‘And if I give you that chance now …?’

Confused, Libby frowned warily. ‘A chance to what?’

‘A chance to work here and see how a business should be run, to learn from experts …’

‘Me work for you?’ she exclaimed, waiting for the punchline.

When it did not come she shook her head. ‘I’m assuming that is your idea of a joke?’

Rafael shrugged. ‘You wanted a chance and I am giving you one.’

‘So you said—but giving me a chance to what?’

‘Prove there is more to you than a pretty face.’

21ST CENTURY BOSSES

Impossible, infuriating and utterly irresistible!

In the high-octane world of international business, these arrogant yet devastatingly attractive men reign supreme.

On his speed-dial, at his beck and call 24/7, it takes a special kind of woman to cope with this boss’s outrageous demands!

The Thorn in his Side

Kim Lawrence

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

LIBBY’S phone rang just as she was taking the exit into the motorway services.

She pulled into the first convenient parking space and eagerly reached into her pocket. ‘Mum …?’

‘Do I sound like your mother?’

Not unless her mum had developed a strong Irish accent in the two weeks she’d been in New York. ‘Chloe?’

‘Libby, love, I was just wondering if you’re going through the village on the way home from work?’

‘Actually, I’m not in work. I’m on my way back from the airport.’

There was a pause before her friend gave a self-recriminatory groan and added, ‘Oh, God, of course you are! Sorry, I forgot.’

There was a lot of it around, Libby thought with a worried frown. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve seen Mum or Dad, have you, Chloe?’

‘Haven’t you? I assumed one of them would be picking you up from the airport.’

‘They were meant to,’ Libby admitted. ‘But they were a no show and when I rang I couldn’t get a reply … so I got a hire car.’ She stopped and shook her head, her smooth brow creasing into an anxious frown. ‘It’s just not like them, but I’m sure there’s a perfectly simple explanation …?’ she added, unable to keep the questioning note of doubt from her voice.

‘Of course there is,’ Chloe responded soothingly. ‘And it has nothing whatever to do with ambulances or heart attacks, your dad is fine, and don’t deny that’s what you were thinking. I know the way your mind works.’

Before Libby could respond to this charge a yawn reverberated down the line so loud it made her grin.

‘Why does nobody mention that motherhood turns your mind to mush?’ her friend complained.

Libby gave a sympathetic grimace. ‘You sound exhausted.’

‘I was up all night,’ Chloe admitted with another yawn.

‘How is my god-daughter?’

‘She’s teething or colic or something. I’ve only just got her to sleep. Now how was your trip?’

‘Fantastic.’

‘And did friend Susie set you up with some gorgeous American hunk?’

‘As a matter of fact.’

There was a squeal of delight at the other end. ‘Tell me all.’

‘Nothing to tell, he was nice but—’

A groan vibrated down the line. ‘Let me guess—not your type. Is anyone your type, Libby?’ Chloe sounded exasperated. ‘Looking the way you do you could have any man—one for every day of the week!’

‘You mean I look cheap and tarty?’

‘You look about as cheap as vintage champagne, which is why you scare half the men off—too much class.’

‘Nice theory but on a more sane note … what did you want me to get you from the village?’ Libby asked, stifling her need to get home. Whatever was happening there, five minutes was not going to make that much difference.

‘No, don’t worry about it, it doesn’t matter.’

After a short argument Libby established that the item Chloe needed picking up was Eustace, their accident-prone Labrador, from the vet’s.

‘Someone left the gate open and useless Eustace got out. I swear that dog was an escapologist in another life. Mike found him tangled up in some barbed wire.’

‘Ouch! Poor Eustace, but don’t worry, it’s on my way, I’ll—’

‘No, it isn’t.’

Libby ignored the interruption. ‘It’s no bother,’ she lied.

An hour later Libby was relieved to see the village come into view. The rain that had made motorway driving a nightmare had finally stopped but the puddles on the narrow country lane where she parked were the size of small lakes. By the time she’d brought the Labrador back to the car her shoes were saturated and her legs splashed with mud.

While the excitable animal strained on his leash Libby fumbled for her keys to open the car door. Her fingers closed around them at the same moment her heel caught in a pothole in the uneven surface. Libby staggered, and, losing her balance in her efforts to stay upright and not land in an inelegant heap in the mud, she lost her grip on the dog’s lead.

‘Great!’ she muttered, maintaining a fixed smile as she approached the dog, who was sitting a few feet away looking pleased with himself.

‘Good boy, Eustace,’ she cajoled, approaching him slowly with her hand outstretched. ‘Just stay exactly where you are …’

The lead was a tantalising inch away from the fingers when he took off, barking madly as he raced away down the lane.

Libby closed her eyes and groaned. ‘I don’t believe this!’ Then she set off after him.

She was panting and had a stitch by the time she caught up with the errant animal. He was sitting in the middle of the narrow lane, his tail banging like a metronome against the ground as he looked at her with soulful eyes.

‘Glad someone’s having fun,’ Libby croaked as she bent forward, hands braced on her thighs as she tried to drag some air into her lungs. ‘Oh, my God, I am so not fit.’

Sweeping wayward strands of her thick chestnut hair from her eyes with her forearm, she straightened up and, tucking her hair in a businesslike fashion behind her ears, took a cautious step towards the dog. The dog barked and took a playful leap backwards.

Libby bit her lip and glared in frustration at the animal.

‘I refuse to be outwitted by an animal who even his owners admit isn’t the sharpest knife in the box!’ she yelled, and thought, You’re talking to a dog, Libby.

Worry when you start expecting him to answer back.

The inner dialogue came to an abrupt halt as her attention was distracted by the sound of a powerful engine. Tractors were pretty much the only kind of traffic this lane saw and this did not sound like a tractor.

It wasn’t.

The exact sequence of events hard to recall after the fact, the next few seconds always remained a blur in her mind. One moment she was watching the big black sleek car going at a shocking pace heading straight at Eustace, who clearly thought this was the second phase of the great game, and the next she was there in the middle of the road holding up her hands—it seemed like a good idea at the time—and the car was going to hit her.

When his detour to avoid the snarl-up on the motorway had led him along lanes that were as narrow as they were winding, Rafael had not been unduly concerned. It did not cross his mind to consult the cars inbuilt navigational system or open the road map in the glove compartment. He preferred to rely on his own naturally excellent sense of direction. And it wasn’t as if the green lanes of England were dangerous, unlike some of the terrain he had negotiated in his life.

As he drove Rafael’s thoughts drifted back to a solo journey he had made at seventeen crossing the mountain ranges of Patagonia in a beat-up Jeep that had broken down at regular intervals until it had eventually been swept away. Who knew that the road he had been driving along had actually been a dry river bed? The recollection of managing to open the jammed door and leap out into the raging torrent seconds before the Jeep had been swept down the mountain brought a wolfish grin to his lean face.

His expression sobered, intensifying the brooding quality of his dark features as he identified the pang in his chest as something approaching envy.

Envy?

Or dissatisfaction?

Rafael’s dark brows knitted into a frowning line of impatience over his narrowed cinnamon-coloured eyes. Neither response was either logical or defensible in his opinion—not for a man who had as much as he did.

Rafael attributed in part his uncharacteristic mood of introspection to yesterday’s meeting.

A meeting that had not been strictly essential, he need never have seen the man, but to Rafael’s way of thinking there were some things that a man, even one as feckless and criminally incompetent as Marchant, deserved to be told face to face, and explaining that he was about to lose his business and his home was one of those things!

He had not expected it to be pleasant and it hadn’t been! To see a man, even a bungling idiot, crushed had been painful to witness.

The man had disintegrated before his eyes. A proud man himself, Rafael, embarrassed on the other man’s behalf, had found the overt display of tearful self-pity by the Englishman distasteful.

And even though he knew that the man had been the architect of his own misfortune, with a little help from his own grandfather, Rafael had found himself experiencing an irrational flash of guilt as he had taken his leave, guilt that had faded when the other man had yelled after him.

‘If you were my son—’

Rafael had cut him off in a bored drawl. ‘If I were your son I would have pensioned you off before you bankrupted your firm and lost your family home.’

With a show of more spirit than Rafael had yet observed the man delivered a parting shot.

‘I hope one day you lose everything you love and I hope, I really hope, that I am there to see it!’

Maybe the words had stayed with him because the curse was uniquely inappropriate?

Rafael had lost the only thing he had ever loved long ago, and the hurt of that loss was now no more than a memory. He had not laid himself open to a repeat of that experience; there was nothing and no one in his life he loved. He could lose all the wealth he had amassed tomorrow and there would be no pain; a small part of him might even welcome the challenge of starting again.

At thirty he had achieved everything he’d set out to and more. The question now was where to from here?

Rafael recognised that the main problem was how to remain motivated. He was financially successful beyond most people’s wildest dreams. A faint mocking smile tugged the corners of his lips upwards. His life was sweet—so sweet that here he was envying the boy he had been, the boy who had led a grim hand-to-mouth existence and relied on his wits and cunning to survive.

Maybe there was such a thing as too much success, he mused, smiling at the irony as he shifted gear to negotiate an extra tight bend in the road.

‘So what will it take to make you happy, Rafael Alejandro?’

The harsh curse that was dragged from his lips was seamlessly tacked onto the self-derisive question as out of nowhere a figure ran into the road.

She seemed to materialise in the twilight; for a split second she stood there in the glare of his lights like some ghostly apparition.

Rafael had a fleeting impression of a slight figure, an alabaster-pale face, a cloud of dark red hair; he had no time to register anything else. He was too busy trying not to add homicide to the list of sins recently laid at his door as he fought to avoid the collision, which seemed sickeningly inevitable.

Rafael had never in his life accepted the inevitable.

He had been blessed with catlike reflexes and a cool head when facing danger—and luck, of course. Never underestimate luck, Rafael thought, wondering as he saw the tree ahead if his was finally running out.

It wasn’t.

Against all the odds he avoided the suicidal redhead and the tree and remained in one piece. No matter how many times he later reviewed the incident he never could figure out how—it was a miracle!

He might actually have escaped the incident totally unscathed if the car had not at the critical moment hit the patch of mud at speed. Rafael was then forced to sit back helpless as the car went into a dramatic skid that turned the car through three hundred and sixty degrees before it took it across the road and into a ditch. Even the seat belt could not prevent the velocity causing his head to connect painfully with windscreen.

Rafael saw stars through his closed eyelids then he heard voices—no, one voice, female and not, he mused groggily, unattractive.

The voice was begging him not to be dead. Maybe he was?

The pain in his head suggested otherwise and the voice sounded too sexily husky to be that of an angel.

Rafael thought, Great voice, stupid questions, and tuned them out while he applied himself to more important matters like was he still in one piece and did those pieces all work?

He took a personal inventory of his limbs. Everything still seemed to be attached and in working order, which was good. His head felt as though someone were playing cymbals behind his eyes, which was less good.

One supportive hand at the back of his neck, Rafael began to lift his head cautiously and heard the voice—the one that did not belong to an angel—murmur a fervent, ‘Thank God!’

He blinked; the action sent a stab of pain through his temple. Wincing, he pressed his hands to his forehead and began to move his head cautiously towards the voice. With equal caution he forced his heavy eyelids apart and through his interlocked fingers the pale oval of a face swam into view. Hands still clamped to his forehead, fingers pressed to the bridge of his nose, he blinked again and the blurry outline sharpened. The halo of glowing auburn hair seemed strangely familiar, then the rest of her face came into focus.

It was the suicidal female who had caused his accident.

Up close she turned out to be young, beautiful, and his critical gaze could find no flaw in the smooth lines of her face—she was unfortunately a redhead.

Rafael’s attitude to redheads was one that had developed gradually, crystallising into a certainty after an incident involving a particularly voluptuous redhead he had been seeing and a glass of red wine that had ended up in his lap, because apparently he had not been giving her his undivided attention. Redheads, no matter how decorative, were simply too high maintenance.

Even as he was deciding that eyes that blue did not exist without the aid of contact lenses Rafael felt his gut twist as he was hit by a savaging wave of desire that was visceral in its intensity and proved, if nothing else, he was definitely alive, and clearly the message he had sworn off redheads had not reached all parts of his body.

His vision swam again and he closed his eyes, waiting for the wave of nausea to pass. Seemingly these symptoms, along with the uncontrolled rush of testosterone, were results of the head trauma— presumably all would pass.

He opened his eyes just as the redhead was leaning further into the car, her deep russet-coloured hair that reminded him of falling autumn leaves surrounding a vivid heart-shaped face. The nausea had gone. It had been replaced by a reckless and totally inappropriate desire to sink his tongue between those luscious lips.

Even with his scrambled brain working at fifty-percent capacity he did consider following through with the impulse, but, Dios, that mouth!

On the plus side the lust burning through his veins served as an effective distraction from the hammer pounding in his skull whatever the cause, adrenaline rush and near-death experience …?

A woman’s face had not caused him to feel anything this … primitive for a long time. Part of him resented what he was feeling—Rafael liked to stay in control of everything including his appetites—the other half suggested he relax and enjoy the moment.

CHAPTER TWO

‘ARE you all right?’

Even while he was enjoying the way she smelt, Rafael’s critical faculties cleared enough to make him realise this was a stupid question—particularly stupid!

Red-headed and stupid, not to mention suicidal. An image of her standing there like a sacrificial virgin waiting for him to crush her under his wheels replayed in his head, releasing a surge of energising adrenaline into Rafael’s bloodstream.

‘Does it hurt anywhere?’ Libby asked, pushing the door a little wider. Leaning inside, she paused, looking around for somewhere to put her phone. She hitched her skirt to rest a knee on the edge of his seat to steady herself as she laid her phone on the dashboard.

‘Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.’ She crossed her fingers and thought, Please don’t make me a liar.

Fine, Rafael thought, his heavy-lidded eyes trained on the lacy top of her hold-up stocking. He was feeling many things at that moment, but fine was not one of them!

‘If I am fine it will be no thanks to you.’

Libby was too startled to hear him speak to immediately place the attractive accent of his deep hostile voice, though even hostility sounded amazing when spoken in that voice … a deep and rich purr with a tactile quality that made the downy hair on her arms stand on end.

‘I realise that you have to make your own entertainment in the countryside, but throwing yourself in the path of moving vehicles is perhaps a little extreme.’ Still clasping his head, Rafael rotated his shoulders experimentally and swore as his bruised muscles protested.

Libby’s natural response to sarcasm and rudeness, this comment being both, had always been to give as good as she’d got, but given the fact she’d almost killed this man it seemed appropriate to repress such impulses and bite back the retort trembling on her tongue.

‘What were you trying to do? Attract my attention? Or is this some local quaint mating ritual?’

Bite me, Libby thought as her initial relief morphed into indignation. Struggling to retain a suitably meek demeanour in the face of this barrage of insults, she mumbled an apology.

‘I really didn’t mean for this to happen …’

Any attempt to defend herself at this point would only sound lame.

What am I going to tell Chloe?

She began making a silent inventory of her achievements—almost killing a man, smashing up his car and losing her friend’s beloved pet, difficult to top, but the way things were going, she thought glumly—who knew?

‘I’m so … so sorry,’ she said with genuine remorse.

‘Oh, that’s all right, then.’

Libby felt her cheeks warm with embarrassment in response to the sarcastic drawl as her victim, one hand still clamped to his forehead, turned, head bent forward, and presented her with a view of his broad shoulders and the back of his glossy dark head as he switched his attention to the clasp on his seat belt.

Her glance flickered from the dark hair curling at his nape to the bloody smear on the glass. It was a timely reminder of her role as evil perpetrator while he was the innocent victim.

With a mumbled imprecation she reached for her phone. ‘Ambulance … I’ll make the call.’ Better late than never, Libby.

As she began to speak the man’s seat belt freed and he turned. Libby’s attempt at a soothing smile dissolved as her lips parted to emit a small mewling gasp of shock, not because the man was injured—she had been prepared for that—but because he was … He was beautiful!

From the extravagant sweep of his preposterously long eyelashes to his chiselled cheekbones, imperious nose and wide sensually sculpted lips, he was utterly and lethally gorgeous, but it was the aura of concentrated raw sexuality he exuded that made her stare at him helplessly. Physical awareness clutched like a fist low in her belly and trickled down her spine, making her shiver repeatedly in response to his in-your-face masculine sexuality.

She was so stunned that it took her several moments before she finally registered the cut oozing blood on his broad forehead, a cut that ran from above his right eyebrow and vanished into his dark hairline, and the suggestion of pallor beneath the surface of his even-toned golden skin.

Get a grip, Libby, you’ve seen good-looking men before—but none this good-looking, said the voice in her head and she could not disagree. He was incredible!

And hurt, a timely reminder. She bit her lip, lowered her gaze and gave a guilty grimace. The forgotten first-aid course had definitely not included drooling while the accident victim bled to death!

‘I think …’ Libby’s voice trailed away. She lost her chain of thought completely as the injured man stared back at her from unblinking tawny cinnamon-coloured eyes set beneath heavy eyelids framed by those long curling lashes that were as dark as his strongly defined ebony brows.

The gleam in his dark eyes as they held her own had an almost combustible quality that intensified the breathless feeling she was experiencing, though maybe it was jet lag—I hope, Libby thought, the sensible option pleasing her and scaring her less than the alternative.

She moistened her dry lips with the tip of her tongue and tried again.

‘Your head.’

Following the gesture of her fingers, he lifted a hand. He didn’t wince but Libby did, her stomach performing a sympathetic somersault as he touched the wound.

He pulled his hand away, glanced with what seemed to her an unnatural degree of disinterest at the red on his fingers before dragging them down the front of his shirt.

Libby, her eyes trained on the red daub, could not help but notice how well developed the chest beneath was.

‘Don’t panic.’ Struggling to follow her own advice, she began punching the emergency numbers into her phone.

Finger poised above the dial button, she released a shocked gasp as her wrist was captured by long brown fingers. The speed of his action was bewildering but not as bewildering, as the effect the brief contact had on her nervous system.

Libby was struggling to catch her breath when her hand was placed against her heaving chest before being released from an iron grip.

‘I do not require an ambulance.’

It was not a statement that invited discussion.

Libby was getting the impression he was not big on discussion. Now orders … oh, yes, she could see him being very comfortable flinging those around. Even after a car smash that would have shaken the toughest customer he retained an arrogant attitude that sent the message he was not someone who was accustomed to having his opinion challenged.

As for the gleam that shone in the darkly fringed intelligent eyes, it was far too perceptive for her comfort, and the flash of something approaching amusement … it was almost as if he knew she was trying very hard not to look at his incredibly sexy mouth.

Libby pushed away the whimsical thought, aware that it was her guilt talking. He might not be able to read her mind, but he did have eyes that reminded her of some sleek jungle predator.

‘What condition is the car in?’

Libby was startled to see him consult the metal-banded watch on his wrist. It seemed to her that his priorities were seriously skewed.

‘I’ve no idea. I was more worried about what condition you were in.’

A spasm of impatience flickered across his lean face. ‘As you see I am fine—in one piece.’

Libby had seen enough hospital dramas on TV to know that people who looked fine and in one piece had a habit of collapsing without warning from massive internal bleeds. While this was not a soap, she did think his attitude was way too casual.

The question remained—how to inject some caution without sounding alarmist?

‘Where exactly are we?’

Libby’s face fell. It looked as if her caution had been warranted. ‘Do you remember what happened?’ she asked slowly. Oh, God, what if he had amnesia? ‘Do you remember your name?’

‘I am not deaf or, as it happens, stupid.’ The silent addition of unlike you was implicit in the withering look he sent her way.

‘I know my name.’ He tilted his head towards the window, which offered a view of nothing beyond the grassy bank. ‘It is the name of this place I require in order to arrange alternative transport.’ As luck would have it his PA was making the journey in her own car in order to attend the meeting he was en route to, which was going to minimise the delay considerably.

‘Oh!’ Feeling foolish, she lapsed into embarrassed silence as she watched him produce a phone from his pocket.

‘There is no signal.’

At last something she did not have to take responsibility for!

‘What do you want me to do about it?’ She softened the cranky response by adding a pacifying note of cautious concern. ‘You might have concussion.’

She could have mentioned a whole host of other injuries he might have, but, not wanting to spook him, refrained—not that he gave the impression of someone who might take fright at the thought of the odd broken bone or two.

Personally Libby, who had never linked laughing in the face of danger with virility, had never been able to understand why so many women were attracted to the action-man macho type.

A bit too much protesting, Libby?

‘Concussion …?’ He silently conceded the possibility before adding carelessly, ‘It would not be the first time.’

‘That could explain a lot,’ Libby muttered.

On receipt of his narrow-eyed stare, she added with innocent concern, ‘I really think you should try not to move.’

The redhead had an abrasive tongue to go with that truly delicious mouth. The irritation Rafael did not attempt to hide was in part aimed at his own inability to think past the sexual hunger still coursing through his body.

As well as the wisdom of avoiding redheads, experience had taught Rafael that a man survived in life by controlling his appetites, not being controlled by them.

‘As I have said, I do not require medical attention.’

‘It’s your funeral.’ Immediately wishing she could retract the childish retort, she began to ease herself backwards; she was finding the confines of the car were increasingly claustrophobic.

‘I can see you find the thought appealing.’

Libby flushed and protested, ‘Of course not!’ If she didn’t get some air soon she’d be the one needing an ambulance. ‘I’m trying to help.’ Pointless, as he obviously never listened to anyone, she brooded darkly as she continued to edge towards the door.

‘I’d feel a hell of a lot safer if you didn’t.’

‘I’ve said I’m sorry, and I am, but under the circumstances I think—damn!’ Libby slung an exasperated glance at her skirt, which appeared to have caught itself firmly on the gear lever. ‘Stupid thing.’ She was forced to lean in closer to try and free the tightly stretched fabric.

‘Let me—’

His fingers, long, brown and tapering, brushed hers and Libby pulled her hand away as if burnt. She sucked in a deep breath and thought, Massive overreaction, Libby.

She could feel his gaze but did not lift her head as she mumbled, ‘I can manage.’

The frisson had passed but it had left her uncomfortably conscious of her own skin to the point where she could feel the individual hairs on the nape of her neck.

‘We should—’ she gave a heavy sigh of relief when her skirt came free ‘—play it safe.’

Rafael ran a hand across the stubble on his chin. ‘We?’ he echoed, his attention drawn to the exposed nape of her neck. Rafael had never previously considered this part of a woman’s anatomy sexually attractive.

‘Good point,’ she conceded with a cool smile that had earned her the name of ice maiden in her teens. ‘However, you’re the one bleeding.’ And I’m the one who is getting a bad headache, she thought, conscious of the telltale pressure behind her eyes.

‘You’re tough, I get it, a regular man of steel and I’m impressed, believe me,’ she continued, delivering a smile of brilliant insincerity. ‘But watching someone bleed to death is not my style. Even someone as …’ Libby registered the flash of stunned disbelief in his eyes and brought her tirade to an abrupt halt.

‘Someone as?’

Libby shook her head, then gave a fractured gasp when without warning he reached out and casually took her chin between the long fingers of his right hand.

She was too startled by his action to resist as he tilted her face up to his. He was so close that she could see the gold tips on his sooty lashes and feel his warm breath on her face.

He moved a thumb in a lazy circular motion along the curve of her cheek and Libby’s stomach went into dramatic free fall as every nerve ending in her body began to thrum.

Ignoring the small whisper of sanity in his head, he took her face between his hands and watched the brilliant blue of her sapphire eyes vanish as her pupils dilated rapidly.

He groaned something harsh on his own tongue as his eyes dropped to her lips.

‘You’re in pain!’

‘How right you are.’

Libby struggled to fight her way out of the strange lethargy that crept over her; her limbs felt as though they didn’t belong to her. ‘Let me get help.’ She started to pull away.

‘You have a beautiful mouth.’

Libby stopped pulling as she thought, So do you.

He frowned suddenly. ‘What is your name?’

Libby’s throat was so dry her voice was barely above a whisper, barely audible above the pulsating thud of her heart as it tried to climb its way out of her chest. ‘Libby.’

She’d read somewhere that head injuries could make people act totally out of character—so what’s your excuse, Libby?

‘Libby?’ He rolled the word around his tongue experimentally.

She nodded, hardly recognising her name when he said it, but finally placing his accent as Spanish.

‘Look, this is silly—’

His mouth lowered, close but not quite touching, a whisper above her trembling lips.

What the hell are you doing, Rafael?

Rafael would have responded to the last-minute reassertion of sanity had she not at that exact moment given a choky little gasp and pressed her warm lips up against his.

A split second later with a scared little gasp she pulled back, but the damage was done.

Shame burned her cheeks as she met his eyes. ‘That was so—’

‘Not bad,’ he inserted in a low sexy growl that did further serious damage to her already demolished nervous system. ‘But I think we can do better.’

And he did.

His lips moved with slow sensuous skill across the trembling curve of her mouth; she heard herself whimper as he ran his tongue along the sensitive inner flesh of her lower lip and tugged the flesh gently between his teeth.

Libby, who had not moved a muscle, pulled back with a horrified gasp, breaking the connection before proceeding to fall out of the car in her haste to escape.

CHAPTER THREE

LIBBY stood there, hand pressed to her mouth as the horror of what she had just done hit home with the force of a hurricane.

This was one thing she could not blame on jet lag; she had lost control—sexually, with a stranger, a man whose name she didn’t even know.

Mortified colour ebbed and flowed in her cheek. What had possessed her?

The answer to her question was getting out of what remained of the top-of-the-range sleek powerful car, his body language not suggestive of someone who had just survived a car smash or, for that matter, someone who had just kissed her passionately.

He looked … A soundless sigh escaped through her clenched teeth.

Shameful memories flashed through her mind. For a breathless moment she could actually feel the texture of his lips, the taste of his hot mouth. Libby clenched her teeth, struggling to purge the image of his smouldering sexy eyes. She succeeded in pushing them away, but not before the hot core low in her pelvis had tightened to a hard fist of desire.

Knowing what she was feeling was shallow and only physical did not make the experience easier to cope with.

Her knees were shaking as, breath coming in a series of painful gasps, she watched covetously from under the sweep of her lashes as he stepped out onto the grass and stretched the kinks from his spine. The gorgeously cut suit was special and so was the tall Spaniard, and she wasn’t just making excuses—he really was!

She swallowed. In the cramped confines of the car it had been obvious he was a powerfully built man, but until now she hadn’t realised how dauntingly impressive his physique was.

Several inches over six feet, he had an athlete’s body, greyhound lean and muscular, the width of his shoulders balanced by long legs—very long legs and narrow snaky hips.

As she continued to stare he walked around the car, inspecting the damage that would have made many men weep or at the very least swear, with an inscrutable expression on his lean patrician features. Libby felt her stomach flip.

She had never imagined that the way a man moved, even if it was with the grace and arrogance of a panther, would make her feel breathless.

Her unwilling appreciation gave way to indignation as he began to hit the keys on his phone. He hadn’t even glanced her way!

She was shaking all over and he was acting as though nothing had happened, which on one level was good because the last thing she wanted right now was a postmortem. She wanted to walk away, or possibly run, and forget it ever happened.

On the other level it had happened—he’d kissed her. Admittedly it wasn’t a marriage proposal, but to act as though nothing had happened … well, it was just bad manners.

And she hated bad manners. It wasn’t as if he’d turned her world upside down or anything dramatic and she’d stop shaking some time soon, but a show of penitence or even a thank you would have been something.

‘What is the name of this place …?’ he asked without looking up.

Libby glared with dislike at the top of his dark head. She could play it cool too. ‘So you have a signal now?’

He deigned to notice her. ‘Yes.’ He angled an interrogative brow.

‘Buckford,’ Libby snapped.

‘Buckford …?’ Rafael repeated, wondering as he punched in the name why the name of a village in the middle of nowhere should sound vaguely familiar.

He returned to his text and Libby watched him, her temper rising. Jaw tight, she stomped up the hill.

Within seconds of sending the message Rafael received a text back from Gretchen, who assured him she would be with him in less than ten minutes. Satisfied with the response, he glanced up in time to see the redhead, whose progress up the muddy bank he’d been aware of in the periphery of his vision, bend over to slide one foot and then the other into a pair of heels.

The fresh air had cleared the remnants of haziness from his head and, sanity restored, Rafael was already regretting his impulsive actions. Struggling to control his temper, he recognised that his irritability was in part due to nothing more complicated than sexual frustration.

Regret or not, watching her shapely rear as she climbed the incline sent a stab of lust through his loins.

On the road above Libby stamped her feet, grimacing as her damp, muddy toes squelched inside her lovely new shoes. Anchoring her hair back from her face with one hand, she straightened up.

Even before she turned she knew he was watching her; she could feel his silent stare.

‘What happened, that was unacceptable, even if you have got concussion,’ she informed him icily.

‘I do not have concussion.’ Just an extremely bad headache, but nothing a couple of aspirin would not cure. ‘Though I am confused.’

A small choking sound left Libby’s throat … He’s confused.

‘Are you implying that a man would need to have a head injury before he wants to kiss you?’

Thrown off her stride by the insert, Libby glared wrathfully at him. ‘No, of course not. For your information a lot of men want to kiss me.’

His lips quivered. ‘Of this I am sure.’

‘If you do that again I’ll … I’ll … you’ll be sorry!’ Libby’s hauteur suffered a wobble as she struggled against the impulse to turn and run as he began to stride up the steep incline, his progress a lot more sure-footed than her own had been.

He stepped onto the road and Libby immediately lost what height advantage geography had given her. He towered over her, forcing her to tilt her head to look him in the face. Size might not be everything but at that moment she would not have minded an extra inch or two.

‘You kissed me,’ she charged, addressing her accusation to his chest.

‘Only after you kissed me.’

The provocation brought her indignant gaze zeroing in on his face. Libby thought longingly about wiping that smug smirk off his face. ‘I’d had a shock. I thought you were dead.’ As excuses went it was pathetic, but it was all she had.

‘So that was the kiss of life?’ he said, sounding interested.

Libby, who could not think of a smart comeback and suspected that even if she had he would have come up with an even smarter one, shook her head.

‘I think we should forget it,’ she decided magnanimously.

Libby intended to, though the incident had all the ingredients of a nightmare—the sort where you found yourself in the supermarket in your underwear, and not the good stuff.

‘As you wish, though I’m insulted my kisses are so forgettable. Still, I’m a firm believer in the old adage practice makes perfect.’

Her eyes narrowed. Any more perfect and she’d have passed out. ‘So long as it’s not with me you can practise as much as you like.’

‘Relax, I only have sex with sane women.’ Not for three months, he realized. This went a long way to explaining his uncharacteristically impulsive behaviour.

He had appetites, sure, but he exerted control and, he liked to think, discrimination. The last thing he wanted was to find himself involved with some needy attention seeking bunny boiler who wanted to understand him.

Luckily there were plenty of women who shared his pragmatic attitude to sex and did not need the façade of a loving relationship to enable them to enjoy sex.

Libby tilted her head back to angle a menacing frown at him. ‘And you’re saying I’m not?’

‘You walked out in front of my car. If that doesn’t qualify as insane I don’t know what does.’

His eyes darkened at the memory of that moment when he had thought he was going to hit her. ‘What did you think you were doing? I can’t decide if you are a lunatic or just suicidal.’

The fact she fully deserved the reprimand and his anger did not make it easier to stand there meekly and take it.

‘I didn’t jump out, well, I did, but only because you were about to run over the dog and, anyway, if you hadn’t been driving like an idiot this wouldn’t have happened.’

He raised an eloquent brow. ‘So this was my fault.’

Libby felt the guilty heat rush to her cheeks. ‘Not totally,’ she admitted reluctantly.

‘And as for a dog …’ he made a show of looking around before lifting his shoulders in an expressive shrug ‘… I see no dog.’

The pink in her cheeks deepened to an angry red. ‘Are you calling me a liar?’ she asked in a dangerous tone.

He arched a brow and looked amused. ‘I am simply saying that I saw no dog …’ He turned his head from one side to the other and shrugged. ‘I see no dog.’

‘Just because you don’t see something doesn’t mean it wasn’t there!’ retorted Libby, really angry now. Did he really think the dog was a figment of her imagination?

‘Let’s for argument’s sake say there was a dog—’

Libby gritted her teeth. ‘There was a dog. He’s a golden Lab who answers to the name of Eustace.’

Libby saw no reason to add that he rarely answered to his name. In fact the daft animal was far more likely to run in the opposite direction.

‘So where is this dog now?’

Good question, thought Libby, scanning the lane with a worried frown. ‘God knows,’ she admitted honestly. ‘He’s not very … He was a rescue dog—he’s a little bit … highly strung.’ It sounded better than the truth, which was he was as mad as a box of frogs!

‘If a dog is badly behaved it is the owner’s fault and not the animal’s.’

Libby, her chin angled defiantly, tilted her head back to meet his golden stare. His superior attitude was really setting her teeth on edge.

‘I’m not blaming the dog for anything and I am quite prepared to admit that the accident is my fault,’ she told him haughtily.

He shook his head and flashed a wolfish white grin. ‘Has no one ever told you that you should never admit guilt?’

Libby gave a disdainful sniff and retorted, ‘No, I was taught to tell the truth and take responsibility for my own actions.’

‘Very noble, I’m impressed,’ he said, looking deeply unimpressed. ‘Not everyone realises that all actions have consequences.’

Libby regarded him warily.

‘In the litigious world of today such painful honesty can be an expensive luxury.’

Libby shivered and, hugging herself, rubbed at the goose bumps that had broken out on her arms. Some women, she was sure, would have found the resulting suggestion of something approaching cruelty in his smile attractive; she was glad she was not one of them.

But, God, he knew how to kiss!

‘Is that some sort of threat?’

Before he could reply the sound of an excitedly barking dog bursting through the bushes the other side of the road made them both turn.

‘Is he real enough for you?’ Libby raised a sarcastic brow and threw him a challenging glare of triumph as she dropped gracefully down to dog level.

‘Eustace, good boy!’

The dog continued to bark from an elusive distance.

Rafael watched her efforts to lure him closer with a critical scowl. ‘At heart a dog is still a wolf, a pack animal who needs to know who is in charge.’

Libby cast him a sideways look of dislike as she continued to make encouraging noises. ‘And that I suppose would be you.’ Admittedly if any man had pack alpha written all over him it was this one.

‘My lifestyle is not conducive to owning pets.’ That was the life he had chosen for himself, the life that suited him. No baggage, nobody to feel responsible for.

He had given responsibility a go and he had failed; the guilt of failing the person he had tried to protect had stayed with him through the years.

He had failed the only person he had ever loved.

It didn’t matter to Rafael that most people would have considered it the mother’s job to keep the son safe and not vice versa. His mother had been one of life’s fragile souls worn down by rejection and hungry for the approval of whatever man was in her life, eager to gain their approval even when pleasing them meant dumping her inconvenient child with whoever would take him.

She had always come back for him eaten up with guilt, calling him the only man in her life, and for a while things were good, but there was always another man. And then finally she had not come back and Rafael had gone in search of her, arriving too late.

She had died alone in a remote village that did not even have clean water, let alone a doctor, and Rafael had not been able to afford a headstone.

He had been fifteen at the time and it had taken him two years to return with a headstone. The village now had clean running water and last year he had laid the foundation stone of a clinic.

‘But that doesn’t stop you being an expert,’ Libby drawled. ‘Why aren’t I surprised? For your information Eustace was badly abused. He needs TLC, not bullying and he—’ Just warming to her theme, Libby suddenly stopped as the tension he was vibrating reached her. She tilted her head back to look at his face.

‘Are you all right?’

She was confused as much by her reaction to the shocking desolation she had glimpsed in his heavy-lidded eyes as by the cause of it, and her questioning gaze went to a possible source: his head wound.

‘Your head?’ Not that physical pain would explain the awful anguish she had glimpsed in his eyes.

Rafael looked into her wide eyes, blue as a summer sky and warm with concern, and fought the illogical impulse to lash out, punish her for seeing more than she was meant to.

‘My head is fine,’ he said, taking a step forward while mentally taking several backwards, pushing away the dark memories and focusing instead on the pleasant present and the more than pleasant tantalising glimpse of cleavage revealed as he stared down the neck of her loose necked sweater.

‘So you understand about animals.’

Catching the direction of his bold stare, Libby felt her breasts tingle. And for a moment there she had been in danger of imagining he had some depth! She gave a disgusted snort and swung away. The fact her body continued to react without her consent increased her self-disgust.

‘Let’s put it this way—I find them infinitely preferable to men,’ she gritted, feeling impelled to add, ‘Some men.’ She pretended not to hear his husky laugh. ‘So if you don’t mind.’ She turned back to him and mimed a zipping motion across her lips.

After a startled moment Rafael grinned and inclined his dark head. ‘Be my guest.’

Libby, aware of her silent critic, continued her attempt to coax Eustace to her until her patience snapped. She rose to her feet, muttering under her breath as she dragged a swathe of hair back from her face before directing a frustrated glare his way.

‘Fine, if you’re so clever …?’ she snapped, irrationally hoping he was equally unsuccessful.

Of course he wasn’t.

He stepped forward, said a couple of authoritative-sounding words in his own language, and the dog—suddenly he could speak Spanish—trotted forward meekly looking sheepish.

Libby gritted her teeth and thought, Traitor, as after another word the dog sat down at his feet, wagging his tail while he gazed adoringly up at the man who condescended to pat his head and murmur a word of praise before bending to gather the lead from the ground.

Libby’s chest swelled with indignation, making her even more uncomfortably conscious of the fabric chafing against her nipples. It was a conspiracy, she brooded darkly, first betrayed by her own body and now the dog.

Libby took the lead silently proffered her and viewed him through narrowed eyes. ‘If I took you home my family would probably want to adopt you.’ She drew the dog towards her, patting his head.

‘Would that not make me your brother?’ he taunted.

‘I already have a brother, and I’m sure you have your own family.’ And maybe a wife?

The possibility filled her with horror. Had she kissed not just a stranger, but a married stranger? Checking out his left hand, she was relieved to see no wedding band.

Rafael shook his head. ‘No, my mother died some years ago. There is no one else of note.’

‘That is so sad!’ Libby exclaimed.

CHAPTER FOUR

‘SAD?’ Rafael raised a brow and watched the glow of sympathy fade from her blue eyes as he added cynically, ‘From what I see of families I am not envious. Down,’ he added in a stern aside as the dog, whimpering, rubbed against his leg.

The dog immediately rolled onto his back submissively.

‘Eustace!’ Exasperated, Libby tugged the dog back towards her. ‘You really are an idiot!’

‘I have been called worse.’

‘Not you …’ Libby saw the mocking glint in his deep-set eyes and, fighting a grin, added gruffly, ‘Well, you are, but on this occasion I was talking to the dog.’

Rafael’s mouth twisted into a sardonic smile that faded as a car came round the corner.

Libby, aware that she had lost his attention, turned in the direction of his gaze and saw a bright red classic sports car driven with the top down heading towards them at a sedate pace.

The driver waved when she spotted them and slowed.

Rafael did not wave, but it seemed a safe bet to Libby that the woman who parked the car and leapt gracefully from the vehicle was not a stranger.

Libby watched the woman’s progress, envying the voluptuous figure, the length of her legs and her ability to make skin-tight jeans look good. From a distance she looked fantastic, depressingly close to she looked even more perfect.

Libby watched the woman’s fashionable twenties bob swinging in a silky bell around her face and envied the sleekness of a style she could never achieve with her own naturally curly hair.

‘Ra—Oh, God, blood!’ exclaimed the blonde, clapping a hand to her mouth. ‘I feel sick.’

So did Libby. What sort of man kissed another woman while his girlfriend was on her way to rescue him?

‘Kindly endeavour not to be sick.’

She had her answer: the sort of man who spoke to his girlfriend like that, Libby thought, wondering why the woman not only took the harsh advice in her stride, but appeared grateful!

‘Sorry I’m late. I got stuck behind a tractor. Do you think it will scar?’ she wondered, her eyes trained with sick fascination on his injured face. ‘Have you cleaned it? There could be dirt.’

Sensing that his PA was about to go into full OCD mode, Rafael pitched his reply in a tone aimed at defusing the situation before it got out of hand.

When she had a handle on her compulsive behaviour Gretchen was the best PA he had ever had, but when she lost it things could get … interesting. Like the time the cleaning supervisor had rung him at midnight saying he might want to know that his assistant was still there switching the light on and off, unable to leave the room.

In retrospect he could see that the clues that should have alerted him to her condition had been there, he just hadn’t noticed. This did not make Rafael feel good about himself. He expected those who worked for him to go the extra mile and what he expected he should also be prepared to give. One of the first lessons Rafael had learnt was that loyalty was a two-way street.

He had refused to accept her tearfully offered resignation, pointing out that it made no sense to lose the best PA he had ever had just because she felt the need to spend an hour washing her hands.

Instead he had acquired the name of a clinical psychologist who came highly recommended and insisted that she undertake therapy sessions. It had been a good call—they had proved dramatically successful but, as Gretchen said herself, she was a work in progress.

‘The wound has been cleaned,’ Rafael said, pre-empting the production of the cleaning products he knew would be in her car.

Libby opened her mouth to indignantly refute this and found herself on the receiving end of a killer look. She gave as good as she got glarewise and lapsed into tight-lipped silence.

‘And you are not late.’

Gretchen shook her head and glanced fretfully at her watch. ‘I said ten minutes and it’s—’

Rafael cut her off. ‘You are here now.’

‘Yes, I am.’ She flashed her boss a smile and took a deep breath. ‘Thanks. I’ve arranged a tow truck and rung ahead to delay the meeting with the Russians and—’ She stopped and let out a yelp as the Labrador laid a friendly muddy paw on her leg.

Rafael clicked his tongue in irritation. ‘Down!’ The disapproving look that went with the command was aimed at Libby, not the dog. ‘Can you not control that animal?’

‘Not according to you,’ Libby flashed.

A few feet away the tall gorgeous blonde continued to pat frantically at her jeans, making what seemed to Libby like an awful lot of fuss over a tiny amount of mud. The woman had barely glanced her way, let alone introduced herself. They were suited in more ways than one, both beautiful and both incredibly rude, then it hit her—she didn’t even know his name!

‘It is nothing, Gretchen, relax.’

The blonde looked at the hand on her shoulder and gave a gulping gasp, then with one last fretful dab at the invisible speck of dirt lifted her head. ‘I really don’t like the country.’

‘Wait for me in the car.’

And she did.

His ability to inspire unquestioning obedience was obviously not restricted to the canine community, it worked on beautiful six-foot blondes as well.

‘Does everyone jump when you snap your fingers?’ Libby screwed up her nose and gave a pained grimace. ‘I said that out loud, didn’t I?’

Rafael nodded, his lips twitching. ‘The answer to your question is no.’ The redhead did not jump except in the opposite direction—perhaps that was the attraction …? On the other hand it might be the incredible body and the lush lips.

Libby did not need to pretend surprise. ‘You amaze me.’

‘I have that effect.’

Libby’s stomach took a sharp unscheduled dip as the explicit glow in his expressive eyes sent a rush of shameful heat through her body. Molten hot, it settled disturbingly between her thighs.

Libby flushed, her anger at least in part aimed at the weakness that made her respond to him this way.

‘I’m not interested. Maybe you should try and amaze your girlfriend.’

His brows lifted as he encountered the hostility shining in her eyes. ‘Gretchen is my PA, not my girlfriend, and I do not mix business with pleasure.’ He stopped, an arrested look filtering into his eyes as he realised he had just broken the habit of a lifetime and explained himself.

Libby gave an airy shrug to establish she had no interest in his relationship with the blonde whatsoever. The knowing gleam in his heavy-lidded eyes suggested she wasn’t entirely convincing.

‘You shouldn’t keep your …’ she jerked her head towards the red car ‘… PA waiting.’

He directed a frowning glance towards the car; she was right. ‘True.’

‘Don’t let me keep you.’ The words were barely out of her mouth before she gave a contradictory urgent cry of, ‘Wait!’

‘You are missing me already. I’m touched.’

Libby directed an ‘if I see you again in this lifetime it will be too soon’ look at him and pulled a scrap of paper from her pocket. ‘Do you have a pen?’

Rafael pulled a pen from his jacket pocket and watched as she began to scribble on the paper.

‘Here,’ Libby said, pushing it at him.

‘What is this—your telephone number?’

‘My name and address,’ she retorted, refusing to react to the mockery in his voice. She glanced towards the damaged vehicle. ‘Send me the bill for the damage.’

Rafael glanced down at the words on the paper. ‘That could be quite a bill.’

‘I pay my debts,’ she told him proudly. ‘Is something wrong?’ she asked, frowning as he did a visible double take.

‘Marchant? Would that connect you to Marchant Plastics?’

‘My grandfather began the firm and my dad runs it now. Have I said something amusing?’ she asked spikily. ‘What are you doing?’ she added as he screwed up the paper between his long fingers. ‘I mean it—I want to pay for the damage.’

‘I won’t hold you to it, but don’t worry, I have an excellent memory.’

Puzzling over the cryptic parting shot, Libby stood watching as he walked away and got into the car with the beautiful blonde, not once looking back.

Of course he didn’t look back! He had probably already dismissed her from his memory, or maybe he was sharing an amusing anecdote about the incident with his blonde PA—sure, that was really likely.

Eustace sat on the passenger seat with his head out of the window as Libby drove the half-mile down the lane to the chocolate-box roses-around-the-door cottage where Chloe lived.

The short journey did not take long, though longer than it might have had she not felt the need to stop halfway to bury her head in her hands and groan a mortified—You wanted to kiss him; you enjoyed it!

It seemed to Libby as she angled a glance at her refection in the driving mirror that her shame was written all over her face. Chloe was going to know that something had happened the moment she saw her and in her present frame of mind Libby had an uncomfortable feeling she might tell her what it was!

Hand on the ignition key, she paused and dropped her hand, thinking, Maybe not …? It might be an invitation to any passing felon, but a running engine also provided an escape route of the ‘must dash, the engine’s running’ variety. And Chloe was already aware that she was in a hurry home.

Her precautions proved unnecessary as it was Chloe’s husband, Joe, who answered the door. Not really renowned for his sartorial elegance, Joe resembled an unmade bed even more so than normal and the bags under his eyes had acquired company.

Libby’s own problems receded momentarily as she angled a look of sympathy at his exhausted face. ‘Hi, Joe.’

Beside her Eustace saw his master and leapt at him, tearing the lead from her hand in the process.

‘Hush, you’ll wake the baby, hound,’ Joe said, grabbing the trailing lead of the barking dog and receiving a slobbery kiss from the overexcited animal before bestowing a grateful but weary smile on Libby. ‘Thanks, Libby. It turns out I could have picked him up—I got off work early.’

Now he tells me, Libby thought, fixing a smile. ‘No problem.’

Other than discovering I am actually not a nice girl. That actually when it comes to breathtakingly handsome Spaniards I am what is termed easy.

On the plus side, it was good to know your weaknesses. From now on she was going to avoid anywhere where there was so much as a chance of hearing flamenco music.

‘The vet said you can bring him back Tuesday to get the stitches out and to give him these.’ She reached into her pocket and produced a bottle of tablets. ‘Twice a day, I think he said,’ she said, glancing at the label.

Joe took them and pocketed them. ‘Don’t worry, we know the drill—unfortunately.’ Joe ran a hand over his unshaven jaw and seemed surprised to find gingery stubble there. ‘But no more or it’s obedience school for you,’ he warned, patting the animal’s head.

Libby fought back a smile. Poor Joe—designer stubble was not a good look on him. Of course there were some men who would not necessarily look disagreeable with a couple of days’ beard growth.

A few might even look sexy in a slightly edgy, piratical way, she conceded, thinking of one face in particular.

‘How are things?’ she asked, making a conscious and unsuccessful effort to push the face away.

‘A bit … twilight zone, really. I think it’s the sleep deprivation. Chloe’s having a nap. I know she’d love to see you, but you don’t mind if I don’t wake her …?’

Finally banishing the image of a specific dark lean face complete with designer stubble, Libby shook her head and struggled to hide her relief.

‘Not a problem. To be honest I’m a bit tired. I want to get home and Mum and Dad—’

‘Yes, of course!’ A spasm of sympathy crossed Joe’s face. ‘I heard, Libby. I’m so sorry. If there is any—’ He broke off, looking over his shoulder and groaning as the unmistakeable sound of a baby’s demanding cry rang out in the distance.

Oblivious to the alarm in Libby’s expression, he gave an apologetic shrug. ‘Sorry, must go before Chloe wakes up. She’s all in and—’

‘No problem, you go and give my love to Ch—’

‘You’re a pal.’

If Libby had not stepped back the door might have hit her nose. As it was she turned her ankle on the cobbles that ran around the house.

Teeth gritted and ignoring the stabbing sharp pain in her ankle, she retraced her steps, the sound of Joe’s voice amplified in her head above the sound of her feet on the gravel driveway—I heard, I’m so sorry …

Heard what? Sorry about what?

She had to fight the impulse to run back to the cottage, bang on the door and demand that Joe explain himself. However the sound of the dog barking and the baby crying did suggest that Joe had enough on his plate … and anyway she might be misreading what he had said.

She shook her head. Deep down she knew this wasn’t the case. She wasn’t misreading anything or overreacting—she had known something was wrong!

And how did she respond to a potential family crisis? She stopped off to kiss a total stranger on her way home!

The fact the kissing had not been planned did not constitute an excuse in Libby’s mind. It did make it all the more difficult for her to forgive herself for her reprehensible behaviour.

Resisting the impulse to floor the accelerator—she’d already caused one accident today—Libby drove through the village at a sedate pace responding mechanically to the waves she received from several people. Was she being paranoid or had there been sympathy in those waves? It was a small community and everyone pretty much knew everyone—and secrets, forget it, there weren’t any.

She was probably the only person in a twenty-mile radius who wasn’t in the know, Libby thought as she struggled to keep her imagination in check.

She failed miserably. By the time she slowed automatically to negotiate a particularly awkward hairpin bend a mile beyond the village her fertile imagination had gone into overdrive to the point where she felt physically sick.

‘Please let everything be all right.’

Just two hundred yards further was the driveway for Maple House. People who did not know the area frequently missed the turn and drove past. Hardly surprising—it had once been an impressive entrance but, like the house it led to, had seen better days. One weathered stone griffon had fallen off his sentinel perch on the high, once-ornate but now crumbling gatepost. One of the massive wrought-iron gates that had once borne the name of her family home lay propped up against the wall—reattaching it was one of those tasks that somehow no one had got around to—covered by ivy and moss.

Libby did not notice the signs of decay and neglect that might strike a stranger as, her white face set in a pale mask of apprehension, she drove down the potholed tree-lined driveway with scant regard for the suspension of the car she drove.

The sight of the people carrier her brother and his wife had traded their smart sports car in for after the birth of their twin sons two years ago did not encourage optimism.

It was definitely not a good sign. She was glad her brother was here, but she knew that with the imminence of her due date and the problems heavily pregnant Meg had had with her blood pressure during this pregnancy he wouldn’t have left her alone with the twins and made the long trip down from Scotland for anything that wasn’t urgent.

After being away the first sight of the mellow stone of the façade of her home usually gave Libby a sense of calm and well-being. No matter what problems she had the old stone walls had always represented safety and security and a sense of continuity. Those feelings were absent as she stepped out on the gravelled driveway.

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