Читать книгу Midwife's Mistletoe Baby - Fiona McArthur - Страница 8

March

RAYNE WALTERS BREATHED a sigh of relief as he passed through immigration and then customs at Sydney airport, deftly texted—I’m through—and walked swiftly towards the exit. Simon would be quick to pick him up. Very efficient was Simon.

He’d had that feeling of disaster closing in since the hiccough at LA when he’d thought he’d left it too late. But the customs officers had just hesitated and then frowned at him and waved him through.

He needed to get to Simon, the one person he wanted to know the truth, before it all exploded in his face. Hopefully not until he made it back to the States. Though they were the same age, and the same height, Simon was like a brother and mentor when he’d needed to make life choices for good rather than fast decisions.

But this choice was already made. He just wanted it not to come as a shock to the one other person whose good opinion mattered. He wasn’t looking forward to Simon’s reaction, and there would be anger, but the steps were already in motion.

A silver car swung towards him. There he was. He lifted his hand and he could see Simon’s smile as he pulled over.

‘Good to see you, mate.’

‘You too.’ They’d never been demonstrative, Rayne had found it too hard——but their friendship in Simon’s formative years had been such a light in his grey days, and a few hilarious hell-bent nights, so that just seeing Simon made him feel better.

They pulled out into the traffic and his friend spoke without looking at him. ‘So what’s so urgent you need to fly halfway around the world you couldn’t tell me on the phone? I can’t believe you’re going back tomorrow morning.’

Rayne glanced at the heavy traffic and decided this mightn’t be a good time to distract Simon with his own impending disaster. Or was that just an excuse to put off the moment? ‘Can we wait till we get to your place?’

He watched Simon frown and then nod. ‘Sure. Though Maeve’s there. She’s just had a break-up so I hope a sister in my house won’t cramp your style.’

Maeve. Little Maeve, Geez. It was good to think of someone other than himself for a minute. She’d been hot as a teenager and he could imagine she’d be drop-dead gorgeous by now. All of Simon’s sisters were but he’d always had a soft spot for Maeve, the youngest. He’d bet, didn’t know why, that Maeve had a big front of confidence when, in fact, he’d suspected she was a lot softer than the rest of the strong females in the house.

Though there’d been a few tricky moments when she’d made sure he knew she fancied him—not politic when you were years older than her. He’d got pretty good at not leaving Simon’s side while Maeve had been around. ‘I haven’t seen Maeve for maybe ten years. She was probably about fifteen and a self-assured little miss then.’

‘Most of the time she is. Still a marshmallow underneath, though. But she makes me laugh.’

She’d made Rayne laugh too, but he’d never mentioned his avoidance techniques to Simon. He doubted Simon would have laughed at that. Rayne knew Simon thrived on protecting his sisters. It had never been said but the Keep away from my sisters sign was clearly planted between them. And Rayne respected that.

‘How are your parents?’ It was always odd, asking, because he’d only had his mum, and Simon had two sets of parents. Simon’s father, who Rayne had known as a kid, had turned out to be Simon’s stepdad and he remembered very well how bitter Simon had been about all the lies. Bitter enough to change his last name.

But Simon’s mum had chosen to go with someone she’d thought could give her accidental child the life she wanted him to have, and had been very happy with Simon’s wealthy stepdad. Simon’s birth father hadn’t known of his son’s existence until Simon had accidentally found out and gone looking for him.

No such fairy-tale for himself. ‘Your father is dead and not worth crying over,’ was all his mother had ever said.

‘You know Dad and Mum moved to Boston?’ Simon’s voice broke into his thoughts. ‘Dad’s bypass went well and Mum’s keeping us posted.’

‘Good stuff.’ Rayne glanced at his friend and enjoyed the smile that lit Simon’s face. Funnily, he’d never been jealous of Simon’s solid family background. Just glad that he could count this man as his friend and know he wouldn’t be judged. Except maybe in the next half-hour when he broke the news.

Simon went on. ‘And Angus and the Lyrebird Lake contingent are great. I saw them all at Christmas.’ More smiles. He was glad it had all worked out for Simon.

Then the question Rayne didn’t want. ‘And your mum? She been better since you moved her out to live with you?’ Another glance his way and he felt his face freeze as Simon looked at him.

‘Fine.’ If he started there then the whole thing would come out in the car and he just needed a few more minutes of soaking up the good vibes.

Instead, they talked about work.

About Simon’s antenatal breech clinic he was running at Sydney Central. He’d uncovered a passion for helping women avoid unnecessary Caesareans for breech babies when possible and was becoming one of the leaders in re-establishing the practice of experienced care for normal breech births.

‘So how’s your job going?’ Simon looked across. ‘Still the dream job, making fistloads of money doing what you love?’

‘Santa Monica’s great. The house is finished and looking great.’ Funny how unimportant that was in the big picture. ‘My boss wants me to think about becoming one of the directors on the board.’ That wouldn’t happen now. He shook that thought off for later.

‘The operating rooms there are state-of-the-art and we’re developing a new procedure for cleft pallet repair that’s healing twice as fast.’

‘You still doing the community work on Friday down at South Central?’

‘Yep. The kids are great, and we’re slipping in one case a week as a teaching case into the OR in Santa Monica.’ He didn’t even want to think about letting the kids down there but he did have a very promising registrar he was hoping he could talk to, and who could possibly take over, before it all went down.

They turned off the airport link road and in less than five minutes were driving into Simon’s garage. Simon lived across the road from the huge expanse of Botany Bay Rayne had just flown in over. He felt his gut kick with impending doom. Another huge jet flew overhead as the automatic garage door descended and that wasn’t all that was about to go down.

He’d be on one of those jets heading back to America tomorrow morning. Nearly thirty hours’ flying for one conversation. But, then, he’d have plenty of time to sit around when he got back.

Simon ushered him into the house and through into the den as he called out to his sister. ‘We’re back.’

Her voice floated down the stairs. ‘Getting dressed.’ Traces of the voice he remembered with a definite womanly depth to it and the melody of it made him smile.

‘Drink?’ Simon pointed to the tray with whisky glass and decanter and Rayne nodded. He’d had two on the plane. Mostly he’d avoided alcohol since med school but he felt the need for a shot to stiffen his spine for the conversation ahead.

‘Thanks.’ He crossed the room and poured a finger depth. Waved the bottle in Simon’s direction. ‘You?’

‘Nope. I’m not technically on call but my next breech mum is due any day now. I’ll have the soda water to keep you company.’ Rayne poured him a glass of the sparkling water from the bar fridge.

They sat down. Rayne lifted his glass. ‘Good seeing you.’ And it was all about to change.

‘You too. Now, what’s this about?’

Rayne opened his mouth just as Simon’s mobile phone vibrated with an incoming call. Damn. Instead, he took a big swallow of his drink.

Simon frowned at him. Looked at the caller, shrugged his inability to ignore it, and stood up to take the call.

Rayne knew if it hadn’t been important he wouldn’t have answered. Stared down into the dregs of the amber fluid in his glass. Things happened. Shame it had to happen now. That was his life.

‘Sorry, Rayne. I have to go. That’s my patient with the breech baby. I said I’d be there. Back as soon as I can.’ He glanced at the glass. ‘Go easy. I’ll still be your mate, no matter what it is.’

Rayne put the glass down. ‘Good luck.’ With that! He had no doubt about Simon’s professional skill. But he doubted he’d be happy with his friend when he knew.

Rayne watched Simon walk from the room and he was still staring pensively at the door two minutes later when the woman of his dreams sashayed in and the world changed for ever.

One moment. That was all it took. Nothing could have warned him what was about to happen or have prevented him, after one shell-shocked moment, standing up. Not all the disasters in the universe mattered as he walked towards the vision little Maeve had become.

A siren. Calling him without the need for actual words. Her hair loose, thick black waves dancing on her shoulders, and she wore some floating, shimmering, soft shift of apricot that allowed a tantalising glimpse of amazing porcelain cleavage—and no bra, he was pretty sure. A flash of delicious thigh, and then covered again in deceptive modesty. He could feel his heart pound in his throat. Tried to bring it all back to normality but he couldn’t. Poleaxed by not-so-little Maeve.

Maeve paused before entering the room. Drew a breath. She’d spent the day getting ready for this moment. Hair. Nails. Last-minute beauty appointments that had filled the day nicely. When Simon had told her yesterday that Rayne was coming she’d felt her spirits lift miraculously. Gone was the lethargy of self-recriminations from the last month. She really needed to get over that ridiculous inferiority complex she couldn’t seem to shake as the youngest of four high achieving girls.

Here was one man who had never disappointed her. Even though she’d been embarrassingly eager to pester him as a gawky teenager, he’d always made her feel like a princess, and she wanted to look her best. Feel good about herself. Get on with her life after the last fiasco and drop all those stupid regrets that were doing her head in.

She hoped he hadn’t changed. She’d hero-worshiped the guy since the day he’d picked up the lunch box she’d dropped the first time she’d seen him. Her parents’ reservations about Rayne’s background and bad-boy status had only made him more irresistible. At fifteen, twenty had been way out of her reach in age.

Well, things should be different this time and she was going to make sure they were at least on an even footing!

Maybe that’s where the trill of excitement was coming from and she could feel the smile on her face from anticipation as she stepped into view.

That was the last sane thought. A glance across a room, a searing moment of connection that had her pinned in the doorway so that she stopped and leant against the architrave, suddenly in need of support—a premonition that maybe she’d be biting off more than she could chew even flirting with Rayne. This black-shirted, open-collared hunk was no pretty boy she could order around. And yet it was still Rayne.

He rose and stepped towards her, a head taller than her, shoulders like a front-row forward, and those eyes. Black pools of definite appreciation as he crossed the room in that distinctive prowl of a walk he’d always had until he stood beside her.

A long slow smile. ‘Are you here to ruin my life even more?’

God. That voice. Her skin prickled. Could feel her eyebrows lift. Taking in the glory of him. ‘Maybe. Maybe I’m the kind of ruin you’ve been searching for?’

Goodness knew where those words had come from but they slid from her mouth the way her lunch box had dropped from her fingers around ten years ago. The guy was jaw-droppingly gorgeous. And sexy as all get-out!

‘My, my. Look at little Maeve.’

And look at big Rayne. Her girl parts quivered.

‘Wow!’ His voice was low, amused and definitely admiring—and who didn’t like someone admiring?—and the pleasure in the word tickled her skin like he’d brushed her all over. Felt impending kismet again. Felt his eyes glide, not missing a thing.

She looked up. Mesmerised. Skidded away from the eyes—too amazing, instead appreciated the black-as-night hair, that strong nose and determined jaw, and those shoulders that blocked her vision of the world. A shiver ran through her. She was like a lamb beckoning to the wolf.

Another long slow smile that could have melted her bra straps if she’d had one on, then he grew sexy-serious. ‘Haven’t you grown into a beautiful woman? I think we should meet all over again.’ A tilt of those sculpted lips and he held out his hand. ‘I’m Rayne. And you are?’

Moistened her lips. ‘Maeve.’ Pretended her throat wasn’t as dry as a desert. Held out her own hand and he took her fingers and kissed above her knuckles smoothly so that she sucked her breath in.

Then he allowed her hand to fall. ‘Maeve.’ The way he said it raised the hair on her arms again. Like ballet dancers en pointe. ‘Did you know your name means she who intoxicates? I read that somewhere, but not until this moment did I believe it.’

She should have laughed and told him he was corny but she was still shaking like a starstruck mute. Finally she retaliated. ‘Rain. As in wet?’

He laughed. ‘Rayne as in R.A.Y.N.E. My mother hated me.’

‘How is your mother?’

His eyes flickered. ‘Fine.’ Then he seemed to shake off whatever had distracted him and his smile was slow and lethal. ‘Would you like to have a drink with me?’

And of course she said, ‘Yes!’

She watched him cross the room to Simon’s bar and that made her think, only for a millisecond, about her brother. ‘Where’s Simon?’ Thank goodness her brother hadn’t seen that explosion of instant lust between them or he’d be playing bomb demolition expert as soon as he cottoned on.

‘His breech lady has gone into labour and he’s meeting her at the hospital.’

Maeve ticked that obstacle out of the way. A good hour at least but most probably four. She was still languid with residual oxytocin from the Rayne storm as she sank onto the lounge. Then realised she probably should have sat in Simon’s favourite chair, opposite, because if Rayne sat next to her here she doubted she’d be able to keep her hands off him.

He sat down next to her and the force field between them glowed like the lights on the runway across the bay. He handed her a quarter-glass of whisky and toasted her with his own. Their fingers touched and sizzled and their eyes clashed as they sipped.

‘Curiouser and curiouser,’ he drawled, and smiled full into her face.

OMG. She licked her lips again and he leaned and took her glass from her hand again and put it down on the coffee table. ‘You really shouldn’t do that.’ Then lifted his finger and gently brushed her bottom lip with aching slowness as he murmured, ‘I’ve been remiss.’

He was coming closer. ‘In what way?’ Who owned that breathy whisper?

‘I didn’t kiss my old friend hello.’ And his face filled her vision and she didn’t make any protest before his lips touched, returned and then scorched hers.

In those first few seconds of connection she could feel a leashed desperation about him that she didn’t understand, because they had plenty of time, an hour at least, but then all thoughts fled as sensation swamped her.

Rayne’s mouth was like no other mouth she’d ever known. Hadn’t even dreamt about. Like velvet steel, smoothly tempered with a suede finish, and the crescendo was deceptively gradual as it steered them both in a sensual duel of lips and tongue and inhalation of whisky breath into a world that beckoned like a light at the end of the tunnel. She hadn’t even known there was a tunnel!

Everything she’d imagined could be out there beckoned and promised so much more. She wanted more, desperately needed more, and lifted her hands to clasp the back of his head, revel in his thick wavy hair sliding through her fingers as she pulled him even closer.

His hands slid down her ribs, across her belly and up under and then circling her breasts through the thin fabric of her silk overshirt. His fingers tightened in deliciously powerful appreciation then he pulled away reluctantly.

‘Silk? I’d hate to spoil this so I’d better stop.’

‘I’ll buy another one,’ she murmured against his lips.

Rayne forced his hands to draw back. It was supposed to be a hello kiss. Holy hell, what was he doing? He’d barely spoken to the woman in ten years and his next stop was definitely lower down. They’d be naked on the floor before he realised it if he didn’t watch out. ‘Maybe we should draw a breath?’

She sat back with a little moue of disappointment, followed by one of those delicious tip-of-the-tongue lip-checks that drove him wild. He was very tempted to throw caution to the winds, and her to the floor, and have his wicked way with the siren. Then he saw Simon’s glass of sparkling water sitting forlornly on the table and remembered his unspoken promise. Forced himself to sit back. He’d be better having a cold glass of water himself.

‘I’m starving!’ He wasn’t, but appealing to a woman’s need to feed a man was always a good ploy to slow the world down.

She shrugged and he wanted to laugh out loud. Still a princess. Gloriously a princess. ‘Kitchen’s through there.’ A languid hand in vague direction. ‘I’m not much of a cook but you could make yourself something.’

Observed her eyes skid away from his. Decided she was lying. ‘Don’t you know the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach?’

‘And the way to a woman’s heart is more of that hello kissing.’ She sighed and stood up. ‘But come on, I’ll feed you. And then I’m going to kiss you again before my brother comes home. You’ll owe me.’

He did laugh at that. ‘I’ll pay what I have to pay.’ And he thought, I am not sleeping with this woman but thank God I brought condoms.

* * *

Maeve had lied about not being able to cook. She’d done French, Italian and Spanish culinary courses, could make anything out of nothing, and Simon’s fridge was definitely not made up of nothing. ‘Spanish omelette, French salad and garlic pizza bread?’

‘Hold the garlic pizza bread.’

She grinned at him, starting to come down from the deluge of sensations that had saturated her brain. She’d planned on being admired, building her self-esteem with a safe yet sexy target, not ending up in bed with the guy. ‘Good choice.’ Heard the words and decided they applied to herself as well. It would be a good choice not to end up in bed either.

Then set about achieving a beautifully presented light meal perfect for a world traveller just off a plane.

‘Oh, my.’ He glanced down at his plate in awe. ‘She cooks well.’

‘Only when I feel like it.’ And spun away, but he caught her wrist. Lifted it to his mouth and kissed the delicate inside skin once, twice, three times, and Maeve thought she was going to swoon. She tugged her hand free because she needed to think and she hadn’t stopped feeling since she’d seen this man. She mimicked him. ‘He kisses well.’

He winked at her. ‘Only when he feels like it.’

She leaned into him. ‘We’ll work on that. Eat your dinner like a good boy.’ While I get some distance, fan my face and figure out why I’m acting like he’s my chance at salvation. Or is that damnation?

Five minutes later Rayne sat back from his empty plate. He had been hungry. Or the food was too good to possibly leave. ‘Thank you.’

He needed a strategy of space between him and this woman. What the heck was going on to cause this onslaught of attraction between them? His own dire circumstances? The thought that she might be the last beautiful thing he would see or touch for a long time?

And her? Well, she was vulnerable. Simon had suggested that. But vulnerable wasn’t the word he would have used. Stunning, intoxicating, black-widow dangerous?

He stood up and put his plate in the sink. Rinsed it, like he always did because he’d been responsible for any cleaning he’d wanted done for a long time, and internally he smiled because she didn’t say, Leave that, I’ll do it, like most women would have. She leant on the doorframe and watched him do it.

‘Simon said you’ve just finished a relationship?’ Seemed like his subconscious wanted to get to the bottom of it because his conscious mind hadn’t been going to ask that question.

‘Hmm. It didn’t end well, and I’ve been a dishrag poor Simon had to put up with for the last month. You’ve no idea the lift I got when Simon said you were coming.’

No subterfuge there. He had the feeling she didn’t know the meaning of the word. ‘Thank you. But you know I’m here only for one night. I fly back tomorrow.’

She turned her head to look at him. ‘Do you have to?’

That was ironic. ‘No choice.’ Literally. ‘And I won’t be back for a long time.’ A very long time maybe.

She nodded. ‘Then we’d best make the most of tonight.’

He choked back a laugh. ‘What on earth can you mean?’

‘Catch up on what we’ve both been doing, of course. Before Simon monopolises you.’ She was saying one thing but her body was saying something else as she sashayed into the lounge again, and he may as well have had a leash around his neck because he followed her with indecent haste and growing fatalism.

‘Simon will be back soon.’ A brief attempt to return to reality but she was standing in the centre of the room looking suddenly unsure, and that brief fragility pierced him like no other reaction could have. Before he knew it he had his arms around her, cradling her against his chest, soothing the black hair away from her face. Silk skin, glorious cheekbones, a determined little chin. And she felt so damn perfect in his arms as she snuggled into him.

‘Take me to bed, Rayne. Make me feel like a woman again.’

‘That would be too easy.’ He kissed her forehead. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea, sweetheart.’

‘I’m a big girl, Rayne. Covered for contraception. Unattached and in sound mind. Do I have to beg?’

He looked at her, squeezed her to him. Thought about the near future and how he would never get this chance again because things would never be the same. He would never be the same. Searched her face for any change of mind. No. Bloody hell. She didn’t have to beg.

So he picked her up in his arms, and she lifted her hands to clasp him around his neck, and he kissed her gorgeous mouth and they lost a few more minutes in a hazy dream of connection. Finally he got the words out. ‘So which bedroom is yours?’

She laughed. ‘Up two flights of stairs. Want me to walk?’

‘Much as I have enjoyed watching you walk, I’d prefer to carry you.’

And with impressive ease he did. Maeve rested her head back on that solid shoulder and gazed up at the chiselled features and strong nose. And those sinful lips. OMG, did she know what she was doing? Well, there was no way she wanted this to stop. This chemistry had been building since that first searing glance that had jerked and stunned them both like two people on the same elastic. She tightened her hands around his neck.

He felt so powerful—not pretty and perfect like Sean had been—but she didn’t want to think about Sean. About the pale comparison of a man she’d wasted her heart on when she should have always known Rayne would stand head and shoulders above any other man.

Speaking of shoulders, he used one to push open the door she indicated, knocked it shut with his foot, and strode across the room to the big double bed she thought he would toss her onto, but he smiled, glanced around the room and lowered her gently until her feet were on the floor.

His breathing hadn’t changed and he looked as if he could have done it all again without working a sweat.

Ooh la la. ‘I’m impressed.’

He raised his brows quizzically and freed the French drapes until they floated down to cover the double window in a flounced bat of their lacy eyelids and the room dimmed to a rosy glow from the streetlights outside. Slid his wallet out of his pocket and put it on the windowsill after retrieving a small foil packet.

Then he pulled her towards him and spun her until her spine was against the wall and her breasts were pressed into his hardness. Shook his head and smiled full into her eyes. Felt her knees knock as he said, ‘You are the sexiest woman I have ever seen.’

She thought, And you are the sexiest man, as she lifted her lips to his, and thank goodness he didn’t wait to be asked twice. Like falling into a swirling maelstrom of luscious sensation, Maeve felt reality disappear like a leaf sucked into a drainpipe then she heard him say something. Realised he’d created physical distance between them. Her mind struggled to process sound to speech.

‘Miss Maeve, are you sure you want to proceed?’

It was a jolting and slightly disappointing thing to say in the bubble of sensuality he’d created and she looked up at him. Surprised a look of anguish she hadn’t expected. ‘Are you trying to spoil this for a particular reason?’

A distance she didn’t like flashed in his eyes. ‘Maybe.’

She pulled his head forward with her hands in his hair. ‘Well, don’t!’

Rayne shrugged, smiled that lethal smile of his, and instead he lifted her silk shift over her head in a slow sexy exposure, leaving the covering camisole and the dark shadow of her breasts plainly visible through it.

He trailed the backs of his fingers up the sides of her chest and she shivered, wanted him to rip it off so she could feel his hands on her skin. And he knew it.

This time the backs of his fingers trailed down and caught the hem of the camisole, catching the final layer, leaving her top half naked to the air on her sensitised skin.

She heard him suck in his breath, heard it catch in his throat as he glimpsed her body for the first time—and the tiny peach G-string that was all that was left.

Her turn. He had way too many clothes on and she needed to look and feel his skin with a sudden hunger she had no control over.

She reached up and danced her fingers swiftly down the fastening of his black shirt, as if unbuttoning for the Olympics way ahead of any other competitor, because she’d never felt such urgency to slip her hands inside a man’s shirt. Never wanted to connect as badly as now with the taut skin-covered muscle and bone of a man. The man.

This was Rayne. The Rayne. And he felt as fabulous as she’d known he would and the faster she did this the faster he would kiss her again. Her fingers seemed to glow wherever she touched and she loved the heat between them like a shivering woman loved a fire.

While her fingers were gliding with relish he’d unzipped and was kicking away his trousers. They stood there, glued together, two layers of mist-like fabric between their groins, two flimsy, ineffectual barriers that only inflamed them more, and his mouth recommenced its onslaught and she was lost.

Until he shifted. Moved that wicked mouth and tongue lower, a salutation of her chin, her neck, her collarbone, a slow, languorous, teasing circle around her breast and exquisite tantalising pleasure she’d never imagined engulfed her as he took the rosy peak and flicked it with delicate precision.

She gasped.

His hands encircled her ribs, the strong thumbs pushing her breasts into perky attention for his favours. Peaks of sensitive supplication and he took advantage until she was writhing, aching for him, helpless against the wall at her back, unable to be silent.

She. Could. Not. Get. Enough.

Rayne lifted his head, heard the moan of a woman enthralled, saw the wildness in her eyes, felt his own need soar to meet hers, dropped his hands to the lace around her hips and slid those wicked panties slowly down her legs, savoured the silk of her skin, the tautness of her thighs under his fingers, and then the scrap of material fell in a ridiculously tiny heap at her feet. There was something so incredibly sinful about that fluttering puddle of fabric, and he’d bet he’d think about it later, many times, as he reached for the condom and dropped his own briefs swiftly.

Then his hands slid back to her buttocks. Those round globes of perfection that fitted his hands perfectly. Felt the weight of her, lifted, supported her body in his hands, and the power of that feeling expanded with the strain in his arms and exultantly, slowly, her back slid up the wall and she rose to meet him.

Rayne slowly and relentlessly pinned her with his body and she wrapped her legs around him the way he had known, instinctively, she would, and it felt as incredible as he’d also known it could be, except it was more. So much more. And they began to dance the ancient dance of well-matched mates.

The rising sun striped the curtains with a golden beam of new light and Maeve awoke in love. Some time in the night it had come to her and it was as indestructible as a glittering diamond in her chest. How had that happened?

Obviously she’d always loved him.

And it was nothing like the feelings she’d had for other men. This was one hundred per cent ‘you light my fire, I know you would cherish me if you loved me back, I want to have babies with you’ love. So it looked like she’d have to pack her bags and follow the man to the States.

At least her mother lived there.

But Rayne was gone from their tumbled bed and someone was talking loudly downstairs.

Maeve sat up amidst the pillows he’d packed around her, realised she was naked and slightly stiff, began to smile and then realised the loud voice downstairs was Simon’s.

A minute later she’d thrown a robe over her nakedness and hurried into Simon’s study, where two burly federal policemen had Rayne in … handcuffs?

The breath jammed in her throat and she leant against the doorframe that had supported her last night. Needed it even more now.

Simon was saying, ‘What the hell? Rayne? This has to be a mistake.’

‘No mistake. Just didn’t get time to explain.’ Rayne glanced across as Maeve entered and shut his eyes for a moment as if seeing her just made everything worse. Not how she wanted to be remembered by him.

Then his thick lashes lifted as he stared. ‘Bye, Maeve,’ looked right through her and then away.

Simon glanced between the two, dawning suspicion followed swiftly by disbelief and then anger. ‘So you knew they’d come and you …’ He couldn’t finish the sentence. Sent Maeve an, ‘I’ll talk to you later’ look, but the federal policemen were already nudging Rayne towards the door.

Simon was still in the clothes he’d left in last night so he hadn’t been home long. Rayne was fully dressed, again in sexy black, and shaved, had his small cabin bag, so it looked like he’d been downstairs, waiting. She would never know if it was for Simon or the police.

She wondered whether the police hadn’t come he would have woken her to say goodbye. The obvious negative left her feeling incredibly cold in the belly after the conflagration they’d shared last night and her epiphany this morning.

He’d said he was going and wouldn’t be back for a while but she’d never imagined this scenario.

Then he really was gone and Simon was shaking his head.