For the past three days before she was discharged from hospital, Noah was her first visitor to arrive and the last one to leave. He found vases for the flower shop of delivered bouquets, strong-armed her into eating all her hospital-grade meals, did the daily crossword and quiz from the paper with her, and talked more than a game show host on speed.

Basically, he hovered.

And while Tilly appreciated his attentiveness, she couldn’t shake the niggling suspicion that his presence there was born more out of guilt and duty than truly wanting to be with her.

Noah did guilt and duty better than anyone she knew.

Tilly cracked open an eye from her faux nap and stared at the walls of her Auckland apartment. She’d kinda hoped Noah would’ve taken the opportunity to go for a walk or grab a coffee from a nearby café. But then again, when she and Noah went out either for a short walk or a drive to her physio appointment, the man looked as if he were sucking on lemons. He hadn’t complained—he’d even made light about the awful Auckland traffic—but she didn’t need psychic ability to tell he was as tense as a cat in a roomful of rocking chairs. Pardon the cliché.

So they’d spent most of the past six days since she and Noah had flown into Auckland trapped together in her tiny apartment.

Tilly rolled her head to the side. Yup. Noah was sprawled in her armchair, chin resting on his chest, his breathing deep and slow. She took this opportunity to study him. Even asleep, he looked exhausted. One rustle on the couch from her, and he’d be instantly awake.

She swallowed hard, pain fisting around her heart—a deeper hurt than her shoulder wound—and aching like an utter bastard. Her memory of being shot, of the ambulance ride, of the chaos and flashing lights and doctors and swimming up into consciousness, was still pretty muddled.

But she remembered Noah had been there soon after she opened her eyes.

She’d no idea what they’d talked about, other than him telling her later she’d called him pretty. She’d laughed with him, though a flutter of a memory she couldn’t quite grasp long enough to examine quivered in her stomach. She could have sworn he said he loved her.

Probably the drugs screwing with her mind.

Noah’s eyes popped open, unerringly meeting hers. “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself.” She wriggled to an upright position.

“Good nap?” He stretched his arms up above his head.

Tilly’s gaze was pulled to the flex of muscles beneath his T-shirt. Lord, he was fine—even rumpled and unshaven.

“I am the queen of naps.” And the queen of dancing around the issues. Their issues. She pressed her dry lips together and swiped her tongue along them.

Noah immediately dropped his arms and reached for the water jug on her coffee table. “Thirsty?”

“A little.” He poured her a drink. Perhaps it was the motion of water spilling into a glass that loosened the blockage in her throat. “When I was coming around after surgery, I thought I heard you say that you loved me. Was I dreaming?” Her heart pounded as he carefully set the water jug down. Just call her the queen of putting her lady balls on the table.

He handed her the glass and she sipped the cool water, watching a battle of emotions play over Noah’s face.

“You weren’t dreaming.”

He’d said the L-word? A mixture of elation, doubt, and fear churned in her belly. “Guess I gave you quite a scare, huh?”

“You did.” He crooked an eyebrow at her half-drunk water. “Finished with that?”

When she nodded, he plucked the glass from her hand, put it back on the coffee table, and eased down into the armchair again.

“You must’ve known I wasn’t going to die.”

“A common misconception is that shoulder wounds aren’t serious,” he said. “There are a lot of blood vessels and an important nerve cluster there that could have left you with a permanent disability.”

“Thanks, Dr Noah,” she said dryly. “I’m aware of how lucky I am, and that physio exercises are a small price to pay to help me heal.”

“I’ll be making sure you do them.”

Her own personal trainer/enforcer. Super. And he was a taskmaster—making sure she ate, slept, drank, and rested enough. Not that she wasn’t grateful he cared, but she had a mother who cared and nagged her like crazy to complete every one of her physical therapy sessions. She didn’t want another caregiver. Was that all Noah was offering?

“Back to your hospital bed confession. Do you wanna recap for me since I was obviously drug impaired during that conversation?”

“I think you got the gist of it.”

“Humor me,” she said.

Because, dammit, well over a week since the incident she still didn’t have a clue how Noah felt. It was as if he’d ripped off the heart he’d briefly worn on his sleeve and sewn it back inside himself with neat little stitches. She’d watched him like a hawk as he chatted to her mother and his family when they’d visited, but he never let on he’d experienced anything more than a high degree of worry over her injuries. There was no mention of heart-rending terror, or of a eureka moment when he realized he loved her and couldn’t live without her.

“Has something changed now I’m not lying on my deathbed?”

Her stomach flip-flopped at the tightening of muscles around his mouth. Oh God, had it really only been a spur-of-the-moment thing? A something to say when you thought someone was going to die admission? Could you call backsies on an I love you?

“Nothing has changed. I meant what I said.”

The words should have triggered an explosion of happy endorphins, taking away her shoulder pain and making her float like helium balloons to the ceiling. The teenage girl inside her want to flap her hands and squeal, “Oh my gawd, I love you, too.” But the adult woman felt kind of deflated. As if she’d had to twist his arm to pry the verbalized emotion out of him. Of all the times a guy should be able to express the depth of his feelings, surely this was the occasion when it should be the easiest?

“So you…love me?” she asked.

Her heart gave a little kick, anticipating the final boilover leading into the can’t live without you; you’re the one I’ve waited for all my life speech.

He came and sat next to her on the couch, lacing their fingers together. “Yeah.”

Apparently not even a near-death experience—okay, a little exaggeration—was enough to cause a seismic shift in their relationship. A prickle of tears stung the corners of her eyes. Perhaps she was being unreasonable and ungrateful. Maybe she should take the offered crumbs, like she’d always done before. Make excuses for him because of his gender, his upbringing, and his alpha nature. She didn’t require poetry, but she wanted the passion she knew ran through his veins.

She heard Noah’s mother’s words in her head. That kind of love will consume you on the nights you spend alone in your bed wondering if your man will come home again in the morning.

That was the kind of consuming love she was beginning to feel for Noah. But she’d already seen his reaction to her fear for him on the job. What would happen to them over the coming years when she fell more in love with him? Would she resent him putting himself on the line? Would he resent her for worrying? Could she fundamentally change who she was and become a woman who sat at home knitting bootees without a care in the world while her husband broke up bar fights and put himself in the middle of a domestic violence situation? No town, no matter how small, was immune to violence. She knew that now.

That was a hell of a sacrifice to make if the man in question only had a toe dipped in the love water. There were I love yous and then there were I love yous. Noah’s love was new enough that he’d rearranged his priorities so he could take care of her when she was physically at her weakest and struggling to take care of herself. She appreciated how he’d put her needs first and arranged for a replacement in Oban while she recovered.

But it was clear Noah was miserable in Auckland, and truthfully, that part Tilly could understand. She, too, missed the cool blue waters of Foveaux Strait and the welcoming birdsong from among the native bush. The peace and simpler life, the lazy pace of the island, and the space to dream.

Could she be happy living on Stewart Island? Yes.

Could she be happy making a life there with Noah? That was up in the air.

“What sort of love are we talking about here? Like you’re a good friend kind of love?” She must’ve been a better actress than she thought since Noah’s shoulders dropped down into a relaxed state, appearing to buy into her slightly teasing tone.

“A little more than that. Closer to a why don’t we skip lunch and go back to bed? kind of love.” He tipped his head, giving her a sideways glance, his mouth turning up at one corner. “If you’re up to it.”

She’d given him an out by being flippant, and he’d taken it. Why did it suddenly leave her feeling so hollow—make his invitation of lovemaking seem so hollow? Because his feelings for her didn’t have roots digging deep in the foundation of his soul the way her feelings for him did. Wetness streaked down her cheek but because he held her right hand she was unable to wipe it away.

His forehead crumpled. “Are you okay?”

“I’m just sore”— heart sore—“and a little overwhelmed.” She pulled her hand from Noah’s and rose awkwardly to her feet, her stomach muscles rigid with the strain of knowing what she must say. “I think you should go back to Stewart Island.”

A muscle in his jaw flexed and the lines on his forehead deepened. “I’ve got two weeks’ leave left and you can’t cope by yourself.”

You can’t cope. Not I can’t bear for us to be apart. “I have friends who can help out and I’ll stay with Mum while I’m still going to physio.” A flat-out lie—her mum had been sweet and attentive over the past week, but living with her would drive them both bonkers. “Oban needs you, not some temporary replacement who doesn’t know how things work there.”

“You need me.”

Not I need you. “I’m almost good as new. I’m thinking of going back to work, at least part time, on Monday.”

“You can’t be serious.” His eyes narrowed, skimming over her sling and her fleece sweatshirt, which he’d had to help her into, down to her stretchy yoga pants—which he’d also helped her into. “You’re not ready.”

She arched her chin. “There’s nothing wrong with my brain. I’m quite capable of going back to work, and in fact, I’m looking forward to it.” Another bald-faced lie.

Noah gave a slow nod and stood. This close he dominated her tiny living room, making her even more aware of how big a presence he was in her life. Now that she’d had him in her space, with all her carefully chosen bits and pieces, her messy wardrobe that somehow always spilled out onto her bedroom floor, her apartment would feel like an empty mansion without him.

“I’ll pack my things and get out of your hair.”

“Noah.” She reached out with her good hand and found his forearm, the muscles beneath the skin like steel cables.

He met her gaze with a burning intensity she’d never seen before. “Do you love me at all?”

His question lanced into her heart, because she could see in his eyes the cost of asking it. She loved him with everything she had, with every part of herself, with the depth of her imagination that could see them growing old together. But that same imagination pictured arguments over her concern for his safety, her tears and his stoic refusal to express his deepest emotions, a middle-aged couple who spent their anniversary dinner playing candy games on their phones.

“We’ve only known each other for little over a month,” she said.

“You’re right.”

“I didn’t mean to put you on the spot.” He was shutting down, withdrawing right before her eyes. “We could both use some space to think.”

He huffed out a bitter-edged laugh, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets. “Well, seven hundred and fifty miles should do the trick.”

He walked out of her living room into the bedroom they’d shared for the past six days. Tilly sank back onto the couch, the sounds of Noah stuffing clothes into his duffel bag raising a painful ridge of goose bumps down her spine. He really was leaving.

A few minutes later his footsteps echoed on the hardwood floors. She sank deeper into the couch cushions and squeezed her eyes shut. For a moment the room was terse with silence, and then he sighed.

“Take care of yourself, Matilda Montgomery.”

Her apartment door squeaked open, then clicked shut.

“Don’t call me Matilda,” she whispered, and burst into tears.

Noah’s phone rang while he sat outside the Great Flat White Café freezing his balls off with a takeout coffee. Carson’s name flashed on the screen. He was tempted to let it go to voice mail again, but his mate was persistent enough and a pain in the ass enough to actually show up on his doorstep if he refused to take yet another call.

As he hit accept, he glanced out over the mirror-smooth waters of Halfmoon Bay and the Stewart Island ferry getting ready to head back to the mainland.

He cleared his throat and adopted the same professional calm voice he used when answering the station phone. “I’m busy. Haven’t you got anything better to do than bug me?”

The rattle of Carson’s fingers flying over a keyboard came down the line along with a chuckle. “I bet you’re busy. Got your hands full being Tilly’s sex slave?”

Yeah. He hadn’t told anyone he’d left Auckland two days ago. Two days of skulking around his house, which wasn’t really his house but the officer in charge’s house, currently being shared with Constable Webster who snored like a chainsaw. Since Webster intended to stay for his full temporary assignment, Noah planned to finish up his coffee and then take advantage of knowing where Tilly hid Southern Seas’ spare key. The mood he was in, he’d much rather room with the sharks than suffer another evening listening to Webster saw logs in his room while he tossed and turned on the couch.

“Something like that.” He deliberately blocked any accompanying images of Tilly naked beneath him, on top of him, wrapped around him, moaning his name. It was getting harder and harder to do. He stood and crossed to the wharf edge, narrowing his eyes at the horizon.

There was a soft murmur of a feminine voice in Carson’s background and he wondered briefly if Carson had broken his dry spell and taken a woman back to his lair, as he liked to call the penthouse suite of his central Wellington apartment building. Then he heard the woman say, “Is that Noah?” and he recognized Carson’s PA, Ria. Definitely not a woman interested in sleeping with her boss, not when she knew exactly how screwed up his love life was. Noah wrinkled his nose. Pot meet kettle.

“Yup,” his mate said. “You want to take over busting his balls?”

Noah heard Ria laugh. “Would that work for you, sweet cheeks?” She raised her voice so he knew the comment was directed at him.

“Any time, honeybunch,” he replied. “But be a doll and fetch your boss one of those wussy soy latte things he drinks first.”

“Oh—and one of those blueberry scones. They’re my favorite,” Carson added.

“Sod off, the both of you. Meeting starts in ten minutes, Carson. Don’t be late. Kisses, Noah. Later.”

Carson had known Ria since they were seniors in high school, where she, like him, had been part of the unpopular crowd, which had bonded them for life.

“Again,” Noah said, “what do you want?”

Before Carson could answer, the ferry let out two short horn blasts. There were a couple of beats of silence, then a long sigh rasped into Noah’s ear. “You’re back in Oban?”

“You missed your calling as a detective,” Noah said. “Yeah. I’m back in Oban.”

“And Tilly?”

“Auckland.”

Another sigh. A wow, my mate is thick sigh. “Let me get this straight. The woman you love is recuperating in Auckland, and you’re not there with her, spooning her to sleep every night?”

“Spooning is too painful when you’ve got a shoulder injury.”

“God’s sake, Noah. Be serious for a moment. I saw how you two were at your dad’s retirement party. What the hell happened?”

Noah pushed away from the wharf railing and strode back toward the main road. An icy wind ruffled a seagull’s feathers as it launched awkwardly into the sky. “She got shot. I wasn’t there.”

The same burning terror ripped through him as it did every time he remembered that night. And he relived that night over and over. The night he’d finally realized what it felt like to be helpless while the one you loved more than your next breath could’ve been taken away from you. Forever.

“You were there afterward, and her being shot is not on you. You know that. She must be real important to you, because heaven forbid you ever take time off from the job to actually have a life. So why aren’t you still in Auckland?”

“She told me to go home.”

Carson snorted. “And like a good little doggy, you tucked your tail between your legs and went?”

“She wanted me to go,” he repeated, as if explaining a simple concept to a toddler. “I’m not going to stay with a woman who doesn’t want me.”

“Are you really buying into your own bullshit?” The cease of keyboard tapping emphasized his mate’s frustration. “Let me guess what really went down,” Carson continued. “You refused to tell her what a hot mess you were at the thought of losing her, and she probably assumed you followed her to Auckland out of guilt, and you let her think that rather than tell her you’re madly in love with her. Then you chickened out and ran back to your little hidey-hole in the deep south.”

“Anyone ever tell you you’re a bloody know-it-all?” Somehow Noah managed to keep his tone at a casual two guys ragging on each other level as he left the wharf behind him and, in a split-second decision, turned toward Russells’ grocery store to pick up a couple of six-packs. Since he was off duty, the day’s plan now included getting off-his-face drunk so he didn’t have to face the reality that he’d probably lost Tilly for good.

“Am I right?” Smugness coated Carson’s voice.

“I did tell her I loved her.” Even though Carson was his oldest friend, it was hard even admitting it to him. Falling in love with Tilly had made him the most vulnerable he’d ever been.

And she hadn’t felt the same, pushing him away with gentle but insistent force.

“What? As in, out loud? In actual words?”

“Yes, in actual words.”

The tapping started again. “To clarify: You, Noah Daniels, actually said I love you to Tilly while she was conscious and at a volume that the human ear can pick up?”

Noah’s gut gave a sickening little lurch. He drained the last of his coffee in an attempt to settle it, and tossed the cup into a trash can. He’d told her he loved her, hadn’t he? “Close enough. She said we’d only known each other for a short time. I didn’t hang around to listen to the we’re moving too fast, let’s slow this down speech.”

“Wait a minute. Back it up. When did you tell her you loved her?” Carson asked suspiciously.

Damn. “The first time I saw her after she got out of surgery. Listen, love guru, you’re much better at discussing your feelings with a woman.” Not that it helped Carson much. “I’m not comfortable discussing this with you.”

“Or with Tilly either, it would seem.” Carson clicked his tongue. “And are you going to leave it at that? Won’t she have to come back to Stewart Island to finish up at her aunt’s place?”

He arrived at Russells’ but didn’t go inside, choosing to lean against the outside wall and watch the ferry chug away from the wharf.

“At some stage. She’s still got a lot of her stuff there and she’ll have to make a final decision what to do with the property. I guess she’ll sell it.” He shut his eyes against the icy wind, thankful Carson couldn’t see his expression. Some part of him had been hanging onto the hope of seeing her again. Of figuring out some way, of some reality where Tilly would fall in love with him.

“Would you consider moving to Auckland? Maybe apply for one of the more rural positions up there, like in Pukekohe? That’s only a forty-five-minute commute to the city.”

The idea was one he’d already considered while he had time to kill in Tilly’s little apartment. “I don’t think location is our number one problem. I would move just about any damn where to be with her.”

“Mate,” Carson said in a tone that brooked no argument. “Then you’d better work on loosening that stick up your butt and figure out how to tell her this before she walks out of your life permanently. You’ve got to fight for her. Women love that.”

“I’ll work on it.”

“If you don’t,” Carson said, “I will be forced to sic Ria on your case. And nobody wants that particular pit bull latched onto your junk. Hear me?”

“I hear you. Now piss off and go make another million dollars sticking your nose in other people’s business.”

Carson chuckled and Noah disconnected. He shoved the phone into his jacket and decided to skip the beer. A morning hangover wasn’t going to help him figure out how to win the fight to get Tilly back.