Читать книгу The Return Of Her Past - Lindsay Armstrong - Страница 6

MIA GARDINER WAS home alone and preparing dinner for her mother when the storm hit with very little warning.

One minute she was rolling pastry, the next she was racing around the big old house known as West Windward and home to the wealthy O’Connor family, closing windows and doors as raindrops hammered down on the roof like bullets.

It was when she came to close the front door that a dark, damp figure loomed through the outside gloom and staggered towards her.

For a moment her heart leapt into her throat in fright, then she recognised the figure.

‘Carlos! It’s you. What are you doing—Carlos, are you all right?’ She stared up at him, taking in the fact that he had blood pouring down his temple from a nasty-looking cut. ‘What happened?’ she breathed and clutched him as he swayed where he stood.

‘A branch came down as I was crossing from the garage to the house. Hit me on the head,’ he said indistinctly. ‘That’s quite a storm,’ he added.

‘You’re not wrong.’ Mia put her hand on his arm. ‘Come with me. I’ll fix your head.’

‘What I need is a strong drink!’ But he swayed again as he said it.

‘Come,’ she said, and led him through the house to the housekeeper’s sitting room. It opened off the kitchen and was small but comfortable.

Mia cleared her mother’s knitting off the settee and Carlos O’Connor collapsed gratefully onto it. In fact he lay down and groaned and closed his eyes.

Mia was galvanised into action. Half an hour later she had cleaned and dressed the cut on his head whilst not only rain but hail teemed down outside.

Then the lights went off and she clicked her tongue, mainly because she should have expected it. They had frequent power failures in the district when the weather was stormy. Fortunately her mother kept some kerosene lamps handy but in the dark she tripped around until she located them. Then she lit a couple and brought one into the sitting room.

Carlos was lying unmoving, his eyes were closed and he looked very pale.

She stared down at him and felt a wave of tenderness flow through her because the truth of the matter was that Carlos O’Connor was gorgeous. All the lean six foot plus length of him, the dark hair, testament to his Spanish heritage, that he often pushed out of his eyes, those grey eyes that sometimes glinted wickedly at you…

She’d had a crush on Carlos since she was fifteen—how could you not? she sometimes wondered. How could anyone be immune to that devastatingly sexy aura? He might be ten years older than her eighteen years but surely she could catch up?

Not that she’d seen an awful lot of him over the past five years. He didn’t live on the property but she believed he’d grown up on it; he lived in Sydney, but he did come back from time to time. Usually it was only for a couple of days but he rode, not only horses but quad bikes, and because Mia was allowed to stable her horse on the property, and because she kept a weather eye on his horses when she was home, they had a bit in common.

She’d had some marvellous gallops with Carlos and if he’d ever divined that sometimes he made her heartbeat triple he’d never given any sign of it.

At first her daydreams had been simple and girlish but over the last couple of years she’d graduated from alternating between telling herself to forget all about Carlos O’Connor—he was a multi-millionaire, she was only the housekeeper’s daughter—and some rather more sophisticated daydreams.

Still, he was way out of her league. What could she offer him over the gorgeous beauties who sometimes accompanied him on his visits?

‘Mia?’

She came out of her daydream with a start and saw that his eyes were open.

‘How do you feel?’ She knelt down beside him and put the lamp down. ‘Do you have a headache? Or double vision? Or any strange symptoms?’

‘Yes.’ He thought for a moment.

She waited, then, ‘What? Tell me. I don’t think I can get a doctor to come out in this—’ she gestured up towards the cacophony on the roof above ‘—but—’

‘I don’t need a doctor,’ he murmured and reached for her. ‘Just this. You’ve grown up, Mia, grown up and grown gorgeous…’

Mia gasped as his arms closed about her and somehow, she wasn’t sure how, she ended up lying beside him on the settee. ‘Carlos!’ she remonstrated and tried to sit up. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Relax,’ he murmured.

‘But—well, apart from anything else, you could have a fractured skull!’

‘If I did, quiet and warmth and comfort would be recommended, don’t you agree?’ he suggested gravely.

‘I…you…perhaps but—’ Mia broke off helplessly.

‘That’s exactly what you could provide, Miss Gardiner. So would you mind not wriggling around like a trapped pilchard?’

‘A trapped pilchard?’ Mia repeated in outraged tones. ‘How dare you, Carlos?’

‘Sorry. Not the most complimentary analogy. How about a trapped siren? Yes, that’s better, don’t you agree?’ And he ran his hands down her body, then cuddled her against him. ‘Pilchard. I must be crazy!’ he murmured.

Mia took a breath to tell him he was crazy but suddenly she was laughing. Then they were laughing together and it was the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to Mia.

So much so, she lay quietly in his arms and when he started to kiss her, she didn’t resist. She was powerless to be unaffected by the amazing rapture he brought to her as he kissed her and held her. As he told her she had the most luscious mouth, skin like silk and hair like midnight.

She was made conscious of her body in ways she’d never known before as delicious ripples of desire ran through her. She was deeply appreciative of his easy strength and his long clean lines, the width of his shoulders and the way his hands brought her so much pleasure.

In fact she started to kiss him back and, when it was over, once again she lay quietly against him, her arms around him and she was deeply affected by everything about him. Not only that but conscious that it wasn’t impossible for him to be attracted to an eighteenyear-old—why else would he be doing this? Why else would he tell her she’d grown up and grown gorgeous?

Surely it couldn’t be concussion?

Two days later Mia drove away from the O’Connor estate and set her course, so to speak, for Queensland, where she’d been offered a university place.

She’d said goodbye to her parents, who’d been proud but just a little sad, but she was secure in the knowledge that they loved their jobs. Her father had a great deal of respect for Frank O’Connor, who’d built his construction company into a multi-million dollar business, although he’d recently suffered a stroke and been confined to a wheelchair, leaving his son Carlos in charge.

It was Carlos’s mother Arancha, a diminutive Spanish lady, a beauty in her earlier days but still the epitome of style, who had given her only son a Spanish name and it was she amongst the O’Connors who loved the Hunter Valley estate of West Windward passionately.

But it was Mia’s mother who actually tended the homestead, with all its objets d’art, priceless carpets and exquisite linens and silks. And it was her father who looked after the extensive gardens.

To some extent Mia shared both her parents’ talents. She loved to garden and the greatest compliment her father had given her was to tell her she had ‘green fingers’. She also took after her mother in her eye for decorative detail and love of fine food.

Mia was conscious that she owed her parents a lot. They’d scrimped and saved to give her the best education at a private boarding school. That was why she always helped as much as she could when she was home with them and she knew she was fulfilling their dream by going to university.

But as she drove away two days after the storm, her thoughts were in chaos, her head was still spinning and she didn’t look back.