Читать книгу The Husband Dilemma - Elizabeth Duke - Страница 7

CHAPTER TWO

‘KATE, don’t waste this glorious sunshine. You go ahead down to the beach,’ Diana urged. ‘I’ll join you after the police have been. They said not to touch anything, so there’s nothing you can do here, and they won’t want us both underfoot.’

‘Are you sure?’ Kate glanced over the chaos around them.

‘Quite sure. I feel bad enough as it is, bringing you all the way up here to Queensland for nothing. I thought Charlotte’s briefcase would have been safe here at my beach-house, locked away in a cupboard.’

Kate and her sister’s friend Diana—a high-powered merchant banker just back from a two-year assignment in London—had arrived at Shelly Beach less than an hour ago to find that burglars had robbed Diana’s beach-house in her absence. Everything of any value had gone. The TV set, the video, the microwave, the radio.

And Charlotte’s briefcase. The briefcase Kate’s sister had entrusted to Diana’s care two years ago, shortly before her shock suicide. It was the reason Diana had brought Kate up here—so she could hand it over to Kate in private.

The briefcase contained highly delicate papers, Charlotte had confided to Diana. Papers she wasn’t ready to deal with yet and didn’t want to leave lying around at the family home for her father to find, or at the hospital where she’d worked.

‘Could you look after it for me for a while?’ she’d begged Diana. ‘If I’m hit by a bus or anything,’ she’d added—jokingly, Diana had thought, ‘you can hand it over to Kate. She can decide what to do with it. But not for a year or so, OK? Let the dust settle.’

And now the briefcase was gone, along with whatever personal papers Charlotte had locked away inside. For Diana’s sake, Kate hadn’t shown how dismayed she was that the last clue to her sister’s tragic suicide had gone.

Not that we need any more clues, she reflected darkly. Jonathan Savage is to blame for my sister’s death. If he hadn’t walked out on Charlotte... if he hadn’t been so cruel and uncaring...

Her eyes hardened as she thought of the note Charlotte had scribbled before drifting into that last deadly sleep: ‘I can’t live with the pain. Johnnie, forgive me.’

The pain of losing him...

Charlotte—hard-nosed, self-centred, blazingly ambitious Charlotte, who’d never been seriously interested in any man before, let alone head-over-heels in love—had been crazy about Jonathan Savage. They’d worked at the same hospital...trained together...spent most of their spare time together. And then he’d walked out on her, just like that, flying off to America without a backward glance.

It had devastated Charlotte. In her despair, she’d messed up a vital interview a week later, losing the surgical registrar position she’d craved for so long and worked so hard for.

For Charlotte, that must have been the last straw. Three weeks later she’d swallowed a bottle full of lethal pills. And even then she’d been thinking of him. ‘Forgive me,’ she’d written...as if she’d been freeing him of any blame or possible self-recrimination.

But Kate and her family did blame him. Jonathan Savage, the callous monster, had a lot to answer for. Kate drew in her lips, wondering if he had any idea how much pain and suffering he’d left behind. It was just as well he’d left Australia, or he’d have been suffering too, if her family had anything to do with it.

‘Off you go, Kate.’ Diana bundled her out through the door. ‘Better not go swimming, though...at least not on your own,’ she advised. ‘The beach isn’t patrolled and there’s quite an undertow. Not that it stops the surfies...or even swimmers on a calm day.’

Kate gave in, pausing only to change into a one-piece swimsuit, pulling a loose shirt over the top before grabbing her beachbag and towel, and the sketchbook she never went anywhere without. The realisation that Charlotte’s secrets were now lost—probably for ever—had cast a pall over her. Hopefully, the Queensland sun and the fresh sea air would brighten her up a bit.

A faint melancholy still clung to her as she crossed the low grassy sand dunes to the beach, though the fresh salty tang drifting up from the sea and the seeping warmth of the brilliant September sun did much to restore her spirits.

She came to a halt where the sandhills sloped down to the wide expanse of pure white sand, her gaze doing a lazy sweep of the beach. It was almost deserted... except for one lone male running along the shoreline.

She found her eyes following him...not warily, as might have been wise, but in sheer admiration. He looked like an Olympic athlete...a magnificent specimen, all rippling muscle, well-honed sinew, and smooth golden flesh that gleamed like burnished mahogany in the bright Queensland sunlight. For a startled second she thought he was stark naked, until she realised he was wearing brief swim-trunks that matched the colour of his tan.

Still watching him, she began to descend the sandy slope leading down to the beach, her feet leaving deep imprints in the soft grainy sand. As if sensing her presence, the bronzed Adonis glanced up and saw her. He waved as he loped along. She began to raise her own hand, then thought better of it and let it drop. He was a complete stranger to her, and there was nobody else around. Best not to encourage him...though it was tempting.

He kept on jogging at the same easy pace, away from her now, and she relaxed—noting at the same time that his magnificent physique was equally as stunning from behind, his massive shoulders tapering to lean hips, his powerful legs as fluid in motion as a loping jungle cat.

Her eyes followed him as the distance between them grew...and grew...until he was just a hazy outline against the pearly wash of the sunlit beach.

She found a snug little hollow at the base of the sandhills and spread out her towel on the sand. Glancing round to make sure she was still alone, she stripped off the long loose shirt covering her swimsuit—a low-backed, high-legged creation in a riot of different colours—and settled down on her towel to sunbake.

But after a few minutes she sat up again, and on an impulse reached for the sketchbook and pencil she’d brought down to the beach with her, just in case.

Just in case she saw something that inspired her.

A wicked smile curved her lips. Inspired her? That was putting it mildly!

She sketched a quick pencil outline, from memory, of the magnificently built hunk she’d seen—first a side profile, then from behind, showing his body in motion, his hand raised in a wave. His face, half turned towards her, was indistinct, due to the distance between them, so all she could give was an impression of a strong square jaw, dark eyes under heavy brows, and thick black hair, cut reasonably short...but every other detail of his impressive frame was clearly etched in her memory.

She became so absorbed in her task that she didn’t realise for a while how hot the afternoon had become, or how fiercely the sun’s rays were penetrating her lightly oiled skin, until she’d finished her sketches to her satisfaction and tossed the sketchbook down.

‘Whew! It’s hot!’ She sat for a moment, gazing longingly at the waves breaking on the shore and the glittering blue water beyond. She remembered Diana’s warning about not going swimming alone, but the water looked so inviting. And so safe.

There wasn’t a heavy surf today, which probably accounted for the absence of any surfies in the water. There were no swimmers either, but it was midweek and school term-time, and this was a secluded beach considered dangerous for swimming, as a sign above the beach warned.

There did appear to be a strong undertow sucking the swirling water back from the shoreline, but Kate was confident she could deal with it, if she didn’t go out too far. She’d always been a strong swimmer—a swimming champion, in fact, during her schooldays—which had toned and strengthened her body, despite its slender build.

So why not? Just a quick dip, to cool herself down. She’d go out no further than waist height. She needed something to relax her and cool her down after coming all the way up here during uni term to find that her reason for coming had vanished.

Having made up her mind, she jumped up and headed for the water, pausing as she reached the shoreline to glance around. There was still no one else on the beach, or anywhere in sight, and the spectacularly built jogger had disappeared, perhaps taking a shortcut across the sandhills above the beach, back to wherever he’d come from.

As a gently rolling wave crashed onto the shore and broke, she dipped her toe into the fizzing white foam swirling across the sand towards her. It felt good. Really good.

She took a step forward, and then another, picking her way through the bubbly shallows, resisting the pull of the undertow as the water surged back from the shore. She waded through the tumbling froth to waist height, then began to paddle gently, following the swell of the waves as they came, relishing the sensual coolness of the water as it flowed over her skin and streamed through her hair.

It was pure bliss...until it gradually dawned on her that she could no longer touch the bottom. As she tried to head back to shore, she realised she was making no headway, that some force was exerting pressure against her, dragging at her arms, her body, her legs.

Alarm snapped her out of her euphoria as she realised she was caught in a strong rip. She could no longer see the beach for the swell of the waves. All she could see was blue water and clear sky, the waves forcing her to struggle even harder. An icy fear gripped her.

I’m not going to make it, she thought in sudden panic, and had an agonising glimpse of her father’s face, and her mother’s, at the loss of another daughter. She couldn’t let it happen! She began to fight with all her might against the dragging current, kicking with her legs and thrashing her arms in a desperate attempt to force her way back to shore.

But she knew it was no good. She was making no headway at all, and she was tiring. Fast

Her flailing hands connected with something solid. She screamed and lashed out wildly, thinking it must be a shark.

As she blindly struck out, squeezing her eyes shut against her turbulent splashes, she felt a hard knock to her upper cheek, then heard a man’s voice rasping, ‘Don’t fight me, I’ll help you!’ as strong hands grasped her by the shoulders and swung her round.

An iron-muscled arm clamped around her from behind, across her heaving breasts, crushing her against what felt like an equally hard male body...an amazingly powerful body with massive strength, massive muscles, massive control. Even in her terror, she felt strangely safe in his arms...protected...as if she could indeed rely on this man to help her. As if she could place her life in his hands.

She went limp in his arms.

‘Good. Now...gently kick your legs,’ grated her rescuer as he struck out with his free arm, his other holding her in that vice-like grip. ‘We’ll make it if we pull together... if you don’t panic! If you’re too tired to kick, just relax and let me do the work.’

She didn’t panic. Or relax. She used her arms and legs to help as much as she could, though she had a sneaky feeling he didn’t really need her feeble attempts at assistance; he just hadn’t wanted her to fight him or try to hold him back.

Instead of fighting against the rip, he struck out diagonally across it, gradually making headway until suddenly the undercurrent dragging at them wasn’t there any more, and Kate realised with a gasp of relief that they’d managed to free themselves from its insidious pull. They were going to make it.

As if she’d ever had any doubt, from the moment her Herculean rescuer had seized her in his capable arms. Mighty arms...mighty shoulders...mighty legs. He had to be the powerful runner she’d seen on the beach earlier... he couldn’t be anyone else. How lucky that he’d seen her!

Now that they’d freed themselves from the pull of the undertow, the rest was easy. They even managed to catch a rolling wave, which swept them both in without either needing to make any effort at all. The wave shattered, dumping them on the shore in a tumble of white froth and a tangle of arms and legs.

As the water surged back, threatening to drag them back with it, he pulled her out of its sucking reach, onto dry sand. For a moment they both lay gasping, lungs heaving, throats rasping. She was still tangled in his arms, she realised dazedly. Still safe and protected in those great muscled arms.

‘Well, my golden mermaid,’ he heaved out between ragged breaths, ‘we made it.’

She looked up at him through tangled honey-gold curls. Straight into a pair of startlingly blue eyes. Blue! She’d imagined they would be black...or a deep brown. It must have been his thick black lashes and heavy dark brows that, from a distance, had given the impression of darkness.

‘You s-saved my life,’ she whispered in wonder. And realised her teeth were chattering. With reaction rather than cold. The arms round her were warm, keeping her warm. ‘Th-thank you.’

She expected him to berate her for her stupidity in going swimming on her own, but he didn’t. Maybe he was afraid she’d dissolve into floods of hysterical tears if he started chastising her.

‘You’re all right?’ He stroked clinging tendrils of damp hair back from her face.

‘I’m fine...thanks to you,’ she answered breathily. He had a strong face to match the rest of him, she noted, absorbing each detail with an artist’s eye. Or a woman’s? A well-defined jawline, a straight nose, firm lips...an arresting rather than classically handsome face. It was his eyes that made it remarkable. Even in her shaky state, her fingers itched to sketch him, to clarify the blurred impression she’d made before.

‘You’re going to have a black eye, I’m afraid.’ His fingers lightly traced the fine skin above her left cheek. ‘Sorry...it was an accident Your face connected with my elbow when you were fighting me off.’

‘I—I thought you were a shark,’ she admitted sheepishly. ‘I didn’t think there was anyone else around.’ She gulped in a couple of deep breaths. ‘Where did you spring from?’

‘I decided to come back to the beach for another run.’ There was a distinct glitter in the blue eyes now that caused her to wonder, with a sudden warmth to her cheeks, if he’d come back not for a run, but to take another look at the lone female on the beach? Any man with a physique like his, with stunning eyes like his, must know he had a first-rate chance with any girl he set his cap at. She felt an odd little quiver at the thought, and quickly dismissed it as derision rather than jealousy.

‘I saw you in the water from the sandhills,’ he told her, ‘and decided I’d better follow you...knowing the currents along here can get a bit tricky at times, if you go out too far.’

‘But I didn’t—’ She stopped. ‘I mean I didn’t realise...’ She began to tremble. She hadn’t realised a lot of things, it occurred to her now. The danger from the sea. The danger from this stranger holding her. Not danger to her physically. Danger to her emotions. To her peace of mind.

To her heart.

‘Obviously not,’ came his dry comment. He slid his great arm out from beneath her. ‘You’re shivering. I’ll get your towel.’

‘There’s no n—’ But as she tried to get up her legs buckled beneath her. They felt like tingly, useless rubber.

‘Here...I’ll carry you.’ Before she could protest, he swept her up in his powerful arms as if she were no heavier than a child. Or a bubble of froth. ‘Better still...I’ll take you back to wherever you’re staying. Where I’ll know you’ll be safe.’

Her eyes snapped wide. ‘No!’ She didn’t want Diana knowing she’d gone in swimming alone, despite her warnings, and had almost drowned. ‘Just—just dump me where I left my towel. I’ll be fine.’

‘I’m not leaving you alone.’ His tone said he meant it. ‘You might get into more strife.’

She thought of arguing—did he think she might actually go back into the water again if he left her alone?—but she decided against it, his vow not to leave her alone causing a shiver of excitement all the way down to her toes. She didn’t want him to leave her, she realised. She wanted him to stay here with her...wanted to get to know him better...wanted to know all about him. She owed him her life. Already she felt curiously close to him...drawn to him...mysteriously connected in some strange cosmic way.

Simply because he’d saved her life?

Or because he was the most exciting, most dynamic, most incredible-looking man she’d ever met?

He lowered her onto the striped beach-towel she’d left spread out on the sand. Then he scooped up her discarded shirt and draped it round her shoulders, before dropping down beside her.

She was suddenly very conscious of his near-nakedness, gulping at the huge expanse of bronzed well-muscled chest so close to her, the enormous shoulders, the powerful thighs, the fine dark hairs that went all the way down to—

She flicked her gaze away.

‘You’re sure you’re all right?’ He had the deepest voice, with a richness that rumbled right through her.

She nodded, unconsciously flicking her tongue over her lips. ‘Are—are you all right?’ she asked belatedly. Just because he was built like a rock, it didn’t mean he was invincible. She’d thought her sister invincible once. Tough, self-reliant, hard as nails... But when the man in her life had tossed her aside, she’d disintegrated.

What if her rescuer had a weak heart under all those rippling muscles? Or some other hidden complaint? She would be responsible if...

She shivered.

He seemed surprised at her question, that she would care about him. ‘Mermaid-hunting appeals to me,’ he said lightly, brushing off her concern.

Mermaid-hunting? Or girl-hunting? she wondered, squinting up at him. He was still a male. A very sexy male. As virile as he was strong, she had no doubt. With a heart and a constitution to match, most likely. She felt herself blushing like a schoolgirl.

He traced a light finger over her left cheek. For a breathless second she thought he was drawing attention to her blushes, until he commented. ‘You have quite a bruise under your eye. And some swelling. You should do something about it.’

She reached up to lightly finger the tender spot—making sure he’d removed his own hand first. She could feel the swelling. The tenderness.

‘Damn,’ she muttered. Now she certainly couldn’t go back...not just yet. The police must be there by now, and if she turned up at the beach-house with a noticeable black eye there could be awkward questions. Her Herculean rescuer might get into trouble for causing the injury...even though he’d struck her accidentally while saving her life. They mightn’t believe her...or him.

Or she might get into trouble for going swimming at a beach that was unsafe and unpatrolled. She remembered the warning sign above the beach. ‘SWIMMING HERE IS DANGEROUS’. Not ‘forbidden’, thankfully, but ’dangerous’ was bad enough.

‘You need some ice on it, quick smart.’ He was inspecting it so closely that she felt prickly and breathless. ‘Won’t you let me take you home?’ He touched her arm.

‘No...thanks.’ It was a husky croak. His touch, which had made her feel so safe and protected earlier, now seemed positively lethal. She looked up at him appealingly. ‘I—I can’t go back yet...’

He smiled. A faintly teasing, achingly attractive smile. ‘Afraid of getting into trouble with your parents, are you, for going swimming on your own and getting into difficulties? ’

‘I’m not with my parents!’ What did he think she was? A rebellious teenager, going swimming behind their backs? She jutted her chin. She might be nineteen—strictly speaking still a teenager—but she was nearly twenty, and she’d been living with other uni students for close on two years!

‘I’m staying here with a friend,’ she told him, her tone crisp. ‘She had to call the police because her beach-house has been burgled and she—she wanted me out of the way.’ She flushed. ‘Look, I know it was stupid, going swimming on my own. I won’t do it again,’ she promised, in case he thought she might.

‘Good.’ A satisfied nod. ‘So...you don’t want to go home just yet?’ He quirked a dark eyebrow, the dazzling blue eyes turning her bones to putty.

She shook her head. Not with a great bruised lump under her eye that would be hard to explain away. ‘I—I’ll wait awhile and hope the swelling goes down.’ She swallowed. Hard. Would he decide to stay with her?

‘It’s more likely to get worse if you don’t put some ice on it. I could provide a cold compress for you if you’d like to pop across to my beach-house. It’s just across the sand dunes, overlooking the beach. You can see it from here...through those trees.’ He raised a hand and pointed.

Her head snapped back. Go to his beach-house? ‘Oh, no...I couldn’t do that...’ Even as she protested, a part of her was urging her to accept...to follow wherever he wanted to take her. But wisely, perhaps, another part of her was more cautious. Oh, I’ll just bet you’d like to take me back to your beach-house...a virile hunk like you. You think I want to risk getting into more trouble?

Feeling flustered, and oddly frustrated at the same time, she grabbed her beach-bag and fumbled inside. ‘I...I’d better go. Maybe if I put sunglasses on I can hide my black eye.’ At least until she could get to Diana’s bathroom and dab some cover-up on it.

She found them and slipped them on—only to yelp. ‘Ouch!’ and tug them off again as the frames dug into the tender swelling under her eye. So much for that idea!

He made the decision for her. ‘Come on, we’re going to my place.’ He rose to his feet, brushing the sand off with his hands. She gulped as she felt a strong urge to do it for him. ‘You won’t have to come inside the house. I’ll bring the ice-pack out to you. I’ve a sports pack in the freezer. I never go anywhere without it.’

‘You’re a sportsman? An athlete?’ Her gaze flickered over the deeply tanned muscles, the powerful legs. It was a delaying tactic. Should she go with him or not? She snatched in a badly needed breath.

He looked down at her, a faint smile on his lips. ‘Just an amateur jogger...to keep myself fit. I used to play rugby at university, and now I try to jog or play tennis when I get the chance, so the muscle won’t turn to fat.

She couldn’t imagine muscles like his ever turning to fat. Not in a million years. ‘When you get the chance?’ she echoed. Obviously a busy man. ‘You’re on holiday at the moment?’

Where had he come from? she wondered, hoping he’d tell her that he’d come up from Sydney. Please, not Brisbane, or Melbourne, or, heaven forbid, the far west coast. She crossed her fingers for luck, a habit she’d had since her schooldays. Please say Sydney. Was it too much to hope for?

He paused a moment before answering, as if considering whether to reveal any more about himself. ‘Not exactly. It was my brother’s wedding last weekend...in Brisbane,’ he told her. ‘I’m taking a few days’ break here at Shelly Beach—staying at my brother’s beach-house—before I fly back to America.’

America! Her heart plunged. It wasn’t fair... She let her breath out in a sigh. To find a man like this...and then to lose him again so quickly! ‘You live in America? She held her breath. He sounded Australian, not American. What was he doing in America? How long was he planning to stay there?

‘For the time being I do. I’m doing some specialist training in New York. I plan to come back to Australia eventually. Hopefully to work in Sydney...where I lived before.’

Her eyes lit up, her pulse quickening. ‘Really? That’s where I live!’ She felt herself flushing. How gauche and over-eager he must think her! A man with his looks and experience of the world—he’d be in his late twenties, she hazarded—must be used to older, cooler, more sophisticated women. Women with far more experience and panache than a lowly university student like Kate Warren-Smith.

Not that she looked only nineteen. She rallied at the thought. She’d been told often enough that she looked years older. And her unusually low, husky voice often fooled people too. Maybe he hadn’t guessed...

‘Uh...what line of work are you in?’ she asked in a cooler, more off-hand tone. What she really wanted to know was: How long is your training in America going to take?

He seemed to hesitate again, and she bit down on her lip. Was she asking too many questions?

‘I’m a doctor.’

A doctor? So he had a brain as well as a magnificent body and heroic tendencies! ‘That’s what I’m going to be!’ she burst out, forgetting about being cool and sophisticated. Amazingly, they had something in common! She could feel her heart beating wildly under her loose shirt. And he was planning to come back to Australia to practise. To Sydney...her home town!

‘I’m doing medicine myself,’ she gushed, careful not to mention that she was only in her second year at med school. Near the end of her second year, she would tell him, if he asked.

‘Are you now?’

The way he said it caused her eyes to waver under his. Was he laughing at her? Mocking her? The narrowed blue eyes were difficult to read. There was no noticeable twinkling or obvious derision that she could tell. If anything, they looked more guarded than amused.

And then she recalled what he’d said a moment ago. Specialist training. Her heart dipped. He was a medical high-flier. One of the high-and-mighty élite. A specialist doctor. A member of the so-called boys’ club.

And she was a mere medical student!

She sighed, her spirits plunging further. Medical specialists—especially surgeons—were notoriously arrogant and ego-driven. They were remote, God-like figures who lived in their own exalted little world, seldom coming down to human level, seldom caring about anything but their own narrow, if vital, field of work.

Look at her father.

Not that all specialist doctors were as emotionally remote as her father. She glanced hopefully up at her husky rescuer. She’d met one or two who had lives and interests outside their own absorbing, highly-specialised field. A few even had a sense of fun, a sense of humour. A heart.

But perhaps she was being unfair to her father. He’d shown two years ago, after the death of his favourite daughter—his bright shining hope—that he did have a heart, that he could feel. And suffer, just like other mortals.

She thought fleetingly of her mother, his caring, compassionate suburban GP wife, who’d suffered the most over the years from his remoteness and emotional neglect. Even though they’d been living apart at the time Charlotte had died, her mother had immediately rushed to her husband’s side, offering comfort and warmth. Edith Warren-Smith had never stopped loving him, despite his emotional neglect, despite the hurt he’d caused her, despite leaving him for eighteen months, taking her younger daughter with her.

Kate wondered if she would have been as forgiving.

‘What field are you specialising in?’ she asked curiously, suddenly feeling the need to know. Orthopaedic surgery, perhaps? He looked the type. Fit, strong, sporty. A jogger and a tennis player. It meant he must have some sort of life outside medicine.

Her skin prickled as an uneasy memory stirred. He was from Sydney, he’d said...and he was training in America. Training to become a specialist. A specialist surgeon? Although she knew that must apply to dozens of Australian doctors, a sudden, frightening suspicion flickered...only to die—mercifully—the moment he answered.

‘I’m doing neurosurgery.’

She blinked. He was training to be a brain surgeon? Her momentary relief that he wasn’t doing cardiac surgery, like her father, turned to dismay. A neurosurgeon was up there with heart surgeons! Maybe even beyond. Dammit, why couldn’t he have been a plain, simple, ordinary GP like her mother? Like she wanted to be herself?

‘You won’t hold it against me, I hope?’ Now he was laughing at her. Plainly amused at the shocked look on her face.

She let her eyelashes flutter down, giving a careless laugh of her own. ‘Of course not...don’t be silly.’ Her breast heaved in a quick sigh. Just her luck that the man of her dreams had turned out to be a high-powered specialist surgeon like her father! ‘Look...I’ve wasted enough of your time,’ she mumbled. ‘I’ll be all right, truly. I’ll just stay here a while longer. My friend will be here soon. You—you go. And thank you for—’

‘You’re coming with me.’ His tone was as implacable as the set of his jaw. ‘Come on.’ He reached out a hand to help her up, but she ignored it. ‘You can stay out on the lawn, in full view of the other houses. Think you’re capable of walking yet? Or do you want me to carry you?’

‘I can manage,’ she said hastily, giving in far more readily than she would have expected only seconds ago. Her parents, if they only knew, would think she’d gone stark raving mad, agreeing to go off with a perfect stranger. Even if he was training to be a brain surgeon!

If he was. Some men would say anything to impress a girl they’d set their sights on. Her mouth twisted in a wry smile. In her case, he couldn’t have chosen a worse ploy!

She rose gingerly, testing her legs. They felt more normal now. She pulled her shirt more securely round her shoulders, shook out her towel and thrust it into her beach-bag.

‘What’s this?’ He bent down and picked up her sketchbook.

‘I’ll take it!’ She almost snatched it from him. If he saw she’d been sketching him... ‘It’s just a—just a pad I scribble in.’

‘Scribble? You’re a writer as well as a medical student? ’

She gave a shaky laugh, wishing he wasn’t showing such an interest in it. ‘I’m not a writer...I just draw a bit—for fun. For myself,’ she added quickly, making it plain that her scribbles were for her own eyes only. She tucked the sketchbook firmly under her arm, slung her beach-bag over her shoulder, and looked up at him expectantly.

‘Which is the quickest way?’ She was anxious to get going, now that the decision had been made. She wanted to put something cold on her swollen eye, and to keep it there long enough for it to have some effect before she sallied off to face Diana. Or the police.

She had no idea how long the ice would take to work its magic. But the prospect of spending some more time in her husky rescuer’s company—neurosurgeon or not—was distinctly appealing, sending excited ripples down her spine.

‘Let’s go up the way you came down. It’ll be easier,’ he said. Easier for her he meant. The slope was gentler there. Nothing, she thought, sliding a surreptitious glance down the length of his impressive frame, would be too difficult for him. A few strides of those great legs would take him anywhere...up any hill...over any obstacle.

He hovered protectively behind her as she made her way across the soft sand, staying close at her heels as she began to climb the sandy slope to the low sandhills behind.

‘Am I going to be allowed to know your name?’ he asked in his deep warm voice.

She chewed her lip. If she told him her name was Kate Warren-Smith, he’d be bound to ask if she was related to Chester Warren-Smith, the famous heart surgeon. As an Australian, and an ambitious surgeon himself, he must have heard of him. He might even have heard about the Warren-Smiths’ brilliant surgeon daughter, who’d died tragically of an overdose. Kate didn’t want to face disturbing questions about Charlotte. Even his sympathy would put a dampener on the day.

‘First names will do.’ He still sounded amused. As if, she thought peevishly, she were a cautious little ingénue in his eyes, who’d been told never to talk to strangers, let alone divulge her name or address. She gritted her teeth. So much for appearing older than her years!

Still...first names sounded safe enough. And at least it would be better than having him call her ‘love’ or ‘honey’.

‘My name’s Kate,’ she tossed over her shoulder, giving him the name she favoured over her full name Catherine. Or Cathy, as Charlotte had called her...even though she’d told her sister repeatedly that she preferred Kate.

‘Kate...mmm.’ His voice drifted musingly after her. ‘It suits you. Far more than Miranda.’

‘Miranda?’ She turned with faint frown. ‘Did you think—?’

‘Aren’t mermaids usually called Miranda?’

‘Oh.’ She laughed. And after a second’s hesitation asked, ‘What’s yours?’ wondering if she really wanted to know. Any man with the looks and amazing physique—to say nothing of the brilliant future—that this man possessed was bound to have a steady girlfriend already...if not a wife. Though surely if he had a wife she’d be here with him. Maybe she was here...sheltering from the heat inside his beach-house. Her spirits took a nosedive at the thought.

‘Call me Jack,’ he invited from behind.

She half turned, trying to hide a faint yearning in her eyes. Even if he was unattached, it didn’t mean he wanted a fling with her, or was even attracted to her. He was probably just being kind...taking pity on her because she’d come close to drowning. Or because he felt bad about giving her a black eye.

They made their way across the low sand dunes to the row of beach-houses behind, each one partially screened by trees and scrubby bush. He led her through a clump of overhanging casuarinas to a narrow strip of lawn and a modest house on stilts. A small red car stood under an open carport to one side.

‘Here we are, Kate.’ He waved to a yellow banana lounger under a cluster of shady palm trees. ‘Take a seat here in the shade while I fetch that cold pack. Won’t be long.’

He bounded up an outdoor flight of stairs, three at a time. Her eyes followed him, drinking in the power and the lithe grace of his superb body. Again she wondered if he was staying alone in the house, or with a friend or a relative. Or a wife.

The thought that he was more likely to be here alone caused her heart to pick up a beat.