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CHAPTER FIFTEEN
THE LITTLE YACHT rode the waves with panache, even if the interior cushions were still the colour of mustard. Rowan had the wheel, and Jared trimmed the sails, and together they made the craft skim through the Pacific like a hot knife through butter.
Put Rowan and Jared together and they could usually conquer anything. This they had discovered in the six months they’d been together.
It had been the happiest, most adventurous and fulfilling six months of her life.
Jared’s siblings had accepted her without question, even if she was ten years older than Jared and destined to remain childless. Jared’s choice—Jared’s business. They trusted him, as she trusted him, to do right by all of them.
He was that kind of man.
He’d taken on two more retrieval jobs since Celik, with Rowan’s full knowledge and unofficial support. Rowan had been his muse and Damon had been his handler during the runs. Jared had called her every day and talked about penguins and icecaps. He’d returned bearing fresh scars and seeking her touch, and she was no longer worried that she wasn’t the one for him.
Not when every glance and every touch confirmed it.
Three times now Rowan had asked Management if she could call him in on a case. They’d let her bring him up to date and together they’d brainstormed. On one turbulent occasion he’d even gone into the field and fixed it.
Yes, she’d been worried. Yes, she’d handed over case management to Corbin on that one. But she’d been Corbin’s shadow and there’d been security and reassurance in knowing that she had every detail of his whereabouts and actions at her fingertips.
Action and thought. They could slice and dice these two elements every which way and still manage to make things work.
‘Hey, Jared? Where are we going?’ she called as he tightened the mainsail and she adjusted their course.
‘East.’ He could still be insanely fuzzy when it came to details. ‘We’ll just tack our way out.’
‘Yes, but why?’ If they kept going east they’d end up in Chile.
‘The wind, Ro, the wind! Think of the ride back in on the turnaround.’
And then there was the fun in him. The daredevil with the mile-wide grin and eyes the colour of the ocean.
She had a proposal for him.
‘Hey, Jared? I had a talk with Management yesterday and they offered me a new position. Complete autonomy. Black operations. Specialist team.’
‘Really?’ Suddenly the sail snapped tight and he tied it off and made his way back to her. ‘What was your answer?’
‘I declined the offer and gave them a counter-offer to consider.’
His arms came around her from behind, crossing over her waist, making her feel treasured.
‘This is why I love you,’ he murmured. ‘What did you tell them?’
‘That I wanted to finish up in my position and go freelance. Or a part-time position. And that I would bring my own carefully selected team to the table with me when required.’
Jared leaned forward so that he could see her face. ‘You what?’
‘I know. Most beautiful counter-offer ever. They accepted it.’
‘But—your career … The one you’ve dreamed about since you were a teenager. The one you’ve worked all your life towards.’
‘I had a look at where else there was left for me to go and I didn’t much care for the view. The career I have now has got me to the point where I can name my own terms. There’s nothing more I want from it. I’m on two months’ notice.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Very sure.’
‘And this team of yours? Who does that involve?’
‘I mentioned no names and they didn’t ask. I made no promises whatsoever on your behalf. Still … if you’re interested … I’m thinking three, maybe four jobs per year. Specialist retrieval jobs that need our combined touch. It’d let us be selective. It’d give me more time for you. And this.’
‘I’m in.’ His arms tightened around her. ‘Ro, are you sure?’
‘I’m sure. I don’t want to see you on Wednesday nights and weekends any more. I’m greedier than that. I want more.’
‘Where do you want to live?’
‘On the beach,’ she said instantly, for she’d fallen in love with it. ‘Somewhere near here—close to Lena and Trig and to Damon’s beach house. This is the place for us.’
‘What about your grandfather?’
‘He loves it here. I think he could be persuaded to visit regularly.’
‘And your parents?’
‘I figure we’d see them less often.’ She tried to accommodate them—she did try. But there was still a lot of distance to bridge. ‘I have some money saved. I can sell my apartment. I can put in my fair share and then we can do a budget and go looking.’
‘Always with the details …’ But he was smiling when he said it. ‘I’m in. I am so in.’
‘There’s one more thing.’
‘I’m listening.’
She took a deep breath and put it out there. Not a little thing. A really big thing that would need serious consideration and discussion.
‘Want to make a baby with me?’
Time stopped. Wind rattled the sails and the little boat shuddered. There could be no turning back from this.
He wanted to. She could see it in his face and she had never felt so much happiness. No matter what happened when it came to babies, and the likelihood of them, she would always have this moment and this decision.
‘Yes,’ he growled, and bent.
The next thing she knew she’d been upended over Jared’s shoulder and was staring at his faded-jeans-clad, wholly delectable ass.
‘Now. Right now.’ Jared West—man of action. ‘Let’s do this.’
And she was laughing even as she caught hold of the stair railings and resisted his downward motion. ‘But, Jared, don’t you want to think about this for more than two seconds?’
‘Don’t need to.’
‘I’m older. It might not work.’
‘Then we’ll die trying.’
‘And then there’s the genius genes. If our child turns out to be super-smart, that’s your responsibility.’
‘No problem. I’ll farm him out to Damon.’
‘Him? Him?’
‘Or her. Them.’
Her man was nothing if not adaptable, and they were doing this. Jared wanted this. She had her answer.
‘So we’re doing this now?’
‘Yes!’
Oh, hell yes.
But it simply wasn’t in her nature to make it easy on him. ‘But, Jared, what about this pretty boat? The wheel, the sails, the wind?’
‘It’s good,’ he said. ‘It’s all good. Trust me.’
And she did.
EPILOGUE
THE WALLS WERE round and the furnishings were soft. A posy of lavender sat in a cheerful yellow vase in the corner. There were two beds in the room and Jared had already pushed them together to make a big one. It was the latest and greatest in the private hospital’s maternity wing—overnight rooms for new families. Theirs even had a sliding door leading out to a tiny private courtyard surrounded by screening hedges and featuring a bird bath complete with inquisitive sparrows.
Up until recently soothing whale music had echoed through the room, but the music had been stopped at Rowan’s request. Any more whales and she was going to reach for the nearest harpoon, she’d said
His daughter—the one snugged in tightly to Rowan’s chest—didn’t know about whales, lavender or hospital rooms yet, and maybe she wouldn’t remember this room full of aunties and uncles and one sleeping cousin, but they were all here. Every one of Jared’s siblings and their partners was here to celebrate the latest, littlest addition to their family group and Jared was grateful.
Yesterday’s labour had been hard and long. Rowan had been exhausted and Jared had been more so, thoroughly traumatised by all the things about birth that he couldn’t control and a midwife who’d reassured him that everything was going exactly as it should. All that pain and the pushing—exactly as it should have been. Heaven help them all.
And then Rowan had delivered a sticky and squalling baby girl and Jared had taken one look at her and fallen in love all over again. Seven pounds and eight ounces of little baby girl. His to love, treasure and honour. No setbacks for either baby or mother.
The midwife had placed the baby skin to skin atop her mother’s heart and Rowan had looked up, her eyes shining, and said, ‘C’mere …’
And now he was done. So enamoured of his girls that he had barely been able to see daylight when it had arrived this morning. And if his family teased him about the expression of wonder currently stuck on his face, then so be it. They didn’t know.
Okay, Damon knew. Damon and Ruby had a son on the ground—a laughing little guy who had taken his first wobbly steps not two days ago. Maybe they knew this feeling better than he did. Still.
Those two … right there on the bed … the beautiful woman with the funny face and the ears that maybe stuck out just a little, and the baby girl with her eyes currently fixed on her daddy’s shirt … they were his world.
Poppy and Seb were going to wait a while when it came to children. Damon and Ruby were planning another one. Lena and Trig—Lena for whom children were no longer an option—currently had the care and feeding of a twelve-year-old boy.
Jared had looked to Lena with faint apology in his eyes when she’d first come into the room, with Trig not far behind, but she’d taken one look at him and launched herself at him, hugging him as much in warning as in love.
‘Don’t,’ she’d said. ‘Don’t you dare spoil this moment with whatever guilt trip is in your head. You let me celebrate your little girl. Because I am going to celebrate this one, Jare. For all of us. I’m going to celebrate hard.’
Yeah … As far as family was concerned, his little girl had landed in a special one.
‘So, this is.’ He looked to Rowan and grinned foolishly. ‘Mine.’
‘What are you going to call her?’ asked Lena.
‘Damona,’ said Damon instantly as he cradled his sleeping Thomas in his arms. ‘Got a nice ring to it.’
‘Stay away from Shakespeare,’ Poppy—full name Ophelia—told him earnestly. ‘And hallucinogenic flower names—stay away from those too.’
‘I always liked your name,’ Lena said to Poppy. ‘It’s pretty.’
‘They might want a shrub name, in keeping with Rowan’s,’ offered Poppy’s partner, Seb. ‘Willow? Or Bay?’
‘Pomona?’ Poppy said. ‘Meaning apple. She’s also the Roman goddess of fruit.’
‘Stay away from the fruit,’ Jared’s best friend, Trig, told him, and struggled to keep a straight face. ‘In fact stay away from all the food groups. Honey, Ginger, Margarita …’
‘Don’t you listen to them, sweetheart,’ said Rowan, covering the little girl’s ears. ‘They’re all mad. I’ll explain how that happened when you get older.’
Jared smirked and pushed the dozens of pillows surrounding Rowan aside so that he could slip in beside her on the bed. ‘Tell me when they get too much and I’ll move them on,’ he murmured.
‘I heard that,’ said Lena. ‘And you can try, but I’m not leaving until this baby has a name. Look at her—she’s so perfect. She reminds me of—’ Lena stopped and her eyes sought Jared’s. ‘A perfect little girl,’ she finished softly. ‘Rowan, what are you going to call her?’
‘Jared and I had a deal. If the baby was a boy I got to choose the name. If we had a girl it was Jared’s choice.’ Laughing, dancing eyes turned towards him. ‘You should put your family out of their misery.’
‘I’m enjoying their misery,’ he said, but he touched the pad of his thumb to his daughter’s tiny head and then awkwardly cleared his throat. ‘So … I … uh—it’s a family name. Everybody: meet Claire … Claire Elizabeth Farringdon West. After our mother.’
Nothing but silence followed.
‘Is everyone okay with that?’ he asked gruffly.
Lena nodded and promptly burst into tears. Poppy soon followed.
‘It’s good,’ said Damon, who’d never known their mother.
Damon’s wife, Ruby, stepped close and silently put her arms around him and Thomas and both. ‘Feels right.’
And then the midwife came in and took one look at all the teary-eyed visitors. Her steely gaze fell next on mother and baby. ‘What’s all this?’
‘We just named her,’ Rowan said. ‘Meet Claire Elizabeth.’
‘A fine name it is,’ said the midwife. ‘And all the crying is because …?’
‘Because it’s perfect,’ said Lena as more tears threatened to fall.
‘That’s it for visiting hour,’ said the midwife in a nononsense voice and opened the door wide, looking more than capable of pushing people through it should anyone dissent. ‘This lovely family have had a hard night—all three of them. They need their rest.’
But Lena moved forward before she went out, her eyes faintly pleading as she caught Rowan’s gaze. ‘May I touch her?’
‘Would you like to hold her?’ offered Rowan.
So far only Jared had held her, apart from Rowan.
‘No! I—I … Not yet. I just—’ Lena stroked the tiny head and then pressed a kiss to the baby’s crown. ‘Okay, I’m done.’
‘Hey, Claire?’ Jared rumbled softly. ‘That was your aunt. She’s probably going to teach you how to skydive.’
‘And terrify your father,’ Lena said. ‘Consider it my gift to you.’
The midwife cleared her throat and Lena straightened.
‘Congratulations. She’s so beautiful—and so lucky to have you as parents. I know you’ll be good.’
They all filtered out and the door closed behind them, leaving Jared and Rowan alone with their newborn.
‘Have I told you how much I love you yet today?’ he murmured as he settled back in beside Rowan.
‘Yes.’
Good job.
‘And I love you.’
‘That’s good to hear.’
He would never tire of hearing those words, or of needing this woman’s love. He reached out and touched Claire’s tiny hand, captivated all over again as his little girl wrapped tiny fingers around his big one and held on tight.
‘Do you think she’d like to hear a story?’
‘What about?’
‘I have an extensive repertoire. Explosions, escapes, hair-raising adventures, espionage …’
‘You should probably start small.’
Rowan looked ever so slightly incredulous, and he loved it that he could still put that look there. Never dull, this life of theirs. And right here, right now, it had never been more perfect.
‘You want me to tell her about Veronica the tortoise and the garden hose?’
‘It’s a little raunchy for a newborn.’ Rowan’s smile said it all. ‘Tell her the one about the sun in the sky, the slippery slide and the dancing penguins first.’
Red-Hot Seduction
The Sins of Sebastian Rey-Defoe
Kim Lawrence
A Taste of Sin
Maggie Cox
Driving Her Crazy
Amy Andrews
The Sins of Sebastian Rey-Defoe
Kim Lawrence
Thanks, Peter
PROLOGUE
Blaisdon Gazette. 17 November 1990
A hospital spokesman this morning said that two babies, believed to be twins, found yesterday on the steps of St Benedict’s Church, are now in a serious but stable condition. Police are anxious to trace the mother, who might be in need of medical care.
London Reporter. 17 November 1990
The foundation stone of the hospital’s new wing was laid by the late Sebastian Rey’s grandson, who was named after his philanthropist grandfather. Stepping in for his father, whose duties captaining the Argentine national polo team kept him away from the ceremony, seven-year-old Sebastian Rey-Defoe is the son of the well-known English socialite Lady Sylvia Defoe. Sebastian is set to inherit the Rey billions and the Mandeville Hall estate in England. He suffered only minor injuries in the crash that killed his grandfather outright.
14 February 2008
‘THERE IS A REASON, I suppose, why I am staying in a place called the Pink Unicorn?’ Not a name you could say and think of minimalist decor, and not a name Seb could even say without a grimace of distaste.
‘Sorry.’ His irritatingly cheerful PA pretended she hadn’t heard the sarcasm. ‘But it is Valentine’s Day and there isn’t a decent place within twenty miles of Fleur’s school that isn’t fully booked. The Lake District is considered romantic. Don’t worry, it’s not contagious,’ she soothed. ‘And it is five star, so you won’t be slumming it, and it has great reviews—people on the website rave about the little personal touches. Your room is... What does it say...? That was it: charming and bijou with beams and—’
‘Oh, God!’ he groaned. Six-five in his bare feet, he did not do bijou or beams... Was his petite PA punishing him for something?
‘Don’t be such a misery. You’re very lucky that the Pink Unicorn had a cancellation.’
‘I’ve sacked people for less. I’m ruthless, haven’t you heard?’ The previous month’s article in a particular Sunday supplement, even though it had spawned several rebuttal articles in well-known financial journals, had left a public perception of him that suggested his wealth could not have been made without an utterly ruthless disregard for the rules or his fellow man.
‘Where would you find someone else who gets your weird sense of humour?’
‘You think I’m joking?’
‘Or someone who is as efficient as me who doesn’t weep when you scowl or fall in love with you when you don’t?’
He fought back a smile and, with resignation in his voice, grumbled, ‘Who the hell calls a place the Pink Unicorn?’
* * *
Now Seb knew—the same people who sat a poor guy with a classical guitar out on a lawn on a zero-degree February evening that neither the heat from a glowing brazier nor the open-sided gazebo affair lit by lanterns offered any protection against. To add insult to injury they’d had him wear some ridiculous Spanish get-up that no real Spaniard would have been seen dead in, while he played a cheesy love song in the candlelight as loved-up couples groped one another.
Sebastian’s lip curled. If this was romance, they could keep it!
It was a spectacularly stomach-churning sight, but probably a fitting end, he mused, to a day where the high point had been getting a parking fine from an overzealous attendant.
It should have been a good day, a celebratory occasion. His thirteen-year-old half-sister had won the under-fifteens prize at the science fair her school was hosting, and against all the odds their mother, Lady Sylvia Defoe, had turned up in a display of rare parental support.
He should have known better, yet, as she had walked into the room causing conversations to stop, taking the attention as her due, Seb had almost got sucked in by the ‘caring mother’ act.
Until, that was, she had stepped back from the arm’s-length maternal embrace, looked at her daughter’s face and delivered some very loud advice on skin care, adding complacently that she had never had acne or actually even a spot, and then, presumably because she had not traumatised her thirteen-year-old daughter enough, she had gone on to flirt with every male in the room that caught her eye while her daughter had cringed and wished herself elsewhere. Seb, who had been there, done that, had felt his half-sister’s pain as his own anger had built.
The breaking point had come when Seb had found their mother in a classroom in a very close embrace with the newly married biology teacher. The doors had been wide open—anyone could have seen—but then maybe that was the idea. His mother loved nothing better than creating a scene.
Offering the embarrassed man a tissue for the lipstick smeared across his red face, he’d then suggested the teacher might like to rejoin his wife. Seb had waited until the teacher had gratefully scuttled away before asking his mother, on whom subtlety was wasted, point-blank what the hell she thought she was doing.
‘I don’t know why you’re cross, Seb?’ She’d pouted. ‘Why shouldn’t I have a bit of fun? Your father had an affair with that awful...’ She’d given a heartbroken sob and allowed the tears she could produce at will to fall.
‘I’ve heard it all before, Mother, so don’t expect any sympathy from me. Get divorced, have affairs, get remarried—I’m bored with the entire never-ending cycle—but if you embarrass Fleur again, we’re finished.’
The tears had stopped; she’d actually looked almost scared. Even though he’d known it wouldn’t last, it had still made him feel like a bastard.
‘You don’t mean that, Seb.’
On the point of retracting, he’d pulled back. ‘Every word,’ he had lied. No matter what she did, she would always be his mother, but this was about Fleur, and she needed protecting. ‘Do you ever think about the people you hurt when you’re doing exactly what you want?’ He’d searched her beautiful face for a moment before shaking his head. ‘Sorry, that was a stupid question.’
A scowl glued to a face that caused several female heads to turn his way, Seb strode towards the entrance of the Pink Unicorn that had been geared out for the occasion with, surprise, surprise, garlands of dried red roses. If there was one of those damn things on his pillow he would... He sighed and thought, what was the point? The rest of the world was so caught up with the romance fable one single voice of logic would be lost in the brainless babble.
Allowing himself a superior smile, he turned his head to brush the snowflakes that had begun to fall off his shoulder. The night might end with a few cases of exposure, he thought as his cynical stare brushed over the heads of the clusters of couples. The mild contempt etched into his lean patrician features gave way to one of stark shock as his sweeping survey came to a shuddering stop.
As he stared, the scorch of heat that began in his belly spread through his body like flash fire, darkened the intense brown of his deep-set eyes, framed by straight, strongly delineated brows almost as dark as his long, curling lashes, to jet black.
He didn’t notice what she was wearing beyond the fact the dress she had on was blue and he would very much have liked to see her without it. She had a sensational body, sinuous curves and endless legs, and the lust that had erupted at the sight of her gave a fresh kick in his belly and lower, where it settled as his hot, hungry stare slid over those delectable curves before he dragged it back to her face.
The sense of recognition was crazy because he had never even imagined a woman who looked like her, let alone met one. Her face was a perfect oval, but it was not the symmetry of her features that held his gaze or caused his stomach muscles to clench viciously, but her expression, as, laughing, she looked up at the falling snow, her head thrown back a little to reveal the long, graceful curve of her throat.
Her lips were full, her eyes big in the light from an overhead lantern, her hair a wild explosion of tempestuous colour, gold, red, then gold again, curls that fell down her slender back almost to her waist.
A whoosh of cold air hit his face, breaking the grip of the spell that had held him motionless for countless seconds. Lowering his heavy eyelids long enough to give his nervous system time to recover from the carnal impact of the redhead, Seb dragged a hand across his dark hair and released the breath that had been trapped in his chest in a long, slow, hissing sigh.
He looked again, already distancing himself from that initial uncontrollable visceral reaction. It had been a long day and he’d been too long without... There are some things, thought Seb, that a man cannot rely on his PA to schedule... Like a life...?
Just as he was making a mental note to free up his weekend and deciding who he might share it with—that part had never been hard for him—the redhead’s laughter drifted his way. Low and husky, it had a deliciously tactile quality. It felt like a finger running up and down his spine.
Not accustomed to envy, he experienced a twinge of something close to that emotion as he turned his critical, hostile gaze on the man who had invited this laughter...husband...lover...? As the thought slid through Seb’s head the man in question turned and placed a hand under his partner’s chin, drawing her face up to his.
This time, the sense of recognition Seb experienced was not to be wondered at: the lucky man was the husband of the local GP. Alice Drummond was a woman Seb had time for. She juggled a demanding career with two children and a husband who, at twenty, had written one book someone had called insightful, which was the sum total of his achievements to date, and he was still living off the kudos.
When he wasn’t having romantic weekends with redheads with endless legs.
It was none of his business if a casual acquaintance cheated on his wife with some little... His jaw clenched, Seb turned away. Then she laughed again, the sound so light, so carefree, so damn sexy that something snapped inside him. First his mother, now this woman... Another selfish, beautiful woman who didn’t give a damn about the collateral damage they caused as they went about pleasing themselves, leaving a trail of broken hearts and broken marriages in their destructive wake.
There was a corner of his mind where enough sanity lingered for him to know this was not a good idea, but it was a mere whisper compared to the din of the outrage hammering inside his skull as he strode across the grass, embracing the rage that was colder than the snowflakes that were falling in earnest now.
* * *
‘So Alice couldn’t make it tonight, Adrian...’
Mari struggled to keep her balance as Adrian let her go. No, had he pushed her away?
Adrian didn’t see her hurt, questioning look; his attention was on the owner of the deep, harsh voice. Mari had to turn her head to bring the man into her line of vision.
Before she absorbed the details of the stranger’s tall, impressively athletic frame, expensively tailored suit and face that was combined arrogance and beauty, Mari felt the raw power he exuded.
She felt it like a dark prickle under her skin as he turned his obsidian stare on her.
The tightness in her chest loosened when she managed to break contact with those incredibly penetrating pitch-black eyes—eyes that belonged to the most incredibly beautiful man she had ever seen.
Beside him, dark, brooding Adrian, whom she had fallen for as he read poetry in his beautiful voice looked less of both, almost...soft... She pushed away the disloyal thought and waited for Adrian to introduce her. Would he say girlfriend? It would be the first time; at college they had to be discreet. Students and lecturers dating was frowned on, though, as Adrian said, it happened all the time.
For some reason the fact she was even more beautiful up close increased the level of Seb’s anger by several icy notches. Her eyes, kitten wide, were the deepest shade of violet blue he had ever seen, her mouth was lush and full and her satiny skin was almost translucent...and it turned out husband stealers could have freckles. The detail softened the sultry siren look into a deeply deceptive wholesome innocence.
‘Mr... Seb... Well, this is...is...is...’
He let the stuttering loser, for once at a loss for words, suffer for a moment before suggesting ironically, ‘Nice?’
‘This isn’t what it looks like.’ The cheating husband took another step to distance himself from the girl who was standing there, quite beautiful, quite still; she could have passed for a statue.
The music had stopped and everyone around them, sensing the drama, busily pretended not to be listening while hanging on every word. The girl moved towards her lover, who held out a hand as though to fend her off. She froze in response to the rejection, her big eyes radiating hurt and confusion. Seb thought of hard-working Alice, all the Alices out there, and cast out the seed of pity before it took root in his head.
‘Is Alice... You know, your wife... Is she working, or is she looking after the kids? How does that woman cope?’ He shook his head in wondering admiration and drawled, ‘A busy medical practice, a mother of two and a husband who cheats on her?’
Mari waited for Adrian to say something, willed him to say something, to tell this terrible man who had appeared seemingly out of nowhere like some sort of sleek and dark avenging angel—in a world where angels wore very expensive tailoring—that this was all a mistake.
They’d laugh about it later in bed when they were sharing the bottle of champagne that he had ordered.
But the only sound was the shocked mutters from the other guests. Mari didn’t turn her head, but she could feel the hostility and disapproval of their stares like daggers in her slender back.
‘I couldn’t help myself. She... I love my wife but... Well, just look at her!’
Her last hope vanished.
Every word that man had said was true.
She was the other woman. She hadn’t known, but that didn’t lessen Mari’s sense of crushing guilt and shame. Her sense of total isolation was complete; she had never felt more alone in her life. Pressing a hand to her stomach, she breathed her way through a wave of intense nausea. When was Adrian going to tell her? After, stupid.
Seb, tuning out the rest of the other man’s words, followed the line of his accusing finger. The woman standing there represented everything he despised in a female, yet he had no control over the hot hunger that slammed afresh through his body.
While his mind rejected and despised her, his body wanted her. You had to recognise a weakness to control it, and Seb valued control.
Control or not, it was still salt in a raw wound to acknowledge that she stood there looking like a piece of porcelain about to shatter, and there was a part of him that wanted to comfort her.
She could have had any man she wanted, and she had decided she wanted a married loser? When she could have... Who, Seb? You?
He ignored the mocking words in his head and launched a fresh invective, this time directed at the woman. ‘Do you care that he’s got a wife and children waiting for him at home?’
