Breakfast never tasted as good as it did when made by a woman wearing nothing but his shirt and a satisfied smile. That Tilly insisted on wearing one of his uniform shirts made Noah smile even more. Police blues had never looked so sexy.

He stood at his stove, tending fried eggs and strips of bacon, banned from wearing anything other than his boxer briefs since Tilly deemed this morning a pants-free zone. He suspected his smile turned lecherous as he eyed her bare legs and the tail of his blue shirt just covering her literally pants-free ass. There was something to be said about the woman’s good ideas.

“Hey.” He set down the spatula and took a sideways step toward her, sliding his palm down her spine and squeezing one delicious ass cheek. “I could get used to this bed and breakfast thing.”

Glancing up at him, her hair damp and curling around her face fresh from the shower, she laughed. Then swatted his forearm, but not hard enough to dislodge his hand. “I would’ve made you breakfast in bed if you hadn’t stolen the first shower.”

“I know how long women take in the shower so I preempted the disappearance of all the hot water by getting in first.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Smart but sexist. Have a lot of women using up your hot water, do you?”

“Make a lot of men breakfast in bed, do you?” It was knee-jerk banter, but suddenly the thought of Tilly in bed with other faceless men made his gut give an unpleasant sideways lurch.

“No, just the one.” She angled her head to meet his eyes, her mouth thinning for a moment before she stretched it into a closed-lipped smile. “And not since before my dad passed away.”

He brushed his mouth against hers, wiping away the tight smile. “You made breakfast in bed for your dad? You’re a thoughtful daughter.”

Tilly reached up and wove her fingers through his hair. “Well, technically I was a thoughtful daughter and a thoughtful girlfriend. Though my ex didn’t appreciate the gesture nearly as much since I spilled his English Breakfast over his laptop accidentally on purpose.”

“Morning tea drinkers. Bunch of inconsiderate, caffeine-deprived assholes.” 

She laughed, but there was a hollowness to it that pinged a warning signal. He wanted to ignore it—should ignore it—because asking about previous relationships was an indication that a new one was about to develop. Yet he couldn’t help but want to know more about her.

“What did this ex do to earn the Montgomery wrath?” He eased her fingers out of his hair and kissed her knuckles, letting her hand go as he stepped back to the skillet to check on the eggs. “And do you need me to send a few of the boys round to sort him out?”

She snorted and shook her head, turning to face him with her arms folded and her hip braced against the countertop. “Although the idea has some merit, I don’t think it’s a sensible career move considering he’s my boss.”

“Your ex is your boss? Still your boss?” A kernel of irrational jealousy formed a pit in his stomach. 

“Yeah.” Her nose crinkled, lips turning down. “Bad judgment on my part. But Jonas can be very persuasive when he wants something.”

“And he wanted you.” The pit doubled in size and grew thorns.

“For a while.”

“And then?”

“And then I don’t know. Jonas must’ve used up all his verbal skills writing dialogue because he never seemed to have much left over for me.” The toaster popped and she started, giving a sheepish little chuckle. She fished the slices out, then dropped another two pieces of bread into it. “I never knew what he was thinking or feeling. It’s so bizarre—he writes the most emotional, heart-wrenching scenes, but he never once told me what I meant to him.” 

Ice coated the stomach pit, which had morphed into a boulder-sized rock. “Some men show their feelings with actions, rather than do the whole talking-about-them thing.” 

He was one of them. He sucked at the how do you feel about me/us/the future line of questioning. Then again, apparently he fell short of showing emotions also, since Hayley accused him of not loving her. It wasn’t true—he had. Just not in the way that made either of them happy.

“I get that.” She kept her gaze fixed on the toaster dials. “But in hindsight I figured out what Jonas’s actions meant. Why he’d rather work on his laptop than share breakfast in bed with me. Why I only got scraps of his time and why he’d only show up at my place when it was convenient for him. Why he looked almost relieved when I caught him screwing another woman at his desk three weeks after my father died. I wish he’d had the balls to tell me his feelings before he showed me how little he cared for me by walking out of my father’s funeral three times to answer his phone.”

“Jesus, Tilly. What a tool.” Noah flicked the burner off under the eggs and moved to enfold her in his arms.

He held her close, stroking his palm in slow circles across her shoulder blades. But even as she burrowed into him, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt. Would he have reacted better in the same situation? He sure as hell wouldn’t have left Tilly’s side to take a damn phone call, but would he have been able to provide her with any comfort? Other than comfort sex? 

Quite an apt bit of self-examination considering his cock was beginning to stir to life being pushed up so close to her. Sex he was good at, so maybe he should forever give up on the possibility of anything else. Noah liked to think he learned from his mistakes.

The front door banged open and footsteps, accompanied by off-key whistling, moved down the hallway. Tilly’s eyes bugged open and she lunged for a tea towel draped over the oven door. She’d just managed to shake it open in front of her thighs when Wade strolled into the kitchen.

“What’s for breakfast, bro? And, lady bro?” His gaze zipped between them, a smirk appearing on his face as he straddled a dining chair. “Not interrupting anything, am I?”

Noah didn’t need to glance sideways at Tilly to feel the wave of heat radiating from her face. “Don’t you knock, asswipe?”

“Door was unlocked and I could smell bacon,” he said as if that was explanation enough. “Since the breakfast part of bed and breakfast didn’t seem to be forthcoming, I figured my hostess was down here with you.” He tipped his head toward the stove and rubbed his hands together. “You haven’t eaten yet; good. I’m starving—and, oh, morning, Tilly.”

Noah looked at Tilly, remembering her starving description from the previous night. If it were possible, he could break another couple of eggs on her cheeks and have them cook in half the time a skillet took.

“Um, good morning.” She continued to hold the plaid tea towel in front of her like an apron as she sidled toward the kitchen door. “I’ll just get changed and then I’ll put on some extra toast.”

“And extra bacon,” Wade said. 

Tilly shuffled across the room and backed through the doorway.

Noah glared at his brother as the view hotter than the bacon and eggs sizzling in the skillet disappeared down the hallway. “Fry your own damn bacon.”

“You’re bloody cranky for a man who obviously got lucky last night.” Wade showed him a toothy little-brother smile and unfolded himself from the chair. “And again this morning.” He crossed over to the stove and shoulder checked Noah aside, picking up the spatula. “I’ll take over while you go and put some pants on before I lose what’s left of my appetite.”

“It’s my house, my choice if I decide it’s pants optional.”

Wade flipped a bacon rasher and eyed him speculatively. “Tell you what. Give me a probable yes about coming to Wellington and I’ll take my breakfast to go.” He wriggled his eyebrows, tilting his head toward the doorway.

“You blackmailing little prick.” Noah grinned at him.

“Mate,” Wade said. “You have a beautiful woman in your bedroom wearing only your shirt. Do you really need to think about it?”

Good point. He grabbed one of the plates he’d set aside and shoved it at his brother. “Here. Knock yourself out.”

“And Dad?”

Noah got a sudden crystal-clear image in his head of his father’s expression in the cold dawn light the morning after the callout that changed everything. Someone had contacted him and he’d come in, waiting patiently until after the first debrief for them to speak. He’d intercepted Noah on the way out of Central, heading toward his car, numb, shaken to the core, wondering if he should’ve accepted a ride home. He hadn’t known what he’d expected from his dad—a sympathetic clap on the shoulder, maybe? An acknowledgement that it was an incredibly difficult thing to take another human being’s life, even if it was justifiable. Or some understanding of the fear gripping Noah’s icy heart that a more positive outcome could’ve been achieved if he’d reacted differently. Instead Detective Inspector Bruce Daniels, a good two inches shorter and fifty pounds lighter than Noah, had wrapped his arms around him and squeezed hard enough to make Noah’s ribs creak.

“You did what you had to, son,” he’d said.

When Noah had searched his gaze as they pulled apart, he could’ve sworn there was both pride and sadness in his father’s eyes.

He shook the memory off and faced his brother. “I can give you a solid maybe.”

Something in his tone must’ve sent a warning to Wade as he gave a small shrug and began to load up the plate with bacon strips. “Good enough. Go take care of business and I’ll see myself out.”

Noah compartmentalized his family issues into crap to continue ignoring, and headed out of the kitchen. One type of business he looked forward to taking care of was Tilly in only his shirt.

Kids galore gathered in Oban’s primary school grounds for the annual Easter egg hunt, along with their parents, and a few others who enjoyed seeing the kids hyped up on sugar and bugging said parents. Noah had allowed Tilly to drag him along with her.

“Research,” she’d told him.

What precisely she was researching was a mystery, unless it was some sort of undertaking to figure out why rational adults would run around with their offspring pretending to spot the elusive Easter Bunny. Insane. But he had to admit, it was kinda something to see Tilly with a giggling toddler on her hip as they looked for eggs.

Tilly was going to make a hell of a mother someday. Something he shouldn’t be thinking about, but was.

After the last chocolate egg was found, Noah, along with Tilly and Wade, had been strong-armed by Glenna into joining the Harland family for a roast lamb lunch. The distraction of a houseful of noisy family—the three Harland siblings, Ben, Piper, Shaye, and their partners and kids—was just what he needed to keep his mind from straying into dangerous territory again.

Then his phone rang. He glanced down at the caller’s name and answered it.

“Erin?” He didn’t get any other words out before she interrupted.

“You’d better get over here before someone gets hurt.”

Noah was on his feet and mouthing “Emergency” to Piper and Tilly before Erin finished speaking. The switch from off-duty to on happened so quickly it was barely a thing, since he very rarely felt off duty. “Where are you?”

“Home. I just got here to see Pete arguing with a guy on his front lawn. I can’t see who it is but it looks like it’s about to turn nasty.”

“I’m leaving now.” He disconnected and his gaze encompassed both women. “Sorry. There’s a disturbance at the Reynoldses’. Hopefully I won’t be long.”

Piper shook her head, her mouth twisting down. “Pete’s on a bender again, I guess.”

“I should come with you,” Tilly said. “He likes me—I could probably get him to calm down.”

Tilly anywhere near the unpredictable Pete Reynolds, and with an unknown male on the scene? Not bloody likely.

“No. Stay here.” He didn’t have time to soften the order, even though Tilly’s forehead crumpled and she folded her arms tightly across her chest.

He glanced up at Wade, who’d paused talking Ben’s ear off about dog breeds. His brother arched an eyebrow. Need backup?

Noah gave a subtle head shake and with a quick apology to Glenna, who was setting out dessert plates—dammit—ran to his ute. The drive from Glenna’s house along the winding beachside road to where Erin’s little cottage was situated next door to the larger Reynolds residence didn’t take long. Driving anywhere in the tiny town of Oban didn’t take long since there were hardly any roads.

But a lot could happen in a few minutes. An argument could escalate into violence in the time it took for the brain to signal the fist to swing.

Or a finger to gently squeeze a trigger.

He flicked on the flashing lights and siren in the hope that the sight and sound of it as he sped along the last stretch of road might shock Pete out of whatever red-hazed temper he’d worked himself into.

Pete and the second man—younger, taller, broader from what he could see—were facing off in the front yard as Erin had reported. Pete continued to wave his arms around, veins popping out in his neck. Noah killed the lights and siren and pulled over to the road verge. At least the old fella wasn’t brandishing a chunk of firewood from his woodshed in a threatening manner. He climbed out of his vehicle, now able to hear Pete’s ranting, spittle-infused monologue.

“Call the cops did you? You ungrateful, cowardly whelp. You’re the one the pig’ll drag off in pretty metal bracelets, trespassing on my private property.”

The second man remained stoic in the middle of Pete’s outburst, only turning slightly toward him when Noah’s boots crunched across the driveway. A piercing gaze, hard as the gravel under his feet, met his. Challenge and tension lined the man’s set jaw and rigid shoulders. His boots were planted hip-distance apart, his hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket, his knuckles a bumpy ridge pushing against the battered leather.

It took him a beat or two, but he recognized the man as Seth Reynolds, Pete’s only remaining son.

“Seth, isn’t it?” Noah extended his hand, keeping his voice pitched low and nonconfrontational. “We met briefly at your brother’s funeral.”

“Yeah.” The man’s brow furrowed, but he pulled his right hand from his pocket and shook Noah’s with a firm grip. It didn’t look as if anything was concealed in his jacket, but Noah wouldn’t be letting down his guard until he was certain.

“What’s going on, Pete?” Noah positioned himself as the third point of the triangle, ready to push the two men apart if necessary.

A new audience was all Pete needed to climb back on his self-righteous soapbox. Noah endured the next few spittle-laden minutes listening to Pete’s colorful descriptions of his uncaring spawn who never bothered to call, never deigned to visit his poor old dad, and had the audacity to show up unannounced and expect a prodigal-son welcome.

During Pete’s rant, Seth remained silent. Noah had heard the gossip about Seth and Gavin’s childhood, and the strained relationship between Seth and his father, well before Gavin had drowned. He had been conspicuously absent from Oban over the past three years, but since Pete was no longer in any state to run his and Gavin’s tour boats solo, someone was keeping the old man in better finances than his retirement allowance warranted.

An approaching vehicle’s downshifting gears and squeak of brakes as it parked in front of Noah’s ute pulled his gaze momentarily away from the two men. It wouldn’t have remained on the car except he glimpsed Tilly in the passenger seat. His gaze slid past her to the driver, who was none other than his brother, and not West, who owned the car.

“I’m here because you need help. Your drinking is way out of control,” Seth said.

Tilly wrenched open the car door and scrambled out. Concern for him was etched across her beautiful face, her eyes wide and worried, her mouth a thin, pinched line. He wanted to yell out, demand she get back into the car. He wanted to erase the fear for him off her face, because, dammit, he knew how to deal with this sort of drama in his sleep.

Then—explosive movement to his left.

Pete lunged forward and shoved his son. Since Seth was bigger and heavier, Pete only managed to shift him back a step. Noah forced himself between the two of them, a braced elbow on Seth’s chest, a hand on Pete’s shoulder.

“Don’t need your kind of help, you little bastard,” Pete roared.

He tried to shrug off Noah’s hand, but since Noah was bigger, heavier, and determined to settle this crap down, he stood his ground.

“That’s enough.” He kept his voice pitched to a low register, and caught hold of Pete’s flailing right hand.

“You’re a drunk, old man,” Seth said from behind him.

The contempt in Seth’s voice must’ve penetrated Pete’s whiskey-hazed brain and flicked a trigger. At the same instant Noah spotted the telltale I’m gonna punch your lights out gleam in Pete’s eyes, Tilly called his name. It wasn’t loud, it probably wasn’t even meant for him to hear—but it took his focus from Pete long enough for him to swing his left fist in a sloppy roundhouse punch.

Likely he was aiming for his son somewhere behind Noah, but the end result was the same when Noah moved to block. Fist met cheekbone with a solid thwack. For an old fella his muscles weren’t too wasted, and Noah rocked back on his heels, molten pain flashing from ear to nose where Pete’s chunky ring had clipped him.

Son of a…

Seth moved into his peripheral view, his mouth thin, his gaze hot with fury—but aimed at his father.

“Don’t move, junior.” Noah dialed his tone to go ahead and make my day, once again putting himself between father and son. “Pete, inside the house now before I arrest your skinny butt.”

The older Reynolds, whose self-preserving awareness that he’d just assaulted a police officer kicked in, glanced guiltily at his slipper-covered feet. “Sorry about that. Was aiming for the mouthy prick behind you.”

“I gathered that. Go inside.” Noah softened his voice a fraction at the defeated stoop of Pete’s shoulders.

He shuffled into the house, looking every one of his seventy-plus years.

Noah cut a warning glance toward Seth, but the other man had turned away from his father and was eyeing up Tilly and Wade, who stood protectively in front of her. The smirk on his brother’s face meant Wade thought his brother getting a clocked by an old fella was hilarious. Tilly, her cheeks drained of color, didn’t look anywhere near as amused. He’d sort the two of them out later.

“Are you going to arrest him?” Seth asked in a tone that suggested he didn’t care either way.

Noah touched a finger to his cheekbone and winced. That was gonna leave a mark. He sighed, glancing toward the house and Pete who was hovering at the living room windows, trying to see what was going on. “No. But he and I are going to have a come-to-Jesus chat.” He tipped his chin at the duffel bag dumped by Pete’s front door. “I suggest you find somewhere else to stay.”

“On Easter Sunday?” Seth raked his fingernails down his jaw. “That’ll be easy.”

“You can stay at my place tonight,” Tilly said.

Three pairs of eyes, including his own, zipped toward her.

On her pale cheeks, blotchy spots of pink appeared. “What? I meant at Southern Seas. There are two empty rooms, so he may as well have one.”

Seth frowned. “You’ve taken over Southern Seas?”

“I’m Mary’s great-niece,” Tilly said. “Did you know Mary?”

“Yeah.” And for the first time, Seth’s stoic face softened into a sad smile. “I was sorry to hear about her passing. She was a good sort.”

All touchy-feeliness aside, Seth wasn’t going anywhere near Tilly until he could run a background check on him.

“He can stay with me,” Noah said.

“On your bloody uncomfortable couch?” Wade said. “Generous.”

Seth shot Noah a cool glance. “Unless you’re planning to detain me, I’ll stick with a B&B room.” Then he half turned toward Tilly, but not far enough that Noah couldn’t see a crescent of a smile on his face. “I’ll pay for two nights and make other arrangements on Tuesday when it’s not a public holiday.”

“You’re staying longer than the weekend?” Noah asked.

Seth’s face gave no clue as to his plans. “Maybe. That’s up to how cooperative Pete’s feeling.”

Right. Because Pete was known for his cooperation. “Wade, can you take Tilly and Seth back to the B&B? Give her a hand with whatever she needs to get a room ready, okay?”

“No worries. I’ll handle it.”

In Wade’s gaze was the assurance he had Noah’s back. Seth Reynolds would have his own off-duty police escort.

Tilly crossed the lawn toward him. “Are you all right? Your eye.”

Was starting to swell, yeah, he knew. It wasn’t his first black eye and wouldn’t be his last. “It’s fine.” He took an exaggerated step away from her before she reached him.

“But you’re hurt. You could’ve been really hurt.” She almost skidded to a halt on the damp grass. She didn’t need to verbalize how shaken the confrontation had left her—it was as clear as a kick in the guts. Which he would’ve preferred than seeing her fearful gaze skimming over his body, as if checking him for bullet holes.

You could’ve been hurt. You could’ve been the one shot and left on the street bleeding out while I waited at home not knowing if I’d ever see you again. I hate feeling so sick and helpless. Were those his mother’s words? Or Hayley’s? His gut churned déjà-vu-laden icicles while his core temperature notched up into the red zone. Did she really think he couldn’t handle himself?

“I’m just doing my job,” Noah said.

Tilly’s eyes narrowed for a moment before she stalked back across the lawn to West’s car. Something told him mind-reading abilities could be added to her many personal qualities that threw him off guard.

Tough. He’d handle it in due course. He had work to do.