“Could you and I ever go back to the way we were?” About the Author Title Page CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN CHAPTER ELEVEN CHAPTER TWELVE Copyright

“Could you and I ever go back to the way we were?”

Jack continued, “Could we start all over again?” Before Kate could even react, his mouth was on hers, gently seeking an answer.

She felt weak and dizzy, helpless to control her arms as they wound themselves around his neck. She’d only ever felt like this once before...and only ever with him.

“You still feel it, don’t you, Kate? There is still hope for us...if we can only let go of the past.”

“Oh Jack...” She let her hands slide from his shoulders, shaking her head. “I shouldn’t have let you kiss me, Jack.” She looked up at him with stricken eyes. “Jack, I’m getting married in two weeks!”

Elizabeth Duke was born in Adelaide, South Australia, but has lived in Melbourne all her married life. She trained as a librarian and has worked in many different types of libraries, but she was always secretly writing. Her first published book was a children’s novel, after which she successfully tried her hand at romance writing. She has since given up her work as a librarian to write romance full-time. When she isn’t writing or reading, she loves to travel with her husband, John, either within Australia or overseas, gathering inspiration and background material for future romances. She and John have a married son and daughter, who now have children of their own.

Look out for Taming a Husband by Elizabeth Duke in The Australians, May 1999.

The Husband Dilemma
Elizabeth Duke

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

KATE stared at her reflection in the mirrored wall of Madame Yvette’s Exclusive Bridal Fashions. The slender golden-haired woman in the classic white wedding gown stared back.

She felt a quiver of panic.

The wedding was so close. Less than three weeks away. Three short weeks.

It hit her for the first time. In just three weeks she would be a married woman, a wife, a life partner. Paired for ever with one man.

This was the biggest step she would ever take in her life. The most important, most life-changing, most permanent step...if you believed that marriage was for life, which she did. It was a bit scary.

Not that she had any doubts. She straightened her shoulders. Brendan loved her and she loved him. Even more important, she liked and trusted him. He might not be the most exciting man in the world, the most passionate man in the world. He might not have stunning good looks or a tanned athlete’s physique. He might not send her blood roaring through her veins the way... the way...

She had a fleeting image of piercing blue eyes, windswept black hair and powerful sun-bronzed shoulders.

She blinked the disturbingly vivid image away. The last man in the world she wanted to think about—now or ever—was Jonathan Savage. The way he could still haunt her on occasion, could still slip into her dreams at night, was maddening. It made no sense. It was nearly five years since that tumultuous day on Shelly Beach...the promising dream that had turned to a nightmare.

She hadn’t seen or heard of him since...or wanted to. Not consciously, at any rate.

Of course, it was the image of her gallant rescuer Jack, not the despised Jonathan Savage, that occasionally haunted her dreams. And Jack didn’t exist. He’d been a fantasy figure, a dream man, and dream men were illusions. She’d spent years looking...hoping...for another man who could make her feel the way Jack had—Jack, not Jonathan Savage—but no other man ever had. She’d finally realised that she was chasing after a phantom, an impossible dream, and had come back to cold reality.

Passion...feelings...weren’t to be trusted. It was trust, reliability, steadiness in a man that mattered, not how a man made you feel. Fire and passion only clouded the issue, blinding you to the harshly real human failings underneath...like heartless indifference and ruthless insensitivity!

She lifted her chin, relegating Jonathan Savage back to where he belonged...in the past. It was just pre-wedding jitters. All brides suffered them at some time or other. She’d panicked for a second, seeing herself dressed as a bride, realising how close the wedding was, how final it was. She was being silly. Everything was just fine. Everything was going to be fine.

‘You’re going to make a beautiful bride, Kate,’ a soft voice said from behind.

She turned her head, and summoned a quick smile. Melanie, her bridesmaid and best friend from their school days, as well as her current flatmate, had come to watch her final fitting. Only the hem and some beading needed to be done now ... and Madame Yvette, kneeling on the floor, was busily working on the hem right at this moment.

‘And you’re going to be a beautiful bridesmaid, Mel,’ Kate said warmly. ‘You’ll look stunning in that crimson dress we’ve chosen, with your dark hair.’

‘Always the bridesmaid, never the bride...’ Melanie’s smile was rueful. ‘This will be my third time. Not that I’m not delighted to be your bridesmaid, Kate, you mustn’t think—’

‘Your turn will come, Mel. It’s amazing no one’s snapped you up already. You have the loveliest face in the world, you don’t have an ounce of malice in you, and you’ll make some lucky guy the most wonderful wife...and be a perfect mother too. You’ve even had practice looking after babies and young children, with your work at the crèche.’

‘I think men find me boring,’ Melanie said with a sigh. She was a real homebody, happier spending her time curled up on a sofa reading a book or making dolls and toys for local fêtes and hospitals—or for her young charges at the crèche—than playing sport or going to parties. And yet she was far from dull. They often saw movies or plays together—when Kate’s schedule permitted—and a lively discussion always followed. Mel was a delight to be with.

‘But never mind about me. What about you, Kate?’ Melanie probed gently. ‘You were looking a bit wistful a moment ago. You’re not getting cold feet?’ she asked half-jokingly. But her soft dark eyes were concerned. ‘You...do love Brendan, don’t you?’

Kate gulped and turned back to the mirror. Melanie knew nothing about her brief, painful encounter with Jonathan Savage five years ago. There was only one other person who did know, and Diana was working in New York these days. Even before she’d left Australia, not long after their disastrous trip to Shelly Beach together, Diana had kept quiet about it, aware of Kate’s sensitivity on the subject.

Kate herself had never breathed a word to a living soul about what had happened on Queensland’s Sunshine Coast on that unseasonably hot September day. It was far too humiliating.

‘Of course I love Brendan.’ She injected surprise into her voice at the question. ‘He’s an easy guy to love.’ A thoroughly nice, thoroughly safe, thoroughly dependable guy. Not a heartless, high-flying, sweep-you-off-your-feet powerhouse like Jonathan Savage. Brendan was a gentle, steady, reliable, average sort of guy—average height, average looks, average temperament—with a better than average job as a tax accountant, running his own successful business.

There had been nothing average about Jack. Jonathan Savage, she corrected, with a hardening of her mouth.

Nothing steady or reliable either.

Poor Charlotte... Kate’s eyes misted as she thought of her sister.

‘There!’ Madame Yvette rose to her feet. ‘All finished. The gown will be ready for you to pick up by the end of next week, dear. Let me help you out of it now...’

Kate glanced at her watch as the beautiful silk and lace wedding gown was removed and whisked away. ‘Oh, heck, Mel, I’ll have to fly. I’m on duty at three!’

It was nearly that already.

‘You go ahead.’ Melanie waved her away. ‘I have to buy my mother a birthday present, to take home at the weekend.’ It was her afternoon off from the crèche.

Kate nodded, thanked her for coming, then dashed out to where she’d parked her car, uttering a string of curses when she found a parking ticket on the windscreen.

Her parking meter had expired! Furious with herself for not sending Melanie out during her fitting to feed in extra coins, she flounced into the driver’s seat and sped off in the direction of the hospital. She knew she could well end up with a speeding ticket as well, but better that than being late. She prided herself on her punctuality.

The doctors’ car park looked aggravatingly crammed with cars as she bowled through the self-opening gates. Lowly residents didn’t have reserved spaces. She would just have to drive up and down the rows of cars until she found a vacant spot.

Her eyes lit up as she spied a clear space. She swung the car into the vacant bay with a sigh of relief—only to groan in frustration when she saw the sign in front of her. ‘Nursing Director Only.’ Damn! She’d wasted precious seconds. She backed out again far too fast...and heard the sickening crunch of metal on metal.

‘Oh, no!’ she moaned, slamming her foot on the brake. She hadn’t seen the car passing behind her, and the driver, naturally, wouldn’t have been expecting her to back out a mere second after she’d nosed her way in! ‘Damn, damn, damn!’ she fumed. She had no one to blame but herself!

She jumped out of the car, hoping the other driver would be someone she knew so they could settle any damage details later. Hoping that the damage, if any, was minimal.

The driver of the other car—an expensive-looking BMW, she noted in dismay—was already stepping out of the driver’s seat, unfolding his considerable frame.

Just her luck to strike a big gun, she thought with a sinking heart. He was obviously a visiting consultant or professor, not a mere resident like herself. Worse, he was a doctor she didn’t know. A man of imposing presence, with the height and build of a gladiator—a sophisticated gladiator in a charcoal-grey suit.

‘What the hell were you thinking of, backing out like that?’ he roared, bending down to examine a large dent in the side of his car. ‘Look what you’ve done! This is a brand-new car!’

‘I’m sorry,’ Kate mumbled. Anyone would think she’d done it on purpose! A snap glance revealed that her own car had suffered no damage at all—thanks to the solid rear bumper bar. ‘I—I noticed that I’d swung into a reserved space, and I was just...’ She trailed off as he straightened and they came face to face for the first time.

A devastating swooshing sensation swept through her, as if all her blood and everything else inside her were rushing from her body. As if she were dissolving. Liquefying. The car park spun. Her head spun.

It couldn’t be.

She stared, trying madly to pull herself together, trying madly to stay upright.

It was Jack!

No, not Jack... Icy reality clawed its way back, swamping that initial, distressingly emotional reaction.

‘Jonathan Savage,’ she hissed through her teeth.

A very different Jonathan Savage from the bronzed, half-naked Samson who’d plucked her from the sea five years ago...

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.

CHAPTER THREE

WHEN he came back, he’d pulled on a white T-shirt. While it hid the deeply tanned flesh of his upper torso, it only accentuated the powerful muscles of his arms and chest and the amazing breadth of his shoulders.

She kept her eyes averted from the skintight swim-trunks below the T-shirt, and the strong tanned legs below that, fixing her gaze to the blue plastic ice-pack in his hand.

‘Lie back,’ he commanded, dropping to his knees beside the lounger. ‘I’m not going to hurt you,’ he murmured as her eyes flickered warily. ‘I’ll just hold the ice-pack in place.’

She did as she was told and lay back. And a moment later, as he carefully administered to her, she found herself wondering all over again how a man so big and strong could have such an amazingly gentle, tender touch, his fingertips barely brushing her skin as he carefully laid the cold compress on the tender swelling below her left eye.

She closed her eyes and kept still, enjoying the soothing coolness as it seeped into her bruised flesh... relishing at the same time the tenderness of those feather-like fingers...the delicious sense of being nurtured... cared for. She knew a few sexy males at uni, but none of them had Jack’s sensitivity...or his strength. Or his looks either, for that matter.

Without opening her eyes she asked ingenuously, ‘I’m not holding you up, am I, Jack? Won’t your friends or your—er—family be arriving back soon? Or are they already in the house?’

‘No need to worry about me.’ There was a thread of amusement in his voice, as if he knew what she was really asking. ‘I’m here on my own. I don’t have any close friends in Queensland, and my brother’s my only relative here in Australia.’

On his own...

Her heartbeat went suddenly haywire. Not with apprehension or fear, but with excitement...anticipation...a wild flutter of joy. Anything could happen in a couple of days!

Of course, even longer would be better...if he could stretch his visit to include Sydney.

‘Keep still,’ Jack rapped. ‘You’re dislodging the ice-pack.’

‘Sorry.’ She obediently settled back, her eyes still closed. ‘You—er—you’re not flying down to Sydney, Jack, to catch up with your friends there?’

She found she was crossing her fingers again, hoping—ridiculously—that he might change his mind and fly down to Sydney in two days’ time, perhaps even catching the same plane as Diana and herself, to spend a few days with a new friend, before flying back to America. She trembled at the thought.

‘You’re getting cold,’ Jack said, feeling the tremor run through her. ‘Or did I hurt you?’

She let one eye flicker open. He hadn’t answered her question, she noticed. Obviously he had no thought of flying down to Sydney. He preferred to spend his few spare days here, relaxing on the Sunshine Coast.

‘No...I’m fine.’ She gulped. His face was very close...disturbingly close. She could see every line and pore and vein in his deeply tanned face...every separate eyelash fringing the piercing blue eyes...the sooty shadow of regrowth on his chin and jaw. Another tremor shook her.

‘You are cold.’ With his free hand, he began to massage her bare legs. Under the soothing stroke of his palm, her skin felt suddenly burning hot, anything but chilled. ‘Not that you feel cold,’ he murmured. ‘Your skin’s as warm as...a new-laid egg. And as smooth. Silky-smooth. Not a single goosebump.’

Her breath seized in her throat, the provocative words affecting her as much as his gently stroking touch. If he wanted to stop her trembling, he was going about it in quite the wrong way!

‘It’s just the chill from the ice!’ she croaked, not wanting him to think she was trembling because of him. Even if she was.

‘Is it too cold?’ he asked, adjusting the pack slightly. ‘How’s that? Or do you feel you’ve had enough?’

‘No! I mean...I think I could take a bit more,’ she assured him breathlessly. ‘I’m sure it’s helping.’ She wanted to keep him close for a bit longer, wanted him to go on stroking her legs, wanted him to go on talking to her in that tantalisingly intimate way.

Wanted him to want her as much as she was beginning to want him.

Flustered by the startling thought, by the erotic images swirling through her mind, she blurted out another question. ‘How long will it be, Jack, before you come back to Australia?’

His eyes swam over hers, and she had a sensation of drowning—pleasantly this time, not with fear in her heart, as she’d felt earlier in that treacherous rip.

‘Maybe sooner than I thought,’ he said softly, only to draw back, as if he’d startled himself by the admission.

‘Tell me, Kate,’ he added in a lighter vein, making her wonder if he’d changed the subject deliberately, ‘have you always wanted to be a doctor?’

Her breath whispered out in a faint sigh. She would far rather have heard why he was thinking of coming home sooner than planned. ‘No...not always,’ she admitted. ‘I once dreamed of being an artist,’ she told him honestly, giving a brief laugh as she said it, to show him the dream was well and truly behind her.

‘An artist?’ His gaze veered towards the sketchbook she’d dropped on the grass beside her beach-bag. ‘What kind of artist?’ he asked curiously. ‘Landscapes? Modern art? Still life?’

‘Portraits.’ She felt herself blushing under the cold pack, and hoping fervently that he wouldn’t take it into his head to snatch up her sketchbook and peek inside. But he would never do that. Not without her permission...

Would he?

‘So...it’s faces and figures that interest you.’

Figures... The heat in her cheeks intensified.

‘I...it was just a childish pipe dream,’ she told him, dismissing the once burning passion. ‘I used to draw a lot when I was younger. I loved it. But in my final year at school I...decided to do medicine instead. Art’s just a hobby now,’ she said with a shrug.

She blinked away a sudden image of her sister...the sister who’d been so determined to follow in their famous father’s footsteps. Charlotte’s death had changed everything. Taking up medicine, as her sister had, had seemed the best way to ease her parents’ pain...to make them proud of her, as they’d been of Charlotte. She’d hoped to make up in some small way for their tragic loss.

But she was going to be a decidedly pale shadow of her sister, she was sadly aware, because she intended to be a simple, ordinary GP, like her mother, not a prestigious heart surgeon like her father...like Charlotte had hoped to be. Her father, she knew, still had hopes that she would specialise, but her mind was made up. She wanted to be a more down-to-earth, patient-oriented doctor, like her mother—dealing with the whole of a person, mind, body and soul, not just focusing on one small, if vital part.

‘So you chose to do medicine...just like that.’ The piercing blue eyes glimmered under her gaze. She wasn’t sure if it was in admiration...or amusement. ‘You must have been a bright student, Kate. It’s some switch...from art to medicine. What brought it about? Family pressure? Peer pressure? Parental expectations? You have doctors in your family?’

She sat up abruptly, causing the ice-pack to spin from his feather-light grasp and land in her lap. Snatching it up, she pressed it into her bruised flesh with fingers far less gentle than his.

‘No one pressured me...I wanted to do medicine!’ She couldn’t meet Jack’s eye. She was afraid that if she did, it would all tumble out...how and why Charlotte had died...how shattered her parents had been, her father in particular...how her father had vented his fury on his daughter’s absent ex-lover, tearing up the note of condolence Jonathan Savage had sent from America after Charlotte’s death, and throwing it away in disgust.

No...she couldn’t bring herself to tell Jack all that. She was afraid tears would tumble out along with the words, and she didn’t want to cry in front of Jack, didn’t want to bring a sad note into their brief time together...or, worse, make him uncomfortable. Some men tended to back away from tragedy and emotion...from emotional females in particular...and she didn’t want Jack backing away from her.

‘But you still find time to do some sketching...’ Jack’s voice splintered her fevered thoughts.

She peeked up at him through her lashes, relief whooshing through her that he hadn’t pressed her for an answer, that he’d switched from the subject of medicine. He was eyeing her sketchbook again, she noted, with a rush of heat to her cheeks.

‘May I take a look?’

Alarm flared in her eyes as he reached down and picked it up.

‘No!’ she cried, her cheeks positively flaming now. The ice-pack, forgotten, slipped from her fingers onto the grass. ‘Please, Jack—’

He laughed. It was obvious he thought she was just teasing him, or being coy. ‘I won’t criticise, I promise. I can’t draw a straight line myself.’ He flipped it open before she could stop him.

Dismay, humiliation, washed over her as a slow smile spread across his face.

‘So...you did see me.’ His lips stretched wider. ‘From more than one angle, it seems.’

She wished she could sink through the banana lounger into oblivion. She’d more than just ‘seen’ him—she’d memorised every powerful sinew and tautly packed muscle of his fantastic body. She’d never been more mortified in her life!

‘They’re very detailed sketches.’ He eyed them clinically. ‘You have...an amazingly acute eye.’

‘You said you wouldn’t criticise,’ she whispered faintly.

‘I’m not criticising. I have nothing but praise.’ He glanced up at her, pinning her with the glittering force of his gaze, a self-deprecating smile curving his lips. ‘I’m commenting from a purely artistic point of view, you understand, not on the subject matter. You’re good, Kate. Very good. You have talent.’

‘You said you know nothing about art.’ she reminded him, brushing off the unwanted accolade.

‘I said I couldn’t draw a straight line, not that I knew nothing about art.’

‘Please, Jack...give it to me.’ She plucked the sketchbook from his fingers and closed it firmly. ‘It was just a bit of fun, and—and you were the only one on the beach...’

She flung her legs over the side of the lounger, glancing at her watch as she sat up. ‘Is that the time? I’d better fly,’ she gabbled. ‘The police must have been and gone by now and my—my friend could be looking for me.’ She snatched up her beach-bag and scrambled to her feet.

Jack rose too. ‘I could do with another run. I’ll come down to the beach with you...if that’s where you’re heading. You could introduce me to your friend.’

He wanted to meet Diana? Kate was shocked—disgusted—at the flash of pure jealousy that knifed through her. Diana was closer to Jack’s age, and a sophisticated, high-powered woman of the world. Compared with a lowly medical student, not yet twenty...

‘I—I think I’ll head back to the house,’ she gulped out. ‘Di will probably still be there, cleaning up the mess.’ If there was a police car parked outside the house she could always turn back...and hopefully meet up with Jack again down on the beach. Alone...just the two of them. ‘Jack...thank you.’ She turned to face him. ‘I...my eye’s feeling a lot better. Is it still swollen?’

She raised her face for his scrutiny. And felt a tingling weakness in her legs as his gaze scorched over her flushed skin.

‘Not as much,’ Jack assured her. His voice, warm and velvet-soft, brushed over her like a physical caress. ‘But I think you should get a story ready, if you don’t want your friend knowing that a strange man walloped you in the face while you were caught in a dangerous rip.’

She gave an embarrassed laugh. ‘At least—thanks to you turning up, Jack—I won’t have to tell her I went swimming on my own.’ She could hardly hide the fact that she’d been for a swim—one glance at her damp, tangled curls would give her away. ‘I know it’s not quite the truth, but...’ She reached out involuntarily to touch his arm. ‘Thank you, Jack, for—’ she caught her breath at the feel of the smooth, hard flesh under her fingers ‘—for saving my life.’

She felt her gaze swallowed by a blue more brilliant than the sea. ‘The pleasure was all mine.’ He took her uptilted chin in his hand, bent his head and kissed her. Full on the lips.

‘It’s not every day a fellow has the chance to pluck a golden mermaid from the sea,’ he drawled as he drew back.

She couldn’t move or speak for a second. She could feel her face burning, her heart thudding, her lips tingling from the brief, unexpected touch of his lips. Warm, firm, yet deliciously sensual lips, the kind of lips you wanted to go on kissing you for ever.

She saw something in his face, a fleeting glint in his eye, a deepening of the sharp blue, as if he’d surprised himself by kissing her. Or by feeling the same spark of awareness that she’d felt?

‘I thought your eyes were grey,’ he murmured with a slow smile, his voice breaking the spell. ‘But they’re green...as green as the sea on a wintry day.’

Was that what had surprised him? The colour of her eyes? She felt a ripple of disappointment. Maybe he’d felt nothing at all.

‘And as beautiful,’ he added softly, his fingers caressing the soft skin of her throat, his hypnotic eyes still holding hers.

Kate stared back at him, her lips trembling, parting under his gaze. She felt light-headed, breathless, as if she were floating. She couldn’t drag her eyes from his. Didn’t want to.

Caught up in the enchantment of the moment, dazed by a dreamy sense of unreality, she blurted something utterly unexpected, utterly unplanned. And utterly outrageous.

‘You realise, don’t you, Jack, that when you save someone’s life...you’re bound to them for ever?’

She caught her breath as the impetuous words left her lips, wishing she could snatch them back. Bound for ever? What in the world was she saying, thinking of? If there were any words more likely to drive a man away...!

She gave a startled jerk as Jack reached out to slide a hand round her neck under her curls, gently urging her face closer to his, his fingers warm and tinglingly intimate on her skin.

‘Then maybe we ought to seal those bonds between us... with a proper kiss,’ he suggested in a strangely husky voice.

‘Jack, I didn’t—’

His lips stopped her. Those warm, sumptuous lips that she’d tasted a moment ago and longed to taste again. Lips that she couldn’t resist, didn’t want to resist, that caused her own to melt under their gentle, seeking pressure, all thought scattering to the four winds.

Still kissing her, he slid an arm round her waist, pulling her against his muscled warmth, his powerful thighs brushing her bare legs.

Instead of feeling trapped, or in any way alarmed, she clutched at his arms and pressed even closer, elated and intoxicated by the increasing hunger of his kiss and the erratic beat of his heart against hers.

He drew back just far enough to murmur against her lips, ‘You’re not one of those irresistible sirens of the sea, I trust, who lure men to their destruction on the rocks?’

She gave a gurgle of husky laughter. ‘Oh, Jack, I’d never do anything to hurt you...ever. You saved my life!’ Gulping in a much needed breath, she whispered, ‘Maybe we were fated to meet.’

‘Maybe we were.’ His fingers threaded through her mass of golden curls, his eyes a dark glitter above hers. ‘You’re already threatening to turn my life upside-down... do you realise that?’

She was? Kate let out a dreamy sigh as his mouth captured hers again, preventing her from telling him that he was doing the same to her. As if he didn’t know it already!

Her mind spun as his tongue slid between her teeth and began an erotic dance with hers, his lips sucking, tasting, sending a delicious fire through her veins. So this was what a proper kiss was...this was how it felt. Nothing like the arrogant, insensitive assaults or the clumsy, eager smooches that she’d known before...none of which had affected her in the slightest, except to fill her with a mild distaste. This was so different...the way it made her feel...wanting more...far more.

Her breath quickened as she felt his hand brush over the swell of her breast, her body arching involuntarily, her senses reeling at the intimate touch, at the exquisite sensations flaming through her. She didn’t think of protesting, or drawing back. She was paralysed, lost to all reality, conscious only of the heady exhilaration of being in his arms, and the blinding realisation that he wanted her as much as she wanted him.

As a shiver of pure excitement quivered through her, Jack wrenched his mouth from hers, almost brutally pushing her back, away from him. ‘My God, what am I doing? What am I letting you do to me?’

The magic spell shattered. Only the hands still holding her arms prevented Kate’s legs from sagging beneath her. Blood rushed to her face, tears of hurt and shame springing to her eyes. He didn’t want her after all. She was too fast, too easy. He was disgusted at himself for succumbing to...her feminine wiles. But not as disgusted as she felt at that moment—with herself.

What was she doing, letting a virtual stranger kiss her like that, touch her like that? As for telling him they were bound together for ever, just because he’d saved her life... She’d only just met him, for pity’s sake! She didn’t even know his full name.

‘I’m sorry,’ she croaked, blinking furiously. ‘You—you must think—’ She gave a choked sob and tried to tear herself free, clawing at his gripping hands with wild fingers. But his strong hands simply tightened round her arms, dragging her back to face him.

‘You’ve nothing to be sorry for, Kate.’ His voice was a throaty growl. ‘Just be grateful I didn’t take advantage of you. Heaven knows, I was tempted.’

He was? She swallowed, her bewildered gaze fluttering to his. Was he saying it was because he liked her so much—because he respected her—that he’d pushed her away? Were there still men like that around?

‘Will—will I see you tomorrow?’ she faltered, hiding the burning hope that she was sure must be there for him—for anyone—to see.

But what if Diana wanted to go home first thing in the morning—or even tonight—now that her beach-house had been burgled? Or what if she wanted to visit a different beach tomorrow—a safer beach for swimming? Or what if she didn’t want her young friend meeting up with Jack again—a stranger she’d met on the beach? What if she wanted to keep Kate to herself?

As she waited for Jack’s answer, Kate felt a sick ache in her chest at the thought of never seeing him again, never having the chance to know and experience more of him, never again feeling his gentle, heart-stopping touch, those powerful arms around her, those warmly sensual lips on hers.

Worse...what if she and Diana did meet him on the beach tomorrow, and he had eyes only for Diana?

She gave herself an impatient shake. If he was that fickle—if he could transfer his affections so easily—Diana was welcome to him! But in her heart she didn’t believe he would be...not her Jack. Not the man who’d risked his life to save hers, and who’d taken such good care of her since...who’d even told her she was threatening to turn his life upside-down.

Not the man who’d had the chance to take advantage of her, who’d been tempted to, but hadn’t.

‘There’s a woman crossing the sandhills,’ Jack said suddenly, diverted for a second. He was looking beyond her through the trees. ‘Is that your friend?’

Kate turned her head, following his glance. Her heart gave a flutter as she recognised the tall, slender woman striding across the grassy sand dunes...heading back from the beach, not towards it. It was more a flutter of guilt than dismay. Guilt that she hadn’t been down on the beach when Diana had come looking for her. Guilt that she’d been enjoying herself with Jack while Diana had been dealing with the police and the aftermath of the robbery.

Guilt that she could actually have been jealous of Diana, even for a second! She liked Diana. Very much. In many ways, she liked her better than she’d liked her own sister. Besides, jealousy was such a futile, destructive emotion.

She leapt away from Jack with a gasped. ‘Goodbye, Jack!’ and broke into a run, leaving him standing. ‘Di!’ she called out, waving a hand as she emerged from the trees. ‘Here I am!’

‘Where have you been?’ Diana shouted back, adding as they came closer, ‘I thought you’d been kidnapped!’

Kate reddened. She had...in a way. ‘Sorry, Di.’ Her teeth tugged at her lip as she came to a halt, facing the older woman. ‘I...er...met someone down on the beach.’ She raked her fingers through her hair, deliberately dragging her tangled curls over one eye. Her black eye. The longer she could hide it from Diana the better. She hadn’t thought of a convincing story yet.

‘And there I was, thinking you must have gone for a long walk...on your own.’ Diana’s dark eyes twinkled. ‘Male or female?’ she asked.

‘Male.’ Kate flushed. ‘A real gentleman,’ she said righteously. An incredible hunk with the strength of a tank, the sexiest lips in the world, and the gentlest touch she’d ever known.

A man she would trust with her life.

She had trusted him with her life.

‘He wouldn’t happen to be sun-tanned, dark-haired and built like an Olympic athlete, by any chance?’ Diana was looking past her now, her eyes blatantly admiring.

Kate’s head spun round, her cheeks blazing hot. Jack was heading their way, on his way to the beach.

‘Er...yes, that’s Jack.’ She would have to explain a few things, quick smart. ‘I...we went swimming,’ she babbled, ‘and he accidentally bumped me on the cheek and gave me a black eye and he—he insisted on putting an ice-pack on it, back at his...his... Have the police been yet?’

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