corporal Dwayne Johnson, nineteen, died from fatal wounds before help could arrive.
Goosebumps needling her skin, tears pricking at her eyes brought Sadie back to the here and now. She moved on wishing sheâd never been given the coveted ticket to the much anticipated opening night of Kent Nelsonâs A Decade of Division. All the pieces snapped from the award-winning photojournalistâs lens were disturbing, but this image, known throughout the world, was particularly harrowing.
A portrait of a young man facing death.
A private moment of anguish.
And although the artist in her appreciated the abstract prettiness of the rosary beads against the bright blue dome of a foreign sky, the image was too intimateâshe felt as if she was intruding.
Sadie pushed through the crowd out of the gallery into the sultry June night. She needed a moment. Or two.
ONE
Four months later...
Kent Nelson stood staring across at the view of Darling Harbour, his gaze following the line of the iconic white sails of the Sydney Opera House. He stood with his back to the woman swinging idly in her chair, his good leg planted firmly in front of the other as he leaned into the hand resting high against the floor to ceiling tinted window.
âSo, let me get this straight,â Tabitha Fox said, tapping her pen on her desk, her bangles jangling, as she too admired the view. Not the one she was used to seeing when she looked towards her windows but a mighty fine one nonetheless. âYou want to drive several thousand kilometres to take a few photos?â