Читать книгу Sweet Lies - Catherine O'Connor - Страница 6

THE Yorkshire hills rose majestically over the shimmering vast waters of Lake Rannaleigh, their towering peaks already lost in the cold grey mists that were rolling slowly down over the rugged russet-brown hills. Megan Parkinson released the pressure on the accelerator without even being aware of her action, her heart twisting with a sudden sharp pain at the sight of the well-remembered scene. The car slowed down to a virtual stop and Megan allowed herself a moment of uncharacteristic self-indulgence. A ghost of a smile flickered over her face as her expressive green eyes softened with sentimental tears.

Everything was just as she remembered it: the tiny square, the two small hotels, happily co-existing, sharing the steady flow of tourists, and Mrs Bain’s name was still painted in bold black capital letters across the top of the corner shop. It sold absolutely anything anyone could ever need, as well as being the only post office for miles around. Megan remembered it all affectionately, a gentle sigh escaping from her softly parted lips.

Her eyes clouded momentarily with sudden doubts as too many memories flooded into her mind, disturbing her snatched moment of tranquillity. She bit nervously, her teeth sinking tenderly into her full bottom lip as all her nerves tensed uneasily. She cast a quick, protective glance over her shoulder at the innocently sleeping form curled up on the rear seat. He looked surprisingly fragile in repose. His delicate features took on a fragile quality that denied his physical strength and determined character, which were only recently was becoming a problem for her.

An instinctive smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, curling her full lips as she looked at him. The metamorphosis had already started; he was beginning to look more and more like his father with each passing day. Megan wondered whether she was just over-sensitive to his looks, searching for resemblances, a part of her hoping that he would look like his father. Though the thought caused equal amounts of pain and pleasure to her, Megan knew she had no control over the situation. Her expression softened as she reached out and tucked the car-rug around her son’s unprotected shoulders.

At that moment the bright glare of headlights flashed at her, causing her to blink rapidly. She jumped as a car overtook her, its horn blaring at her obstruction. She caught a glimpse of the hard profile of the driver’s handsome face as he sped past. Her head spun round, drawn by the familiar visage, her heart contracting violently within her. Megan stared after the car, all the old pain resurfacing with a cruel vengeance. Her eyes remained fixed on the rear lights, as if trapped by their brightness, till they were tiny pin-pricks of red fading into the distance.

‘It couldn’t have been him,’ she said aloud to herself. ‘Not here, not now.’ She felt her teeth clamp against each other as she ground the words through her clenched mouth and struggled to contain the rise of panic that was surging through her trembling body. It was her mind playing tricks, she told herself, trying to remain calm as her heart began to thud painfully against her tight chest.

Just coming back here was enough to stir up so many hidden ghosts and bitter memories.

The frown deepened across Megan’s brow as she questioned the wisdom of returning, but circumstances beyond her control had forced her return, she remembered with a painful twist of her heart.

Much to her regret, Megan hadn’t been able to come back for her mother’s funeral. Her death had been so sudden—a traffic accident—and Luke had still been in hospital, undergoing a series of tests while doctors sought the cause of his illness, and she couldn’t leave him. He had been much too ill and frightened. She hoped her mother would have understood, but she doubted whether the rest of the community had. She could imagine the scandal her absence had caused and shook her head. She had been forced to leave Rannaleigh all those years ago to avoid scandal. She knew that the past would never stop haunting her but surely, she kept reassuring herself, that driver could not possibly have been him? Not Darrow Maine.

She resumed her journey, but that fleeting glimpse only served to remind her of the gamble she had taken in coming back. A bitter smile twisted her mouth. Maybe nothing here had changed but she had. She had left here a broken-hearted young girl, but she was returning a fully mature woman, with a rapidly growing son. But had her heart ever really mended? a taunting whisper mocked her. Wasn’t part of her still a young girl, longing for her past, so that she imagined that Darrow Maine had just driven past her? Megan shook her head in an attempt to shake the doubts that niggled in the back of her mind.

Dusk was falling as she parked the car outside the reception area. The sky was a water-colour grey and a cold moon was already hanging in the sky like a huge silver coin. Megan closed the car door quietly, so as not to wake her precious child. She shivered. There was an icy nip in the evening air and her warm breath made clouds in the dusky light. She pulled her cashmere coat closer around her, its thick collar reaching up to her ears as she strode over the car park, her feet crunching on the gravel path. A smile of satisfaction touched her lips at the unstated elegance of the interior. At least she had returned home in style, she mused, wondering how long it would take for word to get round that she was back.

Megan smiled warmly as she reached out for the keys to her lakeside lodge, eager to settle in, but her smile froze, her breath stolen painfully from her as the searing shock of recognition swept over her. It was Darrow.

She was barely aware of the weight of the keys as the receptionist dropped them heavily into her outstretched palm, though instinctively her fingers closed tightly around the cold metal, glad of the feel of something solid as her whole world seemed to come crashing down around her. She was no longer listening to the hotel receptionist; all her senses were trained on the silent, menacing figure that had suddenly appeared behind her.

She stiffened in absolute dread as his cold, dark eyes fixed on her with an electrifying intensity. She felt her breath catch in her tightening chest as she faced him. His hard, icy gaze sent a shiver of apprehension through her body. It was so unlike him. He was a completely changed man, cold and aloof.

Had she fooled herself for all these years? she questioned herself silently. Had she held on to an image that had been self-created, a dream of a man who had only ever existed in her foolish young mind? She had clearly remembered those eyes as soft and gentle, holding a shining light of loving warmth touched with a wicked gleam that mirrored his zest for life. Now they were like freezing shards of ice, cruel and ruthless. Megan shut her eyes momentarily, to block out the image she now saw, a mockery of the man she had known.

She dragged her eyes from his hard, hypnotic gaze and concentrated on the receptionist, forcing herself to appear calm though her mind was a riot of emotions and thoughts. She never would have come back if she had known he was here. It was painful enough having to return, to rake up all the old memories, without the added problem of him being here. She smiled politely as she took the sheaf of papers being handed to her, nodding in agreement as she moved back, eager to be away from him. She could still feel his icy blue eyes searing into the very depths of her soul, as if searching for some trace of the girl he had known. Megan’s eyes darted quickly back to his but she could detect no glimmer of recognition, and, despite everything, that hurt.

‘Megan.’ His low voice was unmistakable, its deep and resonant tone instantly recognisable. She felt the panic rise in her chest as a fleeting shiver of expectation. Yet gone was the familiar intimacy she remembered; there was only a trace of bitter humour in his tone. She turned, her expression questioning, though her blood had chilled to freezing within her. Her agitation was growing with every passing minute as she met the cool appraisal of his eyes.

‘Yes?’ she said politely, her voice betraying none of her inner turmoil as she caught the familiar scent of his aftershave that teased half-forgotten secrets back into her mind. His eyebrows rose swiftly, as if he was amused by her cool fade. ‘Can I help you?’ Megan asked, keeping her voice distinctly polite as she looked at him, disturbed by the changes she saw there.

There was a strain to his expression, a sharpness to his handsome features that had not been there before, but his mouth was as sensuous as ever, still full of the heady promise of love—love that she had given so willingly and foolishly. Megan tried to suffocate the growing resentment she felt at his presence and the threat it posed. It had been difficult enough to come back, especially under the circumstances, without him being here to exacerbate the situation.

‘It’s been a long time, Megan,’ he commented drily, ignoring her question as his eyes travelled quickly over her body with an intensity that heated her blood. She stiffened slightly under his deliberate scrutiny, hating the effect that his close proximity was having on her, and she forced her body to relax, casually flicking her red hair from her face.

‘Thirteen years is a long time, Darrow,’ she agreed, her voice unexpectedly composed, carefully hiding the confusion that raged beneath her cool exterior.

He nodded slowly in agreement, a frown creasing his brow. ‘You’ve changed,’ he noted, nodding appreciatively.

Megan allowed herself a secret smile. She certainly carried the veneer of confidence well. The skilfully applied make-up and expensive clothes all helped to create the image of a confident, outgoing woman, but inside she was still the little girl searching for the love and security that she had never really known, and which she was determined to give her own son. A sudden wave of panic surged through her body as she thought of the damage Darrow’s presence could have on Luke.

‘I’ll take that as a compliment,’ she said serenely, pushing her fears to the back of her mind. ‘Shall I?’ she added, her veneer slipping under his intense scrutiny.

‘Yes,’ he replied, his eyes never leaving her face, and she felt a touch of heat colour her cheeks.

‘You’re looking well,’ she returned, hating this banal conversation, but she was at a complete loss as to what to say under the circumstances. He did look well, too, she mused. The years had only added to his strength of character. His body was as firm and lean as ever, but he had always enjoyed sports of all kinds—a real outdoor man, she remembered with painful clarity. ‘Older, perhaps,’ she finally acknowledged, fixing a smile on her face.

‘None of us is getting any younger,’ he agreed with a smile, then added seriously, ‘And yet there was a time when we couldn’t wait to be older, remember?’

Remember? How could she ever forget, when she carried with her the constant symbol of their love? It had been love—at least then. Until he had gone to America and fallen in love with someone else, all in a matter of a few months. They had loved each other deeply and that was the reason why she had never told him. She had not wanted to stand in his way.

A grey veil of unshed tears filmed her eyes as her mind drifted back to that fateful day. It hadn’t been a deliberate ploy, but once she had found herself pregnant, Megan had thought that no one would stop them marrying. She had longed to tell Darrow, to see the pleasure on his face when she told him the wonderful news.

But he had had news of his own, she remembered with pain. A chance of a lifetime. He had won a writing scholarship—a year in America. She couldn’t have told him, robbed him of his chance to become a writer, stood in the way of his ambition. She had known how much that meant to him, and besides, he’d be back, so she had foolishly thought.

‘Some of us grew up very quickly anyway,’ she said with sudden bitterness as she recalled how he had betrayed her.

At first he had kept in touch. Letters had arrived three or four times a week, and Carrie had been mentioned in every one. Then nothing for one whole month, not a line, and she had known. She had understood what had happened.

He had mentioned Carrie, a girl he had met, in all his previous letters and they had obviously been seeing a lot of each other. Megan had known that she couldn’t compete with an attractive American who had wealth and position while she had nothing to offer to him—and how that had hurt. The pain of separation had been almost unbearable, but the realisation that she had lost him forever had seared her very soul.

She watched him stiffen now at the sharpness of her voice and it gave her a grim pleasure. ‘I was glad to get away,’ she added, throwing at him a final insult, reminding him that she too had found someone else even if her relationship with Karl had only been a fiction to save her pride. She was delighted when she saw that it irritated him.

‘So why come back now?’ he questioned. There was a trace of hidden anger in his tone, an unspoken accusation that he was unable to make. Megan felt a sudden surge of anger through her body but she quickly masked it. She had to remain as cool and as distant as he. She would never, ever give him the satisfaction of seeing her respond to him, no matter how difficult that might be.

‘My mother—’ she began simply, but he cut in, embarrassed by his own insensitivity.

‘I forgot, I’m sorry, Megan,’ he reassured her, for a fleeting moment looking like the young man she had known, so that the ice around her heart melted a little, warmed by his sympathy. He pushed his thick dark hair from his face, revealing an attractive touch of grey to his temples, a sad reminder that time had indeed travelled on, forcing an unbridgeable chasm between them.

She remembered that hair, falling gently between her eager fingers, soft and warm, and a faint tint of colour rose to her face at the memory which sprang so easily to mind. She promptly tried to dismiss it, struggling to return her thoughts to more neutral ground. She smiled briefly as their eyes met and held with the strong tie of the past. She dropped her head, turning away, knowing that he had seen the misting of her eyes in memory of what might have been. They had been so young, so in love…

The years they had been apart seemed to vanish as Megan’s mind drifted back to those heady, magical days when everything had seemed so perfect.

Darrow, despite everyone else’s doubts, had kept in touch with Megan the whole time he was at university, but the separation caused by his year in America had proved his love for her was not strong enough. He had found someone else and abandoned her—not that she would ever have let him know that. Her pride wouldn’t have let her. She had played him at his own game. She had exaggerated her friendship with Karl, the attractive German hitch-hiker who had been taking a walking holiday in the Yorkshire dales and had stayed for the rest of the summer, doing casual work at the local boat-yard.

‘Megan,’ he said huskily, moving closer, taking full advantage of her momentary lapse. A shudder of anguish tore through her body and she raised her hands before her, to prevent him from touching her. Megan knew her barriers would never be strong enough to cope with his touch.

She was already too vulnerable, weakened by the flood of emotions that were sweeping over her. It had been such a difficult year. Luke had been stricken by a general malaise that had baffled doctors for a time before their diagnosis of glandular fever. Then there had been her mother’s sudden death, and now her return home, after all those years of being away.

‘Don’t,’ she ordered, but her voice was weak and it sounded more like a desperate plea, whispered in hope. ‘Darrow, my mother’s death…coming back here…’ Her voice trailed off as his strong fingers curled around her wrists, drawing her hands down. His impetuous action caught her off guard, and the impact of the sudden warm touch on her skin riveted her to the spot.

‘Why not? Why have you come back?’ he demanded hoarsely. ‘You knew I was here. Didn’t you…?’ His tone had taken on a steely edge and his grip had intensified, forcing an immediate denial from Megan. Her eyes darted to his, searching his face for compassion but finding none, and his question troubled her; what did he think she had come back for? She struggled fruitlessly against his stubborn strength.

‘No, you’re wrong; I had no idea,’ Megan protested, alarmed by the thunderous clouds that swirled in the darkest depths of his eyes. She tried to pull away but her actions were futile; he was far too strong for her and her reaction only served to fuel his temper.

‘Then why now?’ he derided with a cruel sneer, the contempt etched clearly on his ruthless face, pulling her closer till their bodies almost touched. Megan tensed every fibre of her body as the haunting aroma of his aftershave teased her nostrils, flooding her with agonising memories.

‘I’ve told you—I’m here to sort out my mother’s estate,’ protested Megan, confronting his anger with complete candour, and she saw the flickering realisation in his eyes as he released her, his anger suddenly appeased. For a split-second she had seen the cool mask of indifference fall away and she stepped back in confusion.

‘Of course. I’m so sorry about your mother.’ His voice was now smooth and good-tempered, as if his outburst had never happened, which increased Megan’s confusion still further.

‘Don’t be,’ Megan replied quickly, as eager as him to put the strange incident behind her. ‘We never really got on, were never that close,’ she confessed, without a trace of remorse. She had come to accept their differences a long time ago.

It had been partly her mother’s fault that she had had to leave Rannaleigh; they would have never agreed about the situation. She had always been far too conventional for her mother, a disappointment in so many ways, yet they had kept in contact, grown closer over the years. Her mother, who had doted on her grandson, had made numerous visits to London, but Megan had never felt comfortable with the idea of going back to Rannaleigh, and by then her mother had understood her reasons and supported them. It was one of the few things they had come to agree on. Megan’s mother had respected her daughter’s independence. It had been the one thing they had in common besides their love for Luke.

Darrow remained silent, his expression fathomless, his dark eyes brooding.

‘I couldn’t make the funeral,’ she explained painfully, filling in the silence that only seemed to increase the tension between them. ‘But I’ve come now,’ she added lightly, her features impassive, displaying none of her inner hurt. But he caught the note of tension in her voice and his lips parted into an understanding smile. Megan dropped her own gaze, unable to bear the compassion in the shining eyes.

‘She was a strong individual, your mother,’ he said graciously. ‘Unfortunately she expected the same from everyone else,’ he concluded, a grimness entering his tone, and Megan knew he was remembering the painful scenes between herself and her mother which he had been an unwilling spectator to.

She felt her cheeks grow hot as a vivid flash of those adolescent arguments flashed through her mind. Yet, despite everything, in the end her mother had been right. Darrow was not to be trusted. Megan had been forced to admit it. They had been too young to be truly in love and when Darrow’s love had been tested he had failed her so spectacularly that she still remembered the twist of the knife searing her heart.

‘Are you planning on staying?’ His eyes narrowed on her face and she wondered where his source of annoyance was coming from. Surely she was the injured party, not him, and she felt a justifiable anger niggle inside her, deep down in the hidden well of emotions that she knew would belong forever to her first love.

‘I don’t know,’ she answered truthfully. Until that moment she had thought of it only as a passing visit; now her heart seemed to be aching to stay. ‘I don’t think so.’

She desperately scanned his face, but found nothing to encourage her to change her mind. She swallowed the painful lump that caught in her throat at the realisation that she had hoped to find some trace of affection. ‘There’s nothing for me here. There never was,’ she added, a trace of bitterness entering her tone, and her eyes met his in silent confirmation.

‘Wasn’t there?’ he snapped tautly. His anger was now well under control, but Megan could see the signs of its brittleness. His eyes had darkened into swirling inky pools of molten fierceness that betrayed his growing fury.

‘It was all such a long time ago, Darrow.’ She looked away as she shook her head, hating the sense of betrayal that was resurfacing after all this time. ‘I have to go. Excuse me.’ She flicked an anxious glance towards the door, suddenly agitated.

‘Wait,’ he ordered, his arm outstretched to prevent her moving. ‘I want to talk to you.’ His look was hard and demanding, his tone honed with the sharp steel edge of command.

Megan froze, responding instinctively to the authority in his tone, then hated herself for her weakness. She was no longer the silly girl he had known, susceptible to his overpowering strength.

‘There’s nothing to say,’ Megan snapped back, suddenly fearful. She couldn’t afford to be alone with him. How long could she trust herself in his company without the past coming back to haunt them? They were strangers now, she inwardly argued, despite the disturbing effect he was having on her. What do I know of him? He must have changed. Have I? she mused desperately.

‘I think there is.’

Megan gasped as she fought to save her breath, suddenly fearful, and without being aware of her action her eyes flew quickly to the door as an icy grip tightened around her heart. She knew she could not afford the luxury of basking in the past. There was her son to consider.

Yet even now, after all these years, and though she felt her defences weakening against him, she knew it was not only herself she had to protect from this dangerous man. She moved slightly away, carefully surrounding herself in a protective layer that she hoped he would find impregnable. His smouldering eyes held her trapped, and Megan tried to pull away as she felt her pathetic barriers begin to melt.

‘Have dinner with me tonight?’ he asked gruffly, his tone full of tension, a pulse throbbing in the strong line of his jaw. ‘Here in the hotel,’ he added quickly, seeing the refusal already present in her eyes.

‘No,’ she objected, too quickly, betraying her fear, her eyes straying to the door as she thought of Luke. He seized on her fear with characteristic aggression, a smile of victory already curling his sensuous mouth, revealing a set of perfect white teeth.

‘For old times’ sake,’ he crooned, his voice dangerously soft and a hidden invitation swirling in the slumberous depths of his hypnotic eyes. Megan nearly weakened, drowning all her doubts in the familiar glow of his heated gaze, her own eyes softening in response. ‘It’s the least you owe me.’

Steel had entered his voice, a harshness she had not expected, and her eyes leapt to his face, troubled by his words. But the freezing look of contempt that glistened in the icy depths of his eyes prevented her from speaking. She frantically searched his face, looking for a glimpse of the man she had once known.

‘Well, Meggie?’ he taunted, using her familiar pet name to weaken her still further. He had sensed her distrust and was playing on it, his eyes shining now with teasing laughter, and in that brief moment she caught a sudden flash of the man she had once known and loved. He reached out, placing his hand on her shoulder, and Megan’s stomach twirled with an instinctive excitement at the impact his unexpected touch had on her. And in that transient moment she might have weakened, but the door suddenly swung open.

An icy draught of cold air blasted towards them, chilling the warmth that had begun to grow between them. They both turned simultaneously to see a tousled-haired youngster with a harsh look of resentment on his face. He fixed his cold eyes on the pair of them, his disapproval at their close proximity apparent in his narrowing eyes and mounting frown.

For a moment he said nothing. His stare flicked quickly to Darrow, making a swift but comprehensive inventory of him, before he turned his attention back on to Megan. A look of scorn flickered across his face and he raised his eyebrows in mockery.

‘You’ve been ages,’ he said sullenly, directing his accusation at Megan and deliberately cutting out Darrow’s presence.

‘I’m sorry,’ Megan stated briefly, annoyed by his obvious rudeness. ‘I thought you were asleep,’ she concluded, casting an anxious covert glance at Darrow to see his reaction to her child. His eyes shone with curiosity, a quizzical expression on his face as he studied him with deep interest.

‘I woke up.’ It was a bald statement accompanied by another look of resentment, the dark brows drawing together over the glitter of frustration in his eyes.

‘Obviously,’ agreed Megan, calmly looking at her son who over the past few months had seemed to be slowly changing into a total stranger. His glandular fever hadn’t helped; it had left him a little weak, and Megan knew she was being over-protective but she couldn’t help herself, despite the resentment it caused in Luke. She was so frightened of the thought of losing him, just as she had lost his father, that she was totally confused as to how she should behave.

They had always been so close, him so caring and gentle, but now he was sometimes rude and often distant. A typical teenager, Megan tried to reassure herself, but his behaviour still hurt more deeply than she cared to admit. This chance of a holiday was just what they both needed to re-establish their bond. They faced each other now, an improbable discomfort widening the chasm that was beginning to develop between them. The deadly lull only added to the already tense atmosphere as the three of them stayed locked each in their own inner turmoil.

Megan was aware of the stiffening of Darrow beside her as he purposefully fixed his whole attention on Luke. Luke held his gaze with equal hostility and Darrow’s lips twisted as Luke continued to stare at him stubbornly with cold contempt. Megan found herself struggling to subdue a hysterical bubble of laughter that was growing with every passing moment. It was ironic for father and son to stand so close, watching each other with such deep interest, and be unaware of their relationship.

‘Are you coming now?’ demanded Luke, already turning to leave. Megan moved forward, following him anxiously. She desperately wanted to keep them well away from each other but Darrow’s arm shot out, gripping her tightly around the upper arm. His iron hold warned her that his formidable temper was about to erupt. Meggie’s head swirled around, her heart already thudding out a death-knell as she confronted the black darkness that filled his eyes. Had he realised the truth? she thought suddenly, feeling sick.

‘Who’s he?’ he bit out, the words sounding like a hiss as they escaped through his clenched teeth.

The furious tone of his voice seared through her body till every nerve tingled with foreboding, her mouth suddenly went dry and she flicked her tongue nervously over her lips. Her mind went blank. She stood rooted to the spot, her face draining of all colour as she faced the dark fury that was building with every passing moment. She could hear the frantic hammering of her heart against her tightening ribcage.

‘He’s my son,’ she managed at last, though her voice was a thin whisper of despair. His grip tightened at her words but he remained absolutely silent, his body rigid with tension. Megan knew he was fighting some inner doubt and she waited, mentally praying for her escape.

‘I didn’t know you had a child.’ His voice was a harsh whisper, as if some sharp pain was trapped in his throat. Megan looked at him anxiously, her whole body trembling as she watched his gaze switch swiftly back to Luke, staring at him with an intensity that unnerved her. She silently prayed over and over again that soon she would be free. The last thing she wanted was for Luke to find out the truth. Their relationship was already on thin ice at the moment. She had only recently heard the painful longing in his voice when he spoke of the father he had never known.

‘And the father?’ he drawled, his eyes darting back to hers and fixing on her with an icy intent. Megan felt a flush of colour to her face as she struggled to keep her emotions under control. She normally deftly avoided any questions, but she knew Darrow would not be so easily swayed.

‘Karl Meyer, my husband,’ she retorted, her voice growing stronger as she trotted out the well-worn lie. A lie she had been forced to invent to protect herself and her son against the pain of his rejection. Darrow’s eyebrow’s lifted slightly, his mouth thinning to an angry line.

‘And where’s Karl now?’ he demanded, the self-assurance in his voice irritating her more than she was willing to admit, even to herself.

‘My husband died several years ago,’ Megan replied frostily, hating the intrusion into her private life. He had given up his rights to that with his betrayal.

‘And he is your only child?’ he asked, a tightness in his voice as he looked deep into her eyes, and Megan quickly lowered her long lashes over her eyes to prevent him from seeing the truth that she knew she would be unable to hide from him.

‘Yes.’ Megan forced a smile, though her insides were churning with despair. Was he jealous or merely curious? she wondered, a sudden ache piercing her heart.

‘He doesn’t look like you…’

‘No,’ snapped Megan quickly. ‘He takes after his father.’ Her eyes couldn’t quite meet his as she replied.

‘Are you coming?’ Luke’s voice was sharp as he turned back, glaring at them both with obvious disapproval. Megan gave an apologetic smile to Darrow, but he seemed unperturbed by Luke’s rude outburst and strolled over to meet him. Luke watched his approach with caution, his face sulky, the silence only adding to the tense atmosphere. Darrow broke the silence with his customary ease, as if oblivious to the tension between the mother and her child.

‘My name is Darrow,’ he offered, his voice firm, full of authority. He stretched out his hand, his gesture more one of challenge than friendship, and Megan mentally prayed that Luke would respond. For a moment she thought her prayers had been wasted and her heart shrank within her as a sudden shaft of piercing pain seared through her. For a brief moment she thought her heart would break in two; just seeing them together held a bittersweet pain. ‘I’m an old friend of your mother’s,’ he continued, taking Luke’s hand in a firm grasp. ‘I was trying to persuade her to have dinner with me this evening.’

‘She can if she wants,’ muttered Luke, trying to sound careless, yet suddenly he seemed so vulnerable to Megan and her heart went out to him. The mask of manhood that he tried so hard to wear often slipped.

‘I had no idea she had to have your permission,’ drawled Darrow, with a friendly smile, but it was not returned. Luke was unable to match Darrow and did not know how to respond.

Megan joined them, part of her wanting them to at least like each other. Her eyes darted frantically from Luke to Darrow, sensing their disapproval of one another, and her heart slowly sank within her. It had been a fleeting dream that they had both shattered.

‘I knew Darrow a long time ago, Luke,’ Megan explained breathlessly, the pain catching in her throat at the obvious antipathy. Luke nodded in acknowledgement but said nothing; his eyes were fixed on Darrow with deep interest and suspicion.

‘Come on, we’d best get settled in,’ cajoled Megan, tossing the keys in her hand in a carefree gesture that was far removed from her true feelings. She knew now that her return was on a disaster course, but she was powerless to do anything about it. She turned as she opened the door to allow Luke to leave, then she turned back to Darrow, and forced her voice to sound light, almost friendly.

‘It was nice to see you again, Darrow.’ Her cool tone did not betray the turmoil of emotions that were twirling around inside. ‘Perhaps we’ll meet again some time,’ she added, confident that she would not see him again, and yet that caused a sharp pain deep down inside.

Darrow’s mouth widened into a perfect smile, triumph curling the corners of his sensuous mouth as he viewed Megan with a cool air of superiority. Megan shuddered as her eyes rose to his, trying to fathom where his amusement came from and not trusting him an inch. She knew him too well to be fooled by his casual stance. His hand rested on the door-handle, opening it still wider to allow her to leave.

‘No doubt we will,’ he agreed, in a smoky voice that put Megan on edge, every nerve in her body suddenly alerted to some hidden danger.

‘What do you mean?’ she breathed raggedly, hating the storm of emotion that was sweeping through her body. His smile twisted in cruelty and his eyebrows rose in mockery; a rumble of laughter sounded deep in his chest.

‘You mean you really don’t know?’ he asked in disbelief, the mocking light in his eyes holding her trapped, unable to move.

‘Know? Know what?’ demanded Megan, a spiral of fear twisting up her spine and a cold dread seeping over her trembling frame.

Darrow inclined his head backwards. ‘This is mine—my hotel, my complex.’ The cold, proud possession in his voice confirmed what he was saying, and Megan gasped in horror.

‘Yours?’ she whispered in disbelief, hoping for a denial and yet already knowing it was the truth. Her heart shrank within her. She had been such a fool, allowing the travel agent to make all the arrangements. She would have certainly noticed the name of the proprietor, and never would even have dreamt of coming here, and now it was too late. She knew there was little chance of accommodation anywhere else in peak season, and besides, she didn’t want to give him the impression that his presence made any difference to her.

‘Yes, Megan, mine,’ he replied in a controlled voice, but Megan could see the malice in the depths of his ruthless eyes. ‘I told you I’d make it one day.’ The coldness of his attitude frightened her; his face had become distorted with anger and hate. ‘It’s a pity you couldn’t have kept your promise and waited for me,’ he snarled, the bitter rage spilling out, and Megan flinched at the anger in his tone.

She felt her anger flare up inside her and she tried hard to control her temper. Her fists tightened into balls of rage as she glared back at him, unable to comprehend the injustice of his remark. ‘I’m so pleased you’ve been successful,’ she admitted, resenting the sacrifices she had made to make him a success.

‘Are you?’ he mocked, his expression challenging, but his voice was flat.

‘Of course I am,’ she said with forced brightness, as a sharp pain of regret fleetingly touched her deeply, and yet it was the truth. It made it all worthwhile. It justified her deceit, vanquished any last doubts she had had. All the lies, her struggles, the loneliness of her life now made sense, and yet a sting of bitterness cut into her as she remembered all the hardships she had faced alone just so he could fulfil his ambition.

He had always been ambitious; Rannaleigh had never seemed big enough to contain him. He had loved the idea of America—the size, the challenge, the thought of being a success in a big way through his writing. Megan had known that until he tried he would never be satisfied, so she had given him his freedom, expecting his return, but then she had lost him forever to someone else.

‘You don’t look it.’ Darrow noted, inclining his head closer to hers so he could get an even clearer view of her troubled expression.

‘I’m sorry, I was thinking of something else,’ Megan confessed, her mind coming back to the present with difficulty as the familiar smell of his aftershave filled her senses. His dark eyes fixed on her, studying her closely for a moment.

‘Thinking what a foolish mistake you made running off and marrying someone else instead of waiting for me?’ he jeered cruelly, seeming oblivious to the sorrow growing in her misty eyes.

Megan reached out and touched his arm. The smooth cloth of his expensive suit could not hide the hard ripple of tension that ran the length of his arm. ‘It wasn’t like that…’ she protested, shocked by the cruelty of his words.

‘Wasn’t it?’

‘Darrow, please…’ she began, suddenly wanting to explain, regardless of his reaction and despite the terrible repercussions it would cause in her own life.

He pulled back, his body as tense as an over-strung violin, and with a harsh expression that barely concealed how much he despised her. His face was set in sharp, rigid lines, grim and furious, and his eyes were as black and as bitter as over-stewed coffee.

Megan stepped back, fearful of the anger and hate that crackled beneath his thin veneer of control.

‘Darrow, please,’ he mocked back, imitating her voice roughly. ‘The truth hurts, does it?’ he sneered, allowing her to feel the weight of his full contempt.

‘Truth? Truth?’ she repeated, matching his anger with her own. ‘What would you know of truth?’ she flung back at him.

Megan pulled away from him and rushed out of the door, hot, salty tears splashing down her face at the injustice of it all. She knew she shouldn’t have come back.