Kitabı oku: «The Wedding Party And Holiday Escapes Ultimate Collection», sayfa 16
Twenty minutes later Damon padded silently back into the ward. His mother and Rebecca were chatting softly—too softly for him to hear what they were saying—while Rebecca repainted his mother’s nails. His mother’s crow-black hair had been brushed and secured into a stylish knot that made her look more like her usual immaculate self. Her cheeks held a slight blush, and her lips were coloured with the shade she’d worn as long as he could remember.
Without warning, Soula laughed, and the dull helplessness that had cloaked him since receiving her call started to lift. All at once things seemed brighter. Happier.
His mother was going to be fine. She was not going to die. And he had Rebecca to thank for the transformation. He stepped forward and with his right foot pushed the door shut behind him. The thud caused both women’s heads to shoot around.
Rebecca looked instantly wary, but his mother beamed. “Ah, coffee. Rebecca will enjoy that. Won’t you, dear?” And without waiting for an answer, she continued. “Put it on the trolley where Rebecca can reach it.”
“Two sugars, right?” he asked, unable to help noticing the easy relationship his mother and Rebecca shared. How had he failed to notice the strength of the bond between the two women in the past? Always he’d seen only the differences: one a proud Greek matriarch, widow of one of the richest men in the southern hemisphere, the other born and raised in a series of Auckland foster homes, a woman of questionable morals. One reluctant to succumb to the tyranny of age, the other young and lushly beautiful. Never before had he noticed the common bonds they shared: the strength of will, the burning determination, the stubborn tilt of the chin.
Both were staring at him now, waiting for a response to something he had not heard. He looked from one to the other. “I’m sorry?” he said in his most distant tone, not wanting either woman to conclude that he’d been in dreamland.
“I was commenting on the fact that you remembered that Rebecca takes two teaspoons of sugar in her coffee.” For some reason his mother was smiling beatifically at him.
His brows drew together. “She must have told me.” But he knew she hadn’t. His internal radar had always been attuned to Rebecca’s every action. He’d hated it, resented it fiercely. But there hadn’t been a thing he could do about it. Except pretend it didn’t exist.
And treat her as if she barely existed.
“No, she didn’t,” his mother said triumphantly. “You remembered from all those years ago.”
Backed into a corner, he made the grudging admission. “Perhaps I did.”
To his surprise, it was Rebecca who rescued him. “But then, how many women take two spoons of sugar? Not easy to forget. It’s something that often makes me self-conscious, my addiction to sugar.”
“It shouldn’t,” he said without thinking. “You can afford to eat whatever you like.” And could’ve kicked himself at her startled expression…and his mother’s smug one.
To his relief, his mother didn’t comment. Instead she steered the conversation back to Demetra and Savvas’s wedding and Damon started to relax.
“I can’t help worrying about Demetra. About how she will cope with the strain of a high-profile marriage. She’s very…” His mother paused searching for a word.
“Vivacious?” Rebecca inserted with a smile. “But, Soula, that’s part of her charm. And don’t you worry—as long as Savvas loves her, she’ll be fine.”
“I hope so.” Despite the doubt in the words, his mother looked happier. “But she’s not interested in the arrangements at all. The only thing that matters to her is the home Savvas has bought—and more than the house, the garden.”
“Some women aren’t into the whole wedding spectacle.” Rebecca shrugged. “It doesn’t mean a thing.”
“She has other strengths. She’s a landscaper,” Damon said.
“Oh, yes, and she’s very good with children, too.” Soula’s eyes lit up. “I can’t wait to hold my first grandchild. Damon was very remiss.”
Damon felt the explosive reply rising, bit it back and glared at Rebecca. How dare his mother bring this up? To her credit, Rebecca looked extremely uncomfortable.
Even as he glowered, Rebecca rose to her feet. “Speaking of children, I need to get back to the house. T.J. will be wondering where I am.”
“I can’t wait to meet your son, Rebecca. Does he take after you?”
Rebecca looked flustered. “Not really, although there is some family resemblance. His eyes are just like—” She broke off, blood draining from her face.
Damon took pity on her and said, “He has your dark hair.”
“What?” Her face blanked out all emotion. A second later he watched her snap out of the hell she’d retreated to and reply, “Yes, yes, of course he does.”
Damon froze at the undiluted anguish he’d glimpsed in her dark eyes. Eyes so unlike T.J.’s that he concluded that T.J.’s must resemble his father’s. A fleeting image of round blue eyes. Again he found himself wondering about the boy’s—T.J’s, he amended—father.
Then he forced himself to dismiss the speculation.
It was not his concern.
Yet there was something about the boy’s features that was intensely familiar, but he could not put his finger on what it was. Then pirazi—it mattered not. It would come to him.
Rebecca had turned away and was shrugging on her jacket and collecting her bag. Something had stirred up old hurts for her, judging by the speed she made for the door.
“I can’t wait to meet the little one,” Soula said.
“Soon,” Rebecca promised. From the doorway she gave Soula a little wave and bolted.
“You’ll have to wait until you get home,” Damon said firmly to his mother before kissing her cheek and hurrying after Rebecca.
“Come on, come on.”
Shifting from foot to foot, Rebecca stabbed the button again, impatient for the elevator to arrive. Hearing Damon’s distinctive tread behind her, she shoved her hands into her pockets and hunched into her jacket.
“What’s the hurry?” His dark, fluid voice sent shivers that she didn’t need down her spine.
“I need to get to T.J. I don’t usually leave him for such long stretches of time.”
“What about while you work?”
“That’s different. He’s known Dorothy, his caregiver, since birth. Demetra is a stranger, and the surroundings are alien, too.” But even more than getting back to T.J. she wanted to escape. Away from the well-meaning questions, away from Damon and away from the hospital and the memories of awful helplessness it evoked.
An elevator arrived at last, already occupied by a nurse fussing over a hospital gurney. The patient was a young man in his early to mid twenties, Rebecca guessed. One arm was in plaster. What she could see of his face was covered in lacerations, the rest hidden beneath dressings and tape. He looked as though he’d been in a particularly nasty car smash. She stepped inside, transfixed, barely aware of Damon following behind. The patient groaned and turned his head. Rebecca jerked her horrified stare away.
The elevator sank and stopped at another floor. A beeper sounded. The doors slid open again, and the nurse and her patient were gone, the castors rattling against the endless corridor. Rebecca watched the disappearing gurney and prayed fiercely that the young man’s prognosis was better than James’s had been.
Desperation clawed at her throat. She felt sick, light-headed. “I need to get out of here.”
“It’s the hospital, isn’t it?”
“I hate these places,” Rebecca said with feeling, bile burning the back of her throat.
“Thank you for staying…for helping my mother. It made a great difference.”
“It was nothing.”
“Hardly nothing. She’s afraid.” He shot her a searching glance. “Was T.J.’s birth difficult?”
She swallowed hard, disconcerted by the sudden change of subject. His conclusion was not unreasonable in the circumstances. But what to say? “All births are difficult, but the reward is immeasurable. T.J. is a blessing.”
“He’s a son to be proud of. You’ve done well, raising him alone.”
“Thank you.” Her mouth tasted bitter.
If he only knew.
“You had a short stay in hospital after—” He broke off.
“After Fliss died. It was one night.” Rebecca kept her tone flat as the elevator jarred to a stop. The doors shuddered open to reveal a well-lit underground car park. Rebecca hurried out.
Damon followed. “Was that when the dislike of hospitals began?”
“It didn’t help,” she said honestly, stopping and facing him.
“But the phobia was already there.” James, she couldn’t stop thinking of James. The hospitals visits, the hopeless tests, the sudden brutal end. In a sudden blur of pain she remembered the night Fliss died, how she’d cried as Fliss had slipped away. She blinked and forced herself to look up at Damon instead.
His eyes were hooded, but there was none of the tightness in his jaw that she’d half expected. It was the first time Fliss had been mentioned without Damon going up in flames. That had to be progress. Rebecca sighed. She didn’t want to fight anymore. She’d had enough.
Seeing Soula weak, ill and older had shaken her. And Rebecca had suddenly been struck by her own mortality. If anything happened to her, what would become of T.J.? She felt a disorientating sense of panic and sagged back against the wall. This was ridiculous! This place must be getting to her. The horrid memories.
Yet deep down she knew it was more than the starkness of the hospital, the haunting memories that called to her from the past. The man standing in front of her—the emotions he aroused—was part of it, too. A sharp ache shot through her head. Dizziness. All at once wide white space closed in on her.
“Hey, are you all right?”
With a sense of shock she became aware of Damon’s hands on her shoulders, shaking her gently. For a moment she contemplated leaning forward, resting her head on his chest and releasing the tears she’d held in check for far too long.
But she didn’t want to reveal any weakness to him. So she lifted her head and gave him a wan smile. “I’m fine. Or at least I will be as soon as I get out of this place.”
“Let’s get you out then.”
But he didn’t move.
The expression on Rebecca’s face caused something to shift in Damon’s chest. There was a sadness on the exquisite features, a vulnerability he’d never seen before.
Or had he simply never wanted to see the loneliness?
With a spontaneity that was foreign to him, he leaned forward intending to brush a brief, comforting kiss across her lips. But that all changed the moment his lips touched hers. Instantly he was aware of the softness blooming beneath his. He felt the surprised hiss of her breath against his mouth, and a torrent of desire flooded him.
A primitive male urge rose within him to grind his lips on hers, push her up against the wall, feel her body against his and immerse himself in her heat. To take her and never let her go. Only the confusion in her eyes, the unexpected fragility she’d revealed, halted him.
No.
She had been through enough.
Instead he drew away and cupped her cheek with a gentle hand, heard her breath catch. Her dark eyes were wide and dazed, her lips parted, tempting him. She smelled of flowers, sweet and fragrant. For an instant his mind flashed to that moment in her bedroom when tension and something much more had buzzed between them. That time he’d escaped to the cold, dark water of the pool. But this time…this time he didn’t want to stop. Didn’t want to be sensible.
He wanted to drop his head, slant his mouth across hers and feel the wildness rock him.
It took everything he had, all his magnificent self-restraint, to leash the passion surging inside him. With careful control he leaned forward and dropped the lightest touch across her nose.
“That tickles.” She gave him a small smile and wrinkled her nose at him.
“Does it?” Inside him, something melted. Today he’d seen another, softer side of Rebecca. So very different from the selfish, self-centred woman he’d known before. How patient, loving, she was with her son, how deftly she’d cheered his mother up, easing her fears.
“Yes,” she murmured, her lashes fluttering against her cheeks.
A fierce pang of desire pierced him, and he fought to control the need to crush this wild, delicate woman against him. Inexplicably he ached to possess both sides of her—the caring woman and the sexy vamp. He stroked his fingers along her jaw, savouring the soft skin.
Was it the flashes of tender caring that Savvas had seen in her and liked? No doubt her body was another thing his brother had appreciated. Had his brother felt branded by her kisses? The way he did? Damon brooded over the notion and his hand dropped away from her face. Had Rebecca ever aroused this fearful sense of confusion in Savvas?
“Can you stand?” he bit out, then regretted his harshness.
She nodded, visibly pulling herself together, her eyes large liquid pools in her pale face.
Damon stepped back, his reason at war with his body. Fighting the urge to take her into his arms, to surround her with the warmth of his body, to taste her mouth and brand himself with her taste forever. To take her to his bed and keep her there until he discovered every fantasy she craved, stripped away every secret she possessed.
Hell!
His lack of discrimination stunned him. He swung away, disgusted by the insane surge of desire for a woman so many others had possessed. His own brother, Aaron Grainger, other men who watched her salaciously and spoke of her as “hot, hot, hot” and “great in the sack.”
“Let’s go,” he said curtly. “T.J. is waiting.”
Then he told himself to stop being stupid. What did he expect? Few women of Rebecca’s age had only one lover. Wanting her, bedding her, didn’t mean a thing. After all, it wasn’t as if wanting equated to marrying the woman.
And he was going to have her. Soon, Damon vowed bleakly as they crossed the car park, Rebecca silent and withdrawn beside him. It was time to stop fighting the staggering attraction she held for him. And when he’d purged himself, he would walk away, leaving Rebecca and the past behind.
There’d be no loss of control, no emotion.
Only passion.
Five
Rebecca groaned and suppressed the urge to bang her head against the steering wheel at the labouring whine of the car’s motor.
What a way to start a Friday morning. For nearly two days she’d successfully avoided Damon, ruthlessly using the wedding as an excuse to spend as much time away from his home as possible. She’d taken advantage of T.J.’s fascination with Demetra—and taken advantage of Demetra’s kindhearted offer to babysit T.J.—to get as much organised as she could.
Even though her purpose had been to avoid Damon, Rebecca had been busy. She’d been back to the hospital to check the names of all the guests with Soula and had confirmed late additions with Demetra. A large number would be flying out from Greece, so she’d obtained quotes for their accommodation for Damon to approve. She’d visited the printers, where she’d been given samples of cards, colours and fonts for the embossing on the wedding invitations.
For today she’d lined up appointments to view several venues for the wedding. But now the battery of the little run-around that Damon had organised for her to drive was flatter than a flopped soufflé. Her fault, of course. She’d failed to close the trunk properly yesterday when she’d returned from the hospital, which meant that the trunk’s interior light had been on all night.
She dragged herself out the car and considered her options. Less than ten minutes ago Demetra had waved and driven away with T.J. safely strapped in the back of her sporty little SUV. Demetra planned to take T.J. to feed ducks in a park near her new home. On hearing about the pond, Rebecca had issued a dark warning about T.J.’s fondness of water. Demetra had promised to watch him like a hawk. Afterward she was taking T.J. to her new home for a light lunch and planned to keep him amused planting herbaceous borders in her fledgling garden.
As much as she hated taking advantage of Demetra’s sweet nature, she could call and throw herself on Demetra’s mercy and beg a ride to town.
Briefly Rebecca considered the other, less appealing option—cancelling her meetings.
“Is there a problem?” The dark velvet voice caused her to stiffen.
Damon.
It would be, of course. After successfully avoiding him, he had to find her beside a car with a flat battery. She’d been rattled by how nearly she’d fallen apart in front of him outside the elevator at the hospital, had intended to be cool, composed, elegant the next time she saw him. More than ever she wanted to kick the capricious car.
Heart sinking, she turned to face him. He looked fantastic in a dark, stylish suit with his usual white shirt and conservative narrow tie below that inscrutable face. Rebecca drew a steadying breath and tried to look more together than the jumble of chaotic emotions inside her allowed. If she told him what was wrong, perhaps he’d lend her another car—Soula’s even.
A quick glance at her watch revealed that if she left now, she could still make her first appointment. So she told him. And waited for derisive male condemnation to follow.
“I’ll take you,” he said abruptly. With a click the electronic-controlled garage door behind her started to rise, revealing his silver Mercedes.
“No, no. That’s not necessary.”
“Come. Or you will be late.” He already had his cell phone in his hand, and Rebecca could hear him instructing his PA to reschedule his appointments and organise someone to recharge Rebecca’s car battery as he shepherded her toward the Mercedes.
When he asked where she was going, she told him in a small voice. Rebecca had expected Damon to leave her at the San Lorenzo hotel, but he stayed, striding tight-lipped into the lobby at her side. Rebecca found herself tensing. Of all the places in Auckland, this was the one that held the most painful memories. But it had the grandest ballroom in town. Her own distress was no reason to exclude it from the list of venues.
Andre, a slim, dapper Frenchman who was made for the role of events manager, welcomed Rebecca like a long-lost friend. “You’re back in the business?”
With a strained smile Rebecca replied that she was simply doing a favour for a friend. She heard Damon mutter something barely audible about favours being expensive these days. Her brows jerked together in puzzlement. A sideways glance revealed that his mouth was compressed into a hard, tight line.
Rebecca was aware of the precise instant Andre recognised her companion, saw his visible double take. “Monsieur Asteriades, it is an honour to have you in our establishment. We are pleased to be of any service we can.” The Frenchman quivered like a delighted whippet.
Not for the first time Rebecca’s stomach curdled at the ingratiating treatment Damon received wherever he went. He was just a man, for goodness’ sake, albeit a gorgeous, sexy man. Andre’s deference increased as they walked around the function rooms, the ballroom, until Rebecca wanted to scream.
The tour wasn’t made any easier by the gut-churning knowledge that the last time she’d been here had been on the night of Damon’s wedding. She couldn’t help wondering how often Damon had been here since.
Often, she concluded. What did he care? Of course Damon wouldn’t share her despairing memories of the place. He’d only remember Fliss, their wedding.
What the hell did it matter? What she felt about the place was insignificant. Everything had happened nearly four years ago. It no longer had any bearing on the present. Even the decor had changed. Yet the ballroom still retained that rich ambience she remembered, making it the perfect place for a high-society wedding.
“You’re not seriously considering this place, are you?” Damon muttered through gritted teeth when Andre whisked away to fetch some sample wine lists.
One look into his stormy eyes and Rebecca knew he hadn’t forgotten one minute of that night. She stopped. This was about where she and Damon had parted company after that abortive dance. Even now, a lifetime later, she could recall the burning hurt, the utter misery that had filled her.
But she didn’t allow any of the old turmoil to show. Keeping her voice absolutely composed, she said, “It’s Auckland’s premier venue, the ballroom holds a thousand guests comfortably.”
“No.”
“No?” She raised an eyebrow at his abrupt refusal, some unkind part of her wanting to make him sweat.
“Absolutely not. While the guests might be comfortable, I most certainly will not.” A muscle flexed in his jaw, and his eyes glinted with something that looked like pain.
Perhaps the memory of Fliss, of the happiness they’d shared that night, was too much? A terrible thought struck her. Had she been wrong all those years ago? Had Damon loved Fliss?
Madly?
Deeply?
Eternally?
And if he had, then he would never accept that she’d simply done what she’d had to the night before his wedding. What she’d believed was right.
“I think you’re right,” Rebecca conceded, hating the grey tinge that had crept in under his olive tan and hating herself for contributing to it. “It’s huge and may be too overwhelming for Demetra. She told me she doesn’t want anything too grand.”
“Then let’s get out of here,” Damon said tersely.
Rebecca’s second choice of venue was an old, established yacht club that fronted onto the Waitemata Harbour. It was far less imposing, the ballroom more intimate, the view of the water and Auckland’s famous Harbour Bridge simply stunning. As the club’s function manager guided them around, Damon unclenched his fisted hands and slowly started to relax.
He’d been appalled by the emotion that had smothered him at the San Lorenzo. His towering anger at Rebecca the night of his wedding had come blasting back, an unwelcome reminder of the friction that had existed between them.
Why?
Why had they fought all the time? Why had she insisted on challenging him? Telling him that he couldn’t marry Fliss? Provoking him by flaunting her body at him, demanding that he kiss her…and more? And why had he been unable to let the smallest challenge pass?
He could remember wishing Rebecca would behave like Felicity, shy and in awe of him. Felicity had made a lovely bride. But even that memory was tarnished. Somehow he’d failed Felicity. She’d chosen to desert him. Had she known he’d failed her? That he’d betrayed her the night before he spoke his wedding vows?
He’d expected Rebecca to put up a fight against his high-handed veto of the San Lorenzo. Or at least to argue. She’d clearly established a good business relationship with Andre in the past. Yet she’d given in to his demand with barely a murmur. He’d been grateful, silently grateful. How could he, Damon Asteriades, confess that he couldn’t bear the idea of celebrating his brother’s wedding on the site where his own disastrous marriage had been sealed? Of dancing amidst too many damned ghosts?
Damon told himself he was tagging along to make sure she was fulfilling his mother’s brief for the wedding. But he knew it was more than that.
The wanting, the dark desire, had him tied up in knots. And when he’d seen her struggling with the car, the opportunity had been too good to pass up. But he’d also been consumed by curiosity. He’d seen Rebecca the successful chocolate boutique owner, Rebecca the mother and Rebecca the kind friend to an ill older woman. He’d wanted to see more, to see all the facets that made up the enigmatic women who roused such strong responses in him.
As he followed in her wake, Damon had to admit Rebecca was good at what she’d once earned a living doing. Never would he have thought of asking a tenth of the questions listed on her clipboard. Once, she pulled out her cell phone, rang his mother to check whether any wheelchair facilities would be needed and conveyed the negative reply back to their guide. She questioned. She smiled. And each time she laughed, the heat inside Damon grew and he wanted to taste that lush, laughing mouth. His. He pushed the disturbing thought aside and watched her jot a note down on a pad. She was focused, professional and totally in charge.
The promise he’d made himself in the hospital car park reared up in his mind. He wanted her. All of her. And there was nothing to stop him having her.
Rebecca finished off, arranging to come back to meet the chef who handled the catering, and Damon reached in his pocket for his car keys. “Well, that’s all for now,” she told the function manager. “When I return, I will bring the bride to see if the venue fits with her plans.”
Rebecca was deep in thought when they returned to the Mercedes. Something bothered her about the yacht club. Something that she couldn’t quite put her finger on.
“Time for lunch, I think.” Damon’s voice interrupted her thoughts.
“Oh, I can’t keep you any longer.”
“We both need to eat. And there is something I’ve been wanting to discuss with you. You’ve been very hard to find, Rebecca, these past couple of days. I might almost think you’ve been avoiding me.”
“Avoiding you?” Her voice was high-pitched. “Why would I do that?”
“If I knew, I wouldn’t have had to tag along all morning to get a chance to see you alone.”
So he’d stayed because he had an agenda of his own. Rebecca’s pulse started to pound. “I don’t think—”
“Don’t.” He held up a hand. “Don’t think. Just come and share a meal with me. One of my favourite restaurants is not very far from here. I’ll talk. You can listen and savour the food.” He gave a slight smile that relieved his usually harsh features.
There’d be more to it than him talking, Rebecca suspected. A frisson slithered down her spine. Yet she was intrigued enough to want to see what kind of establishment he favoured. Even though she knew it was risky. Every minute she spent with him increased the attraction he held. Brought her closer to falling back into the dangerous quagmire of emotions she’d once before barely survived.
Slowly Rebecca nodded her assent.
Not far turned out to be a twenty-minute drive into the country, where Damon finally nosed the Mercedes into a long pohutukawa-lined avenue. The large hand-carved wooden letters against a schist wall announced simply Lakeland Lodge. Through the trees Rebecca caught a glimpse of a large country house and a vast silver sheet of water glittering beyond.
Her breath caught. “How lovely,” she breathed.
The lodge radiated serenity. Informal arrangements of country flowers decorated the foyer, and Rebecca paused at a large picture window at the sight of the colourful gardens leading down to the lake.
“What magnificent gardens,” she murmured.
Damon smiled. “I thought you’d like it here.”
After a moment she took the arm he offered and they made their way to the restaurant, where Damon was greeted with enthusiasm and shown to a table with a fine view of the gardens.
“How on earth did you discover this place?” Rebecca asked after they’d perused the menu and placed their orders.
“In the way one finds out about all best-kept secrets—by word of mouth. I came here to celebrate the silver wedding anniversary of a business acquaintance.”
“I never even knew it existed.”
“Then I have achieved something. I didn’t think there was an establishment in Auckland you didn’t know.” He gave her a narrow smile. Before Rebecca could retort, their smoked salmon starters arrived and a companionable silence fell between them.
“That was heavenly.” She laid her fork down. Taking a deep breath she decided to get whatever he’d brought her here to discuss out of the way. “There is something you wanted to talk about?”
His eyes became serious, intent. His mouth flattened into a grim line. Apprehension flooded Rebecca. She hoped it wasn’t what she’d been dreading. Did he suspect…?
Had he worked it out? No, he couldn’t have. He’d have given some sign surely. But the gravity of his expression worried her as the seconds dragged past and still he didn’t answer.
Just when her nerves reached breaking point, he sighed.
“It’s something I don’t want to admit. Something I’ve been fighting for longer than I care to think about.”
“What is it?” she asked in a rush.
He didn’t reply.
The taut pallor of his face scared her. She pinned on a bright smile. “Come on, fess up. It can’t be that bad.”
Or could it? Was something wrong with Soula? But, no, she’d spoken to Soula only half an hour ago, and the older woman had sounded upbeat, joking that she would be dancing soon, that certainly she would not need a wheelchair.
Could it be…? Was something wrong with Damon? Horror swept her. She thought wildly of James, of the shock after his diagnosis.
“Are you ill?” She blurted it out and could have kicked herself when his eyes widened.
“No, no. Nothing like that. I want you, Rebecca.” He blurted the words out and a blaze of colour stained his angled cheekbones. Her knees went weak at the sight of the naked emotion that flamed in his eyes. Then the controlled mask dropped back into place and she thought she’d hallucinated.
She blinked. Once. Twice. But the remote, powerful businessman remained. Unshakable, hardly the kind of man who would utter such a stark statement with so much haunting desperation.
“What did you say?” she whispered at last as the seconds stretched and the silence grew more strained.
“I want to make love to you.” His voice was flat, his face expressionless. He could’ve been talking about something mundane, something he didn’t particularly care much about.
Except she’d seen that hectic, passionate flash of emotion. And a telltale flame of fire still seared his cheeks.
