Kitabı oku: «The Thorn In His Side», sayfa 2

She’d read somewhere that head injuries could make people act totally out of character—so what’s your excuse, Libby?

‘Libby?’ He rolled the word around his tongue experimentally.

She nodded, hardly recognising her name when he said it, but finally placing his accent as Spanish.

‘Look, this is silly—’

His mouth lowered, close but not quite touching, a whisper above her trembling lips.

What the hell are you doing, Rafael?

Rafael would have responded to the last-minute reassertion of sanity had she not at that exact moment given a choky little gasp and pressed her warm lips up against his.

A split second later with a scared little gasp she pulled back, but the damage was done.

Shame burned her cheeks as she met his eyes. ‘That was so—’

‘Not bad,’ he inserted in a low sexy growl that did further serious damage to her already demolished nervous system. ‘But I think we can do better.’

And he did.

His lips moved with slow sensuous skill across the trembling curve of her mouth; she heard herself whimper as he ran his tongue along the sensitive inner flesh of her lower lip and tugged the flesh gently between his teeth.

Libby, who had not moved a muscle, pulled back with a horrified gasp, breaking the connection before proceeding to fall out of the car in her haste to escape.

CHAPTER THREE

LIBBY stood there, hand pressed to her mouth as the horror of what she had just done hit home with the force of a hurricane.

This was one thing she could not blame on jet lag; she had lost control—sexually, with a stranger, a man whose name she didn’t even know.

Mortified colour ebbed and flowed in her cheek. What had possessed her?

The answer to her question was getting out of what remained of the top-of-the-range sleek powerful car, his body language not suggestive of someone who had just survived a car smash or, for that matter, someone who had just kissed her passionately.

He looked … A soundless sigh escaped through her clenched teeth.

Shameful memories flashed through her mind. For a breathless moment she could actually feel the texture of his lips, the taste of his hot mouth. Libby clenched her teeth, struggling to purge the image of his smouldering sexy eyes. She succeeded in pushing them away, but not before the hot core low in her pelvis had tightened to a hard fist of desire.

Knowing what she was feeling was shallow and only physical did not make the experience easier to cope with.

Her knees were shaking as, breath coming in a series of painful gasps, she watched covetously from under the sweep of her lashes as he stepped out onto the grass and stretched the kinks from his spine. The gorgeously cut suit was special and so was the tall Spaniard, and she wasn’t just making excuses—he really was!

She swallowed. In the cramped confines of the car it had been obvious he was a powerfully built man, but until now she hadn’t realised how dauntingly impressive his physique was.

Several inches over six feet, he had an athlete’s body, greyhound lean and muscular, the width of his shoulders balanced by long legs—very long legs and narrow snaky hips.

As she continued to stare he walked around the car, inspecting the damage that would have made many men weep or at the very least swear, with an inscrutable expression on his lean patrician features. Libby felt her stomach flip.

She had never imagined that the way a man moved, even if it was with the grace and arrogance of a panther, would make her feel breathless.

Her unwilling appreciation gave way to indignation as he began to hit the keys on his phone. He hadn’t even glanced her way!

She was shaking all over and he was acting as though nothing had happened, which on one level was good because the last thing she wanted right now was a postmortem. She wanted to walk away, or possibly run, and forget it ever happened.

On the other level it had happened—he’d kissed her. Admittedly it wasn’t a marriage proposal, but to act as though nothing had happened … well, it was just bad manners.

And she hated bad manners. It wasn’t as if he’d turned her world upside down or anything dramatic and she’d stop shaking some time soon, but a show of penitence or even a thank you would have been something.

‘What is the name of this place …?’ he asked without looking up.

Libby glared with dislike at the top of his dark head. She could play it cool too. ‘So you have a signal now?’

He deigned to notice her. ‘Yes.’ He angled an interrogative brow.

‘Buckford,’ Libby snapped.

‘Buckford …?’ Rafael repeated, wondering as he punched in the name why the name of a village in the middle of nowhere should sound vaguely familiar.

He returned to his text and Libby watched him, her temper rising. Jaw tight, she stomped up the hill.

Within seconds of sending the message Rafael received a text back from Gretchen, who assured him she would be with him in less than ten minutes. Satisfied with the response, he glanced up in time to see the redhead, whose progress up the muddy bank he’d been aware of in the periphery of his vision, bend over to slide one foot and then the other into a pair of heels.

The fresh air had cleared the remnants of haziness from his head and, sanity restored, Rafael was already regretting his impulsive actions. Struggling to control his temper, he recognised that his irritability was in part due to nothing more complicated than sexual frustration.

Regret or not, watching her shapely rear as she climbed the incline sent a stab of lust through his loins.

On the road above Libby stamped her feet, grimacing as her damp, muddy toes squelched inside her lovely new shoes. Anchoring her hair back from her face with one hand, she straightened up.

Even before she turned she knew he was watching her; she could feel his silent stare.

‘What happened, that was unacceptable, even if you have got concussion,’ she informed him icily.

‘I do not have concussion.’ Just an extremely bad headache, but nothing a couple of aspirin would not cure. ‘Though I am confused.’

A small choking sound left Libby’s throat … He’s confused.

‘Are you implying that a man would need to have a head injury before he wants to kiss you?’

Thrown off her stride by the insert, Libby glared wrathfully at him. ‘No, of course not. For your information a lot of men want to kiss me.’

His lips quivered. ‘Of this I am sure.’

‘If you do that again I’ll … I’ll … you’ll be sorry!’ Libby’s hauteur suffered a wobble as she struggled against the impulse to turn and run as he began to stride up the steep incline, his progress a lot more sure-footed than her own had been.

He stepped onto the road and Libby immediately lost what height advantage geography had given her. He towered over her, forcing her to tilt her head to look him in the face. Size might not be everything but at that moment she would not have minded an extra inch or two.

‘You kissed me,’ she charged, addressing her accusation to his chest.

‘Only after you kissed me.’

The provocation brought her indignant gaze zeroing in on his face. Libby thought longingly about wiping that smug smirk off his face. ‘I’d had a shock. I thought you were dead.’ As excuses went it was pathetic, but it was all she had.

‘So that was the kiss of life?’ he said, sounding interested.

Libby, who could not think of a smart comeback and suspected that even if she had he would have come up with an even smarter one, shook her head.

‘I think we should forget it,’ she decided magnanimously.

Libby intended to, though the incident had all the ingredients of a nightmare—the sort where you found yourself in the supermarket in your underwear, and not the good stuff.

‘As you wish, though I’m insulted my kisses are so forgettable. Still, I’m a firm believer in the old adage practice makes perfect.’

Her eyes narrowed. Any more perfect and she’d have passed out. ‘So long as it’s not with me you can practise as much as you like.’

‘Relax, I only have sex with sane women.’ Not for three months, he realized. This went a long way to explaining his uncharacteristically impulsive behaviour.

He had appetites, sure, but he exerted control and, he liked to think, discrimination. The last thing he wanted was to find himself involved with some needy attention seeking bunny boiler who wanted to understand him.

Luckily there were plenty of women who shared his pragmatic attitude to sex and did not need the façade of a loving relationship to enable them to enjoy sex.

Libby tilted her head back to angle a menacing frown at him. ‘And you’re saying I’m not?’

‘You walked out in front of my car. If that doesn’t qualify as insane I don’t know what does.’

His eyes darkened at the memory of that moment when he had thought he was going to hit her. ‘What did you think you were doing? I can’t decide if you are a lunatic or just suicidal.’

The fact she fully deserved the reprimand and his anger did not make it easier to stand there meekly and take it.

‘I didn’t jump out, well, I did, but only because you were about to run over the dog and, anyway, if you hadn’t been driving like an idiot this wouldn’t have happened.’

He raised an eloquent brow. ‘So this was my fault.’

Libby felt the guilty heat rush to her cheeks. ‘Not totally,’ she admitted reluctantly.

‘And as for a dog …’ he made a show of looking around before lifting his shoulders in an expressive shrug ‘… I see no dog.’

The pink in her cheeks deepened to an angry red. ‘Are you calling me a liar?’ she asked in a dangerous tone.

He arched a brow and looked amused. ‘I am simply saying that I saw no dog …’ He turned his head from one side to the other and shrugged. ‘I see no dog.’

‘Just because you don’t see something doesn’t mean it wasn’t there!’ retorted Libby, really angry now. Did he really think the dog was a figment of her imagination?

‘Let’s for argument’s sake say there was a dog—’

Libby gritted her teeth. ‘There was a dog. He’s a golden Lab who answers to the name of Eustace.’

Libby saw no reason to add that he rarely answered to his name. In fact the daft animal was far more likely to run in the opposite direction.

‘So where is this dog now?’

Good question, thought Libby, scanning the lane with a worried frown. ‘God knows,’ she admitted honestly. ‘He’s not very … He was a rescue dog—he’s a little bit … highly strung.’ It sounded better than the truth, which was he was as mad as a box of frogs!

‘If a dog is badly behaved it is the owner’s fault and not the animal’s.’

Libby, her chin angled defiantly, tilted her head back to meet his golden stare. His superior attitude was really setting her teeth on edge.

‘I’m not blaming the dog for anything and I am quite prepared to admit that the accident is my fault,’ she told him haughtily.

He shook his head and flashed a wolfish white grin. ‘Has no one ever told you that you should never admit guilt?’

Libby gave a disdainful sniff and retorted, ‘No, I was taught to tell the truth and take responsibility for my own actions.’

‘Very noble, I’m impressed,’ he said, looking deeply unimpressed. ‘Not everyone realises that all actions have consequences.’

Libby regarded him warily.

‘In the litigious world of today such painful honesty can be an expensive luxury.’

Libby shivered and, hugging herself, rubbed at the goose bumps that had broken out on her arms. Some women, she was sure, would have found the resulting suggestion of something approaching cruelty in his smile attractive; she was glad she was not one of them.

But, God, he knew how to kiss!

‘Is that some sort of threat?’

Before he could reply the sound of an excitedly barking dog bursting through the bushes the other side of the road made them both turn.

‘Is he real enough for you?’ Libby raised a sarcastic brow and threw him a challenging glare of triumph as she dropped gracefully down to dog level.

‘Eustace, good boy!’

The dog continued to bark from an elusive distance.

Rafael watched her efforts to lure him closer with a critical scowl. ‘At heart a dog is still a wolf, a pack animal who needs to know who is in charge.’

Libby cast him a sideways look of dislike as she continued to make encouraging noises. ‘And that I suppose would be you.’ Admittedly if any man had pack alpha written all over him it was this one.

‘My lifestyle is not conducive to owning pets.’ That was the life he had chosen for himself, the life that suited him. No baggage, nobody to feel responsible for.

He had given responsibility a go and he had failed; the guilt of failing the person he had tried to protect had stayed with him through the years.

He had failed the only person he had ever loved.

It didn’t matter to Rafael that most people would have considered it the mother’s job to keep the son safe and not vice versa. His mother had been one of life’s fragile souls worn down by rejection and hungry for the approval of whatever man was in her life, eager to gain their approval even when pleasing them meant dumping her inconvenient child with whoever would take him.

She had always come back for him eaten up with guilt, calling him the only man in her life, and for a while things were good, but there was always another man. And then finally she had not come back and Rafael had gone in search of her, arriving too late.

She had died alone in a remote village that did not even have clean water, let alone a doctor, and Rafael had not been able to afford a headstone.

He had been fifteen at the time and it had taken him two years to return with a headstone. The village now had clean running water and last year he had laid the foundation stone of a clinic.

‘But that doesn’t stop you being an expert,’ Libby drawled. ‘Why aren’t I surprised? For your information Eustace was badly abused. He needs TLC, not bullying and he—’ Just warming to her theme, Libby suddenly stopped as the tension he was vibrating reached her. She tilted her head back to look at his face.

‘Are you all right?’

She was confused as much by her reaction to the shocking desolation she had glimpsed in his heavy-lidded eyes as by the cause of it, and her questioning gaze went to a possible source: his head wound.

‘Your head?’ Not that physical pain would explain the awful anguish she had glimpsed in his eyes.

Rafael looked into her wide eyes, blue as a summer sky and warm with concern, and fought the illogical impulse to lash out, punish her for seeing more than she was meant to.

‘My head is fine,’ he said, taking a step forward while mentally taking several backwards, pushing away the dark memories and focusing instead on the pleasant present and the more than pleasant tantalising glimpse of cleavage revealed as he stared down the neck of her loose necked sweater.

‘So you understand about animals.’

Catching the direction of his bold stare, Libby felt her breasts tingle. And for a moment there she had been in danger of imagining he had some depth! She gave a disgusted snort and swung away. The fact her body continued to react without her consent increased her self-disgust.

‘Let’s put it this way—I find them infinitely preferable to men,’ she gritted, feeling impelled to add, ‘Some men.’ She pretended not to hear his husky laugh. ‘So if you don’t mind.’ She turned back to him and mimed a zipping motion across her lips.

After a startled moment Rafael grinned and inclined his dark head. ‘Be my guest.’

Libby, aware of her silent critic, continued her attempt to coax Eustace to her until her patience snapped. She rose to her feet, muttering under her breath as she dragged a swathe of hair back from her face before directing a frustrated glare his way.

‘Fine, if you’re so clever …?’ she snapped, irrationally hoping he was equally unsuccessful.

Of course he wasn’t.

He stepped forward, said a couple of authoritative-sounding words in his own language, and the dog—suddenly he could speak Spanish—trotted forward meekly looking sheepish.

Libby gritted her teeth and thought, Traitor, as after another word the dog sat down at his feet, wagging his tail while he gazed adoringly up at the man who condescended to pat his head and murmur a word of praise before bending to gather the lead from the ground.

Libby’s chest swelled with indignation, making her even more uncomfortably conscious of the fabric chafing against her nipples. It was a conspiracy, she brooded darkly, first betrayed by her own body and now the dog.

Libby took the lead silently proffered her and viewed him through narrowed eyes. ‘If I took you home my family would probably want to adopt you.’ She drew the dog towards her, patting his head.

‘Would that not make me your brother?’ he taunted.

‘I already have a brother, and I’m sure you have your own family.’ And maybe a wife?

The possibility filled her with horror. Had she kissed not just a stranger, but a married stranger? Checking out his left hand, she was relieved to see no wedding band.

Rafael shook his head. ‘No, my mother died some years ago. There is no one else of note.’

‘That is so sad!’ Libby exclaimed.

CHAPTER FOUR

‘SAD?’ Rafael raised a brow and watched the glow of sympathy fade from her blue eyes as he added cynically, ‘From what I see of families I am not envious. Down,’ he added in a stern aside as the dog, whimpering, rubbed against his leg.

The dog immediately rolled onto his back submissively.

‘Eustace!’ Exasperated, Libby tugged the dog back towards her. ‘You really are an idiot!’

‘I have been called worse.’

‘Not you …’ Libby saw the mocking glint in his deep-set eyes and, fighting a grin, added gruffly, ‘Well, you are, but on this occasion I was talking to the dog.’

Rafael’s mouth twisted into a sardonic smile that faded as a car came round the corner.

Libby, aware that she had lost his attention, turned in the direction of his gaze and saw a bright red classic sports car driven with the top down heading towards them at a sedate pace.

The driver waved when she spotted them and slowed.

Rafael did not wave, but it seemed a safe bet to Libby that the woman who parked the car and leapt gracefully from the vehicle was not a stranger.

Libby watched the woman’s progress, envying the voluptuous figure, the length of her legs and her ability to make skin-tight jeans look good. From a distance she looked fantastic, depressingly close to she looked even more perfect.

Libby watched the woman’s fashionable twenties bob swinging in a silky bell around her face and envied the sleekness of a style she could never achieve with her own naturally curly hair.

‘Ra—Oh, God, blood!’ exclaimed the blonde, clapping a hand to her mouth. ‘I feel sick.’

So did Libby. What sort of man kissed another woman while his girlfriend was on her way to rescue him?

‘Kindly endeavour not to be sick.’

She had her answer: the sort of man who spoke to his girlfriend like that, Libby thought, wondering why the woman not only took the harsh advice in her stride, but appeared grateful!

‘Sorry I’m late. I got stuck behind a tractor. Do you think it will scar?’ she wondered, her eyes trained with sick fascination on his injured face. ‘Have you cleaned it? There could be dirt.’

Sensing that his PA was about to go into full OCD mode, Rafael pitched his reply in a tone aimed at defusing the situation before it got out of hand.

When she had a handle on her compulsive behaviour Gretchen was the best PA he had ever had, but when she lost it things could get … interesting. Like the time the cleaning supervisor had rung him at midnight saying he might want to know that his assistant was still there switching the light on and off, unable to leave the room.

In retrospect he could see that the clues that should have alerted him to her condition had been there, he just hadn’t noticed. This did not make Rafael feel good about himself. He expected those who worked for him to go the extra mile and what he expected he should also be prepared to give. One of the first lessons Rafael had learnt was that loyalty was a two-way street.

He had refused to accept her tearfully offered resignation, pointing out that it made no sense to lose the best PA he had ever had just because she felt the need to spend an hour washing her hands.

Instead he had acquired the name of a clinical psychologist who came highly recommended and insisted that she undertake therapy sessions. It had been a good call—they had proved dramatically successful but, as Gretchen said herself, she was a work in progress.

‘The wound has been cleaned,’ Rafael said, pre-empting the production of the cleaning products he knew would be in her car.

Libby opened her mouth to indignantly refute this and found herself on the receiving end of a killer look. She gave as good as she got glarewise and lapsed into tight-lipped silence.

‘And you are not late.’

Gretchen shook her head and glanced fretfully at her watch. ‘I said ten minutes and it’s—’

Rafael cut her off. ‘You are here now.’

‘Yes, I am.’ She flashed her boss a smile and took a deep breath. ‘Thanks. I’ve arranged a tow truck and rung ahead to delay the meeting with the Russians and—’ She stopped and let out a yelp as the Labrador laid a friendly muddy paw on her leg.

Rafael clicked his tongue in irritation. ‘Down!’ The disapproving look that went with the command was aimed at Libby, not the dog. ‘Can you not control that animal?’

‘Not according to you,’ Libby flashed.

A few feet away the tall gorgeous blonde continued to pat frantically at her jeans, making what seemed to Libby like an awful lot of fuss over a tiny amount of mud. The woman had barely glanced her way, let alone introduced herself. They were suited in more ways than one, both beautiful and both incredibly rude, then it hit her—she didn’t even know his name!

‘It is nothing, Gretchen, relax.’

The blonde looked at the hand on her shoulder and gave a gulping gasp, then with one last fretful dab at the invisible speck of dirt lifted her head. ‘I really don’t like the country.’

‘Wait for me in the car.’

And she did.

His ability to inspire unquestioning obedience was obviously not restricted to the canine community, it worked on beautiful six-foot blondes as well.

‘Does everyone jump when you snap your fingers?’ Libby screwed up her nose and gave a pained grimace. ‘I said that out loud, didn’t I?’

Rafael nodded, his lips twitching. ‘The answer to your question is no.’ The redhead did not jump except in the opposite direction—perhaps that was the attraction …? On the other hand it might be the incredible body and the lush lips.

Libby did not need to pretend surprise. ‘You amaze me.’

‘I have that effect.’

Libby’s stomach took a sharp unscheduled dip as the explicit glow in his expressive eyes sent a rush of shameful heat through her body. Molten hot, it settled disturbingly between her thighs.

Libby flushed, her anger at least in part aimed at the weakness that made her respond to him this way.

‘I’m not interested. Maybe you should try and amaze your girlfriend.’

His brows lifted as he encountered the hostility shining in her eyes. ‘Gretchen is my PA, not my girlfriend, and I do not mix business with pleasure.’ He stopped, an arrested look filtering into his eyes as he realised he had just broken the habit of a lifetime and explained himself.

Libby gave an airy shrug to establish she had no interest in his relationship with the blonde whatsoever. The knowing gleam in his heavy-lidded eyes suggested she wasn’t entirely convincing.

‘You shouldn’t keep your …’ she jerked her head towards the red car ‘… PA waiting.’

He directed a frowning glance towards the car; she was right. ‘True.’

‘Don’t let me keep you.’ The words were barely out of her mouth before she gave a contradictory urgent cry of, ‘Wait!’

‘You are missing me already. I’m touched.’

Libby directed an ‘if I see you again in this lifetime it will be too soon’ look at him and pulled a scrap of paper from her pocket. ‘Do you have a pen?’

Rafael pulled a pen from his jacket pocket and watched as she began to scribble on the paper.

‘Here,’ Libby said, pushing it at him.

‘What is this—your telephone number?’

‘My name and address,’ she retorted, refusing to react to the mockery in his voice. She glanced towards the damaged vehicle. ‘Send me the bill for the damage.’

Rafael glanced down at the words on the paper. ‘That could be quite a bill.’

‘I pay my debts,’ she told him proudly. ‘Is something wrong?’ she asked, frowning as he did a visible double take.

‘Marchant? Would that connect you to Marchant Plastics?’

‘My grandfather began the firm and my dad runs it now. Have I said something amusing?’ she asked spikily. ‘What are you doing?’ she added as he screwed up the paper between his long fingers. ‘I mean it—I want to pay for the damage.’

‘I won’t hold you to it, but don’t worry, I have an excellent memory.’

Puzzling over the cryptic parting shot, Libby stood watching as he walked away and got into the car with the beautiful blonde, not once looking back.

Of course he didn’t look back! He had probably already dismissed her from his memory, or maybe he was sharing an amusing anecdote about the incident with his blonde PA—sure, that was really likely.

Eustace sat on the passenger seat with his head out of the window as Libby drove the half-mile down the lane to the chocolate-box roses-around-the-door cottage where Chloe lived.

The short journey did not take long, though longer than it might have had she not felt the need to stop halfway to bury her head in her hands and groan a mortified—You wanted to kiss him; you enjoyed it!

It seemed to Libby as she angled a glance at her refection in the driving mirror that her shame was written all over her face. Chloe was going to know that something had happened the moment she saw her and in her present frame of mind Libby had an uncomfortable feeling she might tell her what it was!

Hand on the ignition key, she paused and dropped her hand, thinking, Maybe not …? It might be an invitation to any passing felon, but a running engine also provided an escape route of the ‘must dash, the engine’s running’ variety. And Chloe was already aware that she was in a hurry home.

Her precautions proved unnecessary as it was Chloe’s husband, Joe, who answered the door. Not really renowned for his sartorial elegance, Joe resembled an unmade bed even more so than normal and the bags under his eyes had acquired company.

Libby’s own problems receded momentarily as she angled a look of sympathy at his exhausted face. ‘Hi, Joe.’

Beside her Eustace saw his master and leapt at him, tearing the lead from her hand in the process.

‘Hush, you’ll wake the baby, hound,’ Joe said, grabbing the trailing lead of the barking dog and receiving a slobbery kiss from the overexcited animal before bestowing a grateful but weary smile on Libby. ‘Thanks, Libby. It turns out I could have picked him up—I got off work early.’

Now he tells me, Libby thought, fixing a smile. ‘No problem.’

Other than discovering I am actually not a nice girl. That actually when it comes to breathtakingly handsome Spaniards I am what is termed easy.

On the plus side, it was good to know your weaknesses. From now on she was going to avoid anywhere where there was so much as a chance of hearing flamenco music.

‘The vet said you can bring him back Tuesday to get the stitches out and to give him these.’ She reached into her pocket and produced a bottle of tablets. ‘Twice a day, I think he said,’ she said, glancing at the label.

Joe took them and pocketed them. ‘Don’t worry, we know the drill—unfortunately.’ Joe ran a hand over his unshaven jaw and seemed surprised to find gingery stubble there. ‘But no more or it’s obedience school for you,’ he warned, patting the animal’s head.

Libby fought back a smile. Poor Joe—designer stubble was not a good look on him. Of course there were some men who would not necessarily look disagreeable with a couple of days’ beard growth.

A few might even look sexy in a slightly edgy, piratical way, she conceded, thinking of one face in particular.

‘How are things?’ she asked, making a conscious and unsuccessful effort to push the face away.

‘A bit … twilight zone, really. I think it’s the sleep deprivation. Chloe’s having a nap. I know she’d love to see you, but you don’t mind if I don’t wake her …?’

Finally banishing the image of a specific dark lean face complete with designer stubble, Libby shook her head and struggled to hide her relief.

‘Not a problem. To be honest I’m a bit tired. I want to get home and Mum and Dad—’

‘Yes, of course!’ A spasm of sympathy crossed Joe’s face. ‘I heard, Libby. I’m so sorry. If there is any—’ He broke off, looking over his shoulder and groaning as the unmistakeable sound of a baby’s demanding cry rang out in the distance.

Oblivious to the alarm in Libby’s expression, he gave an apologetic shrug. ‘Sorry, must go before Chloe wakes up. She’s all in and—’

‘No problem, you go and give my love to Ch—’

‘You’re a pal.’

If Libby had not stepped back the door might have hit her nose. As it was she turned her ankle on the cobbles that ran around the house.

Teeth gritted and ignoring the stabbing sharp pain in her ankle, she retraced her steps, the sound of Joe’s voice amplified in her head above the sound of her feet on the gravel driveway—I heard, I’m so sorry …

Heard what? Sorry about what?

She had to fight the impulse to run back to the cottage, bang on the door and demand that Joe explain himself. However the sound of the dog barking and the baby crying did suggest that Joe had enough on his plate … and anyway she might be misreading what he had said.