Caught by the Tide

by

Lily Evans

SMASHWORDS EDITION

* * * * *

PUBLISHED BY:

Lily Evans on Smashwords

Caught by the Tide

Copyright 2011 by Lily Evans

Chapter 1

The wonderful thing about wearing sunglasses is that people can't tell when you're watching them. Especially if, to all outward appearances, you seem to be doing something quite different. Like reading a book.

I adjusted the rolled-up sweater behind my neck and settled back down, my head supported by a beautifully rounded and conveniently located rock. The sun on my almost naked body was fierce, the soft sand beneath my burrowing toes warm. When I'd found this spot an hour ago, it'd felt pretty close to paradise, the beach deserted save for the couple with a toddler paddling at the water's edge and the occasional walker with accompanying sodden dog.

But that was the joy of a Cornish beach in early May. In August, it would be virtually impossible to move for sun-blotched bodies, the pervasive, sickly blend of more than a dozen varieties of sun tan lotion heavy in the air. So although a group of guys had arrived in the interim, immediately commencing a loud and boisterous game of football in the space between me and the ever-rolling waves, it hadn't mattered at first. In fact, it had provided a welcome distraction from my novel. God only knew what had possessed me to bring a work of sappy romantic fiction along on this trip.

There were six of them playing three against three, their bags and discarded clothing acting as makeshift goalposts. And though they clearly weren't teenagers—at a guess, their average age was at least thirty-years-old—they were behaving as though they were, their constant banter and ribbing of each other audible on the breeze. But then even I could deduce the tall, skinny bloke they called Tim wasn't exactly what you'd call a natural sportsman.

"Oh fucking hell, mate!" one of them cried as Tim fluffed yet another pass, sending the ball skimming down towards the water. "I hope to God you don't have this much trouble finding the goal on your wedding night."

"Fuck off!" Tim retaliated, attempting yet failing, I thought with an inward smirk, to look unconcerned as he loped down to the shore to retrieve the ball. "When did you last have a shag, anyway?"

Another of the guys took up the call. "Yeah, Foster, when did you last have a shag?"

All eyes turned on the stocky, broad-chested male wearing bright red board-shorts. "Ah, well now," he said, tapping his nose knowingly. "That's between me and the extremely satisfied woman I shagged." He snatched the ball from Tim amidst groans of disbelief, kicking it straight back into play. "Game on, you losers. We're here to party, remember? Show our boy here what he's giving up to marry his girl."

Wincing, I let my gaze drop back to my book. Just my luck. A group of blokes on a stag weekend. When exactly had it become de rigueur to have a stag weekend instead of a stag night? Though of course Daniel had felt it necessary to have a stag week in Corfu. In all probability, if he'd chosen merely to have a stag night, I wouldn't be sitting there. A sobering thought indeed.

I closed my eyes, filtering out the sound of their voices and focussing instead on the crashing waves, wriggling downwards until my head was on the towel beneath me. Those who'd doubted the wisdom of my venturing to Cornwall at this time of year had made grim predictions of wind and rain but it was hot. Gloriously hot. So some kind of justice had been handed me, if only in the poetic sense. I knew I'd been right to pack my bikini.

This had been a good idea.

And lulled by the sound of the sea and the warmth of the mid-afternoon sun, I finally allowed my thoughts to drift away. I hadn't slept in days.

So when something hard, wet and cold thudded down on to my tummy, minutes maybe even hours later, it came as a particularly nasty surprise.

"Jesus!" I screamed, my sunglasses sliding off my face as I scrambled upright. "What the hell…?"

By the time I'd found the offending weapon, a soggy brown football coated in sand, the stocky guy in the red shorts was looming over me, blocking the sun. "Whoops," he said with what he obviously hoped was a winning smile. "Sorry about that."

I glared at him, my midriff still stinging from the impact. "Well that's okay then, isn't it?"

"Whoa." Fixing me with a stare from astonishingly blue eyes, he tucked the ball under his arm and held up a hand. "I said I was sorry. There's no need to get your knickers in a twist."

"Oh great," I muttered, hearing the jeers of his mates as he jogged back to join them. "Brilliantly handled, Rebecca." I gazed down in dismay at my sand-covered belly, realising nothing short of a shower or a dip in the sea was going to get rid of all of it. But I already knew the sea wasn't warm enough for that and it was much too early to go back to the hotel. With a sigh, I brushed off the worst, retrieved and re-donned my sunglasses and lay down again.

But it wasn't so easy to phase out the guys' voices now. They seemed louder somehow. Nearer. And after a few moments, I lifted myself up on my elbows to see exactly where they were. Big mistake.

This time I was too stunned to swear.

"Oh shit!" I heard one of them shout as the rest of them dissolved into raucous laughter. "Whoops!"

I couldn't speak. My nose was throbbing, my mouth full of sand. It felt as though my sunglasses had been rammed into my skull.

"Hey, are you okay?" It was the bloke in red shorts again, crouching at my side. "I'm really sorry. Bloody Tim. He can't kick a ball for—"

"Just leave me alone," I gulped, gingerly wiping sand away from my face with the back of my hand. God, it hurt. So much so I wanted to cry, and that really wasn't an option with him sitting just there. "Please!"

"I promise we didn't do it on purpose," he said with what sounded like a genuine note of apology in his tone though the others were still laughing. "Look, we'll move further down the beach. Somewhere where we can't—"

"Don't bother," I murmured, longing to spit out the sand—to spit it all over him. "I'm going." With all the dignity I could manage, I shoved my book in my beach bag and snatched up my towel, sweater and flip-flops. And knowing he was watching me, knowing they were all watching me, I padded away, horribly conscious of the fact I was wearing only a skimpy red bikini, the matching sarong tucked out of reach in my bag.

There was a narrow strip of sand between the sea and the rocks at the furthermost edge of the beach. Sensing a chance to escape without having to face the humiliation of passing them again, I headed towards it and rounded the bottom of the cliff. To my relief, there was another sandy cove, albeit a much smaller one—less than fifty feet across. Even better, it was completely deserted.

Dumping my things on a patch of dry sand, I went down to the shore and knelt in the surf, washing my face and tummy, the cold water making me shudder. Bastards. So much for thinking my luck had changed.

But then again, why shouldn't those guys have fun? As I trudged back up the beach, the wind further chilling my dripping body, I had to concede getting married ought to be cause for celebration. Just because it hadn't exactly turned out to be a celebration for me was no reason to resent the joy of others.

I dried off the worst and shook out the towel so I could sit on it. Then reaching for my beach bag, I dug around inside for my mobile phone and checked the display. No messages. But then I hadn't seriously expected there would be.

It was just after four thirty. As I'd already guessed, too early to go back to the hotel. I'd never before appreciated what lonely places hotel rooms could be, even with the television switched on. Sighing, I stretched out full length on the towel, my mobile phone still in my hand. In another hour or so I'd go back and have a good long shower before going down to dinner. Then perhaps I'd order a bottle of wine and sit out on the terrace to read my book. Or pretend to read my book. People watching was much more fun.

Daniel was one of the few men I knew who liked people watching too. "Aye, aye," he'd murmur, nudging me as we sat in the garden of a pub somewhere. "There's trouble in paradise there." And he was usually right. Observing an English married couple trying not to argue in public was always entertaining. Far too much stiff upper lip going on, the words polite, the venom with which they were spoken the clue to their real intent. Not at all like the passionate screaming of their European counterparts in Spain or Italy, though that too was fascinating to watch.

I brought the mobile phone back in front of my face and stared at it. I'd changed the background on the display immediately. I couldn't bear to see his grinning face there. But there were other photos.

Biting my lip, I pressed the menu key and opened the images file. There he was. Tall. Blond. Fit. God, I'd thought I was so lucky. That he'd noticed me, that he'd wanted me when he could have had any girl he liked. But then I'd played hard to get. I think he'd enjoyed the thrill of the chase. That I hadn't immediately succumbed to his many charms like all the rest appealed to his competitive nature. And even when I'd surrendered, I still didn't make it easy for him. I guess, deep down, I'd always known keeping him would be the really tricky part. Though he'd been the one to suggest marriage.

I clicked the back button and returned to the menu. Messages. Inbox. Sarah…Rachel…Mum…Sarah…Sarah…Jayne…Mum… All variations on a theme of hi becky. r u ok?. I had to scroll down about twenty messages before I reached the last one I'd received from Daniel. It contained just one word.

Sorry.

Grimacing, I pressed the scroll down key once more—then squeezed my eyes tightly shut. What the hell was I doing? Did I really want to re-read the text beneath that one? Torture myself all over again? With a loud groan, I felt for my bag and stuffed the phone back inside, pulling out the bottle of suntan lotion instead.

I was here to party too, I told myself, slathering myself liberally with cream, though I doubted the spring sunshine was strong enough to do much damage to my skin at this time of day. I was here to celebrate my lucky escape. And though there was no one to party with—Mum had offered to come but I'd refused her generous offer—that's what I was going to do. Have some me time, re-charge my batteries, generate some new priorities.

Yes, I decided as I lay down again, this had been a good idea. To come here on my own had been a really good idea.

The breeze felt wonderful on my newly-warmed skin, the fresh, tangy aroma of the sea filling my nostrils, making it easier to breathe somehow. And still the waves continued to turn against the shore, rhythmical and relentless, soothing me, displacing my thoughts, growing louder and louder until my mind was filled with the sound, as though I was becoming one with the ocean…

"O-o-oh!" I gasped, waking up with a start as chilly water swirled around me, leaving a dragging sensation in its wake as it receded. Struggling to sit up, the wet sand holding my outstretched hands and feet under suction, I saw the narrow strip of sand at the edge of the cove had vanished, along with most of the rocks I'd walked around. Both were now submerged beneath the heaving swell of the incoming tide, my sweater and beach bag floating away.

"Oh God! Oh fuck!" As I scrambled to my feet, I realised there were perhaps a few feet of sand behind me the tide had yet to reach, behind that a wall of sheer granite. "No. No, no, no!" I dashed forward, plunging into the waves, my gaze fixed on one thing and one thing alone. My bag. I had to get my bag.

It was freezing and I hadn't appreciated how steeply the sand shelved. Already the water was up to my knees, my bag still several feet away. By the time I reached it, I was up to my waist, each wave threatening to knock me flying. I staggered back to the shallows and rummaged inside, frantically searching for my mobile phone. Who the hell were you supposed to contact in a situation like this? The coastguard? What number did you have to use? I had no idea. Calling the coastguard was something I'd never thought I'd need to do.

But as I stared at the phone, I realised not knowing what number to call was the least of my worries. It was dead. Of course it was dead. No phone could survive that much salt water.

Panic-stricken, I turned to look at the waves, much bigger now. Was I a strong enough swimmer? Was there any chance I could make it around to the next cove? I looked back at the ever-narrowing strip of unwashed beach behind me. Was there any chance I'd make it if I didn't?

I was going to have to try. Dropping the phone back in the bag, I slid my arms through the straps and hoisted it on to my back. But before I'd taken more than two steps, I thought I heard a shout. With a rush of hope, I whirled around, only to lose my footing and crash sidelong into the surf, a wave sweeping over my head. My mouth and nose awash with brine, I turned on to my hands and knees, coughing and spluttering as I heaved myself out of the water.

"Hey! Up here!"

This time there was no doubt the male voice was real but scared of falling again, I took care to plant my feet firmly before looking for its owner. And there to the side of me, high on the rocks, I finally made out a figure.

"What the fuck are you still doing there?"

"What?" I yelled back, gazing up at him in stunned disbelief. Did it look like I wanted to be there? "I'm trapped down here! I was going to swim for it."

"Are you crazy?" His groan was audible even above the waves. "You'll kill yourself! There's one hell of a rip."

"One hell of a what?" I couldn't believe I was asking. The tide was coming in. Fast. This was hardly the time for discussion. But suddenly, I realised where I'd heard that voice before.

"A rip current—never mind, it doesn't matter. Go back!" And when he straightened up, waving across at the cliffs, I knew there was no question about who he was.

"I can't!" This couldn't be happening. Not him. "There's nowhere to go!"

"Yes there is! Go back! I'll meet you there."

I stared at the place where he'd been standing, but the guy in red board-shorts and now a vibrant orange T-shirt had vanished, leaving me with no choice but to trust him. Hitching up my bag, I turned around and began to wade back to shore—what was left of it.

"Here!" I heard him shout when I reached the base of the cliff, casting a nervous glance at the water licking at my heels. And following the direction of the sound, I saw where he intended me to go. Up the rocks to the side, a steep but not impossible climb for someone wearing stout shoes. A rope would've been handy too. But I had neither. The sea had even taken my flip-flops.

"I don't think I can!"

"Yes you can." He was moving towards me, carefully manoeuvring around one rock at a time until his arms were just a few lengths from mine. "You can do this. Come on."

The next wave rather forced my decision. Shrieking as the surf washed around my ankles I lurched towards the rocks, clambering up the lower boulders as fast as I could. But it wasn't easy, the stone hard and unyielding beneath my bare feet, my fingers scrabbling to find deep enough holds. And the higher I climbed the more difficult it became, the granite there flatter and more slippery with sharper edges.

"Come on," he called encouragingly at intervals, his arms still outstretched towards mine. "You're doing it. You're doing so well."

It was hard to believe. This then was the very definition of three steps forward and two steps back, I thought as I slid downwards yet again, experiencing a sharp flash of pain along my forearm as I brushed against an adjacent rock. "I'm not!" I cried, clinging on for dear life as I gazed back at the water swirling below me. "I'm going to fall!"

"Don't look down. You're nearly there. Nearly there. Just one more step."

And incredibly, one more step really was enough, his hands coming down to seize my wrists, hauling me up towards him.

"Oh my God!" I gasped, landing on the ledge beside him, shaking with exertion as I wrenched my bag off my back, my arms and legs feeling ridiculously weak. "I thought I was going to die."

"Not today." He pulled a striped blue and yellow beach towel from the bag beside him and wrapped it snugly around my shoulders, his expression grim. "But what the hell were you thinking? Surely you knew the tide was coming in?"

"What?" I glared at him, my relief instantly giving way to resentment. "I wouldn't have been down there at all if it hadn't been for you and your buddies, kicking your bloody football at me every five seconds."

"Oh come on," he shot back. "Every five seconds is a bit of an exaggeration, don't you think?"

"You had the whole fucking beach! But no, you have to set up your goalposts right in front of me."

"Look, we didn't even see you there until the ball hit you the first time. And I told you we were sorry. It wasn't as though it was deliberate."

"No, not the first time," I retorted. "But the second time was, wasn't it?"

"What?" He looked pained. "Oh, this is just great. I come back to make sure you're all right and this is the thanks—"

"Oh don't give me that!" I couldn't believe what I was hearing. He'd really come back to make sure I was okay? "Of course it was deliberate. You couldn't wait to do it again. You couldn't help yourselves—oh my God!" I yelped, finally glimpsing what awaited us on the other side of the ledge.

"Just great," he repeated as though he hadn't heard. "I rescue you, and this is what I get."

"Rescue me?" I gave a snort of derision. "You call this rescuing? Okay, tell me this. How the fuck do we get down?"

Because although the climb down the rocks to the other cove definitely appeared less challenging than the climb I'd just made, the tide was rolling in apace, the surf rolling up the beach.  The place where I'd laid my towel—where the guys had played football—was already under water.

"We wait."

"What?" I tore my gaze away from the beach below to stare at him. And despite myself, I couldn't help but notice his eyes were exactly the same shade as the sea, a stark contrast to his curly dark hair. "We wait? But haven't you got a mobile phone?"

For the first time he grinned. "Why, who d'you want to call?"

"Well, doh." I pulled my hand out from under the towel and slapped my forehead, Homer Simpson-style. "The coastguard?"

His eyes narrowed for a moment then his grin returned. "You want to call the coastguard?"

"Yes!" Was this man incredibly stupid? "I think it might be a good idea."

"Really?" He looked amused. "So you'd like them to scramble a helicopter, get four men to risk their lives while they winch you up into the air—high, high into the air—"

Shit, he'd guessed I was scared of heights.

"—and then drop you back down on to the beach, with the world and his wife watching their every move—your every move? 'Cos that kind of thing tends to draw quite a crowd."

I gazed at him speechlessly.

"Or we can wait a couple of hours, wait for the tide to go back out again then get you down and get you to hospital."

"Hospital?" I gave a choke of puzzled laughter. "But I don't need to go to hospital."

"Oh, I think you do. That's going to need stitches."

"What?" It was only when I glanced down at myself I saw what he was staring at. "Fuck!"

I'd never seen anything like it in real life, only on television and in films. The whole of my right forearm was scarlet and dripping—literally dripping—with blood. "No," I breathed, only realising how much it hurt as I looked at it. "Oh no."

"Don't panic. I said it needed stitches, not that it needed amputating."

"And what would you know about that?" I gasped, raw terror sending my voice several tones higher than usual. "You know about first aid, do you? Don't tell me, you were a boy scout."

"You're panicking," he said, his own voice calm as he met my gaze. "And oh shit, you don't do blood, do you?" he added with a frown. "Lie down. Now!"

I wasn't in any position to argue. My vision was already blurring, a dull roaring sound in my ears. "It's just there's there's so much of it," I muttered, feeling his hand beneath my head as he eased me backwards, cushioning me from the rock. Oh God, I felt dizzy. "Are you sure we shouldn't call the coastguard?" Sure, swinging from a helicopter winch didn't appeal, but if I was going to bleed to death…

"Couldn't even if we wanted to. I haven't got my phone with me." His face swam back into view as he settled beside me, gently pushing something under my head, a waft of aftershave—rather nice aftershave, actually—reaching my nose as he did so. "And trust me, this isn't a lot of blood. A little bit goes a long way."

A little bit? I stared as he pulled his rucksack towards him. "What—what are you doing?"

"Getting my first aid kit. As it happens, I was a boy scout."

I watched as he began to reach inside, pulling out items one after the other. That bloody football, a bottle of water, his wallet, a set of keys, a large multi-coloured carton…

"Condoms?" I gasped, squinting at the carton and realising what it contained.

"Ah, not just any condoms," he said, pausing to grin at me without a trace of embarrassment. "A jumbo variety pack. I'm on a stag weekend, you see. And there's something for everyone in there. Every colour, every flavour, ribbed, extra-sensitive, extra-safe—"

"You brought condoms?"

"Er, yes." He seemed rather bemused by the question. "I'm the best man. Of course I brought condoms."

"Right." I stared at him in disbelief, my shallow-buried anger returning to the surface with remarkable speed and ferocity. "Because it's okay for the groom to get laid one more time before he gets hitched, right? Before he shackles himself to the old ball and chain, it's okay if he gets his rocks off with one last chick?"

"Whoa!" He flinched visibly beneath my attack. "What the hell's your problem?"

"What's my problem?" I sat up then immediately wished I hadn't, my head swimming. "What's my problem? You think that's okay then, right? You'd condone that behaviour? Tell—Tim, was it?—to just go ahead? You'd say 'take a few of these mate," I grabbed the box of condoms and shook it in his face, "and have a damned good time'?"

He looked at me, his expression unreadable. "You need to lie back down."

"Well, would you?" I felt very odd now. Hot. No, not hot. Make that cold. Shivery. Sick. "Why won't you answer the question?"

He sighed. "Because you're going to pass out. Lie down."

And even as I felt his hands on my shoulders, everything went black.

***

Scissors. That's what that funny little squeaky sound was. Snipping. Cutting material. Pulling something out from under me.

I opened my eyes to see a dark head silhouetted against pale blue sky, a cool breeze across my face, the familiar sound of waves crashing against the rocks—crashing very near. Too near.

"Damn it, you're back. I was hoping for at least another minute."

"Wh-what?" But the words had been spoken without malice and as I stared up at him I saw the beginnings of his smile. "Oh God. How—how long was I out?"

"Ooh, let's see now." When he sat back, I could see a small square of blue and yellow towel in his hand. So that's what he'd been cutting. "All of about thirty seconds. Hardly long enough to enjoy the peace and quiet."

"Peace and quiet?" I echoed, puzzled. And then I remembered. "But you never answered my question!"

"Oh, here we go." He gave an exaggerated sigh and turned away from me. I could hear rustling sounds, a snap of elastic and when he turned back, I saw he'd donned thin vinyl gloves. "I suggest you don't watch what I'm doing for a moment." When I immediately twisted my head to look he made a growling noise low in his throat. "Why do people always do that?"

I gazed at my arm but, to my surprise, this time I remained unperturbed by the sight of blood and torn flesh, feeling oddly detached, as though somehow the arm was no longer mine but someone else's. He reached behind him and retrieved the bottle of water, wrenching off the top and saturating the piece of towel in his hand. Then he began to wipe around the wound, using long, sure strokes, clearing away the worst of the blood. "In answer to your question," he said quietly, focussing wholly on what he was doing, "no, I wouldn't condone that behaviour."

"But you brought condoms!"

He rolled his eyes. "Not for that. They're for a practical joke we've got planned."

"You seriously expect me to believe you?"

"Damn right I do. If Tim ever cheats on his wife-to-be, I'll fucking kill him."

"Oh." I stared at him, deflated. If only Daniel had chosen a best man with principles.

"But then again, he is marrying my sister." He dropped the bloodstained towel on to the ledge and picked up the bottle of water again. "Right, grit your teeth a second. This'll probably sting a bit."

Not comprehending, I watched in astonishment as he tipped up the bottle then hissed as he directed a stream of water straight at the cut. "O-o-ow!"

"Sorry. I'm nearly done." He pulled at the towel beneath me, gently blotting away the excess moisture around the wound before reaching behind him again for what appeared to be a small plastic sandwich box. "Right," he murmured, as I lifted my head to peer inside with him, seeing a row of neat packets, a roll of bandage, more gloves and some surgical tape. It really was a first aid box. I'd been expecting a few ancient plasters. And as I caught his eye, he grinned. "Yeah, I know. You think this is completely over the top, don't you? But I'm not prepared to take any chances. I take my best man duties very seriously, you know. Besides, Julie'd kill me if anything happened to Tim."

"Your sister?"

He nodded, opening up one packet of gauze then another, placing the folded squares in a thick layer across the wound before picking up the bandage. "This should do the trick for now," he said, winding it deftly around my arm.

"Thank you." And all at once I felt rather small. Humbled. I'd been so ungrateful, so undeserving of his assistance. "Oh!" I wailed as he finally ran out of bandage and moved to pick up the tape. "This isn't fair. I'm not even supposed to be here. I'm supposed to be in the Maldives!"

"What?" His fingers pausing, he regarded me sharply for a moment. As though he wasn't sure whether I'd hit my head as well as my arm. "The Maldives? Babe, this is Cornwall. I think you took a wrong turn on the way to the airport."

"No, I mean…" I bit my lip, trying to keep it from wobbling. "I'm supposed to be on my honeymoon." Oh God, I was going to cry! Why the hell was I telling him this? "Last Saturday was sup-supposed to be my wed-wedding day-ay-ay…"

"Ah. Whoops." Looking understandably alarmed as I dissolved into noisy tears, he peeled away his plastic gloves then tore off two strips of tape to secure the bandage. "Hold on, hold on. I'm nearly finished. Hang on just one more second…"

Then to my astonishment, his hands were sliding beneath me, pulling me upwards and against him, pressing my head into his broad shoulder. "It's all right," he murmured into my hair as his arms swept around me. "Just let it go."

And to my mortification, I did. I howled. I couldn't stop. I'd been so proud of myself. Up until now, I hadn't shed a single tear. Not when Daniel confessed, not when I'd told my Mum—told my friends—that the wedding was off. Now it was as though someone had turned on a tap. "But I d-don't even know your name!" I sobbed after what must have been several minutes, my whole body still shuddering.

"It doesn't matter," he said with a sympathetic chuckle. "Anyway, it's probably best that you just call me Tosser, yeah? That has to be how you're feeling about all men right now."

I gave a choke of surprised laughter. "Tosser Foster?"

"Oh." He chuckled again. "You were watching us. I knew you were. Pretending to read that book. You think other people don't know about the sunglasses trick?"

Now I really wanted to die.

"It's okay." He gave me a squeeze. "It's Luke, by the way."

"Tosser sounds better," I muttered, rather unsettled. Being in his arms felt good. Too good. As though he'd held me a thousand times. But how could that be?

"Well, it's your choice, of course." He sounded amused. "Is there something you'd like me to call you?"

"Huh." I gave another sob. "Hey, you choose. How about Gullible? Idiot? Fool? Sucker?"

"Aw. You can't blame yourself for what he did. He's the fool."

"What?" I pulled away abruptly, gazing up at him. "How the hell do you know what he did?"

His lips twisted slightly. "Well, maybe I've got this all wrong, but as far as I can make out, your fiancé slept with another woman on his stag night, stag weekend, whatever it was. You found out and the wedding got called off."

I stared, searching his face for clues. "Someone told you. Who?"

He shot me a rueful smile. "You did. You gave me such a hard time about those bloody condoms. It wasn't exactly difficult to put two and two together."

"Right." The wind had been taken out of my sails yet again.

"Want to talk about it?"

"Oh, I'm sure you don't want to know," I said, shivering slightly. It was cold outside the warmth of his arms.

He frowned. "Well here's the thing," he said, bending to pick up the sweatshirt he'd used as a makeshift pillow. "You and I are stuck here for at least the next two hours. We've got some time to kill. Here." He was holding the bottom of the sweatshirt open in front of me. "Put your poorly arm through first."

Feeling rather like a child, I gingerly fed my right arm through one sleeve then slid my left arm through the other, Luke pulling the rest of the sweatshirt down over my head. It swamped me, another blast of that wonderful aftershave flooding my senses. "Won't Tim and the others be worried about where you are?"

"Doubt it. They'll just think I've pulled."

"What?"

He laughed at my shocked expression. "They knew I was going to look for you. Believe me, they won't worry, so long as I meet them in the bar later for a drink. I used to have quite a reputation with the ladies."

"Used to?" I echoed, unnerved by this new piece of information.

"Yes, used to. Other things have got in the way just lately. " He grinned. "And there was me thinking you'd be impressed that I really did come back to get you. 'Cos when the tide started to come in and I didn't see you come back round, I got a bit worried. But hey, you can thank me later."

"No!" I protested, uncharacteristically flustered. "I am grateful, really I am. Although," I narrowed my eyes at him, recovering fast, "I wouldn't have been down there at all if it hadn't been for you guys forcing me to move, remember?" I took a glance down at the smaller cove below, swallowing hard when I saw just how high the water had risen.

"Hey, we didn't exactly force you," he began then stopped, shaking his head with a smile. "Uh uh. No diversion tactics. I want to know what happened and I think you need to tell. Call it therapy."

I sighed heavily. "There isn't much more to tell."

"How did you find out?"

I gave a rather bitter laugh. "He sent me a text message."

"He told you in a text?" He looked astonished.

"Yes, but he didn't mean to. You see, the message wasn't meant for me."

"It was meant for her? He sent it to you by mistake?" He grimaced when I nodded. "What did it say?"

"Oh." I gave a shrug then leaned forward to grab my beach bag. "You can read it if you like. I think it's…" But as my fingers closed over the soggy fabric, I froze. "Huh," I muttered, startled I hadn't already made the connection. "Actually, you can't read it. My—my phone got wet." And bizarrely, the realisation I would probably never see that message again, would never again see those photos of Daniel made my eyes refill with tears.

"Hey!" Luke clambered around the ledge until he was behind me then drew me backwards between his legs, supporting me like an easy chair. "It might be okay when it dries out."

"No, you don't understand," I gulped, swiping furiously at my wet face, fighting an urge to get the phone out of the bag and hurl it down into the sea below. "I don't want it to be okay. I want it to be ruined!"

"Oh thank God." He sounded relieved. "Because I was lying. There's no way it'll be okay. I was just trying to make you feel better."

And incredibly, I laughed. "Really?"

"Absolutely. But I'll jump on it for you if you like just to be sure." He picked up the now half-empty bottle of water and held it to my lips. "So stop crying and drink. You're losing too many fluids."

I drank deeply, surprised to discover how thirsty I was. Then, pushing the bottle away, I settled back against him with a sigh, closing my eyes. This position felt almost ridiculously comfortable given we were perched up on a rocky ledge just out of reach of the waves. "That message," I began. I didn't need the phone to recall what was in it. I knew the words by heart—knew they'd be etched on my heart forever. "It said, 'Hi gorgeous, missing you already. Can't wait to see you again. Will call you when I get back from hols'. Three kisses."

"'Hols'?" Luke repeated. "He meant your honeymoon?"

I nodded. Because, after all, that was the line that had given it all away.

To start with, I explained, Daniel had tried to claim he'd just written the wrong thing. That he'd meant to write 'Can't wait for our hols'. But for all his bravado, for all his ability to charm the birds out of the trees, I knew he wasn't telling the truth. And, if I was being honest with myself, I'd suspected he'd had other affairs during the three years we were together. For a start, there'd been several holidays with his mates but I'd never been able to prise details from any of them, save that they'd spent the whole time drinking, clubbing and sleeping.

There'd been the time he'd come back with a pair of red knickers in his suitcase. He'd laughed it off as a prank, of course. And aside from holidays, there'd been evenings, weeks even, where he'd insisted we didn't go out as a couple, that we go off and do our separate things. At the time, that had seemed sensible, logical even, a way of ensuring our relationship didn't get stale. With hindsight—oh what a wonderful thing that was!—he'd probably been cheating on me then.

But when that text had arrived at ten o'clock last Saturday morning, while I was at the hairdresser's having my veil pinned into place ready for our wedding at noon, I'd realised I couldn't fool myself any longer. I didn't think I'd ever be able to forget that moment of utter devastation. Total desolation. And then the numbness had set in.

"I spent all day Sunday and Monday re-wrapping wedding presents and sending them back," I told Luke now, relishing the warmth of his arms around me rather more than I cared to admit. "I bought yards and yards of bubble wrap and brown paper. I think Mum thought I'd lost it, that she'd be visiting me in the asylum before the end of the week. I've never seen her look more relieved than when I told her I was coming here. Though she got a bit worried when I said I wanted to go on my own."

"I'm not surprised. To be honest, I'm not sure you should be here on your own, either."

I grimaced. "I just wanted to get away from everyone. And I thought if I brought someone along, someone who knew what'd happened, it'd just be a constant reminder of why I was here." Then I sighed. "But I can't get away from me, can I?"

"It's going to take time, babe. But you'll get through this." And to my astonishment, I felt him press his lips to the top of my head.

"Hey!" I exclaimed, pulling forward and swivelling around to look at him. "Did you just kiss me?"

He grinned. "Nah," he said, shaking his head. But then his grin faded, those sea-blue eyes locking on to mine, his gaze piercing, as though he could see right into my mind. Right into my soul. "Why? Did you want me to kiss you?"

Yes. And as I stared back at him, startled by my sudden desire, he moved in towards me and his mouth closed over mine.

Chapter 2

His lips were gentle and warm, brushing oh-so-slowly over mine, every movement unhurried and sweet; not at all what I'd expected. But eventually it sank into my addled mind he was biding his time, waiting for me to make the next move. Waiting for me to trust him, to accept that although he was kissing me, I was the one in charge of how far this went.

I began to kiss him back, the roar of the sea seeming to fade as I explored those soft, slightly salty lips, longing to taste him fully, to deepen the kiss. But it wasn't until I tentatively touched the tip of my tongue to his top lip he welcomed me in. And then he groaned, his tongue sweeping into my mouth, his hands sliding into my hair as he took control.

Oh God… He could kiss, he could really kiss, I thought, a split second before I lost all ability to think and just surrendered to the pleasure. And even though this was probably the most awkward position in which I'd ever been kissed, the granite shelf hard beneath my left buttock, my upper body twisted round to face him, it didn't matter. Nothing mattered.

"Well," he murmured at last, drawing back to smile at me. "That was rather nice."

"Rath-rather nice?" I echoed, only to find my voice wasn't working at all, the words coming out as a whisper.

His smile widened. "Okay, much better than nice." He hesitated, his gaze still holding mine. "More?"

When I gave a dazed nod, he grinned then, to my astonishment, began lifting and turning me, handling me as though I weighed no more than a small child until finally I was straddled across his lap, my legs around his hips. "That's better," he said solemnly, raising my injured arm and positioning it safely out of the way across his shoulder. "Now I can kiss you properly."

Kiss me properly?

But the moment his lips reclaimed mine, I realised he'd been holding back. Ooh, this was good. Much too good. I'd heard of being ruined for all other men but I'd never realised it could apply to kissing. I never wanted it to end.

I'd thought Daniel was a great kisser—and, to be fair, he really had been a great kisser—but with him it was all part of a carefully co-ordinated performance, a big show to demonstrate his talent. He'd known he was great, and woe betide me if I didn't tell him so on a regular basis.

But Luke… This wasn't a show. This was barely-controlled passion, pure and simple. And if the growing bulge pressing against my inner thigh was anything to go by, the kiss was having just as big an effect on him as it was on me.

"Nah," I gulped when he eventually let me up for air, dropping my forehead against his shoulder. "That first time was just a fluke. You're crap at kissing."

His deep chuckle told me he knew I was lying. "Sorry, out of practice," he said, smoothing back my hair then brushing his mouth against my temple. "I enjoyed it anyway."

"So I see." Still breathless, I pulled back just enough to make it obvious I'd spotted what was going on between his legs then lifted my mischievous gaze to his. "So tell me, Foster. When did you last have a shag?"

He gave a snort of laughter, recognising the question Tim had asked when they'd been playing football on the beach. "It's been quite a while," he admitted, no hint of embarrassment in those amazing blue eyes. Then he grinned. "Why? Are you offering to end my dry spell?"

I stared back, suddenly speechless. Because although I'd been about to laugh it off, tease him a little—no, tease him a lot—then beg him to kiss me some more, now I wanted much more than another kiss. And as I turned to look at the box of condoms still perched on the ledge beside us, I saw his face break into an incredulous smile.

"Babe, you can't be serious. Here?"

"Why not?" I gazed at him, the idea taking root, raw desire spreading through my body like forest fire. "I'm young, free and single again, right? I could really use some meaningless sex. You need to get laid—"

"Excuse me?"

"— and we've got time to kill. And God, I want you!"

"Now?" He shook his head, looking startled. "No, absolutely not!"

"But we've got protection."

"You've got an arm injury that's going to need at least ten stitches."

"Which stops hurting when you kiss me!"

"We're on a small rocky ledge with the sea all around us—"

"You don't want me?" I wailed, growing increasingly desperate.

"Oh, hell." His deep groan became a laugh. "Of course I want you!" It was his turn to glance down at his groin. "Isn't it obvious? But this is neither the time nor the place. Kissing's one thing—whoa, God!" he added on a yell as I slid my left hand down between us and stroked the bulge in his shorts. "Hey! You're not playing fair!"

"Neither are you," I retorted, taken aback to hear the bold words coming out of my mouth. I hadn't been this assertive in years, I realised, reaching for his waistband. But I was right-handed and trying to prise him free by wriggling the fingers of my left hand beneath the elastic proved to be rather more difficult than I'd imagined.

"Okay, okay. You're killing me, woman!" he gasped at last, and suddenly, his fingers were there too, helping me push away the fabric until his cock sprang into my hand, firm and thick. "Fuck, I can't believe I'm helping you do this."

"Oh boy." I stared down at his cock, rather thrown by its size. It seemed Mother Nature had more than adequately compensated Luke for his lack of height. "Something tells me kissing isn't the only thing you're good at."

He hissed through his teeth as I wrapped my fingers around him, slowly stroking his full length. "I thought you said I was crap at kissing."

"I lied." I watched in fascination as his cock swelled even more beneath my touch, managing to maintain firm pressure as I continued to work up and down but finding it awkward. I'd never before realised how much I relied on my right hand for this. But judging by the noises he was making, his face contorting with pleasure, he wasn't at all disappointed by my clumsy technique.

"Wait," he groaned suddenly, catching my hand and holding it still. "I'm not going to last very long if you keep that up."

I gave him my most innocent smile. "So?"

"So." He gave a growl then pulled me in for another kiss, his free hand sliding beneath the baggy sweatshirt he'd loaned me, warm against the bare skin of my back. Something loosened—my bikini top. He'd found the ties, his fingers already sweeping around to the front, easing away the material. And as he cupped my breast in his palm, brushing his thumb over my highly sensitive nipple, I moaned into his mouth. I was completely at his mercy, my right arm slung over his shoulder, my left hand still trapped between his thighs.

"Gotcha," he said with a grin, pressing his forehead against mine. "Now what are you going to do?"

"Luke!" I gazed at him helplessly, more aroused than I'd ever been in my life, moisture pooling between my thighs. "Let me touch you."

"Uh-uh." He shook his head, grinning. "It's my turn to play." Releasing my breast, his fingers travelled downwards, skimming across my ribcage, over the slight swell of my belly. He watched my face, moving with an agonising lack of haste, heightening my anticipation to fever pitch, only to let his hand slide away when he finally reached the waistband of my bikini bottoms.

"Hey!" I groaned, my sense of disappointment acute. But then I saw he was reaching for the jumbo box of condoms. Oh…

We were really going to do this? On this slab of granite, to the accompaniment of the crashing waves? It wasn't that I'd been joking about wanting him. God only knew how turned on I was, how much I was longing to feel him inside me. But the practicalities of having sex up here were dawning on me fast. How exactly were we going to manage it? Because at least one of us was surely going to end up with bruised and battered knees. Caught between a rock and a hard place, as it were.

Seemingly untroubled by any such thoughts, Luke grinned, letting go of my hand so he could pull away the cellophane wrapper and open the carton. "Hmm," he murmured, examining the contents. "So much to choose from. I can't decide. Lucky dip?" he suggested, holding the box under my nose. "But no peeking 'til it's on. Deal?"

Grimacing, I closed my eyes, wiggled my thumb and finger into the carton and passed him one of the tiny packets. "It's a fruity one, right?" I said, sighing when he chuckled, hearing the foil tear then feeling the movement of his fingers as he smoothed the latex over his cock. "Banana? Strawberry?" But before I could look I felt his hands at my hips, working at the ties securing my briefs. And then he was lifting me, reaching beneath me, pulling away that tiny scrap of scarlet fabric…

"Oh God! Wait!" I cried, heat rushing into my face as I suddenly recalled what he was about to discover. How could I have forgotten? "Luke, please." But it was too late. He was already exploring my wetness, caressing my ridiculously over-sensitised skin, the pleasure intense—actually, make that pretty damn close to excruciating. "O-o-ohh!"

I saw the flash of comprehension in his eyes, his incredulous smile. "Well, well, well," he murmured, laughing softly. "This is a new look for you, I take it? Very nice."

"Very stupid," I groaned, helpless beneath his skilled assault, aware of just how slick I already was. "I—I had it done—oh!—for the wedding."

"For Daniel?" His gaze narrowed. "You did this—you went through all that pain—for that bastard?"

"I know." Dear God, he was good at this too. Shorter strokes then longer ones, moving faster then slower again, bringing me close—oh so close—before sliding away again. "Like I said, stu-u-pid."

"But hot." He grinned. "Very hot. Did it hurt?"

"Like you wouldn't believe. I actually bled. I'm never having it done again—oh stop it!" I gulped as he began to laugh again. "I've never been so embarrassed in all my life. The positions you have to get into." It was becoming increasingly difficult to talk, his fingers moving without mercy, the pitch of my voice rising higher and higher. "This little German woman did it. I think she was crazy. I wanted to leave a strip but she kept saying, 'Nein, nein, it all comes off'. And even though I was screaming she just kept going."

He shot me another disbelieving glance, his hand stilling abruptly. "There's no hair left down here at all? Anywhere?" He frowned, one long digit slipping further back to check. "Not even—"

"No!" I gasped, both horrified and thrilled he was touching me there. "None. But then that's why they call it the full Hollywood wax. Hey…" I whimpered, squirming against him, trying to move his fingers back to where I wanted them most.

Throwing me a wicked smile, he removed his hand altogether, pushing me away slightly and lowering his head for a closer look. "My God," he murmured, sounding rather hoarse as he came back up. "So I'm the only one who'll ever get to see this?"

"You and the three women who held me down in the beauty salon. Luke, please!" I wailed, desperately aroused, bereft without his touch. "Please!"

I shrieked as he lifted me, tipping me against his chest as he leaned backwards, pulling me flush against him with one arm, feeling beneath me with his other hand, opening me. And suddenly, the blunt end of his cock was there, nudging hard against my entrance.

"Oh!" I sobbed as he slowly lowered me down, impaling me inch by glorious inch. "Luke!"

He was filling me more than I'd ever been filled before, stretching me almost painfully wide. And maybe it was just the position we were in, but I couldn't remember any other man burying himself quite so deep, sinking further and further inside me.

"Fuck," he groaned as he finally bottomed out, gazing at me with undisguised delight. "You're tight!"

I shook my head, almost too overwhelmed to speak. "You're—you're huge," I managed at last.

"I'm hurting you?"

"No." Though the sensation wasn't exactly pleasurable either and judging by the concern displayed in those piercing blue eyes, it wasn't the first time he'd felt the need to ask that question. I could feel every bit of him, as firm and unyielding as the rock beneath us. I tried a smile. "Just—just, don't move for a second."

He nodded, smiling back rather ruefully. "Come here," he murmured, pushing his hand into my hair and pulling me closer, gently capturing my lips with his own. Kissing me again—oh, how he kissed me! Chasing away all thought of discomfort, all recollection of where we were, all sense of time. So I couldn't have told anyone how long it was before I heard Luke's deep chuckle, before I realised I was rocking over him, uselessly gyrating against him, trying to create some movement but finding that in this position I had no manoeuvrability at all. And then I felt his hands at my hips, his fingers splaying across my buttocks, the tension in his arms as he lifted me…

"Oh my God!" I cried as he dropped me down again, his cock ramming home, a surge of delicious pleasure washing over me. But even before I could catch my breath, he was raising me up again.

"God, you feel good!" he groaned, settling into a steady rhythm, driving deeper and harder, the sweet friction of each stroke making me whimper helplessly. "Much too good. I'm sorry, babe. I'm not going to last!"

Neither was I. It seemed I needn't have worried how we were going to do this. He was doing all the work, his arms amazingly strong, lifting me over and over, rendering me powerless to his will. I couldn't have determined the pace even if I wanted to, my legs still curled around his hips, my arms around his neck. But I didn't want to, the lack of control only serving to increase my arousal, heighten my need, my orgasm already beginning, that wonderful pressure building low in my belly.

"Luke!" I gasped, needing to tell him, needing him to know what he was doing to me, how he was making me feel. "Oh God, Luke! I'm going to—I'm going to—o-ooh!"

My orgasm hit with all the force of an express train, seeming to flood my entire being with heat, my inner muscles contracting violently around his cock. And somewhere, as though far away, I heard his answering shout, his thrusts becoming increasingly erratic until he plunged deep one last time, his body growing rigid beneath mine.

I've no idea how long it was before I regained my senses, only that when I did, I found myself wrapped in Luke's arms, my head on his shoulder, his softening cock still buried inside me.

"That's a first," he murmured, the note of amusement obvious in his voice.

I managed a weak laugh, the effort almost exhausting me. "Having sex on the rocks?"

He chuckled, stroking my hair. "Well yeah, but that wasn't what I was going to say."

"Having sex with a woman you've only just met?"

There was a brief silence. "No," he admitted, still sounding amused. "Though you're the first woman I've been with in a very long time."

Feeling an inexplicable rush of jealousy at the thought of him being with any other woman but me, I longed to ask him how long. "What then?" I murmured instead, frantically tamping down the urge.

"I've never had sex with a woman and not known her name."

Oh. I smiled, despite myself. "I told you. You can choose. What did I say again? Gullible, Sucker…"

"You don't want to tell me your real name?"

God, yes, I wanted to tell him. I wanted to tell him everything. What the hell was wrong with me? It was less than a week since my aborted wedding—a week in which I'd thought I still loved Daniel, despite all that had happened, a week in which I'd thought my heart would never recover. "It's Rebecca," I said at last.

"Becky, eh?"

"No." I lifted my head off his shoulder but found it hard to pretend to be annoyed when I saw his grin. "I said Rebecca. Only my friends get to call me Becky."

"Is that so?" His grin widened. "But you said I could choose. And anyway, I think I've earned the right to call you whatever I want."

"Is that so?" I repeated, attempting an icy glare and knowing I was failing miserably. "How do you work that out?"

"Hmm." He rolled his eyes. "I saved you from drowning."

"I wouldn't have drowned. I'm a good swimmer."

"Yeah, it looked like it. Besides, even the strongest swimmer would struggle against that rip—"

"I wouldn't even have been down there if it hadn't been for—"

"Oh, here we go again."

"What the hell is a rip?"

"And of course, without me, you'd have bled to death."

I pulled my arm away from his shoulder, stunned I'd almost forgotten about my injury, the initial sharp pain having subsided to a dull ache. "You said it wasn't a lot of blood," I murmured, peering up my sleeve at the bandage, relieved to see it was still pristinely white.

Luke caught my hand, looking up my sleeve for himself. "Enough to make you faint." He shot me a teasing smile then kissed my fingers. "Why can't you cope with the sight of blood anyway?"

"Because I was in a car accident when I was ten. My Mum and my sister and me—we were all fine. Just bruises. But Dad was killed outright. He wasn't wearing a seatbelt. Massive head injuries. Lots of blood." I swallowed hard, recollecting the sight of the spattered windscreen as though it were yesterday. But then it'd haunted my dreams ever since. "What's a rip?"

"Oh God." His smile faded abruptly. "I'm so sorry."

"No." Those ridiculous tears were back in my eyes again. Why on earth had I told him? "You—you weren't to know. What's a rip?"

He sighed, his arms folding back around me, his lips brushing against my temple. "It's a strong current," he said quietly. "If you get caught in one you can get swept out to sea. You can't always see them, that's why they're so dangerous. Didn't you see the danger sign on the way down?"

I shook my head. But then I'd been so delighted to see that sapphire-blue sea, so thrilled to feel the healing warmth of the sun on my skin, I'd focussed only on getting to the beach and finding myself a sheltered spot in which to lie. "I came here because I thought it was safe," I murmured, hearing the irony in my own words. "We came here on holiday one summer, the year before Dad died. I loved it. You know how some times in your life just stick out in your memory as truly magical?" I bit my lip when he nodded. "Well that was one of those times. I've been meaning to come back here for years, but Daniel was never keen. He likes guaranteed wall-to-wall sunshine on his holidays."

"Ah. Not something you can ever guarantee in Cornwall. I've spent many a wet week here. And I can't feel my legs."

"What? Oh." Startled, I yanked my head away from his shoulder and tried, unsuccessfully, to lift myself off him. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he said with a chuckle, seizing me around the waist to hoist me upwards then groaning as his already semi-recovered cock slipped out of me and popped up between us. "I'm just sorry we can't do it again. But I don't think my arse could take it." He removed the used condom—just a plain ordinary one, I noted with some amusement—and pulled his shorts back up. Then, still holding me firm in his lap, he swung his legs to the side of the ledge then eased me around until I was sitting beside him, the smooth rock startlingly cold beneath my bare bottom. "Oh for a comfy bed, a bottle of champagne and a can of whipped cream. Where are you staying?"

A can of whipped cream? "The—the White Sands Hotel," I stammered.

"Excellent. That's where we're staying too."

He wanted more? Oh boy.

But Luke was still speaking. "That means I can take you to the hospital to get stitched up, then I can go and join the others when we get back. They won't moan too much if I leave some money for drinks."

So much for him wanting more. God, I could be stupid sometimes. "It's okay," I said, averting my gaze so he wouldn't see my embarrassment. To my relief, I spotted my bikini bottoms, snatching them up to put them back on. "You're on a stag weekend, for heaven's sake. And you're the best man. You don't need to take me to the hospital."

"Yes I do. I can't let you drive yourself."

"I wasn't going to drive myself," I retorted, struggling to re-don the briefs one-handed. I couldn't raise myself enough to push the fabric back between my legs. "I can't. I haven't got a car here. I came by train. But I'll get a taxi—oh!" I yelped, as his fingers assaulted me from behind, delving beneath me to retrieve then tug up the back panel.

"No, you won't," he said firmly, already refastening the ties for me. "I'll drive you."

"But the nearest hospital—it's in Truro isn't it? That's got to be, what, thirty miles from here? And it's Friday night. It'll be really busy. We could be waiting for—"

"Will you shut up?" To my astonishment, his arm slid around me and he kissed the top of my head. "I'm not going to take you to Truro. They've opened up a Minor Injuries Unit about five miles from here. I shouldn't think it'll be too busy this time of year."

"Oh." God, it felt good to be near him again. Good, but utterly confusing.

The sunlight was fading now, the rocks cast in shadow. And when I peered over the ledge, I saw the tide was on its way back out again, the surf rising only three quarters of the way up the sand.

"Another half an hour and we'll be able to get down," Luke said, following my gaze. "If you weren't hurt, we could probably try sooner but I'm not taking any chances."

"Okay." Ordinarily, I'd have argued I could manage, damaged arm or not. But I was in no hurry to move. Getting down from this place would mean returning to reality, the end of this odd, but wonderful interlude. It'd been a welcome diversion from my messed-up life. Soon I'd just be Rebecca Ashmore again. Ex-fiancée of Daniel Cameron. "You said you'd spent many a wet week here," I murmured, keen to distract myself from that thought.

"Yeah. My grandparents used to live here. We came to stay for six weeks every summer."

"Oh." I looked up at him, smiling now. "Maybe you were here when I was. Funny to think our paths might have crossed before."

"They could well have done. But it's a small world after all." He paused to draw a deep breath and I knew what was coming.

"Don't sing," I warned with a glare. "Just don't."

He chuckled. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-seven."

"Ah." He nodded, eyes dancing. "Yeah, I'd have been here. But I doubt I'd have noticed you. Not if you were nine. I bet you were a cute kid, though."

I frowned. "Why, how old would you have been?"

"I'm thirty-four now. So I'd have been, what, sixteen?"

"Really?" He certainly didn't look thirty-four. I'd assumed he was just a year or two older than me.

His grin left me in no doubt he knew I was surprised. "Huh, sixteen," he murmured, shaking his head slightly. "Now that would've been the first year we brought Tim with us. That was quite a summer. We'd both just discovered girls."

I tried to imagine a teen version of Luke. It wasn't difficult. What he would've lacked in stature—surely all the more pronounced back then alongside an even lankier sixteen-year-old Tim—he would've more than made up for in raw, sexual magnetism. Poor Tim. He wouldn't have stood a chance of being noticed, even at six feet tall. "How many hearts did you break?"

"A few," he admitted, having the grace to grimace slightly. "Though I didn't mean to."

I gave a snort. "Of course you didn't."

"I didn't! They just kept throwing themselves at me. I wasn't mature enough to handle it."

"Of course you weren't," I said, adopting a mock-soothing tone. "It must've been hell."

"It was," he agreed, playing along with my pretend sympathy. "It really was. Trying to remember all those names—" I cuffed his arm and he laughed. "Oh, and we did loads of crazy stuff, too. Dived into the sea from over there." He waved his hand up to the right, to the top of the cliff. "Now that was really stupid. Verging on suicidal. But when you're a kid, you just don't think about these things. And actually, this isn't the first time I've had to wait for the tide to go back out."

"Here?" I felt my eyes widening as he nodded.

"That's how I knew we'd be okay. I've been here on this ledge before. Who'd have thought that eighteen years later I'd be up here again?" He grinned again. "Or that Tim would be marrying my little sister. They hated each other back then. But then, we were pretty cruel to her."

"Why, what did you do?" I'd always thought it would've been cool to have an older brother instead of an older sister. Though we were friends these days, Sarah had been unspeakably superior and condescending towards me when we were growing up. Whereas an older brother might've been kinder, more protective, maybe.

"The usual sorts of things. We put spiders in her bed. Tied her hair to a chair. Put sand in her sandwiches. Shaving foam on her strawberries. Switched her toothpaste for hair-removing cream."

Or not. "Luke!"

He grinned. "Hey, she was fourteen. And she was horrible, always whining, always telling tales."

"I can't think why."

"Mum used to say we had to include her, but we didn't want her there. It's hard to go out on the pull with your spotty kid sister in tow. Funnily enough, she got to bring along a friend the next year." His grin broadened. "Though in the end, she didn't get to spend too much time with her either, if you get what I mean."

I shot him a horrified glance. "You didn't?"

"Yeah, I did." He heaved a reflective sigh. "Rachel Finn. I wonder whatever happened to her? I haven't thought about that girl in years."

"You're terrible! I can't believe I'm hearing this."

He smiled. "It was good while it lasted. But you'll be pleased to hear I grew out of it in the end."

"Oh?" I was longing to ask why, to know why I was the first woman he'd been with in a while—to determine whether that was even true and, if it was, just how long it had been—but before I could frame the question, Luke was pointing out to sea.

"You see that buoy? Tim and I had a race to see who could swim there and back the fastest." He gave me a cocky grin. "No prizes for guessing who won and who had to be rescued by the coastguard." I rolled my eyes and he laughed. "Seriously. Helicopter, winch and all. Believe me, it really does draw a crowd. But Tim's always been a bit, well, accident-prone. There was this one time when we went rock climbing…"

And I listened. Listened as he regaled me with stories about Tim, about Julie, about their childhood though, to my frustration, there were no stories about the grown-up Luke. I was becoming increasingly desperate for insights into his true character. But his deep voice was mesmerising. I could've listened to him for hours—no, make that forever—snuggled there against him, his arm wrapped around me, his body warm next to mine…

"Come on, sleepyhead. I think it's time we got you down from here."

"Wh-what?" I blinked hard, his smiling face swimming back into focus, my head feeling oddly foggy.

"It's okay. I'd have dozed off if I had to listen to me, too."

"No, it wasn't you," I protested, straightening up, feeling the blood return to my cramped muscles. "Really it wasn't. It's all the sun—and the sea air. And to be honest, I haven't really slept since—"

"I know," he interrupted, grinning as he began to stuff things into his backpack—the first aid kit, the box of condoms, the towel, my beach bag. "You're exhausted, Becks. It's pretty obvious."

"Becks?" I repeated incredulously as he slid his arms through the straps and hoisted the now bulging bag on to his back. "Not even 'Becky' now? You're skipping straight to Becks?"

"I think it suits you, yeah," he said, still grinning as he shuffled forwards and lowered himself down to the next rock, turning around to help me. "Why, don't you like it?"

I loved it. The notion of intimacy evoked by the pet name made me feel ridiculously gooey inside. But I sensed that telling him so wouldn't be a good idea. "Whatever," I said with an exaggerated sigh, taking his outstretched hand and allowing him to steady me as I dropped to the same level. "So long as I can call you Puke."

"Ooh, that's so lame. Never heard that one before."

"Puke Tosser. Now that really suits you."

He gave a snort, stepping downwards again before gazing back at me with a smile. "I'll leave you up there. Don't think I won't." But already he was reaching out to me, his hands sliding beneath my arms to swing me down. And slowly, rock by rock, we edged lower and lower until at last we reached the damp sand, blissfully soft beneath my aching bare feet.

"Piece of cake," Luke said softly, seeming to sense how wobbly I was feeling and slinging an arm around my waist. "Told you we'd be okay."

"Thank you," I murmured, more grateful than I dared to admit for his support. To be honest, the last thing I wanted to do was go to the hospital. I just wanted to go to bed.

"Look," I said as he began to steer me up the beach, noticing he was exactly the same height as I was. "I don't need to get stitches right now, surely? It could wait until the morning. And then you could go and party."

"Nope. For a start, ideally that wound needs stitching within four hours. But it doesn't just need stitching, it needs cleaning thoroughly or it's going to get infected."

"But—"

"Don't try to argue with me. We're going tonight."

And there it was again, that quiet but firm tone, that note of authority. I couldn't quite work it out. It wasn't that he was determined to get his own way, far from it. After living with Daniel for so long, I was sure I would've recognised that. No, this was something else. An absolute certainty he was right. An inner, unshakable confidence it was the right thing to do. A kind of arrogance that both thrilled and unnerved me in equal measure.

My relief on arriving back at the hotel was immense, though I could feel the curious eyes of the guests sitting out on the terrace as Luke swept me up the steps and was grateful his sweatshirt covered me to mid-thigh. But then, I guessed, it was rather late in the day to be wandering about barefoot and bare-legged.

"Meet me back here in the foyer in ten minutes?" he said, giving me my soggy beach bag after I'd reclaimed my key card from the reception desk. "I'll just get changed and make my excuses to the guys—"

"Luke, wait," I interrupted guiltily. "I'll get a taxi. I promise I'll go to the hospital tonight. You don't have to—"

He silenced me with a brief but surprisingly passionate kiss. "Ten minutes," he repeated with a grin. "Go and put some clothes on."

I trudged upstairs to my room, my mouth tingling. God, that man knew how to kiss, I thought, my fingers still shaking slightly as I battled with the key card. But the smile died on my lips when I finally made it inside, catching sight of my reflection in the full length mirror on the back of the en suite bathroom door.

Oh dear God. No wonder the other guests had stared. My normally shoulder length hair was now part matted to my scalp, part stuck up in the air, my cheeks oddly blotchy, my reddened eyes seeming almost too big for my face. It seemed staggering Luke had found me attractive enough to kiss, let alone attractive enough to have sex with.

Wincing, I peeled off the pale blue sweatshirt and the bikini beneath it, longing to have a shower but aware that one, there wasn't time and that two, getting my bandage wet wouldn't be a good idea. Instead, I seized my hairbrush from the dressing table and, with sand flying everywhere, brushed my hair out as best I could. Having managed to sweep it back into a loose ponytail, I put on some underwear, a pair of jeans and a pale pink T-shirt, sheer feminine pride causing me to return to the mirror to slick on some lipstick.

Better, but far from alluring, I decided with a sigh, slinging a cardigan across my shoulders, my arm too sore now for me to even contemplate feeding it through the sleeve. And glancing at my alarm clock—God, how could that have taken so long?—I grabbed my handbag, snatched up the key card from where I'd thrown it on the bed and headed back out towards the stairs.

As I took the first few steps, I could hear the noise from the bar, the unmistakeable sound of male laughter carrying above the general chatter. By the time I was halfway down I could see into the room, smiling as I spotted Luke standing beside one of the tables, recognising the guys sitting around it.

"No way!" one of them shouted as I paused to look. I couldn't quite see which one, though I was fairly sure it was Tim. "You have to be fucking kidding!"

I grinned. Just how much had he had to drink?

There was loud groaning followed by more laughter. But then to my surprise, I watched as each one got up to slap Luke on the back. "Nice one!" someone called, just as I started to feel a slight tickle of unease. "I didn't know you still had it in you."

"Well, he doesn't anymore!" another bellowed back with a guffaw, clearly delighted by his own wit. And still not quite able to comprehend what I was hearing—what I was seeing—I stared as they began to pile what appeared to be ten pound notes straight into Luke's hand.

"Hey, come on guys. I've got to go," I heard him groan, watching as he slapped the wad of cash back on the table. "You know I don't need all this. Have it back. Buy drinks with it. 'Cause I'm just not sure how long we're going to be—"

To my astonishment, there was another chorus of knowing jeers, another burst of laughter. But then at last, Luke turned around and I saw the smile on his face.

Oh God, the triumphant smile on his face.

My heart sank, a long, slow wave of nausea washing over me, obliterating my hope, driving away the last of my euphoria. Of course he'd gone back to the beach to look for me. Of course he'd needed to find out whether I was all right. It all made perfect sense. The only thing that didn't make sense was why on earth I hadn't figured it out before. Just how stupid could one girl be in a lifetime?

No wonder he was smiling. Of course he was smiling.

He'd just won a bet.

Chapter 3

Even though my legs no longer felt as though they belonged to the rest of my body, they somehow carried me down the rest of the stairs and over to the front desk.

"Hello," the receptionist said, giving me a friendly smile. "Can I help?"

"Er." For a few seconds, I couldn't gather my thoughts enough to figure out why I was there. "Yes," I managed at last. "I need a taxi."

"Okay. That's no problem. I'll just—"

"What?" I heard Luke's puzzled voice behind me. "Forget that. She doesn't need a taxi." He caught my left hand, tugging me around to face him. "What are you doing? I told you I'd take you to the hospital."

"What am I doing?" I echoed weakly. "What were you doing?"

"Getting changed." He waved down at his denim shirt and jeans. "I'm sorry. I know it took a bit longer than—"

I shook my head in disbelief. "No, not that. I meant in the bar just now. What was that?"

"Shit." At least he had the grace to look sheepish. "Look, I can explain."

"You know what? I don't care. I don't want to know." I pulled away, turning back to the receptionist. "Listen, I really would like you to order me that taxi if you wouldn't mind?"

"Rebecca, stop it."

Now he was calling me Rebecca? "Leave me alone!"

The receptionist looked alarmed. "Is this man bothering you? Because I can call security."

"That won't be necessary," Luke interrupted, tucking an arm around me, that compelling note of authority back in his tone. "She's got an injury that needs urgent medical attention and it's already been agreed that I'll take her to the hospital." And before I could protest, before the receptionist could say another word he was marching me across the foyer towards the main entrance.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" I muttered, furious at his high-handedness. "Do you really think I want you to take me—?"

"Go ahead and scream," he interjected calmly, guiding me down the steps. "Let everyone know I'm kidnapping you, why don't you?" When I didn't reply, he sent me a sidelong glance, his smile rather grim. "I don't hear anything."

"I was a bet?"

He heaved a sigh. "Not exactly."

"Then what?"

He made a growling sound under his breath. "Not here," he said, meeting head-on the prying stares of the only couple remaining on the terrace, a part of me impressed at his ability to make them act as though they hadn't been watching us. "We'll talk about it in the car."

Letting go of me when we reached the bottom of the steps, he pushed me ahead of him along the narrow, hedge-bound path to the side of the hotel. It occurred to me if I was going to run, this was the time to do it. Instead, I meekly waited for him to catch up then followed him across the car park.

The setting sun was casting long shadows across the tarmac, the dazzling blaze of red and gold reflected in the windows of the numerous parked cars. So it wasn't until Luke led me to the furthest corner, pulling keys out of his pocket, that I saw he was clicking open the doors of a black Mercedes.

"This is yours?" I blurted out. I didn't know much about cars, but I knew enough to know this one was brand new and expensive. It didn't fit with Luke's casual image at all.

He shot me a withering glance then bent to open the passenger door. "No," he said dryly. "It's my father's."

Unsure whether he was serious, I edged inside, sinking into the brown leather seat, its contours cradling my aching body to perfection. If I hadn't been so on edge, so uptight, it would've been easy just to close my eyes and slide away into dreamland. But right now, sleep wasn't an option. It seemed much more important to stay angry with Luke.

"So if I wasn't a bet, what was I?" I demanded as he climbed in beside me even before he'd closed the door.

He regarded me in silence for a moment. "You weren't the bet," he said at last, starting the ignition. "I was."

"You were?" I frowned. "But you said they knew you'd come looking for me. So they bet that you'd have sex with me if you found me, right?"

"Look, it wasn't even a serious bet."

"Wasn't serious?" I exclaimed. "Luke, I saw the money they gave you. How much more serious could it get?"

"I swear that I didn't think for a moment it could happen, okay? It was more of a joke."

"I was a joke?" Somehow that seemed worse than being a bet.

"No, I'm the joke." He gave an exasperated sigh as we pulled up at the car park exit, squinting into the reddened sun as he checked the road for traffic. "I already told you it's been a long time since I was with a woman. Make that years."

"Why?"

He gave another sigh. "Long story. Not one I'm getting into right now."

"Oh come on," I sneered, my anger increasing. "You can tell me. Because they know, right? Your friends must know why—"

"Actually, they don't," he interrupted. "All they know is that I used to be a serial womaniser and now I'm a monk. Well." He shot me a glance. "I was a monk until about an hour or so ago, anyway. So if you think I had any intention of having sex with you when I found you, I can assure you, you're wrong. It was the last thing on my mind."

"Oh." I wasn't sure what to make of that either. If he was telling the truth, and right now that seemed a big if, should I take it as some kind of backhanded compliment we had been intimate? "So it was just a joke?" I muttered, sneaking another look at him. There was that stony look of determination again, his gaze wholly focussed on the narrow, twisting road ahead of us.

He grimaced. "As in, 'ten pounds says that if Luke finds that bird, he won't have the guts to shag her'."

"Nice." I swallowed hard. "Beautifully worded."

He groaned softly. "Becks, they weren't being serious. Put it this way, if we hadn't had sex, I wouldn't have expected to have paid them each ten pounds instead."

"So that makes it okay then?" I regarded him with disbelief. "You see, I don't think it does. You wouldn't have paid them, but you expected them to pay you?"

"No, I didn't expect them to pay me."

"Liar!" My voice had risen in pitch again and I knew I sounded hysterical. "You told them, Luke. Why else would you tell them?"

"I didn't tell them. Tim guessed. All I told him was that we'd waited up on the ledge for the tide to go back out, like we'd done when we were kids. He guessed the rest."

"You could've told him he was wrong!"

Taking advantage of the fact we'd reached a junction, Luke turned to face me. "Why would you want me to deny it?" His eyes narrowed. "Oh, I see. Second thoughts, Rebecca? Do you wish we hadn't done it now? But you were the one who wanted 'meaningless sex'."

Oh God. I'd said that, hadn't I? I'd used those very words. Heat rising into my face, I turned away as we pulled out on to the main road, staring straight ahead as though I was admiring the view before us, yet in reality seeing nothing at all.

Because it hadn't been meaningless. Not for me, anyway.

The shock of realisation caused a sharp ache right in the middle of my stomach. Was I going crazy? Insane? Because the thoughts I was having, the emotions I was experiencing made no sense at all. I was just on the rebound, I reasoned, sliding lower in my chair and closing my eyes. I was over-reacting, misinterpreting the intimacy we'd shared for something more significant. And no doubt a part of me wanted it to be significant, the part of me that was scared of being twenty-seven and single, the part of me that feared I might get left on the shelf. But this wasn't real.

Although, it hadn't just been the sex, had it?

Those soul-stealing kisses. The way he'd held me when I cried. The way he'd listened when I told him about Daniel, the look in his eyes as he'd helped me down from the rocks.

No, no, no, I chastised myself, the tension inside me coiling tighter and tighter, my injured arm throbbing now, every bone in my body aching from weariness. I was imagining all of it. Wanting there to be more, when in reality there was nothing. He'd felt guilty a game of football had driven me on to the other beach, he'd known it was possible to get caught by the tide. That was the only reason he'd come to get me. He'd said so himself. I'd offered him meaningless sex and he'd accepted. It wasn't any more complicated than that.

"Rebecca." Luke's voice penetrated my thoughts, his hand landing on my shoulder. "We're here."

I gazed at him in bewilderment, my eyes gritty and sore. "Wh-where?"

"At the hospital." He was frowning. "You fell asleep again, didn't you?"

I must've done. I'd got that horrible jet-lagged feeling, the one where nausea and fatigue battle for supremacy. "Sorry," I murmured, heaving myself upright and scrabbling for the door handle. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

"Just wait," he ordered, pushing me back again and opening his own door. "I'm coming round to get you."

I didn't argue. There seemed little point. I felt awful. And when he helped me out of the car I discovered my legs were very unsteady indeed.

"Oh dear God." He caught me around the waist as I swayed, shooting me another stern look. "Do I need to carry you?"

"No." The idea was mortifying. "I'm sure—I'm sure I'll be all right in a m-moment."

To my surprise, he tugged me into his arms, forcing me to rest against him. "Take some big, deep breaths," he ordered, his voice right beside my ear. "In… out… That's it. Good girl. And again."

I closed my eyes, continuing to breathe with him, each lungful of chilly air making me feel slightly less sick, slightly more alert, until I felt a fraud for remaining there in his embrace. But the truth was, I didn't want to be anywhere else.

"This is just a thought," he murmured, one hand now slowly circling my back beneath my cardigan, "but is there any chance you could be pregnant?"

"What? No!" Horrified, I tried to pull away but he wouldn't let me, pushing my head back down on his shoulder. "You—we used a condom."

"Not with my baby, you dope."

"Oh." Of course that hadn't been what he meant. "I don't think so. I'm on the pill. And we used condoms as well. Daniel was paranoid about getting me—" I shook my head, suddenly uncertain. "No. I couldn't be."

Could I? Was it possible? My sister Sarah was pregnant. Enormously so. The baby was due next month. Now I remembered that one of the first signs of her pregnancy had been just how tired she felt. And, oh God, I felt nauseous. I hadn't felt much like eating at all lately.

"It's okay, don't panic. It doesn't sound very likely. Like I said, it was just a thought." He released me, dropping his hand into mine. "Come on. Let's go."

"Doesn't sound very likely?" I repeated as he led me across the almost deserted car park towards the hospital building. I was still frantically trying to calculate when I'd last had a period. "So now you're an expert on pregnancy?"

He grimaced. "I wouldn't say that."

"Then what would you say?" Aggravated by his answer, I gave up trying to count the days. "Because it seems to me you know a lot about everything. You certainly know a lot about me. But I don't know anything about you."

"That's because you don't need to know."

"The hell I don't." I stopped abruptly, trying to pull my hand out of his. "Who are you, Luke Foster? What's the big secret?"

"Leave it, Becks. This isn't the time. That arm needs—"

"No." Even I couldn't understand why I needed to know, only that it suddenly seemed the most important thing in the world. "I don't get why you won't tell me. What is it? Are you married? Were you married? Do you have children?" I was watching his face for clues so when he winced slightly, I pounced. "Ah, so you do! How many? One? Two?"

"I said, leave it."

I ignored the iciness of his tone. "More than that? Who with?" And then I felt my eyes widen. "You had sex with all those women. Just how many did you get up the duff? Is that why you're an expert on pregnancy?"

"Rebecca, I swear, if you weren't—" He broke off with an exasperated sigh, tightening his grip on my hand and jerking me forward again towards the entrance of the Minor Injuries Unit.

"Weren't what?" I yelped, struggling to free myself. "Weren't hurt? Weren't a woman?"

"Yes to both of those," he shot back, practically dragging me now. "I don't deserve this," he added in a mutter. "I should've left you there on that beach and just called the coastguard."

"Then why didn't you? Oh yes, now I remember." I swung around to glare at him, finally managing to wrench my fingers free just as we drew up outside the automatic doors. "You'd have lost your bet."

His face remained impassive. "Inside. Now."

I gave my name to the rather dour-looking woman at the reception window and joined Luke in the waiting area. "You don't need to stay," I told him, picking up a battered magazine from the table in the corner and flicking through it so I had an excuse not to look at him. "Go back to the hotel, back to your friends. I'll be fine. I'll get—"

"Just shut up and sit down," he said, tugging me down beside him. "I'm not going anywhere."

"But I could be waiting here for hours."

"I don't think so." He gestured around at the mostly empty chairs. Apart from us, there was an elderly couple and a middle-aged man with a badly bruised eye. "This isn't your average Accident and Emergency department. Besides, they close at ten. I hardly think there's going to be a last-minute rush."

"What if I don't want you here?"

He gave a disbelieving snort of laughter. "Babe, you do want me here."

I stared at him, irritated. "Oh, really?"

He nodded. "It's obvious."

"How is it obvious?" I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "I said I didn't need you to come with me. I told you I'd get a taxi here."

"Ah, but there's a difference between 'want' and 'need'. Sure, you didn't need me to bring you here, but you sure as hell wanted me to."

"That's bollocks!" I spat back, my rage increasing. "I never wanted—"

"Hi there," a cheery voice interrupted, causing me to jolt in surprise. A pretty blonde nurse was standing in front of us, clipboard in hand. "Are you Rebecca? My name's Jane. I hear you've cut your arm and you think it may need stitches?"

"Y-yes," I managed at last, stumbling to my feet.

"Okay then. If you'd like to follow me." She cast a doubtful glance at Luke as he too began to rise and I realised she must've heard at least part of our conversation. "Did you want your other half to come along as well?"

Infuriated by Luke's sudden smile I shook my head. "He's not my other half."

"Oh, I'm sorry." She flushed bright pink. "I just assumed you two—"

"No," I interrupted, glaring at Luke. "We just had meaningless sex."

The smile vanished.

"Right," the nurse murmured, looking from me to Luke and then back at me again. "Well. If you'd like to—er—come this way."

I trailed after the nurse, my heart thumping loudly in my ears. Oh, I'd wanted to shock, I'd wanted to hurt him, but I hadn't anticipated that those words, innocent in my head, would sound so damning when spoken aloud. And to my horror, when I finally plucked up the courage to look back over my shoulder I saw he was gone.

"No," I whispered, swivelling around and glimpsing his back just as the main entrance doors slid closed behind him, swallowing him into the darkness beyond. "Oh God."

I didn't realise I'd spoken aloud until the nurse gave me an odd look, ushering me through a door into a treatment room.

"Slip that cardigan off and take a seat on the couch," she said briskly, moving across to the sink to wash her hands. "Do you want to make a start on removing that bandage?"

I fumbled at the tape with suddenly trembling fingers. He'd left me there. He'd done exactly what I'd asked him to do and I should've been relieved. Instead, I felt utterly bereft.

I hated hospitals. The antiseptic smell, the sight of the neatly labelled white cupboards, the boxes of gloves, the trays of medical supplies containing packets of gauze and syringes and vials of fluid. They'd brought me to a place just like this after the accident, to a room full of people who'd prodded and poked at me while I cried for my parents, not knowing I'd never see my father again.

"Oh yes, that needs stitches," the nurse pronounced, my arm finally bared to her gaze. "I just need to fill in some paperwork first."

I answered her questions on autopilot, watching as she filled in my answers on what appeared to me to be a needlessly long form. Then she went to summon the doctor, leaving me alone with my uncomfortable thoughts.

He'd been right, I thought, blinking back tears. I hadn't needed him, but I'd certainly wanted him there. Whether that was because he was the only person I knew in Cornwall or whether there was some deeper reason, I wasn't sure. Either way, when the doctor arrived, a young man who hardly appeared old enough to drive let alone be a qualified medic, I wanted Luke more than I'd ever wanted anyone.

It seemed to take an age for the baby-faced doctor to make his preparations. Still perching on the edge of the couch, I watched with mounting unease as he pushed a small metal trolley around the room, randomly opening cupboards as though he wasn't quite sure where the supplies were kept. And when he finally settled on the stool in front of me his nervous smile did nothing to increase my confidence.

"I'm afraid this'll sting a little bit," he said apologetically, picking up a syringe containing what I hoped was local anaesthetic. My arm was now so sore I was just about ready to gnaw the whole thing off. I gave a reluctant nod, wishing the thought of getting away from everything for a few days had never crossed my mind and squeezing my eyes tightly shut as I felt the needle pierce my skin.

"It wasn't meaningless, okay?"

My eyes flew open at the sound of the deeply irritated voice, the gasp that left my throat at the sight of Luke standing in the doorway turning to a shocked whimper as the liquid anaesthesia began to burn into my flesh. Oh God. Sting a little bit?

He frowned, moving towards me. "Though I don't understand why it wasn't, because it damn well should've been," he went on, peering over the doctor's shoulder as he drew level. "And—oh dear God, what the fuck do you think you're doing?"

It was another moment before I realised he wasn't talking to me and when he reached in to snatch the syringe away, I yelped in disbelief.

"Hey! That's a sterile field!" the doctor exclaimed then stared helplessly at Luke as he positioned the syringe between finger and thumb and threw it like a dart at the opposite wall, the needle embedding itself into the woodwork. "You can't do that!"

"Really?" Luke snarled back, glowering at the younger man like a predatory tiger. I thought I'd seen him angry but now I realised I hadn't seen anything. "Believe me, my breaching of your sterile field is the least of your worries. This—" I squeaked again as he caught my hand and lifted my arm "—is an open wound. She's in enough pain already. Why on earth are you injecting local into intact skin? Who the hell taught you to do that? And what the fuck is this?" He lunged towards the dressing trolley laid up by the doctor and plucked up a loop of thread. "This is no good! Have you been to a suturing class in your life?"

"Luke!" I stared in dismay as he swept up the entire contents of the trolley, dumping everything on top of one of the cupboards before turning back to me. "What are you doing? You—oh!" I gasped again as he slung one arm around my shoulders and the other beneath my knees, swinging me up into the air. "Luke!"

"Did it never occur to you she should be lying down?" Ignoring my protests, he set me down full length on the couch and adjusted the backrest until I was semi-reclining. "You were seriously expecting her to sit there like that for the next half an hour while you were faffing around? Can't you see she's exhausted?"

"S-sir," the doctor stammered. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to wait outside."

Luke gave a choke of disbelieving laughter. "I don't think so. What's your name?"

"Luke, please." We were going to get thrown out, I was sure of it.

"I'm Dr Hancock. But—"

"House officer, right?" Luke demanded, his scowl deepening when the now rather frightened-looking doctor nodded. "Who's meant to be supervising you?"

"He—he's not available," he muttered.

Luke gave him a look of pure exasperation. "You mean he's knocked off early? Of course he has. It's Friday night. He's in the pub. So it's just you?" He blew out a sigh, fixing the hapless Dr Hancock with a long appraising stare. "Right," he said at last, seeming to reach a decision. "Then I guess you'd better get me some sterile gloves, size seven. Two pairs please. I'll double glove. Then I'll need some one percent lignocaine with adrenalin, another suture pack and some four-o nylon, if you've got it. Three-o at a pinch. None of that rubbish." He gestured towards the mess on top of the cupboard.

"Sir." Dr Hancock appeared as nonplussed as I felt. "I can't just let you—"

"Oh, I think you'll find you can." Luke was already fishing his wallet out of his jeans. "Here," he said, extracting a business card and brandishing it in front of the younger man's nose. "Okay?"

It seemed it was, for without another word the doctor jumped off the stool and began searching the cupboards.

"Luke." Finding my voice at last, I watched in astonishment as he strode over to the sink and began to roll up his sleeves. "Oh God. What are you doing?"

He glanced back over his shoulder at me, shooting me a wry smile. "Washing my hands."

"I can see that." I tried for sarcasm but that note of hysteria was back in my voice again. "Y-you're going to do my stitches?"

"Well, I don't have to. If you prefer, I can drive you over to Truro but I'm guessing it'll be pretty busy over there."

"You're a doctor?"

He gave the trigger of the soap dispenser two sharp tugs and began to build up a lather using rapid, rhythmical movements. "It's a title I'm entitled to use. But I don't tend to these days. Not unless I'm trying to get upgraded to business class when I'm travelling by air. For some reason it works like a charm."

My exhausted brain couldn't process this new information. "You're a doctor but you don't call yourself doctor?" I found myself mesmerised by the way he was sliding his hands together, methodically working at each finger now. "But I don't understand. You're scrubbing up like you're planning on performing major surgery…" And as he shot me another pitying look over his shoulder, the penny dropped. "Oh no. God."

Luke grinned, rinsing his hands. "Most of my patients just call me Mr Foster," he teased, turning off the taps with his elbows and pulling down some paper towels. "And you can carry on calling me Tosser if you like."

I watched open-mouthed as he donned the gloves the doctor had opened on to the newly re-laid trolley, my heart starting to pound noisily.

The stocky guy in red board shorts who'd rescued me from the rising tide, the same bloke who'd held me in his arms while I cried, kissed me more passionately than I'd ever been kissed and then buried himself deep inside me again and again until I'd wailed with pleasure was a surgeon. This was becoming too surreal for words.

"Luke," I faltered, watching nervously as he seated himself at my side and began to draw up another syringe-full of local anaesthetic. I still couldn't quite get my head around the idea he was going to do this. It seemed much too intimate somehow. Yet we'd had sex. How more intimate could it get?

"It's okay babe. I promise I know what I'm doing."

"It's not that."

He nodded, his eyes softening as they met mine. "I know." And rising slightly, he leaned over to kiss me. "This feels pretty weird for me too. But I'm not prepared to watch someone butcher your arm when I know I can do a much better job of patching you up."

"Cocky sod," I muttered.

He smiled, unperturbed. "Though I'm not going to lie to you. There's no quick and painless way of doing this first bit. The stuff in here's acidic," he gestured towards the syringe, "and the faster you squirt it in, the more it hurts. So I'm going to go nice and slow—"

"Wonderful." I experienced a strong desire to bolt.

"—and I want you to start counting to ten. Out loud. By the time you get there, I'll be done."

"Ten?" I regarded him with horror. "As in seconds?"

He grinned, nodding. "But in about two minutes from now, all that nasty pain will have gone away."

Oh. That sounded better. "You promise?"

"I promise," he agreed solemnly.

I gave a shaky sigh. It didn't seem as though I had much choice. "Okay," I whispered at last. "Just do it." And bracing myself for the sharp scratch, I closed my eyes.

***

"Becks. Becks."

Though I could hear the voice, I ignored it, sliding back beneath the surface, invisible arms dragging me back into slumber. It seemed much too much effort to answer. I was warm, I was comfortable and my arm didn't hurt anymore.

"Hey!" Luke's soft chuckle hurtled me towards consciousness. "I could develop a complex, you know. Every time you're with me you nod off."

"Oh." Forcing my eyes open, I strained to see in the darkness. To my astonishment, I realised the car had stopped and we were back in the hotel car park. I must have fallen asleep the moment we'd left the hospital. "I'm so sorry."

"It's okay." He reached across to stroke a stray curl away from my face, his touch sending a delicious quiver down my spine. "But I think I should get you to bed."

"Really?" I murmured, raising my eyebrows suggestively then rather spoiling the effect by yawning hugely.

He gave another chuckle. "Somehow, I don't think you're up to more meaningless sex tonight, babe."

"Hey, you said it wasn't meaningless." At least, I thought he had. Oh God, had I dreamt that?

To my relief he smiled, cupping my cheek in his hand. "I did," he agreed. "But you didn't."

I gave a startled giggle. "Well, you didn't exactly give me a chance, did you? Barging into that room like that, like a bull in a china shop."

Though he'd been far from bullish afterwards. He'd been amazing. I'd watched in awe as he set about repairing my tattered arm, cleansing the wound with meticulous care before manipulating the jagged edges back together again. Then wielding surgical instruments with astonishing ease, he'd started placing sutures, his rapid movements soon becoming a blur. The end result was twelve beautifully neat stitches. I was beginning to get the impression Luke Foster was something of a perfectionist.

"So?"

"Oh." I met his intense gaze, suddenly appreciating how anxious he was to hear my reply. "I don't think I've ever had more meaningful meaningless sex."

He grinned. "Me neither." And then he was moving towards me again, folding me into his arms, his talented mouth landing on mine.

"You've got to get back to the stag-do," I groaned when he finally let me up for air. "If I were Tim, I'd never speak to you again."

"If you were Tim, I wouldn't be snogging you," he retorted, making me snigger. "Don't worry. He's used to me being late for everything. I get held up in theatre all the time. Just one of the many joys of my job. Anyway, we're here until Sunday. I've got time to make it up to him."

"You're here until Sunday?" My stomach gave a jolt. "Me too."

He smiled, reaching for the door handle. "Then I guess I've got time to make it up to you as well."

Oh yeah. The thought of Luke and me together in that huge double bed in my hotel room gave me goose bumps.

"It's probably just as well you've got to go," I sighed, reaching up to touch my lank ponytail as we climbed the hotel steps, Luke's arm once again firmly around my waist. "I can't wait to get in the shower and wash the sea-water out of my hair. And all the sand—yuck."

"You can't have a shower. Not tonight."

"What?"

He sighed. "I knew you weren't listening. Babe, I told you back at the hospital. You can't get those stitches wet for twenty-four hours."

"Oh." I stared at him in dismay. Now that he mentioned it, I could remember him saying the words. But I hadn't equated not getting my stitches wet with not being able to have a shower. How stupid was I? "Wh-what about a bath? I could hold my arm out of the way." Though I was none too sure how I'd manage to wash my hair one-handed.

Lifting his eyes heavenwards, he pushed me up the last of the steps and into the hotel.

The noise from the bar seemed even louder now. I peered through the door as I waited for the receptionist to find my key-card, astonished to see how many punters were packed in there.

"It's always like this on Friday and Saturday nights," Luke said, following my gaze. "The locals come because this is the nearest thing to a decent pub in the village. Plus all the weekend surfers are here too."

I turned to face him, catching what I thought was a rather wistful look in his eyes. "Luke, why don't you go?" I suggested. "You've got me back safe and sound. Go and join the others. I'll be fine now. I'm pretty sure I can make it to my room without you. You've been wonderful but—unh!" He silenced me with another of those toe-curlingly fantastic kisses, reaching around me to take the key card from the smiling receptionist.

"I'll leave you only when I'm damned sure you can stay out of trouble for the rest of the night," he murmured before shooting a dazzling grin at the receptionist who promptly blushed and turned away. "Come on," he said, dropping his hand into mine and leading me up the stairs.

To my annoyance, Luke managed to open the door to my room with the key card on the first attempt. "Not fair," I protested as he laughed at my piqued expression. "I think that thing hates me."

"It's an inanimate object," he said, still looking amused. "It can't possibly hate you. You've just haven't been doing it right."

"Story of my life," I sighed, ducking beneath his arm to enter, wishing I'd taken the time to tidy up before I left. My scarlet bikini was in two misshapen balls on the bed and Luke's sweatshirt was hanging limply from the footboard. "Here," I said, snatching it up and turning around to give it to him. "Thank you for letting me—" But Luke had disappeared.

For a few devastating seconds, I thought he'd gone without saying goodbye. Then I heard the taps running in the bathroom.

"What are you doing?" I exclaimed, watching from the doorway as he leaned over the bath, adding the contents from one of the complimentary bottles on the vanity unit to the rapidly rising water.

He straightened up, grinning. "Running you a bath, what does it look like?"

"But—" I was momentarily lost for words. "You said I couldn't get my stitches wet."

"And you won't, not if I have anything to do with it. Come on, get your kit off."

"Wh-what?" He wanted me to strip in front of him? Surely he couldn't be serious?

His grin widened. "Don't tell me you've gone all shy. Becks, we've already had sex."

"Yes, I know, but—" I hadn't been naked. I'd worn his sweatshirt the whole time.

He rolled his eyes. "Babe, I saw you in your bikini. That didn't exactly leave much to the imagination. Besides, do you have any idea just how many breasts I've seen?"

"Not counting all the ones belonging to your female patients, you mean?" I quipped, gazing at the foaming water with longing but feeling inexplicably nervous.

I heard him groan. "Ha ha, very good. Come on, Becks." He moved towards me, pulling me into his arms. "Let me wash your hair. You know you want me to."

I did. I buried my face into his shoulder, moaning softly. "Maybe if I put my bikini back on?"

"Becks." I heard his soft chuckle then felt warm hands sliding beneath my T-shirt. "By all means stop me if you really want to but—" there was a slight tug and I realised he'd unhooked my bra "—I think you and I both know I'm going to see you naked sooner or later. It might as well be sooner."

"Luke," I mumbled, shivering slightly as his fingers caressed my bare skin. "Shouldn't you go and join the others?"

"Will you just shut up about them?" He nuzzled the side of my neck and I gave a whimper of pleasure, tipping my head to afford him better access. "It's ten o'clock and the bar stays open until two. There's plenty of time."

"I know, but—"

"Ssh." And then his mouth was on mine again. Kissing me deeply. Thoroughly. Until I couldn't think of any reason at all to keep my clothes on. Which was probably just as well, because by the time I came back to my senses both my cardigan and T-shirt were missing and my jeans and knickers were around my ankles.

He chuckled, sweeping the loosened bra from my body before crouching down to pull off my shoes. "You're beautiful, Becks," he said gently, looking up at me as he helped me step out of the puddle of clothing. "I don't know why you didn't want me to see you."

The heat of his frank appreciation made me feel oddly light-headed. "Daniel—Daniel used to say that my breasts looked like—"

"Ah. Stop right there, I get it." He held up his hand, straightening up. "I think we've just established that your ex-fiancé is an even bigger tosser than I am." Resting his hands on my shoulders, he allowed his gaze to sweep down between us for a much longer look. "Nope. Nothing at all wrong with those puppies. Take it from me, babe. You're gorgeous."

I gave a soft snort. "No wonder you've had so many women, Luke Foster."

He smiled, brushing his lips over mine once again. "I guess I deserved that." And releasing me to turn off the taps, he then delved into the pockets of his jeans, producing a large clear plastic bag and a roll of surgical tape.

"Don't tell me," I said wryly as he slid the bag over my right hand and smoothed it up over the bandage. "You always carry these things around with you, just in case?"

"Must've fallen in there while we were at the hospital," he said with a grin, wrapping tape around the open end at my elbow. "Funny how that happens sometimes."

I shot him an incredulous glance. "You were planning this all along?"

"I've known a lot of women, remember? I had a pretty good idea you'd want me to do this." He motioned towards the tub. "In you get."

The water was wonderfully warm. I sighed with gratitude as I eased myself down, Luke taking my injured arm and resting it along the side of the bath. But when he started unsnapping the buttons of his denim shirt, I stared at him in surprise. "You're getting in with me?"

He gave a deep chuckle. "I'd love to, but I won't. There's no way I'd ever get round to washing your hair if I did. I'm just taking this off so I don't get soaked."

I twisted round to look at him as he knelt down on the tiled floor behind me, wedging himself into the small space between the end of the bath and the wall. "That doesn't look comfortable."

"Yeah well." He removed the hair band securing my ponytail then leaned across to pick up the vase of artificial flowers on the vanity unit, tipping them out on to the floor. "It's been one of those days," he muttered, sinking the vase into the water.

I gave another snort, recalling the precarious nature of our coupling on the rocks before groaning with bliss as warm water flowed over my head.

"Close your eyes." There was a pause in which I heard the opening click of my shampoo bottle then I felt his hands in my hair. And starting at my temples, he began to build up a lather, massaging my scalp with the pads of his fingers as he went, using slow, rhythmical, circular movements. Dear God, it felt like heaven.

He laughed as I whimpered helplessly, his strong fingers working steadily downwards towards the nape of my neck, still kneading in those tight, firm circles. I'd been completely unprepared for how good this would feel. The whole of my head had become an erogenous zone. "Luke," I gulped, a tingling wave of arousal flooding over me. I could feel my nipples hardening, a familiar, pleasurable ache building low in my tummy.

Until suddenly his hands were gone. "Hey!" I gave a howl of disappointment. "You can't just—umph!" I spluttered as the water he was already pouring over my head ran over my face.

"Ssh," he said, laughing softly as he lowered the vase for more water. "Keep your mouth closed."

"You b-bastard!"

"Ooh," he muttered, still chuckling. "I think someone nearly came back there. Don't worry, I'm not done."

"What?"

He behaved as though he hadn't heard, rinsing my hair twice more, then reaching for my sponge, plunging it into the now soapy water. As he swept it up over my body, I groaned, loving the rasp of the sponge over my skin. Pushing me forward, he washed my back, again moving in slow, lazy circles, applying just the right of pressure, the remains of the tension in my body melting away. And by the time he pulled me back against him, I was in such a state of deep relaxation I could've fallen asleep, right there in the bath. But Luke had other ideas.

Dipping the sponge into the water again, he drew it up to my shoulders, washing around and beneath each one, moving lower with a frustrating lack of haste. So when he finally, wonderfully, encircled my left breast, I gave a sob of pleasure, that tingling sensation returning full force, a surge of heat spreading southwards across my belly, arrowing straight towards my groin. I watched as both nipples became rosy peaks, the visual only serving to heighten my need. Oh God, I needed to come.

"Hmm," he said in my ear, now languidly caressing my right breast. "Just how close are you?"

I couldn't speak, that was how close. And when he finally slid his hand down my tummy, abandoning the sponge to delve between my thighs, I came the instant his fingers made contact.

"Luke!" I screamed as I bucked violently against his hand, the bathwater sloshing up around me, mimicking the intense waves of pleasure rippling through my womb. "Oh God…"

"There," he murmured, holding me through the aftershocks, planting kisses against my neck. "Just a little something to help you sleep."

He helped me out of the bath, wrapping one towel around my hair and another round my body before pulling me close. "I've got to go," he said regretfully, rubbing my back. "If I don't go now, I'll never go," he gave a soft chuckle as I sent him a hopeful look, "and you need to get some rest."

True enough. But it would've been wonderful to drift off to sleep in his embrace, I thought, watching as he finished fastening the last of his shirt buttons.

"I'll see you in the morning, okay?"

I nodded, staggering after him to the door. "Luke," I faltered as he stepped out into the hall, not quite knowing what to say. "Th-thank you. For everything. I don't know what I would've done if—"

But before I could finish, he swept me into his arms, capturing my lips for another tender kiss. "I'll see you in the morning," he repeated, releasing me with a smile. And as he walked away, he looked back over his shoulder, sending me one last longing glance.

Chapter 4

Thunder.

Waiting for a flash, for another confirmatory rumble, I lay perfectly still, holding my breath, my eyes wide open. I'd hated storms since I was a kid. Though my terror had abated over the years, the wisdom of maturity kicking in, I could never quite forget the trauma of being told at five years old that a friend of my father's had been struck by lightning whilst playing golf. He'd died instantly. Ever since, I'd had an irrational fear lightning could get me anywhere. And even though I could reason I was quite safe here in bed in my hotel room, I knew there was no chance I'd go back to sleep until the storm had passed.

But when I heard the next boom, I realised it wasn't thunder at all.

"What the hell…?" I muttered, sitting bolt upright and staring through the darkness towards the ceiling as though I expected I'd be able to see into the room above. And as the sound of the next crash reverberated through the floor, I scrabbled for the switch that turned on the bedside light, a quick glance at my alarm clock confirming the worst. Two thirty-six. Perfect.

"You bastards," I wailed, collapsing back on my pillows and groaning at the continuing bumps and thuds overhead.

The last thing I could remember was crawling into bed twenty minutes after Luke had left, having half-heartedly dried my hair with the hotel's ineffectual hairdryer. His 'little something' had certainly helped. God, I didn't think I'd ever felt so wiped out after an orgasm. I'd been asleep for maybe three and a half hours, the most sleep I'd had in almost a week and now, thanks to some mind-bogglingly thoughtless hotel guests, I was awake again. Wide awake.

Needing to use the bathroom, I hauled myself out of bed, still muttering rude words. And as I caught sight of myself in the mirror above the sink, I sighed heavily. Though my face appeared less sallow than it had earlier and the dark circles beneath my eyes had faded, my hair was a mess of unruly curls. Not so much pre-Raphaelite as pre-invention of the hairbrush, I thought grimly, raking my fingers through the worst of the tangles, realising as I did so just how sore my arm was again. The local anaesthetic had definitely worn off.

I downed a couple of painkillers with a mug full of water then stumbled back into the bedroom. There were still curious shuffling noises coming from the room above mine, interspersed with muffled speech and raucous male laughter. Sighing, I reached for the television remote, even though I knew it was highly unlikely there'd be anything worth watching at this hour. There hadn't been for the last six nights.

And tonight proved to be no exception. I flicked through the meagre selection of channels, finding an old war film in black and white, a documentary about North Sea Oil, an ancient sit-com and a Jerry Springer-type show. Apparently the young heavily tattooed man on screen had had nine children by nine different women. I found it hard to care.

How on earth did long-term insomniacs cope? Praying fervently I wasn't about to become one, I clicked the television off again and lay down, just in time to hear a flurry of noise above me then the unmistakeable sound of a door banging shut.

Silence.

I smiled up at the ceiling, absurdly grateful. "Thank you," I breathed. But just as I was reaching for the light switch I heard the sound of running water followed by the familiar clanking of over-used hotel plumbing. Fantastic. Now my decidedly inconsiderate neighbour was taking a shower.

Groaning, I pulled a pillow over my head, inhaling the clean but slightly musty smell of the hotel-laundered pillowcase. So much for the restorative powers of a good night's sleep. If anything, I was going to look even more haggard by daybreak than I had when Luke had left me and for reasons I wasn't quite ready to analyse, I found that thought disconcerting.

Tea. If Mum was with me now, that's what she'd be suggesting. "Everything seems better after a cuppa," she'd say, no matter what the calamity. The first thing she'd done after I'd told her about Daniel cheating on me was put on the kettle. For all the good that did. And with another heavy sigh, I rolled out of bed.

I'd have to call her in the morning, I thought, remembering my drowned mobile phone as I sipped at my tea a few minutes later, watching my reflection in the dressing table mirror. As it was, she was probably concerned I hadn't phoned. I'd made a point of calling her every evening since I'd arrived, filling the conversation with breezy anecdotes about mornings spent sightseeing and lazy afternoons on the beach. Okay, so a lot of what I'd told her wasn't true, but I didn't want her to worry. I figured she didn't need to hear I'd spent much of my time walking about like a zombie, my face perpetually blotchy from crying. Though today had been rather better.

I found myself smiling as I thought of Luke, a ripple of awareness zinging through my body as I remembered what we'd done—what he'd done to me. Dear God. I doubted I'd ever be able to stand on a beach again without thinking about him.

But on hearing the distinctive squeal of the fire safety door at the end of the corridor outside my room, I straightened up with a jerk, half the contents of my mug slopping down my front. "For heaven's sake," I muttered, giving the wet patch a futile brush as the warm tea cooled against my chest, growing increasingly irritated as I listened to the approaching footsteps, the floorboards creaking slightly. "Go to bed! It's three in the morning!"

The knock at my door was soft. So soft, in fact, I knew if I'd been deep in slumber, I wouldn't have heard it. Startled, I slithered off the bed, my heart leaping in my chest as I realised there was only one person it could be.

"Hey." Luke shot me an unexpectedly stern look as I opened the door. "Why aren't you asleep?"

Recovering from the shock of seeing him clad in one of the hotel's complimentary white fluffy dressing gowns, I felt my welcoming smile droop to a scowl. "I was!"

"You're such a liar." He nodded his head towards the mug still in my hand. "I hope to God that isn't coffee."

"What? No, it's tea." I bit my lip, irritated at being caught out. "Not that it's any of your business."

"Tea?" He narrowed his eyes, pulling me with him into the room and letting the spring-loaded door close behind us. "Babe, there's caffeine in tea as well, you know. No wonder you're not sleeping. And just for the record, you made it my business when you let me suture your arm. Cute nightshirt, by the way."

"I let you?" I repeated weakly, feeling the colour race to my face as I glanced down at the tea-drenched image of a teddy bear on the front of my oversized T-shirt, wondering even as I did so whether he was wearing anything under his gown. "As I recall, I didn't have much choice. What are you saying? I'm your patient now? And when, exactly, did I say you could come in?"

Ignoring my questions he seized me by the shoulders and studied my face. "You've had some sleep though, right?" he demanded. "Because you look a damn sight better than you did."

"Gee, thanks," I muttered, doing my best not to flinch beneath his critical appraisal. "If it wasn't for the idiots upstairs I'd still be asleep. I don't know what the hell they were doing. It sounded like—" My breath caught in my throat as he lifted a hand to my cheek, pushing his fingers into my wayward curls and tucking them back behind my ear. "It s-sounded like they were moving beds around or something. And then one of them—" I stopped again as Luke removed the mug from my hand, setting it down on the dressing table behind us. "One of the bas-bastards took a show-er…"

His kiss was as sweet as it was sudden, his mouth moving over mine with just the right amount of pressure, his tongue gently parting then exploring the inside of my lips. And as he deepened the kiss I gave a helpless groan, looping my arms around him and burying my fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck.

"I'm sorry we woke you up," he murmured into my mouth before raising his head just enough to smile at me. "I'm not a bastard though. Just a tosser."

"What?" I muttered, still dazed from the kiss. Then I felt the moisture beneath my fingertips. His hair was damp.

"I guess Tim and I must be in the room right above this one."

I pulled back to fix him with an accusing stare. "It was you? You had a shower?"

He gave me a rueful nod, warmth flooding through my body as those amazing blue eyes settled on my face. "I had to. You see, Tim got pretty wasted. Craig and Matt helped me lug him up the stairs. We got him on to his bed but somehow he rolled off. So Craig, in his infinite wisdom, being pretty wasted himself, decided it'd be a good idea to slide his bed next to the wall, then shift my bed next to his, so there was less chance he'd roll off again."

That explained all the noise. "Oh." God, it was tough to stay cross with him while he was looking at me that way. "Is—is Tim okay?"

Luke nodded again. "He is now," he said with a grimace. "Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful he made it all the way to the bathroom before he threw up."

"Ah." I winced in sympathy.

"And most of it went in the bath. Which was quite considerate of him really."

"Very considerate."

"Though he got me good with the last little bit. All over my favourite shirt."

"Ah," I said again, biting my lip once more, this time to keep myself from laughing.

"It's not funny." But Luke was smiling now. "So after I cleaned up the mess, single-handedly I might add, since both Matt and Craig buggered off at that point, I thought I'd better have a shower before I came to check on you."

"Right." He'd only come to check on me? Something inside me seemed to die a little. "Well, there's no need to worry. I'm okay. I'm getting used to not sleeping now anyway. I'll be fine. So I guess you'd better get back to Tim."

He rolled his eyes. "Tim is fine, believe me. Right now, he's lying diagonally across both of our beds, snoring his head off. I'm fairly certain there's nothing left in his stomach to spew. I left a couple of bottles of water close by for when he wakes up with a raging thirst, but other than that, there's nothing I can do except let him sleep it off. He'll be asleep until lunchtime." His gaze softened. "Whereas I'm guessing that arm of yours is getting sore again now."

I hesitated, not wanting to appear feeble. "It's not that bad."

"Yeah, right." Clearly not at all fooled, Luke released me to reach into the pocket of his dressing gown. "I was wondering whether I'd need to do something about that."

Remembering the other items he'd procured from the hospital earlier, I took a wary step backwards. "I'm fine," I gulped, watching as he withdrew his hand, half-afraid he was about to produce another syringe. "I took painkillers a few minutes ago."

"Good, they'll make you feel a whole lot better. But I still think you could use something else. Hold out your hand."

I stared at him in alarm. "What?"

He caught my left hand then tipped several small packets into my palm. "Did you know," he began gravely as I blushed again, realising exactly what was enclosed within the multicoloured foil-wrapped squares, "that natural endorphins have a similar chemical structure to morphine?"

"Re-really?" I stammered, staring down at the assorted flavoured condoms, my mouth going dry.

"And that lots and lots of those lovely pain-relieving endorphins are produced during sex, especially during orgasm?"

"Is—is that so?" My body was already responding to his words, moisture pooling between my thighs.

He cupped my cheek in his hand, lifting my head until I had no choice but to meet his gaze. "So I was thinking I should make love to you." He smiled. "For purely medicinal reasons, of course."

Make love?

"Luke…" I stared back at him, my womb contracting almost painfully at the very idea. "Not that that doesn't sound good. Really, really good," I squeaked at last, flustered. "But I should probably just get some sleep. Like Tim."

His smile broadened to a grin. "Babe, when I'm done, I promise you'll sleep."

Somehow, I didn't doubt that for a second. "You really want more meaningless sex?" I tried to quip, wishing my voice was steadier.

He chuckled, shaking his head. "I think we proved earlier that you and I can't have meaningless sex," he said, gripping my shoulders again and beginning to steer me backwards towards the bed. "Besides, it wouldn't work half so well. You need some slow, gentle loving right now, not wham bam, thank you ma'am."

Slow, gentle loving? Oh dear God.

"Luke, wait," I faltered as the back of my knees collided with the mattress. "I—I don't think I can do this. I should have got married last Saturday, for heaven's sake. Don't get me wrong, you're—you're a great guy. But I don't think I'm ready to get involved with anyone new yet. I need some—time to—oh!"

He silenced me by pressing his mouth over mine, driving all thoughts of protest out of my mind as he toppled me backwards on to the bed, trapping me beneath him as he followed me down. "Who said anything about getting involved?" he said, lifting his head at last. "You think I can't make love to you because we're not in a committed relationship? We can have sex but we can't make love?"

I stared up at him in a haze of blissed-out confusion. "No. I mean, yes."

Luke smiled, lifting a hand to stroke back my hair, the gentle caress making me shiver. "Babe, let's face it, after this weekend, I may never see you again. But I don't think it matters. We're two unattached consenting adults, after all. All I know, is that right here, right now, I want you. And I don't just want to fuck you. I want to show you how beautiful you are. I want to kiss you, I want to touch you and I want to make you come." His eyes suddenly seemed to darken. "Over and over again."

Oh boy. I swallowed hard, every drop of saliva deserting my mouth. "That's all, huh?"

"That's all," he agreed solemnly. "So?" He arched one eyebrow. "Apparently I used to be rather good at this, but it's been a while. Shall we see if I can remember what to do? Shall we find out exactly what makes Becks scream?" I shuddered with anticipation and Luke's grin returned. "I'll take that as a yes, shall I?"

He drew back, lifted me up the bed until my head hit the pillows then straddled my thighs, holding me captive between his knees while his hands began gliding down my sides, skimming my breasts, my waist, my hips.

"I've got much sexier nightdresses at home," I babbled, unaccountably nervous as he reached for the hem of my nightshirt. "I bought lots of lacy satin numbers for my honeymoon but I didn't think I'd need—"

"Ssh," Luke murmured, already beginning to ease the well-worn cotton fabric upwards. "Lift your arms."

I raised them obediently. "But then I didn't think for a moment that anything—anything like this would happen."

"Rebecca, in case you hadn't noticed, I really don't have a problem with what you're wearing. Or rather," he smiled, then peeled my nightshirt right up and over my head in one smooth movement, "what you're not wearing." He took a moment to gently extricate my bandaged arm then paused, his hungry eyes roaming over my body as he tossed my shirt to the floor. "Wow. You truly don't have any idea how beautiful you are, do you?"

The flush that rose to my face seemed to sweep across my whole body, warming me to the core. Warming me everywhere. Naked to his gaze for the second time that night I felt hopelessly aroused. "Wh-what about you? When, exactly, am I going to see you in the buff?" I gulped, finding it rather difficult to breathe.

He grinned, obligingly reaching for the tie of his dressing gown and freeing the knot. Then straightening up, he shrugged the towelling robe back off his shoulders, allowing it to fall in a heap across my feet. "That better?"

It certainly was. For a moment, I stared in speechless awe. I'd already seen him without a top of course, while he'd been playing football on the beach with his mates. But that had been from a distance. And though he'd taken his shirt off earlier when he'd washed my hair, I hadn't had a chance to really look at him.

Dear God, he was seriously ripped. No half measures. That was a full-blown six pack there, the chiselled muscle thrown into sharp definition by the dim hotel bedroom lighting. A broad chest with just a sprinkling of hair, beneath that a washboard-flat stomach then more springy dark hair arrowing down between those muscular thighs. "You work out, huh?" I managed feebly, unable to resist running my fingertips across the planes and contours of his tanned abdomen.

"Oh, hardly ever," he said lightly, watching the progress of my fingers with a smile. "The Foster men are known for their great physiques. Fabulous genes." He paused for effect then winked. "'Course, each and every one of us is a short arse, but I guess you can't have perfection in a single package."

I giggled. I couldn't help it, the sound bubbling up inside me unstoppable—a mixture of amusement, apprehension and downright lust. Luke was actually going to make love to me. I couldn't remember wanting anything quite so much in my life.

"Oh, you should do that more often," he said with a grin, dipping his head until his lips were mere millimetres from mine. "You're adorably sexy when you laugh like that." And then he kissed me.

Heaven had to be something like this, I thought, melting into a puddle of need as his talented mouth claimed mine, his tongue seeking access then mating with my own, dancing a slow, hugely erotic tango.

But then when he began tracing a path of kisses across my neck, slowly nibbling his way through the valley between my breasts, I thought I might just burst into flames instead.

"Please," I whimpered as he added his hands into the mix, touching me everywhere but where I longed to be touched. My shoulders. My waist. My belly. Though my nipples were already hardening to rosy pebbles despite his neglect.

Luke laughed softly. "Patience, babe," he breathed, continuing to tease me with his fingers. "Good things come to those who wait."

"Bastard," I wailed, flailing beneath him now, desperate for him to change course, to pay attention to my aching breasts.

"No, I don't think so," he said with a considering smile, pausing to gaze into my eyes. "I know who both my parents are, thank you very much, and they were most definitely married by the time I was born."

"Luke!"

He laughed again, briefly brushing his lips over mine before working steadily downwards once more. "What do you need me to do, Becks?" he murmured between feather-like caresses. "Where do you need me to kiss you?"

"You—you want me to tell you?" I gasped disbelievingly. "You don't know?"

I saw his grin even as he bent to kiss the place just above my belly button. "Oh I know, babe. But I still want you to tell me."

"No!" Surely he was joking?

"Tell me and I'll do it."

I stared at him in dismay, my traitorous body beginning to tremble, desperate for release. I'd never been vocal during sex. I'd always been afraid to express precisely what I wanted for fear of appearing demanding. Yet one look at Luke's face told me he wasn't going to relent.

"My breasts," I whispered. "I need you—need you to kiss my breasts."

He nodded, immediately planting several soft kisses on the delicate flesh around my left nipple before moving to the right one. "Like that?"

No… "Ye-es," I hissed, squeezing my eyes closed, reluctant to beg for more.

"Liar." I could hear the laughter in his voice. "Come on, Becks. Tell me what you really want."

"Luke, please!"

"Please what?"

I grimaced, keeping my eyes firmly shut. "Suck them," I muttered.

"What? I didn't quite catch that."

I knew damn well he'd heard. "Suck them."

"Suck what?"

"My nipples," I managed at last, the words catching in my throat. "Please? I need you to suck my nipples—ohh!

I shrieked as he finally did what I'd wanted, drawing my left nipple deep into the moist heat of his mouth, swirling his tongue around the swollen nub, the sharp tug low in my belly steadily increasing in intensity. So much so, in fact, that when he turned his attention to the right nipple, it suddenly became far too much.

"Oh!" I wailed as the unexpected orgasm rippled through my womb, a fiery warmth spreading rapidly to the very tips of my fingers and toes. "Oh, God."

When I opened my eyes again, Luke was gazing down at me with obvious amusement. "Well," he murmured, lifting a hand and gently brushing it through my hair. "Are you always this—er—" he paused to grasp for exactly the right word "—responsive?"

I shook my head weakly. "You're—you're just really good at this."

He gave a deep chuckle, moving over me now, pressing one knee and then the other between my own, pushing my thighs wide apart. "No, you're just really easy to please. I can't wait to find out what happens once we get started."

"Get started?" I exclaimed, only to be cut short as Luke's wonderful mouth landed over mine, once again driving away all rational thought. "I think if I was to die right now, I'd die one happy woman," I sighed when he finally let me up for air.

"Well, I'd be one bloody frustrated man. I'm not into necrophilia."

I started to giggle again but the sound died on my lips as he rose above me, finally allowing me to catch sight of the impressive evidence of that frustration.

If it wasn't for the fact I'd taken him inside me earlier, I knew I'd be wondering how on earth he was going to fit.

But as I stretched out a hand to caress him, Luke wiggled backwards out of reach. "Not yet," he said, grinning boyishly. "Patience, Becks."

"But I want to make you feel—o-oh—" I gasped as his mouth again came down over my left nipple, nibbling gently before blazing a trail of kisses down my ribcage, across my tummy and finally, down between my parted thighs. "Oh God," I whimpered as he tasted me there, the rasp of his tongue almost too exquisite to bear. I was already so close to coming again the pleasure was almost pain. A part of me wanted to push him away but the greater part of me never wanted him to stop. And as Luke eased my thighs wider still and began his tender assault in earnest I could hear my soft cries of pleasure, helpless to stop them, the sounds leaving my throat without permission.

Daniel had been keen on oral sex, had prided himself on being good at it and what he'd lacked in skill he'd certainly made up for in enthusiasm but this was something else. Luke knew exactly what he was doing, every swipe, every swirl of his tongue calculated, designed to please. Bringing me to the very brink of ecstasy then edging back, over and over until I thought I'd go crazy.

"Luke, please!" I begged shamelessly, my back arching up off the bed to meet his clever mouth, longing for him to make just that tiny misjudgement that would let me hurtle over the edge. "Oh God, please!"

"What, Becks?" he said, lifting his head to smile at me, leaving me teetering on the precipice. "Something you want?"

I gave a yelp of disappointment, utterly bereft without his touch. "You bast—" I began then remembered he wouldn't let me get away with that. "You—you—" But it was no use. I couldn't think of another insult—not in my current state of arousal. "You know what I want!" I finished on a wail.

He laughed softly, planting a single kiss right on my aching centre. It wasn't nearly enough. "But you have to tell me, remember?"

Closing my eyes, I gave a sob of disbelief. "Fine," I moaned at last. "Whatever you want. You win." I bit my lip, steeling myself to say the words, knowing full well Luke was still gazing at me with that mischievous smile. "I—I—"

"Yes?"

I swallowed hard. "I need to come."

I felt another gentle kiss and I shuddered beneath him. "Magic word?"

"Luke—"

"Nope, that's not it."

"Luke!" I'd never felt like this in my life, every cell of my body on high alert. "Please!"

"Good girl," I heard him say, the quiet note of amusement obvious in his voice. "That's better." But to my utter astonishment, instead of his mouth, I felt his fingers, first one, then two, sliding easily into my slick channel.

"Hey!" My eyes shot open, my hips bucking of their own accord at the new sensation, driving him deeper still. And as I felt his fingers curving upwards, I realised what he had in mind. "Oh!" I groaned as my orgasm once again slipped out of reach. "No, please…"

"I heard you the first time, babe."

"No, you don't understand." I'd had boyfriends who'd tried to find my G-spot before. Tried and failed. Not one of them had ever found that elusive place. Either it didn't exist or I just didn't have one, I'd never quite been able to decide which. "Don't—don't get me wrong—that's nice—really nice but—"

"But what?" Instead of stopping, I felt him pressing harder, rubbing me intimately with sure, firm strokes.

And then I felt it. A strange warmth as everything seemed to tighten around his fingers. The slow but delicious build-up of pressure I'd read about but never dreamed of experiencing… "Oh God," I gulped, rather scared. "Luke, I've never—no one's ever—"

"Ssh," he murmured soothingly, not letting up for a second. "Look at me."

I couldn't. I knew the second my eyes made contact with his I'd spiral out of control and I was terrified of the consequences. "How do you—oh!—how do you know—how to do this?" I gasped, finding it impossible to keep still, my body writhing uncontrollably. And suddenly—bizarrely—a most uncomfortable thought flew into my mind. "No. Oh no. Just what sort of surgeon are you?"

He shot me an incredulous look. "You really want to have that conversation now? Right now?"

I squeezed my eyes tightly closed, clinging to the last shreds of my sanity. "You're—you're a bloody gynaecologist, aren't you? That's how you know."

I heard a snort then felt the brush of his lips over my tummy. "No, Rebecca," he said with dignity, as though I'd said something insulting. "I am most definitely not a gynaecologist." But his fingers were still moving, pressing harder now and when at last I dared to open my eyes, I saw he was grinning.

"Then what?" I groaned, fending off my impending climax with everything I had left. "What—sort of surgeon—are you?"

He gave a deep chuckle, kissing my belly again. "Let's just say," he said teasingly, lowering his head and dropping another kiss on the soft mound that covered my pubic bone, "that I can mend your broken heart." And with that, he moved lower still, his mouth closing directly over my clit, his fingers moving harder and faster than ever.

I screamed as the need to bear down overwhelmed me, flinging my arms out to the side, scrabbling for purchase, desperate to anchor myself against the storm. And thrashing against Luke's hand as wave after intense wave of pleasure swept through me, I barely heard the thud as my left hand smashed into something on the bedside table, nor the resulting crash as whatever it was fell to the floor. I'd never known anything like it. The roaring in my ears, the violent tremors wracking through me, my whole body trembling from the impact.

"Hi," he murmured as I opened my eyes at last, smiling as I struggled to focus on his face. "How's your arm?"

"What arm?" I frowned at him, still dazed.

Luke grinned. "Excellent. Job well done."

"Oh." I gave a weak laugh as I remembered, turning my head to look at my bandaged right arm, still stretched out across the pillow beside me. "I can't even feel it."

"That doesn't really surprise me," he said, still looking amused. "For a moment there, I thought you were going to self-combust."

I'd been half afraid of that myself. "What—what made all the noise?" I asked, turning my head back the other way towards the bedside table.

"You did," Luke said without missing a beat. "I think you may have woken the whole hotel just now. There's nothing wrong with your lungs, anyway." He chuckled as I cringed then buried my face into the pillow. "Oh, and the phone's on the floor." You weren't expecting any calls, were you?"

I shook my head, still cowering with embarrassment.

"Good, saves me picking it up. It can stay down there for now."

"Was I really that loud?"

Laughing, he rose to his knees then slid his hand beneath my cheek, turning my head to face him. "Not as loud as you're going to be." And as I stared, he reached behind us, plucking up one of the small square foil-wrapped packets from where they'd fallen on the bed earlier and tearing it open.

"Oh boy," I whispered, unable to watch as he began smoothing the latex over what I guessed by now would be a frighteningly impressive erection. "We're not done."

He shook his head with a smile then lay down beside me, pulling me into his arms. "Not even close," he murmured before capturing my lips for a surprisingly tender kiss.

I closed my eyes, losing myself in the pleasure of it all, my body tingling everywhere we touched, my hands roaming his back, loving the feel of his skin beneath my fingers. It seemed I couldn't get enough of him, that sharp pull of desire already returning full force to my womb, the need to feel him inside me acute.

"I'm not like this," I said wonderingly as he drew back to look at me, the warmth of his gaze caressing my face. "This has to be a dream. I don't do things like this."

He nodded solemnly. "That's right," he murmured, reaching up to stroke my hair. "This is all a dream. So you can do whatever you like. Say whatever you like."

I smiled, resting my head against his shoulder. "Where have you been all my life, Luke Foster?"

"Oh babe." He heaved a sigh, wrapping his arms around me. "You don't want me, believe me." Though the words were spoken lightly, I caught an odd tightness to his tone. "Not the real me, anyway. But this me, this fantasy version of me…" His tone softened. "You can have him all weekend. He's yours for the taking."

Startled, I lifted my head. "Luke—"

But before I could say another word he rolled me beneath him, settling into the cradle of my thighs, the heat of his erection nestling against my softness. "Yours for the taking," he repeated with a smile. "All yours." Then he pushed inside me, moving oh so slowly, demonstrating an astonishing amount of self-control, allowing me to feel every inch as he stretched me wide.

I found myself clinging to his broad shoulders, hanging on for dear life as he continued to fill me, sliding deeper each time. And all the while Luke's gaze remained on mine, watching my every reaction, making love to me with his eyes as well as his body.

But then I was aware of something else, a sweet, almost sickly sweet fragrance wafting up between us. A decidedly fruity aroma. "Straw—strawberry?" I faltered, staring up at him in confusion.

He gave a choke of laughter then kissed me. "Mmm," he murmured into my mouth. "I s'pose you ought to see this." And to my surprise, he pulled back, lifting his body away from mine so I could peer down between us. And then I saw it—but then, I couldn't really have missed it. The condom he was wearing was a bright, luminous red, his cock appearing to glow like a beacon.

"Oh God," I said, laughing weakly. "That's really quite—something."

"It is, isn't it?" he agreed, even as the mirth left his own expression, those amazing blue eyes seeming to darken as he gazed back at me. "But then, so are you."

And pushing me back down on the bed, he reclaimed my mouth at precisely the same moment he reclaimed my body, driving into me, driving away all thoughts of novelty condoms—driving away all thoughts, save those of Luke. Filling me completely, filling my mind. Filling my soul.

I know I called out his name, over and over again, the soft cries of my pleasure all around us as that now familiar, delicious pressure built up inside me, coiling tighter and tighter with each thrust. Until at last, I could hear Luke's groans merging with my own, his cock seeming to swell impossibly, stroking that same tender spot he'd found inside me earlier. And suddenly I was soaring heavenwards, my body arching off the bed to meet him just as he too gave a huge roar, plunging deep once, twice, then one last, shuddering time.

When I found myself wrapped in Luke's arms minutes, maybe hours, later I wondered whether I'd lost consciousness. I was lying on my side, my head resting on his chest, pressed against the reassuring warmth of his skin. Yet his breath on my cheek felt cool.

Puzzled, I opened my eyes just as I felt the sheet moving beneath me, seeing a blurry Luke reaching over me, tugging at the corner. "Wh-what are you doing?" I whispered, blinking hard, lifting a hand to brush away whatever it was that was sliding down my cheeks. And only then did I realise my face was drenched with tears.

"Oh God," I choked, horrified. "I'm so sorry."

He smiled, drawing up the edge of the sheet and using it like a handkerchief, gently wiping away the wetness. "S'okay," he murmured, blotting at my eyes then gathering me back against him, holding me close. "I can hardly complain when it's my fault."

"But it's not your fault," I sobbed. "At least, I don't think it's your fault." I swallowed hard, confused. "I don't even know why I'm crying."

"Ssh," he soothed, tucking my head under his chin and dropping a kiss into my hair. "Don't even try to figure it out. Because right now," this time he pulled out the duvet from under me, arranging it over us both, "we're going to sleep." And stretching out his hand one last time, he reached over and switched off the light.

He was going to stay with me? My tears finally slowing, I stared into the gloom, discovering it wasn't dark at all now, the evidence of the dawn escaping round the edges of the floor length curtains.

"Luke?"

I heard his heavy sigh, felt his arms tightening around me. "Mmm?"

"Why me?"

There was a pause, a pause in which I knew Luke was weighing up whether he should tell me to go to sleep or whether now was in fact the right time for discussion. "Why me—what?" he said at last.

"You said you were a monk."

"Becks—"

"So why me?" The warning note in his voice was obvious but I pretended to ignore it. "Why me, Brother Luke?"

He groaned. "You really need to ask me this now? At," he turned his head to look at the radio alarm beside us, "nearly five in the morning?"

"So we may not make it to breakfast," I conceded, determined to wrest some kind of answer from him.

He made a low growling sound then abruptly rolled on to his back, pulling me on top of him. "Or lunch," he said, plucking up the rest of the condoms and waving them in my face. "Let's see, what have we got left? Chocolate—ooh—banana—"

"Luke."

His eyes softened as he looked up at me. "You need to sleep, babe."

"I need to know."

"Becks…"

"Unless, of course, you haven't been telling the truth. For all I know, you and your mates come here every weekend for some kind of shag-athon. For all I know, there's a different girl in your bed every night." I bit my lip as I stared down at him, quite unable to read his expression. "Some poor, deluded cow like me believing everything you tell her, believing she's got something no one else has, believing she's special."

"Rebecca."

"And hey," I went on, blinking hard as fresh tears began rising fast, "maybe I really am deluded. Maybe it's normal for all men to play the field. Maybe my mother was right. You know," I swallowed hard, losing the battle as the tears streamed down my cheeks, "my mother said I should forgive him. Forgive Daniel, I mean. Marry him anyway. Go to the church and pretend that I'd never got that t-text."

"Okay," I heard Luke murmur as his arms folded around me again, rolling with me again, tipping us over to one side. "So maybe sleep's overrated."

He held me while I wept, whispering endearments as I soaked his chest. And when at last my sobs died away, when I was finally able to string a coherent sentence together, I told him the rest. How my mother had begged me not to cancel the wedding. How she'd been appalled at the prospect of going down to St. Mary's and telling two hundred guests to make their way home and that yes, their gifts to the not-so-happy couple would indeed be returned in due course.

In the end, my sister's husband Graham did the honours, no doubt deciding it was better to take action than try to pacify his increasingly hysterical mother-in-law or watch his heavily pregnant wife agonising over what to do for the best.

"Was she right?" I asked, resting my head on Luke's shoulder now, exhausted from crying. "Should I have married him anyway?"

"Babe, I think you already know the answer to that."

"But my Mum—"

"—was thinking of herself. She couldn't help it. She'd helped organise this huge event, to which the world and his wife was invited. All your relatives, all your neighbours. I'm pretty sure she knew, deep down, that you couldn't be expected to marry the cheating bastard."

I hoped so. But we still hadn't had that conversation. She'd adored Daniel, thought he was ideal husband material, and I wasn't sure I'd been forgiven. If I'd ever be forgiven.

"You deserve better," Luke said, stroking my hair. "Don't ever doubt that, babe."

I lifted my head to look at him, remembering he'd never answered my question. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Don't you deserve to be loved?"

He shook his head slightly. "Don't go there."

"I'm serious! Don't you deserve to be loved? Don't you deserve more than one night with some random girl who ran away to Cornwall when she found out her fiancé was having an affair on the morning of her wedding and now won't stop crying all over you?"

"Leave it, Becks."

"Why?"

"Because it's the way it has to be."

"Why?" I stared at him, unable to comprehend what could possibly have happened to make him so sure. "What did she do?"

"Who?" But although the word was spoken innocently enough, I was certain I saw a flash of something in his eyes.

"The bitch who damaged you so badly you won't even give the thought of another relationship a chance."

"Rebecca." He blew out a sigh, closing his eyes. "Just let it go."

"I can't." And to my surprise, I heard a tremor in my voice. "What did she do?"

For a long moment I didn't think he was going to answer me. But when at last he opened his eyes again, he reached up to cup my cheek in his hand. "It wasn't so much what she did," he said slowly. "It's what I did."

"You killed her?" I quipped, instantly wishing I hadn't as Luke's expression clouded. Oh God, he hadn't, had he?

To my relief he shook his head. "But I hurt her. Not physically. Emotionally. And I promised myself I'd never hurt anyone like that again. That I'd never let myself get in a position to hurt anyone like that again." He hesitated, that confident façade he presented to the world slipping just for a moment, as though he needed to reassure himself he was right. Then just as suddenly, just as I was glimpsing a softer, much more vulnerable Luke, the cloud passed, his smile returning as that arrogant armour clinked back into place. "And you need some sleep. Maybe I should go."

"No!" I protested as he tried to rise, pushing him back down, climbing on top of him in a desperate attempt to make him stay. "I won't ask any more questions, I promise."

"You promise?" he said, raising his eyebrows in amusement.

I nodded fervently, lifting my right arm to give a three-fingered salute. But the moment the blood rushed to my hand I couldn't repress a yelp, searing pain shooting along my forearm beneath the bandages. "Oh God," I whimpered, grimacing at him as he started to laugh. "I think those endorphins have worn off already. How the hell am I supposed to get to sleep now?"

"Well." Still grinning, Luke slowly opened his own hand to show me the contents of his palm. "Banana or chocolate?" he said solemnly. "Your choice this time."

And as I gazed back at him and then the condoms, he wrapped his arms around me, making me shriek with pleasure as he rolled me beneath him once more, smothering my face with kisses.

***

I awoke to find myself face down in the bed, the duvet tangled around my legs, the sheet rucked up beneath me, angry red lines across my breasts where the cotton had pressed into my skin.

"Luke?" I called, hoping he was in the bathroom. But when there was no reply, it became all too clear I was alone. He was gone. That was, if he'd ever been there at all, I thought, struck by the truly terrifying idea it could all have been a dream.

No, it definitely hadn't been a dream. As I pushed myself upright, I discovered I was aching in places I hadn't even known could ache. But it seemed strange that Luke would leave me without saying goodbye and as I padded across the bedroom floor I felt a relieved smile break across my face as I caught sight of the note he'd left me on the dressing table.

Back soon. I've gone to check that Tim survived the night. Julie will kill me if he's dead. Will bring back breakfast.

P.S. We seem to be all out of condoms. Will bring back more of those too.

P.P.S. You snore.

I laughed out loud, wondering first whether everyone who practised in the medical profession had to have astonishingly bad handwriting and secondly, how long he'd been gone. A glance at the alarm clock told me it was almost eleven o'clock. It could've been five minutes, it could've been an hour. I had no idea when we'd finally finished making love, only that I'd lost count of how many orgasms he'd given me. It was certainly a personal record and one I doubted could easily be smashed.

Smiling at myself in the dressing table mirror, uncaring that my hair was a riot of curls—Luke hadn't seemed to care, so why should I?—I started moving towards the bathroom. But just as I took my third step I heard a loud rap at the door. "Coming!" I called, snatching up the duvet from the bed and wrapping it around me before racing across the room, feeling a huge grin plastering itself to my face as I wrenched open the door. "What took you so…?"

But the words died on my lips as I realised the man standing in front of me wasn't Luke. For a start, instead of seeing his face, I was looking at the upper part of this man's chest. Worse still, I knew that chest.

As I slowly lifted my eyes higher, past his shoulders, past his neck, horror washed over me in an icy wave. And just as my heart began to thud painfully against my ribcage, the sound pounding in my ears, my gaze finally settled on the taller man's familiar blond head.

"Daniel," I managed at last, weak with shock. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Chapter 5

"Well?" I demanded, my initial horror turning to anger as he continued to gaze back at me in silence, his eyes sweeping the length of my body as if he was drinking in the very sight of me. "Daniel?"

The sharpness of my tone seemed to bring him to his senses. "Becca, I'm sorry." He looked and sounded uncharacteristically ill at ease. "I know I'm the last person in the world you want to see."

"Too damn right," I shot back, clutching at the duvet I'd thrown around myself, suddenly remembering I was naked beneath it. "I can't believe you've come here. I can't believe you had the nerve."

"Listen, it's not what you think."

"It's not what I think?" A snort of sarcastic laughter burst from my throat. "Don't tell me, I got it all wrong? You didn't have a holiday in Corfu with some floozy a week before our wedding?"

"Please?" He looked upset. "I need you to listen to me."

"You have to be kidding. You seriously think I'm going to listen to anything you say, ever again?" I peered out of the doorway, knowing Luke could return at any moment. "I'm sorry you've had such a long drive for nothing."

"Becca…"

"But there's nothing you can say, do you hear me? There's nothing you can—"

"It's your mother."

"—say that'll make any diff—" His words finally registering, I stopped mid-sentence to stare at him, something in his expression chilling me to the bone. "Wh-what?"

"Your Mum. She's—she's had a heart attack." He drew a breath, lifting a hand to his forehead, agitatedly brushing at his hair. "We've been trying to contact you all morning. Your mobile phone's not working. It's just been going to voice mail. We tried ringing you here at the hotel but they said your number was engaged."

"Oh God." I could actually feel the colour draining from my cheeks as cold fear washed through me. "Oh no."

"But they're doing all they can. The doctors are doing all they can."

"She's still alive?"

When he nodded, I slumped back against the door frame. "I thought—I thought you were going to say she was—oh God." Daniel reached out as if to pull me into his arms but I flinched away. "How—how bad?"

He hesitated. "Apparently, it was quite a big one," he said at last, seeming to choose his words carefully. "They—they had to resuscitate her in the ambulance."

"No!"

"But they got her back. They managed to stabilise her. And now they're giving her clot-busting drugs and—" He stopped with a frown, looking first right then left along the corridor. "Can I come in? Do we have to have this conversation out here?"

I stared at him blankly for a moment then glanced back over my shoulder into the room, another wave of horror surging through me as my gaze fell on the dishevelled bed.

"Look, I won't—"

"No!" I swung back around but couldn't quite bring myself to meet his gaze this time. "No, wait. Wait—there," I finished lamely, closing the door in his surprised face.

"Becca!"

Ignoring him, I turned around, only then appreciating how violently I was trembling. Mum had had a heart attack. She'd had to be resuscitated on the way to hospital. And while she'd been in agony, while she'd been on the brink of death, I'd been in bed. Having sex with a man I'd only just met.

Letting the duvet slip to the floor, I stumbled to the wardrobe to retrieve my suitcase. Daniel would take me straight to the hospital. I needed to pack. To get dressed.

"Becca, please?"

I froze as Daniel called through the door for a second time. Luke. He'd promised to return. He could be back any moment. When he came through the door at the end of the corridor, he'd see Daniel outside my room. And Daniel would see Luke.

"Just—just a minute!" I called, frantically scooping up the duvet and throwing it over the bed. Even in my confused state, I knew it shouldn't matter, but it did. I didn't want Daniel to know I'd spent the night with another man. A mere seven days ago, I'd been ready to become his wife. For better, for worse. For richer, for poorer.

But as I tried to make the bed, whimpering as my sore arm protested at the effort, I realised it might not be that easy to hide the evidence. Even in Luke's absence I could still smell him everywhere, the aroma of our lovemaking heavy in the air. Surely Daniel would be able to smell that too?

I flew around the bed to pull up the other side of the duvet before turning to drag back the heavy curtains, flinging the sash windows wide open and allowing the cool sea breeze to blast into the room. Then dropping to my hands and knees, I picked up the nightshirt Luke had stripped away from my body in the middle of the night and then began to search for discarded condoms. I couldn't find any. Instead, I discovered the telephone, the receiver beneath the bed, some considerable distance from the base. No wonder no one had been able to contact me, I thought guiltily, remembering how I'd sent something flying as Luke had brought me to the most mind-blowing orgasm I'd ever experienced.

Straightening up, I returned the telephone to the bedside table before hurrying to the bathroom to pull on a robe. Then I returned to the door, letting Daniel into the room without a word.

I felt his gaze boring into my back as I turned to pick up my suitcase then hauled it over to the bed. "Becca, I'm sorry."

"I really don't want to hear that right now."

"Hear me out. I know that I'm the last person you would've wanted to show up like this but we didn't know what else to do. Your sister's in no condition to drive. She's in such a state we're scared she's going to go into labour. Graham would've come to get you but we decided he should stay with Sarah. So we thought—"

"We?" I whirled around to glare at him. "We thought—we decided—what the hell? There is no we anymore, do you hear me? You're not part of my family anymore!"

"Becca!"

"Why are you even here?"

"Because she called me, okay?" Daniel looked distressed. "Your Mum. It was me she called in the middle of the night. At four o'clock this morning, okay?"

"You?" I stared at him, my brain refusing to process this new piece of information. "She called you?"

"Ours is the first number—I mean—the number at our place—at the flat—" He shook his head, apparently finding it a struggle to avoid words that made reference to our former coupled status. "It's the first number she's got on speed dial."

Of course it was. Number one—Becky and Daniel, number two—Sarah and Graham.

"I could hardly hear what she was saying," he continued. "But I could tell she was in pain, how scared she was. So I called an ambulance and got round there as fast as I could."

I heard the catch in his voice, understanding for the first time that although we were no longer together, he still cared about my Mum. Maybe even as much as she cared about him. And as it occurred to me he'd been there for her when I hadn't, that he'd been on the end of the phone when she'd called and I'd been a hundred and fifty miles away, I felt an irrational pang of jealousy. "You're still in the flat?" I exclaimed, needing to lash out, needing to cause him pain too. "I told you to get out!"

"I'm getting out!" Daniel flashed back. "I'm going to stay with Chris. But your Mum said you weren't due back until tomorrow."

"Oh, that makes it all right then, I suppose?" I stomped over to the wardrobe, managing to gather up all of my clothes from the rail before staggering back to the bed to stuff them into my suitcase. "Then take your time, Daniel. No hurry. If Mum said it was okay, then obviously, it's okay. Nothing to do with me. Nothing to do w-with me-e-e—shit!" To my dismay, I found myself in tears, my chest heaving with sobs. "Mum…"

"Oh Becca, don't. Please don't." I could feel him hovering behind me as I emptied the chest of drawers, finally managing to retrieve what remained of my clean underwear. He'd never been able to read me when I cried, trying to hug me when I didn't want to be touched, leaving the room when all I wanted was to be held. "She'll be okay. She's a fighter, love. She won't—"

"Don't call me love!" I choked, blindly squashing in the last of my clothes. "You don't have the right anymore. And you don't know that she'll be okay. You wouldn't be here if you really believed that."

I wasn't surprised when Daniel didn't reply. And after snatching up the underwear I'd deliberately left out of the suitcase and grabbing the jeans and pink t-shirt I'd worn yesterday evening from the back of the chair, I escaped into the bathroom, closing the door with a bang.

"Oh God," I breathed, bracing myself against the sink, still shaking from head to foot. "Oh God. Oh God."

But after a moment, I realised I had to move fast, spurring myself into action by tugging off my bathrobe and spinning on the taps. Luke could be back at any moment now and I didn't know how I'd cope if Daniel was the one who opened the door when he knocked. Yet somehow I needed to let Luke know what had happened, I thought, holding my injured arm behind me while I awkwardly used my left hand to splash tepid water on to my face. I couldn't just leave without saying goodbye. Not after last night.

I looked longingly at the shower but knew it was impossible. Instead, I topped and tailed as best I could then pulled on my clothes, finding even that a struggle, my arm stinging in protest at every movement. Then, having swept the remainder of my belongings into my still damp beach bag, I tugged open the door to find Daniel standing exactly where I'd left him.

"I'm ready," I said, seeing his gaze zoom to my bandages even as I spoke and inwardly berating myself for not donning a cardigan.

"What the hell—?"

"I fell." It wasn't exactly a lie, I thought, slipping on my shoes before sliding past him to shove the floral-patterned bag into my suitcase and close the lid. "It's just a cut. No real harm done."

"You fell?"

"I said it's fine." I took one final glance around the room to check I'd packed everything, finding it difficult to repress the vivid memories of the passion-filled night I'd spent there with Luke. Of the pleasure we'd shared while my mother was having a heart attack. "Can we get going now, please?" I said, hearing the unsteadiness in my voice as I tried to lift my suitcase.

Daniel immediately moved in front of me, snatching it from my grasp. "Don't be daft. I'll carry that."

I didn't have the strength to argue. Slinging my handbag over my shoulder, I picked up my key card for the last time and followed him out of the door. But when he reached the end of the corridor and stabbed at the call button for the lift, I suddenly realised I had one chance left. "I'll take the stairs," I said, already hastening towards the top of the staircase. "It'll be quicker this way. By the time you get down to Reception I'll have checked out."

I raced down the stairs, barely hearing Daniel's plea I take care, reaching the bottom just as I heard the familiar ping of the lift arriving on the first floor. To my relief there was no queue at the front desk, the same girl who'd been on duty last night smiling at me in welcome as I ran across the deserted foyer.

"I need to check out," I said breathlessly, thrusting my key card under her nose. "I'm supposed to be staying until tomorrow but—there's been an emergency." I couldn't bring myself to tell her what the emergency was. Saying the words aloud would only make them more real. "I need to get home as soon as possible."

The girl's smile faded. "Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. Just one moment." Taking my card, she turned to the computer on the desk beside her. "I just need to bring up your bill."

As she tapped rapidly at the keyboard, I found it difficult to rein in my impatience. "Actually, I need to get a message to someone."

"One second," the girl murmured. "Nearly there—ah." She looked up at me with another smile. "It's just printing off now. Won't keep you much longer."

To my frustration she bobbed down beneath the counter, disappearing from view for a few seconds before emerging with a sheet of paper. "Here you go," she said brightly, putting it on the desk in front of me and offering me a pen. "If you could just sign—there."

I turned around, relieved to see the lift had yet to arrive. "I need to get a message to Luke Foster," I said, scrawling my signature in the white space she was pointing to. "Would you be able to do that for me?"

"Of course. I take it he's a guest here? What room is he in?"

I stared at her in dismay. "I don't know. Does it matter?"

She shook her head. "No, no. I can look it up. One moment."

"Wait." I bit back a groan as she began tapping at her keyboard again. "Could you not take the message first and then look him up? It's just that—" And then I stopped, hearing that distinctive ping. There was no time left. "Please?"

All at once I saw a flash of understanding in the receptionist's expression as her focus shifted to a spot somewhere behind me and I knew she was watching Daniel emerge from the lift. "Ah," she said, sotto voce, making me wonder just how many clandestine encounters she'd witnessed during her hotel career. "Yes, of course. What was the message?"

"Could you tell him—?" Then I broke off, realising I hadn't thought this through at all. What did I want to tell him? "Tell him that—that I—"

"Ready?" Daniel said, arriving at my side. "Is everything okay?"

I swallowed hard, my gaze still holding that of the receptionist's. But when she raised her eyebrows, I gave my head the slightest of shakes and turned to follow him out of the hotel. "Everything's fine," I said with a lightness I didn't feel. "All—all checked out."

"My God, there's some money here," Daniel said as we reached the car park, waving around at the numerous parked Audis, BMWs and Mercedes. His battered Ford stood out like a sore thumb amidst the expensive saloons. "How much did it cost to stay here? It couldn't have been cheap."

It hadn't been. I'd cleared out the last of my savings to pay for it, figuring there was nothing I wanted to save for anymore. "It was a hell of a lot cheaper than a cancelled honeymoon in the Maldives," I said, making sure the bitterness was evident in my tone as I surreptitiously scanned the rows of parked vehicles, trying to spot Luke's Mercedes. I couldn't see it but then it had been dark by the time we got back last night. I wasn't sure I'd recognise it in the daylight.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Daniel wince. "I should probably have paid something towards all that," he admitted, unlocking the car doors.

Abandoning my search, I opened the passenger side and climbed in. "Yes, you bloody well should've," I muttered, twisting in my seat to watch him put my suitcase in the boot. But then I knew full well he couldn't have contributed a bean.

Daniel was a dreamer. He'd tell anyone who'd listen that one day he was going to make it big. And if the power of his conviction was anything to go by, well, maybe someday he would. But in the meantime, he worked in telesales for a stationary company and born charmer that he was, he was good at his job. It was just his pay that was less than spectacular.

Growing weary of the 'some day soon' promises and emboldened by a bottle of wine one evening, I'd pointed out to him that in order to make it big he might need rather more than blind ambition. It might actually require effort on his part. Naturally, I'd been shot down in flames. Accused of being unsupportive, I'd spent the rest of the night apologising. I hadn't bothered to offer my opinion since. But privately I remained convinced dreams remained mere fantasies without a plan of action. To my mind it was like expecting to win the Lottery without ever buying a ticket.

It was only as we pulled out of the car park I finally spotted Luke's car, the sight causing my stomach to lurch. So he was close by after all. Had he discovered I was gone yet? Should I have thrown caution to the wind and left him a message?

No, it was probably better this way, I tried to assure myself, taking one last glance back at the hotel as we drove up the hill. After all, Luke had made it very clear there was little chance our time together would turn into anything more permanent. He'd said himself he doubted we'd ever see each other again after the weekend. So I'd had a fling. A holiday romance. A one night stand.

"What a stupid thing to do."

"What?" Startled by Daniel's choice of words, I turned to look at him, my heart rate quickening. He knew?

"I can't believe I was so stupid. You and me—we were great together."

I began to breathe again, my relief at not having been found out switching to irritation at the note of self-pity in his tone. "Daniel—"

"I can't believe I threw it all away." He shot me a mournful glance, using the puppy dog eyes that had got him out of many a tight corner in the past. "How could I have done that to you? To us? How could I have—?"

"Do you really think I want to talk about that?" I couldn't believe he thought now was the right time to be having this conversation. "Do you honestly think it's something I'll ever want to talk about with you?"

"But Becca, we need to talk. I need to explain."

"Oh, I'm sure you do. I'm sure you'd like to clear your conscience, get it off your chest. But newsflash, I don't want to hear it, okay? You made your bed, well, you can fucking well lie in it." Hearing my own words, I gave a snort of humourless laughter. "Well, you fucking well fucked in it, didn't you?"

"Becca—"

"No, Daniel."

"You have to know that I didn't see it coming. I didn't go looking for someone else, I swear to you."

"I'm not listening."

"It just happened, okay? I met her in the bar, the night we arrived in Kavos. She told me she'd just split up from her boyfriend. The guys were late coming down, so in the meantime I bought her a drink and we got talking—"

"La-la-la-la-la!" I sang tunelessly, sticking my fingers in my ears and squeezing my eyes tightly shut. It wasn't enough. I could still hear him.

"—and I don't know how it happened—why it happened—but it did. We just clicked. And I don't know how to explain it—the only way you could ever understand is if it happened to you, Becca. It just felt right. As though we were supposed to be together. Meant for each other."

I stopped singing, my hands falling back into my lap as I turned to look at him. "As though—as though you'd known her for years?" I ventured, the oddest sensation prickling down my spine, making the hairs stand up on the back of my neck. Because, as it turned out, I understood exactly how that felt.

He nodded emphatically, squeezing then flexing his fingers over the steering wheel. "It shouldn't have made any difference though, should it? I was engaged to you. I was marrying you. And it's over now. It was over before it began, really." He paused, looking more miserable than ever. "And I don't know if you'll ever be able to forgive me. But believe me, I know. I know I've made the biggest mistake of my life."

I stared at him, this time at a complete loss for words. "Daniel," I faltered at last, only to be interrupted by the sound of his ringing mobile phone. Saved—quite literally—by the bell, I snatched it up from the dashboard tray and examined the display. "It's Sarah," I told him even as I flipped it open and held it to my ear. "Hello?"

"Becky? Is that you?" The relief in my sister's tone was palpable. "Oh thank God."

"Mum?" Suddenly I couldn't draw enough breath to frame the question.

"Still with us. She's holding her own. Oh, Becky." Sarah sounded so distressed my stomach contracted with fear. "I knew something like this would happen. She's been so stressed. So worked up. Are you on your way here?"

"We're in the car. We're coming, Sarah."

"Daniel's with you? Look, Becky, I'm so sorry. I know he was the last person—"

"It's okay," I interrupted, a quick sidelong glance confirming he could hear my sister's end of the conversation. "It doesn't matter. It's Mum that matters. We're coming as fast as we can, okay? It's going to take us…" I hesitated, looking to Daniel for guidance.

"Two and a half—three hours, so long as we're not held up by traffic."

I stared at him, shocked. "That long?"

He nodded.

"Okay." I swallowed, closing my eyes briefly. "It's going to be a couple of hours or so. But we're coming, okay? Tell Mum we're coming."

"I will." Sarah sounded a little calmer now. "Though she's away with the fairies right now. They put her on so much morphine for the pain, she's as high as a kite."

Morphine. I blinked away the unexpected reminder of Luke. "Do we know—has anyone said how bad it is yet? Whether—whether she's going to be all right?"

"No, they're doing loads of tests. Apparently it takes a while to get all the results. But oh God, Becky, they had to resuscitate her in the ambulance. She actually died on the way to hosp-i-tal."

I bit my lip, hearing Sarah lose her slim grip on control. "I know, Sarah. Daniel told me."

"Daniel was great. If he hadn't gone round when he did—if he hadn't been there when she called…"

"I know." Silently, I had to concede it was maybe just as well Daniel hadn't moved out like I'd told him to. "Are you okay? Is Graham there?"

"Yeah, he's here. But Becky, where were you? Why did you switch off your mobile phone? We couldn't get in touch with you. Mum called me last night to see if I'd heard from you. She said you'd been calling every night."

A surge of remorse washed through me. "I—I didn't switch it off. It got wet. It doesn't work any more."

"Wet?"

"I lost my bag. On the beach. It—fell into a rock pool," I finished on a lie, not wanting to go into the details of what had really happened with Daniel sitting beside me. Could the sea be classified as a rock pool? A very large one, maybe. "My phone was in the bag. And then—I cut my arm trying to get it." Oh great, a lie on top of another lie. I was beginning to hate myself. "So I ended up at the local hospital having it stitched up."

"Bloody hell, Becca," I heard Daniel mutter, feeling his gaze on my bandaged arm.

"And by the time I got back—" by the time Luke had caressed me to a rip-roaring orgasm in the bath "—it seemed too late to call."

"Well I wish you had! Maybe this wouldn't have happened if you had. Becky, she's been so worried about you, got herself so worked up about you cancelling the wedding."

I stared straight ahead as she broke down into sobs, a tsunami of guilt crashing over me, this time causing physical pain in the pit of my stomach. This was my fault.

There were numerous rustlings coming from the phone. I could hear urgent, low voices, Graham evidently finding it a struggle to comfort his wife. Then Graham himself came on the line. "She's just upset, Becky. She didn't mean that."

"Right."

"No, really, she didn't. She's just not thinking straight. What with the baby and all."

"I know." I felt another heavy pang of guilt. If Sarah went into labour early, that would be my fault too.

"Just get here as soon as you can? I mean, tell Dan not to speed like a maniac or anything."

"I won't. I promise to keep her safe, mate." I jumped as Daniel spoke, having quite forgotten he could hear every word. He sent me a small smile and suddenly I felt his fingers close over mine. "We'll see you in a couple of hours."

I sat completely motionless for some time after the call disconnected, the weight of Daniel's hand heavy against the back of my own.

"I still love you, Becca," he said at last, sounding sorrowful. "I never stopped."

"Daniel!" Aghast, I pulled my hand from his grasp, shaking my head helplessly. "I can't do this now. I can't have this conversation with you."

"But—"

"No, I can't! My mother may be dying, okay? We might not make it back in time."

"We'll make it. You heard what Sarah said, she's holding her own. But Becca…" It was Daniel's turn to shake his head. He drew in a deep breath then exhaled lengthily. "You have to let me explain. You wouldn't even talk to me last week."

I groaned, covering my face with my hands. "Stop the car."

"What?"

"I said, stop the car. If you're going to insist on telling me all about what a fucking big mistake you made, then let me get out. I'll get a taxi." I could hear the pitch of my voice rising, could feel the hysteria steadily mounting within me, crushing the breath out of me even as I realised procuring a taxi on a country road in the middle of nowhere might be something of a tall order. "If I can't get a taxi, I'll hitch hike. I don't know, whatever it takes. Anything other than having to sit here listening to poor, poor Daniel. Stop the bloody—"

"Okay!" He shot me an uncertain look, as though half afraid I was losing my mind. "All right. You win, okay? You win. We won't talk about it."

Oh yes, that really made me a winner, I thought bitterly. What a victory.

"But we're going to have to talk about something."

Not if I could help it. I closed my eyes and leaned back, slumping down in my chair in an attempt to get comfortable. But this wasn't Luke's car. I'd struggled to stay awake in the Mercedes' plush leather seat, its contours fitting every curve of my body perfectly. And I'd felt safe there, listening to the soothing sound of Luke's deep voice as he calmly negotiated the narrow Cornish lanes. Driving with Daniel had never been what you might call a relaxing experience. Generally he drove much too fast, his driving style universally acknowledged to be aggressive at the best of times, hence Graham's admonition to take care.

"How's your Mum?" I asked at last, keeping my eyes firmly closed despite conceding that on this occasion, sleep was unlikely to be my refuge.

"Oh…" Daniel seemed startled to hear my voice. And relieved. "Still not speaking to me. I think it might be some time before she does."

I grimaced. I liked Kathy a great deal and the idea I'd hurt her by not marrying her son still tore me apart. Like my mother, she'd been a widow for years, having lost her husband to cancer when Daniel was in his early teens. Unlike my mother though, she'd been left virtually penniless.

When it came to the reading of my own father's will, we discovered he'd taken out numerous life insurance policies. Coupled with the money he'd inherited from his parents, my mother, in theory at least, became a very wealthy woman on his death. Mum had insisted on locking much of it away for the future, though sums had been set aside and withdrawn for both Sarah's wedding and my own. I felt guilty about that too, considering Daniel and I never made it down the aisle.

In contrast, Daniel's parents hadn't even owned the house they lived in. A proud woman, Kathy had taken on as many jobs as she could manage, sometimes working round the clock to bring in enough income to support her two children.

"Mind you, Chloe's news might just be enough to let me off the hook for a while."

"Chloe's news?" I opened my eyes, curious to hear about Daniel's elder sister.

"Mmm. She's pregnant again."

"Really?" This really was news. I turned to look at him, intrigued. "But I didn't think she was even with that guy any more—what was his name—Jake?"

"Oh, it isn't Jake's baby."

"What?" I frowned. "Then who—?"

"D'you remember she met that guy at a New Year's Eve party? She was really taken with him, went on and on about him."

I nodded. "Yeah, someone called David, wasn't it? But then she found out he was married. She was gutted."

"Well, he's still married."

"No." Seeing a grim smile curving his lips, I gazed at him in disbelief.

"Oh yes. It seems they've been seeing each other, on and off, ever since. And now…" He lifted a hand off the steering wheel to make a dismissive gesture.

"Oh." I continued to stare at him, thinking fast. "And your Mum knows?"

"Not yet. Chloe wants to get to at least three months—you know—just in case. Before everyone starts to make a fuss. Even though she was four months gone last time."

I nodded, understanding without him having to explain. A few years before I'd met Daniel, Chloe had become involved with a guy she'd met at a nightclub. As far as I could make out, he'd been none too happy when she fell pregnant with his child, so much so, things had apparently turned violent. Not that I knew the details, and to be honest, I'd never wanted to hear them, but Chloe had ended up losing the baby. I did know Daniel and a few of his friends had 'gone round to sort the bastard out'. Again, I wasn't sure I wanted to know what that meant either, but it'd certainly sounded like the guy had deserved everything he got.

"So, what's she going to do? Is this bloke—David—going to support her?"

He shrugged. "She says he's going to leave his wife."

"Right. But he hasn't left her yet?" Daniel shot me a 'what do you think?' glance and I frowned. "I take it the guy's loaded?"

"Becca!"

"Oh come on, Daniel." A week ago, I might have shied away from making unkind comments about his sister, but a lot had happened in a week and I'd never been all that sure I liked Chloe very much. We certainly hadn't a lot in common. "When was the last time she showed any interest in someone who didn't have money?" I wasn't going to go as far as saying she was a gold-digger but to my mind it was a fairly accurate description.

He sighed. "He's a merchant banker."

I rolled my eyes as he caught my gaze, knowing I didn't need to say anything else. "Your mother's going to go mad."

He nodded, glancing over his shoulder to pull out on to the motorway. "Yep. Like I said, it might just let me off the hook for a while."

Now we were out on the open road, Daniel could do what I knew he considered he did best—drive fast. Weaving in and out of the traffic, overtaking everything in sight, forcing other cars out of our way by pulling right up to their bumpers and intimidating them into the other lanes. For once, I made no attempt to stop him. It was hair-raising but my desire to see my mother again far outweighed any misgivings I might have had.

As a result, it was just a little after three o'clock when we finally drew up outside the hospital. Yet somehow, the last part—the journey from the car park to the coronary care unit—felt like the longest walk I'd ever taken.

"Becky!" Sarah, looking more enormous than ever, heaved herself to her feet as soon as we turned the corner into the waiting area. "Oh Becky." She flung her arms around me as best she could, the baby between us rather impending the hug. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have said those things. I didn't mean—"

"It's okay," I murmured, hugging her back. "None of that matters. But—" I pulled back slightly "—why are you out here? Is Mum—?"

"They're just changing her bed," Graham put in, standing up to put his arm around me in turn. "She got rather sweaty. She was really uncomfortable. But she's going to be so pleased to see you." He smiled at me reassuringly and I attempted to smile back, appreciating the gesture. "She's been asking about you all day. I tried to explain it was going to take a while for you two to drive back, but I don't think she really got it. It's all the morphine you see. I think she's lost all sense of time."

I nodded, looking into the ward, seeing the curtains pulled around one of the beds. "Is she going to be all right? Has anyone said whether—you know—?"

"They said she's stable at the moment," Sarah said, following my gaze. "They said the next twenty-four hours are critical, though."

So she could still die, a little voice said in my head. And if she does, it's all your fault.

As I watched, a smiling nurse emerged from behind the curtain and began to draw it back, beckoning to us as she did so. With Graham's arm still around my shoulders and Daniel moving to my other side, we walked together down the ward, stopping at the foot of my mother's bed.

I'd never seen her looking so frail, so pale, her face seeming even whiter than the sheet beneath her. But as I stood there watching her, tears welling up in my eyes as I took in all the machinery around the bed, the intravenous drips snaking beneath the covers, she opened her eyes and looked straight at me.

"Becky," she said, her voice sounding so horribly weak. "And Daniel." To my dismay, I saw her eyes filling with tears. "I never thought I'd see you two together again."

"Oh Mum," I choked, finding it almost impossible to speak. "I'm so sorry."

"It's okay." As I watched, I saw the beginnings of a smile brightening her face. "Just tell me this means you're getting back together? Please?"

I stared back at her, powerless to stop the tears rolling down my cheeks, that enormous wave of guilt crashing over my head all over again.

And as she continued to look up at me, her eyes full of hope, I found myself beginning to nod.

Chapter 6

"Becky?"

I smiled as I finished wiping toast crumbs away from the kitchen counter tops, hearing the slight wheedling tone to my sister's voice. "Yes?"

"Could you bring me another cup of tea? Ple-ease?"

"Oh, I don't know. That's going to cost you."

"How much?"

I grinned, already pouring water from the freshly boiled kettle into Sarah's mug. "Oh, I don't know. Let me think," I called back, adding just a dash of milk and immediately fishing out the tea bag. "Gnat's pee," I muttered to no one in particular, looking at the colour of the liquid with distaste. But that was exactly how Sarah liked it. I scooped up the mug and carried it into the lounge, setting it down on the coffee table in front of her. "I know. How about you give me your first born child?"

"Ha ha." Sarah gave a groan as she struggled to sit upright, her massive belly swaying with the effort. "You can have it, okay? You can have it right now if you like. Even better, you can give birth to it."

"Hmm." I acted as though I was genuinely considering her offer for a few seconds then shook my head. "Tempting but no. You got yourself into this mess. You can get yourself out of it."

"Thanks a lot." Sarah grimaced at me as I collapsed into the armchair opposite hers. "You just wait until this happens to you. I'll have no sympathy at all."

"Hey!" I pretended to be offended. "I've made you three cups of tea and two slices of toast since I've been here and I've only been here an hour. If that's not sympathy, I don't know what is."

"I'm just getting you into practice for when Mum comes home tomorrow," Sarah said, smiling sweetly now. "If you think I'm demanding on the tea front…" There was no need to finish the sentence. We both knew Mum could drink tea until it came out of her ears.

"I still can't believe she's actually coming home," I said, settling back in my chair and tipping my head to look up at the ceiling. "When I think about how ill she was…"

"I know." I heard Sarah breathe a sigh. "She's done amazingly well."

That first night in the hospital had been the worst. We'd taken it in turns to sit quietly by her bed, none of us knowing quite what to say, how to react, afraid to hope for the best in case the worst happened. I'd spent half my time willing her to cling to life, the other half praying that if the end had to come, that it would come swiftly, so she wouldn't have to suffer any more.

Then, almost as quickly as she'd become ill, she'd begun to get well. By Sunday evening, much of the colour was back in her cheeks, the light back in her eyes. On Wednesday she'd been moved out of the Coronary Care Unit to one of the general medical wards, but the investigations had continued, much to my mother's disgust. X-rays, ECGs, various scans—I hadn't been able to keep track of them all. And although there were still a few more tests to be carried out, the cardiologist told us he was optimistic that the damage to her heart wasn't permanent.

"So when are you going to tell her?"

Startled, I lowered my gaze. "Tell her what?"

Sarah lifted her mug to her lips and took a sip, her eyes remaining steady on mine. "That you and Daniel aren't getting back together."

I looked at her, uncertain whether she was merely fishing. "Wh-what?"

"Come on, Becky. I'm pregnant and my brain's a bit pickled, but you don't think I'm that stupid, do you?"

"I—I don't know what you mean." Ridiculously, my heart started to beat a little faster. "It's going to take a little while for Daniel and me to get over what happened, of course, but we'll get there."

"Really?" Sarah raised her eyebrows. "And just who, exactly, are you trying to convince?"

I stared at her open-mouthed, wondering how on earth she'd guessed at my inner turmoil. I'd tried so hard to bury my feelings, hiding them behind the smile I kept plastered to my face during the day, only allowing myself to examine them when alone in bed at night. "It'll be okay," I muttered at last. "You know," I went on hastily, starting to push myself to my feet, "I think I'll go and get myself a cuppa. I didn't think I wanted one, but maybe I do after all."

"Sit down!" Sarah interrupted, fixing me with a glare. "Don't you dare make me get up. Have you any idea how hard it is right now? I need a bloody crane. Sit down."

I sat. I'd already learned not to argue with a pregnant sister.

"I want the truth. No bullshit, do you understand?"

I swallowed. "Uh oh."

"Uh oh, indeed." Sarah looked grim. "What the hell's going on in your head? Are you seriously trying to tell me you're going to throw your life away on a tosser like Daniel?"

Tosser. Tosser Foster. I closed my eyes briefly, trying hard to push away the memories of Luke. "He's not a tosser."

"Oh really?" She shook her head. "Becky, you know I liked him. I used to think he was great, just like everyone else. But you can't get away from the fact he cheated on you."

"He knows he made a mistake."

"A mistake?" The disbelief was evident in Sarah's face. "My God. That's the understatement of the decade."

"But he says it's over. He says he still loves me." Even as I said the words, I knew how pathetic they sounded.

"Oh right. Well that's okay then." She rolled her eyes. "And you've talked everything through, yes? Had a long, in-depth discussion about why it happened in the first place, what he'll do if he ever gets tempted to do it again? And you've told him that he ever does do it again, you'll chop off his balls with a rusty spoon?"

I didn't reply. But I guessed she already knew I wouldn't be able to.

"You've not talked things over at all, have you?" she said, her tone much gentler now.

"There—there hasn't been time," I said, feeling rather feeble. "To start with, well, you know what it was like. I couldn't think about anything other than Mum. And of course, he's been at the flat while I've been staying at Mum's." It'd seemed pointless to force him to move out. As I planned to stay on at Mum's house for as long as she needed me, I'd told Daniel he might as well carry on living there for now. "We haven't had a chance to talk."

"Bullshit. You don't want to talk to him."

"Sarah—"

"You've had plenty of chances to talk to him. You see him every day at the hospital for a start."

"I can't talk to him there! Mum loves seeing him, you know that. She really brightens up when he's there."

"Yes I know she does. As far as she's concerned, the sun shines out of his backside. And you know why. To her, he's the son she never had. The son she always wanted. We've heard her say it a thousand times. But Becky, you can't forgive him just because she can't let him go."

"But I told her we were getting back together."

Sarah nodded slowly. "I know you did, honey. I was there. We were all there." She leaned forward as I looked at her in despair, reaching out a hand to cover mine. "And I know why you did it. You thought she was dying. You wanted to make her happy." She sighed. "It wasn't the wrong thing to do, exactly. It's just it wasn't the right thing to do, either."

"I know. I know." And groaning, I buried my face in my hands. "It's all such a mess. What the hell am I going to do?"

"You have to tell her the truth. And she'll just have to learn to accept that Daniel is no longer part of your life. Her life."

"Huh." I shook my head miserably. "How? When?"

"Today. When we go to visit her after lunch."

"I can't!" I let my hands fall away and gazed at her in disbelief. "They said she'd need to rest, that she'd need to take it easy this afternoon, remember?"

"Oh." Her face fell. "Of course, she's having that angina-gram thingy this morning. I forgot."

"Angiogram," I corrected. "Your brain really is pickled."

"Shut up," she muttered with a smile, looking faintly embarrassed. "Okay, so maybe not today. Tomorrow then."

"But she's supposed to be coming home tomorrow."

Sarah shot me a knowing look. "You think that if you tell her, she's going to have another heart attack."

I bit my lip. "Well, she could, couldn't she?"

"Becky…" She released a heavy sigh. "Yes, she might have another heart attack one day, who knows? But you heard the doctor. He said that all things considered, there are a lot of things in her favour. She's never smoked," Sarah held up her hand to tick off the items on her fingers, "she's never drunk much alcohol, she's not overweight." She paused, her expression softening again. "Honey, we can't spend the rest of our lives—her life—not talking about things that might upset her."

I stared down at the scar on my forearm, at the small tufts of thread emerging from either side at regular intervals, the long, reddened line extending from the back of my wrist almost to my elbow where it veered abruptly to the right.

"Shouldn't you have had those taken out by now?"

Thrown by the change in subject, I jerked my head back up. "What?"

"The stitches." Sarah leaned forward again, lifting my hand for a better look.

"Er." I hadn't given it a thought. "He said—I mean—they said—" Damn it, there'd been no need to correct myself "—they ought to stay in seven to ten days." I frowned, trying to work out how long it had been. "What day is it today?"

"Monday. And you said my brain's pickled," Sarah replied with a smirk, still examining my arm. "It's healing well, isn't it? I s'pose you'll always be able to see the scar though." She grinned. "P'raps you could make it into a tattoo. Have you noticed it looks like a great big capital L?"

Oh, I'd noticed.

"I'll make an appointment with the practice nurse tomorrow," I murmured, pulling my hand from my sister's grasp. "It's been ten days but I wouldn't have thought a couple of extra days would make much difference."

"For heaven's sake." Grimacing, Sarah slid her hand down the side of the chair, producing a cordless phone with a flourish. "Ring up and make the appointment now. The number for the surgery is on button three."

"But—"

"Stop putting things off, honey. Call the surgery now and I'll help you tell Mum about you and Daniel tomorrow."

I took the phone then hesitated, my finger hovering over the button. "I don't know. Maybe we should wait. Maybe we shouldn't tell her just yet."

"What?" Sarah shot me an incredulous look. "I can't believe I'm hearing this."

Neither could I. I found myself swapping the handset from palm to palm. "But we used to be good together."

"Becky!" This time she sounded more like my big sister of old, using much the same tone she'd used on finding out I'd borrowed her clothes when we were teenagers. "He cheated on you."

"I know."

"The week before your wedding."

"I know."

"So how can you forget that he did that? If it was me, I don't think I could. How are you ever going to trust him again?"

"Sarah—"

"No, wait," she interrupted, holding up her hand. "You think you'll be able to carry on as normal, as though nothing ever happened? You really think you'll be able to forgive him? Becky, listen to me. He slept with someone else!"

"I know!"

She gave an exasperated sigh. "Then I don't understand why you're even giving this a second thought. How on earth can you—?"

"Because he wasn't the only one, okay?" I wailed as a wave of guilt, the same wave that had never completely ebbed away, rose full force within me. "He wasn't the only one!"

"What?"

Shocked to find I'd finally uttered those taunting words aloud, the words that had repeated themselves over and over in my head for more than a week now, I stared at her helplessly. "I said," I began, feeling rather as though I was trapped in a nightmare, my voice not sounding at all like my own, "he wasn't the only one."

She stared back, her eyes widening as my words took effect. "You mean—?"

I nodded miserably. "I slept with someone else too."

I watched her mouth opening and closing, could almost see the cogs whirring around in her mind as she processed what I'd said, as she struggled to find the right words to frame her next inevitable question.

"Becky—"

But before she could go any further, the phone in my hand began to chirrup loudly. Startled, I thrust it towards Sarah, letting go of it like a hot potato the moment our fingers made contact. "You answer that. I'll go and make some more tea," I said, leaping out of my chair despite the fact that the last cup I'd made her remained untouched upon the coffee table. And without waiting to find out who was calling I raced to the sanctuary of the kitchen.

"Oh God," I moaned, leaning down to press my forehead against the cool granite countertop. "You've really gone and done it this time."

The memories of Luke had proved impossible to shake but then he'd made love to me so thoroughly, so comprehensively, I doubted I'd ever forget. But neither could I shake my feelings of self-reproach. While I'd been in the throes of passion, my mother had been in the throes of death. While I'd been in ecstasy, she'd been in agony.

Because of me. Because I'd called off my wedding. Because Daniel had been unfaithful. Yet less than a week later, I'd spent the night with Luke. Didn't that mean I'd been unfaithful too? Didn't that make me a hypocrite? I couldn't decide, couldn't rationalise any more, the constant analysis of my actions keeping me awake night after night until I thought I'd go crazy from sleep deprivation. I needed to tell someone.

"Becky."

To my surprise, when I straightened up I found Sarah behind me. She was panting slightly, clinging to the doorframe as though afraid she'd fall over without the support, her face ashen.

"Oh my God," I exclaimed, my gaze dropping automatically to her rounded belly. "What's wrong? Are you having contractions? Is the baby coming?"

"No," she managed with a shake of her head, still panting slightly. "It's not me."

"Then what—?"

"That was the hospital. It's Mum."

***

"Complications?" Sarah echoed heatedly. "What do you mean, complications?"

The doctor looked rather flustered. "Shall we sit down?" she said, casting a wary glance at my sister's swollen belly before waving her hand towards the chairs lining the far wall of the room.

Graham had raced home from work to ferry us to the hospital but on arriving at the medical ward where Mum had been staying we discovered no one was quite sure what was going on. There'd been a nerve-wracking hour or so during which one of the nurses had paged doctors and made various phone calls but had only been able to determine that my mother was in theatre undergoing emergency surgery. Eventually, we'd been told to make our way upstairs to the Cardiac Intensive Care Unit and that we should wait for further updates in the relatives' lounge. Dr Martinez had arrived shortly afterwards.

"It's actually quite rare for problems to arise during an angiogram," she explained, looking a lot more at ease now we were seated. "But as with any procedure there are risks which Mrs Ashmore—your mother—would've been told about before agreeing to give her consent."

Sarah and I exchanged glances. If Mum had been told there were risks, she'd certainly kept quiet about them. But then she'd made light of all the tests she'd undertaken.

"Generally speaking though," Dr Martinez continued, "the benefit of having the procedure done far outweighs the risks. If the angiogram shows that there is narrowing of the coronary arteries, we can often carry out what we call angioplasty during the same procedure. That might involve inflating a small balloon in the artery or placing a small tube called a stent in the artery to widen it. It means we can avoid surgery wherever possible."

"So what went wrong?" Graham asked, looping an arm around his wife's shoulders.

"I was told that the technician found significant narrowing and was attempting to place a stent. Unfortunately there was some damage to the artery and your mother had to be taken to theatre for emergency coronary artery bypass surgery."

There was a pause while she waited for us to digest this information. I looked up at the doctor, afraid to ask the question I most wanted to ask, but knowing one of us had to do it. "Is she going to make it?"

As I'd expected, Dr Martinez took care to keep her expression neutral. "I'm sure the team in theatre will be doing all they can to take the very best care of your mother. But I can tell you that bypass operations are usually very successful."

I nodded. "How long will it take?"

"That rather depends on what the surgeon decides is necessary. It maybe that just one bypass graft is needed, on the other hand, four might be needed. So at least three hours, possibly up to six or more."

"Right," I murmured.

"Obviously, you're welcome to stay here and wait, as they'll bring her up to intensive care afterwards, although," Dr Martinez directed another rather unsubtle glance towards Sarah, "you could go home and we'll give you a call just as soon as she's out of theatre—"

"No," Sarah interrupted. "We'll stay."

"Okay." The doctor rose to her feet. "Well, the moment there's any news, I'll come and let you know, of course. But in the meantime…"

She left the sentence hanging and I knew she was looking for permission to leave. "Yes, thank you," I said quickly. "Thanks for taking the time to speak to us." And after nodding briefly, the doctor made good her escape.

"I need to go for a walk," Sarah said unexpectedly, shattering the silence that had fallen over the room. "I can't just sit here right now."

Graham stood up and extended his arm to help her up. "Come on then. We'll go down to the canteen and get—"

"No. I just need some fresh air, that's all." She hesitated. "Would you mind if I took Becky with me?"

He looked surprised but shook his head. "Of course not," he said, helping her to her feet. "Take your phone and then I can call you if anything happens."

I found myself having to run along the corridor to catch up with her, my sister moving surprisingly fast for a woman who was almost at full term. When I reached her side she slapped the phone into my hand. "Call Daniel again. If he cares as much as he says he does, he should be here."

"But you're not supposed to use a mobile in a hospital," I began.

"Just do it. That line about the signals interfering with electronic equipment has to be a load of crap. The doctors here use them all the time."

I obeyed meekly, knowing better than to argue with Sarah in this mood. "He's still not answering. It's gone to voicemail again." I ended the call, not bothering to leave a message. I'd already left three and sent several texts. "I'm going to have to go out and get myself a new phone. I can't keep using yours all the—"

"You slept with someone else?"

"What?" I stared at her as she stopped abruptly, turning around to face me. "Sarah!" She really wanted me to tell her about that now?

She shrugged. "You heard the doctor. We're going to be waiting around for hours, Daniel's not here. And God knows, I need something different to think about."

"So do I!" I burst out. "But I can't think about anything else, okay? I can't sleep, I can't eat…"

She frowned. "You're not talking about Mum anymore, are you?"

"For fuck's sake." As I slumped against the wall, burying my face in my hands, I could feel her gazing at me. She was probably trying to decide whether she needed to have me committed, I decided. And I wouldn't blame her. It certainly felt as though I was losing my mind.

"You should've told me before." Though the words were full of reproach, her tone was gentle now.

"Yeah, well." I gave a helpless shrug. "I figured there was enough going on already without me making things even more complicated."

"Does Daniel know?"

"Not yet."

"You're going to tell him?"

"I don't know." I rubbed at my aching temples, closing my eyes. "Maybe."

"What about the other guy? Are you still seeing him?"

Hearing the frank curiosity in Sarah's tone, I couldn't repress a choke of bitter laughter. "No. And I doubt I'll ever see him again. It was just a one night thing."

"When?"

I sighed. So much had happened in the last week it felt like it could've been a year ago. "When I was in Cornwall."

There was a pause. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

Puzzled she hadn't heard me, I opened my eyes. "In Cornwall. The night before Mum had her heart attack."

There was a rather odd expression on my sister's face. "So let me get this straight," she said slowly. "You slept with another man on the Friday night before Mum had her heart attack?"

"Yes." I stared at her, unable to decipher the strange looks she was giving me.

"The week after you should have got married?"

"Yes!" Dear God, was her brain really that pickled?

"The week after you found out that Daniel had been sleeping with another woman and called off the wedding?"

"Sis, you're scaring me," I muttered uncertainly.

"Not half as much as you're scaring me. Come on." And looking grimly determined, she slid her arm through mine. "We're going to take that walk now and you're going to tell me all about it."

***

Sarah regarded me solemnly over the rim of her polystyrene cup. "You can't be serious? I'm not allowed to know his name?"

I shook my head, the sense of relief at having finally shared my guilty secret almost overwhelming. "No way. I know you. You'll do something stupid like look him up on the internet." And believe me, I'd already thought of doing it.

"Of course!" she exclaimed, clutching my arm, making me slop my own cup of tea. "That's what you should do. You'd probably find him really easily."

"No, Sarah! Just stop it, will you? He made it pretty clear that he wasn't interested in having a relationship. It was just a one night stand."

We were sitting on one of the park benches that lined a quadrangle of grass, buildings surrounding us on all sides, the paths dotted with pots of spring flowers. I don't think either of us had expected to discover such a haven of tranquillity slap bang in the middle of the hospital—we'd taken a wrong turn shortly after visiting the WRVS coffee shop. And given the area was deserted save for us, it seemed no one else knew about it either.

"But what a one night stand." Sarah's eyes looked misty and I hadn't told her even half of what happened. "It sounds so romantic."

I attempted a snort, not wanting to admit that it was. "Your hormones are completely up the spout."

"You should've left him a message at hotel reception. At least given him the choice of getting in touch with you if he wanted to."

"Oh right. And how was I supposed to do that with Daniel right beside me?"

She gave me a withering look. "Like that should've made any difference. You aren't with him anymore, remember? If that'd been me, I'd have rubbed his nose right in it. Let him know that I'd found someone else."

"No, you wouldn't." I swallowed, looking down into my tea. There was a fly in it and it wasn't swimming. "You'd have done exactly what I did. You'd have felt exactly like I did. I couldn't think straight, okay? All I could think about was Mum."

"Okay, okay," Sarah conceded. "Maybe you're right." Her voice softened suddenly. "But you do understand that what you did was completely different to what Daniel did, don't you?"

I wanted to. "How was it different? I was going to marry Daniel. How could I do something like that so soon—so soon after we were supposed to get married?"

"Oh honey." She sighed. "That's the thing about falling in love. You can't control it. You can't decide when it's going to happen."

Shocked, I jerked up my head. "Who said anything about falling in love?"

My sister grinned. "You did. Just now. While you were telling me what happened."

I stared at her, aghast. "But I never even mentioned the word 'love'."

"You didn't have to. It's written all over your face. You should have seen the look in your eyes when you were talking about the guy."

"What?" I started to laugh. "Sarah, we spent one night together. One night!"

"Whatever." She gave me a knowing smile then glanced down at her watch, sobering quickly. "I guess we should make our way back upstairs and keep Graham company. We've been here hours."

I let Sarah lead the way, trailing slightly in her wake as I continued to ponder her suggestion I'd fallen in love with Luke. Of course I hadn't. The idea was absurd. I'd fallen in lust, certainly, but not in love. Though there'd been an immediate connection between us, a bond even I couldn't deny. And it'd started the moment he rescued me from the rising tide, the moment I'd clambered up those rocks towards his outstretched arms.

"Oh good, you're back," Graham said, looking mightily relieved to see us as we turned into the relatives' lounge. "I was about to call you. One of the nurses just came to say they're bringing her up right now."

But even as he spoke, I heard movement outside and swinging around to look I saw a throng of people. "Mum?" I gasped, running out into the hall but finding I couldn't see her, the moving trolley surrounded by staff in surgical scrubs. It was only when they reached the entrance to the Cardiac Intensive Care Unit that I finally caught a glimpse and for a moment I couldn't believe it was her.

"Oh God," I breathed, tears filling my eyes as I hurried after them, seeing all the portable machinery surrounding her in the trolley, the bags of fluid hanging above, the tangle of tubes and wires emerging from beneath the sheet that covered her tiny looking body, yet another tube partially obscuring her face. "Oh no. Wait—"

"It's okay, sweetie." I felt a hand on my shoulder and startled, I turned to see that one of the group had dropped back to prevent me from following the small procession through the doors. "You'll be able to see her soon, I promise," she added gently, her Scottish lilt reassuring. "My name's Caitlin. I'm one of the intensive care nurses who'll be looking after her. We just need to get her settled in, all right?"

"Did the operation go well?"

I jumped at the sound of Graham's voice, turning to find him right behind me, Sarah clinging to his hand.

"The surgeon will be up to talk to you soon. He'll be able to take you through what happened and what will happen now, okay?" Caitlin gave us another smile then started moving towards the doors herself. "Shouldn't be too long now."

After she disappeared, I watched as Graham swept his distraught-looking wife into a hug, realising I was trembling. I'd been scared the first time I'd thought my mother was going to die. But when she'd made such good progress, when she'd been on the verge of coming home, I'd dared to believe everything would be all right. Back in the grip of cold fear just ten days later I felt more helpless then ever.

"Becca!" I swivelled around to see Daniel running towards us, his face taut with concern. "I'm so sorry!" he exclaimed, throwing his arms around me and dragging me tightly against him. "I left my phone at the flat. I didn't see your messages until I got home just now."

"It's okay," I murmured, not fighting the embrace, closing my eyes as I leaned against him. "They just brought her back from theatre. Daniel, you should've s-seen her…"

"Oh Becca." I felt the brush of his mouth against my temple as I broke down into sobs, his arms tightening around me, for once providing the comfort I needed so badly. "I'm so sorry I wasn't here."

"It's okay," I muttered again automatically. "You're h-here now, that's all that matters." But as I clung to him like a life raft, trying to draw strength, I heard Sarah calling my name.

"Mrs Ashmore's family?" a familiar male voice said, the sound coming from right in front of me.

And as my eyes shot open, the breath catching in my throat as I peered over Daniel's shoulder, I found myself staring at the surgeon.

Staring straight into the piercing blue eyes of Luke Foster.

Chapter 7

"My name's Luke Foster," he said without smiling, holding my gaze across Daniel's shoulder for one more second before turning abruptly to my sister. "I'm one of the consultant cardiothoracic surgeons here and I performed Gillian Ashmore's surgery. And you are?"

"I'm her daughter, Sarah. And this is Graham, my husband. And that's Rebecca, my sister. With her—with—erm—"

But even as she struggled to find the right descriptive noun, Daniel let go of me, pushing me aside as he turned. "You?" he exclaimed, glaring angrily at Luke.

I watched in bewilderment as Luke stared back, catching just the merest flicker of shock in his eyes. And then it vanished. "Daniel," he said coolly before immediately returning his attention to Sarah. "Well, first of all, let me assure you that the operation went very well. I realise it must've been alarming to hear that something had gone wrong during the procedure this morning. Statistically, only about one in a—"

"You?" Daniel burst out again, seeming quite unable to contain himself. "They let a scumbag like you become a consultant?"

"Daniel!" It was Sarah's turn to look shocked. "Please, I don't know how you two know each other, but—"

"Oh, you'd like to know how I know him, would you?" Daniel's face had flushed to the roots of his blond hair, his body tensing. "Would you like to know what he did?"

"Daniel!" Graham's tone was sharp. "Whatever history there might be between the two of you, this isn't the time or the place to be discussing it, okay? This man," he gestured towards Luke, "whether you like it or not, has just saved my mother-in-law's life. And if you don't think you can keep it buttoned while he tells us about how Gillie's doing, then maybe you'd better go somewhere else. Okay?"

Baffled, I found myself gazing at them each in turn, at Graham who'd provided the voice of reason, at Daniel as he struggled to compose himself then at Luke, his face impassive. Had it not been for those breathtakingly familiar blue eyes I knew I would've struggled to recognise him, clad as he was in green surgical scrubs, a matching cap completely covering his hair. And though it was slowly dawning on me I could've guessed there was a remote possibility Luke worked in a hospital in my home city, I still couldn't figure out how on earth he and Daniel knew each other.

Daniel gave a brief nod but was clearly simmering with rage, standing with legs astride, his arms hanging loosely by his sides as if readying himself for a fist fight.

"As I was saying…" Luke went on quietly, continuing to focus on Sarah—why wouldn't he look at me? "It's very unusual for patients to have complications during angioplasty. But the one good thing about that is that if there are complications, we're in a good position to take action straightaway."

Feeling increasingly as though I was in the middle of an extremely bad dream, complete with a cast of characters that had no business being together in the same scene, I listened as he told us he'd carried out a triple coronary artery bypass graft operation, patiently describing what that had entailed. Something about re-plumbing Mum's heart by using an artery from inside her chest and a vein from her leg. It sounded incredibly complicated, no, make that horrific, and I found my eyes filling with tears again as he went on to explain a machine was doing my mother's breathing for her in order to reduce the workload on her newly-repaired heart.

"We'll keep her asleep through the night," he continued. "But provided she does well, and at the moment, I have no reason to suspect that she won't, we'll wake her up tomorrow morning and work towards getting her off the breathing machine." He hesitated. "Though I should make it clear that the next few hours are critical and although I don't anticipate any problems, I really can't make any promises at this stage. There are always risks with major surgery and your mother's condition is serious at the moment."

There was a pause while we all digested this news, Sarah the first one to speak. "Can we see her now?" she asked, the quiver in her voice betraying just how close she was to tears herself.

Luke nodded. "I'll go and see how they're getting on," he said, reaching out to touch her upper arm, the sight of the reassuring gesture making me ache with envy. I was growing desperate for him to look at me, to make some indication he was aware of my presence. But without so much as a glance in my direction, he gave Sarah another smile and headed for the double doors.

"I don't believe it," Daniel muttered furiously, the moment he was gone. "I don't fucking believe it."

"What?" Graham demanded, turning to confront him. "For heaven's sake, Dan, what the hell was all that about?"

"What was all that about?" Daniel gave a bitter snort. "I'll tell you what that was about, shall I? That was about Chloe."

"Chloe?" I gasped, startled. "What about Chloe?"

"Luke Foster." He stabbed a finger in the direction of the double doors. "He was the one, okay? He was the one!"

"The one—what?" Sarah asked, seeming bemused. "Daniel, you're not making any sense."

But he was.

And as I realised exactly what it was that linked Daniel and Luke, I went cold with shock. "Oh God," I breathed, my legs suddenly feeling rather weak. "Chloe's baby."

Sarah gave Daniel an incredulous look. "You're not serious?" she said, narrowing her gaze. She already knew the story. We all did. "He was the one that got Chloe pregnant? He's the one that—"

"—made her lose the baby?" Daniel finished grimly. "Yep. He's the one. Of course he is. How do you think he knew my name?"

I gazed back towards the double doors, aware of how heavily my heart was thudding in my chest. This couldn't be happening, I thought. It couldn't be real. I had to be dreaming.

Because it didn't equate to what I knew about Luke, at least, not the Luke I'd met ten days previously. The Luke I'd met had been capable and caring, tender and warm. Arrogant at times, certainly, but that probably went with the territory in his profession. But I found it hard to imagine he could ever have treated anyone as callously—as heartlessly—as he'd allegedly treated Chloe.

Though most of the pieces of the puzzle seemed to fit. When I'd asked Luke who'd damaged him so badly, when I'd asked him what she'd done, he'd said it wasn't so much what she'd done, it was what he'd done. He'd openly admitted to hurting her. But not physically. That piece of the puzzle didn't seem to fit at all.

"Dan, it was years ago," Graham said quietly. "You need to let it rest—no listen," he added, putting up his hand as Daniel gave another snort. "I'm being serious. Chloe's put it behind her and so must you."

"Yeah, right." Daniel blew out an exasperated sigh. "He's a surgeon, for fuck's sake. With responsibility for people's lives."

"What, you don't think anyone should have a second chance?" Sarah said, frowning at him. "That if you make a mistake, you should never be allowed to forget it? Remember, you don't even know for sure what happened that day."

"Are you saying my sister wasn't telling the truth?"

"No." Sarah shook her head. "I'm just pointing out that you only ever heard her side of the story and you acted on it. And quite frankly, I've always thought what you and your mates did to him was almost as bad as what he was supposed to have done to Chloe. Two wrongs don't make a right, Daniel."

Daniel looked ready to explode. "Sarah, you don't have—"

"Shut up!" I hissed, seeing the doors to the intensive care unit swing open again. But it wasn't Luke. Two members of staff emerged pushing a now empty trolley, followed closely by Caitlin, the nurse who'd stopped to speak to me when they'd first brought my mother back from theatre.

"Hi there," she said with another warm smile as the staff with the trolley headed off down the hall. "You can come through to see her for a few minutes. But after that, I'll have to ask you to limit it to two visitors at a time, please. With all the equipment at the bedspace I'm afraid there's not really enough room for all of you at once."

We trooped after her along a short corridor, obediently washing our hands when requested to reduce the risk of introducing infection before following her into the ward. It seemed frantically busy after the relative calm of the general medical ward, several people clustered around the nurses' station, still others working between the row of five beds on the opposite wall. I'd found the technology on the coronary care unit overwhelming enough but the sight of all the monitors and machines surrounding each one of the seriously ill patients was shocking, the noise equally disconcerting, a cacophony of bleeps and alarms.

"Here we are," Caitlin said brightly, much to my relief leading us away from the bustle of the main ward into a side room. "As I said, it's a bit of a squeeze."

Squeeze was the right word. There was barely enough room for us to huddle around the bed, our collective eyes zooming to its occupant.

"It just looks like she's asleep," Sarah said after a moment, the note of relief obvious in her tone. "I know there's the tube there and everything, but her colour's good…" She trailed off, sounding rather tearful. I watched as Graham put his arms around her, stiffening as I felt an arm being slung around my own shoulders.

"You okay?" Daniel murmured.

I drew a shaky breath, ducking out from beneath him by dropping down into the chair conveniently positioned beside my mother's bed. "I'm fine," I lied, far from fine. Because to be truthful, all I wanted to do was run. To run as fast as I could, away from that room, away from the sight of my mother propped up in that bed. To run until I could run no more.

This time I couldn't cry. I could feel the anguish building within me, could feel it rising into my chest, forming such a tight knot there it seemed hard to breathe. And although I could hear Caitlin talking now, quietly answering my sister's questions about the function of some of the items of equipment, I couldn't take in what she was saying, the feeling this really was a nightmare intensifying by the second.

"Caitlin?" My head jerked up at the sound of Luke's voice. He was peering round the door. "I'm going to grab a quick coffee. Who's the intensivist on this evening—is it Rob?"

Caitlin nodded.

"Can you tell him I'll be back to talk to him in say," he glanced up at the clock on the wall, "twenty minutes?"

She shot him a smile. "No problem. I think we'll manage."

He grinned back, the familiar sight somehow adding to the pressure in my chest. "I'm sure you will." And to my dismay he walked away.

I found myself squashing down an almost irresistible urge to shout after him, to beg him to come back—to at least make some acknowledgement of my existence. What the hell was going on? Why wouldn't he make eye contact with me? Was he trying to protect me? To protect himself? Or—and suddenly I was struck by an even more disturbing thought—was it possible he didn't remember who I was?

"Well…" Breaking into my thoughts, Caitlin's voice sounded curiously distant though she was standing only a yard or so away from me. "I hate to ask you this as I know it's only been a few minutes but could two of you go and wait out in the relatives' room now? Arrange to take turns between you?"

I turned to find Sarah looking at me with pleading eyes. It was obvious she wanted to stay. "No—no problem," I managed, relieved to have the opportunity to flee. "Daniel and me—we'll go." And without waiting for him to agree, I leapt out of the chair and headed for the door.

I was halfway across the ward by the time he caught up with me. "Becca, I should give Mum a quick call. Let her know what's happening," he said as we turned into the corridor, already pulling his mobile phone out of his pocket. "I s'pose I'll have to go outside but I promise I won't be long."

"It's fine," I said, on autopilot now. "Take as long as you want."

But as he strode ahead of me, breaking into a jog as he reached the end of the corridor, my legs turned to jelly, forcing me to stop.

"Oh God," I groaned, watching helplessly as the doors swung closed behind him, aware of the oddest buzzing noise in my head. "Oh God. Please no." But I knew what was coming, knew it was inevitable, my skin growing clammy as the hot wave of nausea washed over me, the buzzing noise reaching a crescendo…

"Whoa!" I heard the voice in my ear just as the darkness swept in, feeling strong arms folding around me. "It's me—I've got you. Down we go." And holding me tightly, Luke sank with me to the floor, kneeling behind me as my bottom hit the tiles. "We have to stop meeting like this."

I didn't answer. I couldn't answer, feeling horribly sick, everything—the walls, the floor, the doors—swirling around me in a dizzying blur. And as I closed my eyes in a desperate attempt to make it stop, I felt him scoot backwards, lowering me further still until my head was in his lap.

"Your breathing's too shallow," he observed, his fingertips warm on my neck as he sought my pulse. "Come on. Big deep breaths now."

"Luke—"

"Ssh-ssh, not now. Breathe."

I did as I was bid, forcing myself to repeatedly inhale then exhale, the effort seeming to take all my concentration, opening my eyes only when I felt him lay the back of his hand across my forehead, presumably to check my temperature this time. "I'm okay," I murmured irritably, relieved to discover the world wasn't spinning anymore. "I'm sorry. I think I'll be all right now." But when I tried to lift my head, pushing against his hand, Luke pushed me straight back down again.

"Don't even think about moving. You're not going anywhere until I say you can."

"But—" It occurred to me I was lying full length in the middle of the corridor and though there didn't seem to be anyone around right now, the thought someone might see me there was mortifying. "I'm okay, really. I just—"

"—fainted," he finished grimly, smoothing the hair back from my face. "I noticed."

"I didn't actually faint," I protested as he leaned over me, wincing as he used his thumbs to push at the skin beneath my eyes, inspecting the insides of my eyelids. What now? Did he think I was anaemic?

"Becks, I very nearly didn't catch you. Trust me, you fainted, babe."

Becks. Who'd have thought I'd be so relieved to hear that particular abbreviation of my name? "I'm fine," I muttered, pushing away his hands as unexpected tears prickled my eyes. "Let me get up."

"I don't think so. Your blood pressure just fell through the floor. There's no way I'm letting you get back up again until I'm sure I know why."

"Well, I'm definitely not pregnant, before you—" And then I stopped as his eyes narrowed, the memory of Daniel's reaction on first seeing Luke all coming back in a rush.

Chloe's baby. He's the one…

"Good to know," he said after a slight pause that left me in no doubt he'd been able to read my thoughts. "Not that it would've mattered if you were, I guess. Not now anyway."

"What?" And then I realised what he meant. He'd seen me in Daniel's arms. "No, it's not what—"

"When did you last eat?"

Thrown by the sharpness of the question, I gazed up at him, casting my mind back over the long afternoon of waiting, to the time I'd spent at my sister's house and finally, all the way back to my alarm going off that morning. He wasn't going to like my answer at all. "Yesterday," I admitted in a small voice.

"Rebecca!" Luke swore under his breath then sighed heavily. "Right." I felt his hands sliding beneath my shoulders, lifting me slightly before moving in behind me, supporting me with his knees as he began easing me upright. "Steady now."

"Wh-where are we going?" I stammered, rather unsettled to find his body effectively spooning my own, the warmth of his skin radiating through his scrubs and straight through my own cotton shirt.

"Down to the restaurant to get you fed."

"But I can't—"

"I hope to God you're not planning on arguing." His voice was right in my ear again as he lifted me to my feet, his hands firmly seizing my waist. "One more word from you and I'll call the porters. I'll have you shipped down to Accident and Emergency and get you admitted for the night."

I twisted my head to give him a horrified glance. "You—" I began before stopping abruptly, disconcerted to find his face scant inches from mine. "You wouldn't?" I finished lamely.

"Oh, wouldn't I?" he murmured, still holding my gaze, his eyes suddenly seeming to darken. "Don't bet on it."

And as I stared back, my heart already starting to race, I was sure he was going to kiss me.

"What the hell…?"

I jumped at the sound of Daniel's voice, jerking my head back around to discover he was standing at the end of the hallway, a look of utter disgust contorting his expression. "Daniel," I faltered, feeling Luke's hands tighten at my waist. "I—"

"Get your hands off my fiancée."

I stared at him in horror, appalled to hear the venom dripping from every word. "What? Daniel!"

"Certainly," Luke interrupted, his tone icily smooth. "Though I think you should know that she just fainted, right here in the corridor. So I'd rather not let her go until you come down here and take her from me, given there's a more than slight chance she'll do it again."

Daniel frowned, clearly not sure whether Luke was serious. "You passed out?" he asked, staring at me.

"Nearly," I murmured, still unwilling to admit I had. "But I'm fine now."

"Becca!" He marched forwards, seizing my shoulders as he arrived in front of us, snatching me none too gently from Luke's grasp. "For heaven's sake."

"You need to start taking better care of her," I heard Luke say somewhere behind me, the cold note remaining in his voice. "She needs something to eat and a cup of hot sweet tea. I know the tea's a bit of a cliché but it'll do the trick nicely. There's a restaurant down on the ground floor."

"Right," Daniel muttered angrily, already steering me towards the doors. He was holding me so tightly I couldn't turn around, his fingertips biting into the tops of my arms.

"Oh and Rebecca?"

Daniel stopped, releasing his grip just enough to allow me to peer back over my shoulder.

"Those stitches." Luke gestured towards me then pointed at his own right arm. "They need to come out." And after giving me one last look, he walked away, turning left to re-enter the ward.

I managed to wrench myself free the moment we were outside the unit, the effort taking almost the last of my reserves. "How dare you?" I exclaimed, Daniel visibly flinching at the ferocity with which my words were spoken. "How could you say that to him?"

"Becca, that man should never have been allowed to become a surgeon. He's scum. He—"

"He saved my mother's life. He saved…" I'd been about to say 'my life too' but Daniel didn't know that, did he? "Look, if he hadn't been there just now, I'd probably still be lying on the floor," I finished instead. "I'd probably have—"

And then I stopped, realising I didn't want to argue the point any longer. Because there was no point in arguing the point. It wasn't the reason I was upset.

He threw me a puzzled glance. "What?"

"Nothing. Daniel…" I drew a deep breath, closing my eyes briefly. It was time to do what I should've done days ago. "We need to talk. But I need to eat. Let's go down to the restaurant."

***

"Are you okay, Becky?"

Hearing the soft Scottish brogue, I looked up to see Caitlin standing in the doorway of the side room, gazing at me with concern. I attempted a smile, glancing briefly at my mother's face before turning back to Caitlin. "I'm fine," I said, as brightly as I could manage. But then what was I supposed to say? Actually, I feel terrible. I think this may have been the worst day of my life. Which was quite something, really. There'd been a lot of bad days just lately, each one seemingly worse than the last.

Caitlin's eyes softened. "You're not though, are you?" she said gently, coming into the room. She nodded her head towards the empty chair beside mine. "Is your sister still here?"

I shook my head. "She and Graham went home while you were on your break."

It'd had taken a while to convince Sarah it was okay to leave Mum in the capable hands of the intensive care unit staff. But as the hours had ticked by, hours during which we'd watched Caitlin moving endlessly around the bed space, checking monitors, taking blood samples, writing down observations on a huge wall chart and administering medications, it'd become clear Mum was stable. She certainly looked peaceful enough, seemingly oblivious to the clicks and whirrs of the machinery around her.

Sarah on the other hand, so very heavily pregnant, had seemed far from at ease during our bedside vigil, repeatedly standing up then sitting down again in a bid to find a comfortable position. Eventually, we'd all pointed out that Mum, who'd been anxious enough about Sarah and the baby as it was during the days after her heart attack, would hate the idea of her daughter suffering needlessly, particularly as she didn't appear to be in any immediate danger. So after I'd made a solemn vow to call them if there was any change in Mum's condition whatsoever, Sarah and Graham had left.

Caitlin looked relieved. "Oh, good. I know she would've liked to have stayed a bit longer, but poor thing, I felt so sorry for her." Then she frowned slightly. "So you're here on your own now? What happened to the other guy who was here—Daniel, wasn't it?"

"Oh." I drew in a breath. "He—er—he had to go."

Daniel hadn't taken the news our relationship was well and truly over particularly well. In fact, when I'd broken it to him as succinctly as I could, over a pot of tea and a cheese and tomato baguette, I'd thought he was going to cry, he looked so wretched. It certainly hadn't done much for my appetite but mindful of Luke's threat to have me admitted as a patient, I'd forced the soggy sandwich down anyway.

"But I love you," he'd said mournfully. "I love you, and I love your Mum—"

"I know you do," I'd interrupted. "To be honest, I think you love my mother more than you love me. And she loves you too, despite everything. God knows why. But whatever it was that we had—it's gone, Daniel. You cheated on me and I can't get over that. I won't get over that. Because I don't want to. I don't need to. I don't love you any more."

He'd spent a short while trying to persuade me I was wrong but eventually he'd seemed to get the message. And much to my surprise, I hadn't had to ask him to go. After he, like Sarah, had extracted a promise from me to call him if anything happened, he'd left.

I'd expected to feel better afterwards but I didn't. Instead, I felt hollowed-out inside, strangely empty. But then, the job wasn't fully complete, was it? There was still one person I needed to tell.

"Caitlin?" I looked up at the nurse and then back at my mother, dismayed to find my bottom lip quivering. "How's she doing? Please, be honest with me. Is she going to be all right?"

"Oh, hey…" Grabbing a box of tissues, Caitlin came around the bed, dropping down into the chair next to me and putting her hand on mine. "She's doing fine. Certainly as well as can be expected, sweetie. Obviously, it's early days, but there haven't been any complications so far and that's good."

"Really?" Taking a tissue, I made a swipe at my wet cheeks, embarrassed.

"Really. Besides, Mr Foster did her surgery and his patients nearly always do well. Though to tell you the truth, you're lucky he was here today. He wasn't supposed to be."

I stared at her, puzzled. "He wasn't?"

She shook her head. "He was supposed to be on annual leave this week. His sister got married at the weekend, you see."

Of course. Julie and Tim's wedding would've been on Saturday.

"And he was the best man," Caitlin went on. "I keep meaning to ask him how his speech went. He wasn't looking forward to that bit at all. Anyway, goodness knows why he was here. You wouldn't catch me working if I'd booked a week of leave. No wonder he's not married himself. Married to his job, that one." She sighed and shot me a conspiratorial grin. "More's the pity. Easy on the eye, isn't he? Bit short maybe, but hey, you can't have everything." Her grin widened. "Not that he's ever shown the remotest interest in me. Or anyone else for that matter."

"Right," I murmured, not sure how else to respond. So Luke had been telling the truth when he said it'd been a while.

"So was it just that, or is there something else you're worrying about?" Caitlin asked unexpectedly, her tone softening again. "It's just, you looked so sad when I came in. I'm not meaning to pry but I'd like to help, if I can."

"Oh." I heaved a sigh. "It's—it's a long story. I—" Reaching forward, I picked up Mum's hand, taking care not to disturb the intravenous line in her forearm. "I messed up. I did something I really shouldn't have done. Said something I shouldn't have said. And I really, really need to talk to Mum about it. But I can't, can I? Not while she's like—like this."

As the tears began dripping down my face again, I heard Caitlin taking another tissue from the box then felt her pushing it into my palm. "Why not?" she said simply as I dabbed at my eyes.

"Because she wouldn't hear me," I said, surprised I needed to explain.

"Ah, but she might. Very often patients tell us they were aware of things going on around them during their time in intensive care. And even if she doesn't hear you, I still think you should tell her whatever it is you need to tell her." She smiled. "You'll feel better for having done it and whatever happens in the next twenty-four hours or so, at least you'll know that you've told her. Think of it as a dummy run, if you like."

"Right." I looked at my Mum, her face so familiar, yet unfamiliar at the same time with the breathing tube in her mouth and her hair brushed over to the wrong side. "Maybe."

"I'll tell you what." Caitlin offered me one last tissue then rose to her feet. "I'm going to leave you two alone for a bit anyway because I need to write up my nursing notes. I'll be just outside, so don't worry. Just shout if you need me. We can watch all the monitors from the front desk anyway, okay?"

I nodded. "Okay. And Caitlin—thanks."

She smiled. "You're welcome."

When she'd gone, I leaned over the bed and carefully swept my mother's hair back over to the right side. "That's better," I said softly. "Now you look more like my Mum." Now for the hard part.

"Well," I began then hesitated. It seemed odd to address someone who appeared so deeply asleep. "I guess this is worth a shot, right? Because, like Caitlin said, I do need to do this."

And taking a deep breath, I started to talk, the words coming painfully slowly at first as I admitted Daniel and I weren't getting back together. That I'd only said that we were because she'd been so ill, because I'd thought she was going to die. But after I'd made that first faltering confession, it was as though I'd opened the floodgates to my jumbled emotions, emotions I hadn't even realised I was experiencing.

Because suddenly, I found myself telling her how hurt I'd been she'd taken Daniel's side and not mine, her own daughter's. Telling her that I couldn't understand how she could've wanted me to stay with him even though he'd cheated on me, even though he'd been unfaithful to me. How upsetting it'd been that the first words she'd said to me when I'd arrived with Daniel at the hospital after her heart attack were 'just tell me this means you're getting back together'.

"Didn't you want the best for me, Mum?" I choked, letting the tears fall unchecked now. I'd soaked so many tissues, I'd given up trying to mop my face. "I'm twenty-seven, for heaven's sake. I'm not going to get left on the shelf. And hey, even if I did, wouldn't that be better than being stuck with someone like Daniel? Why would you want me to be with him when there are other men out there I'd be so much happier with? Because I know that there are now, okay? You see, I met someone when I was in Cornwall, Mum, and he was wonderful. Really wonderful. But I've spent all week feeling guilty about being with him. Because of you. Why should I have felt guilty? I had nothing to feel guilty for!"

I closed my eyes, feeling utterly drained. Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea after all. Surely this hadn't been what Caitlin had had in mind? "I'm sorry," I murmured weakly. "I probably shouldn't have said all of that. Maybe I should hope that you didn't hear a word of it. But I meant it. I meant it all. I'm sorry you had a heart attack because of me, I'm sorry you got so upset because I never meant that to happen. But I was upset, too. I needed you to be there for me but you weren't. Maybe—maybe you'll be able to tell me why, when you're better? Because I love you. So you'd better get better soon, okay?"

And finding a space on the bed beside my mother's legs, I rested my head upon my arms, looking up at her face as I listened to the soft whooshing noise of the machine doing her breathing for her, its slow rhythm hypnotically soothing…

"You need to go home."

Startled to hear Luke's voice, I lifted my head feeling horribly groggy, my eyes dry and gritty. "Wh-what?" My cheek felt oddly prickly too. "No," I protested, rubbing at it and finding tiny ridges there. "I'm not going home. I'm staying here tonight."

"I don't think so," Luke countered as I peered at the cellular blanket on the bed, realising its crosshatched pattern was now imprinted across my skin.

"But…" I stared at him in dismay. "Caitlin said I could stay. She said I—"

"The night shift came on half an hour ago. Caitlin isn't here anymore. She's gone home and that's where you're going too."

Unable to decide whether he was serious, I continued to gaze at him, noticing he'd changed out of his scrubs and was now wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, the same pale blue sweatshirt he'd let me borrow after rescuing me from the beach. The same sweatshirt, I realised as I felt a sudden lurch not far south of my navel, I'd been wearing when we'd had 'meaningless' sex.

"No," I said at last, shaking my head. "I'm not going. I'm staying here. You can't make me go."

Luke rolled his eyes. "I can," he said rather wearily, as though he'd been half-expecting a fight. "You see, your mother—who's doing very well, by the way—is my patient. Which means I get to pull rank. If I don't want any of her visitors to stay at her bedside overnight then they don't. It's as simple as that."

"You're going to force me to leave?"

"Hey." Luke shrugged. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way. You can agree to go or I can call security and have you escorted from the building. Either way, I'm driving you home."

I shot him an incredulous look. "Driving me home?"

"I know, what can I say?" He gave me a sudden grin. "I'm a really wonderful guy." And as I stared at him, the full significance of his choice of words slowly dawning, he moved nearer to my mother and touched her shoulder. "I'll bring her back tomorrow Mrs Ashmore, okay?" he said softly, addressing her as though he had no doubt she could hear him. "I'm looking forward to meeting you properly in the morning."

"Luke…"

He smiled, shaking his head as he straightened up. "Say goodnight to your Mum. I'll wait for you outside." And before I could say another word, he'd disappeared.

I swallowed hard, taking my mother's hand in my own and squeezing her fingers gently. "Looks like I've got to go, then," I whispered. "Please stay strong?" Then I bent to kiss her, closing my eyes for a moment as I rested my cheek against her forehead. "I love you. See you in the morning."

Luke was standing by the front desk chatting to two of the nurses but as soon as I approached he made his farewells and fell into step beside me. "Don't worry, okay? They'll take good care of her," he said, opening the ward door and ushering me through. "They're under strict instructions to give me a call if—"

"You were listening?" I burst out, unable to stay quiet any longer. "You heard what I said?"

He had the grace to look sheepish. "I didn't mean to, I swear."

"Luke! That was a private conversation!"

"I know, I know. And I'm sorry, I really am. But I came up to see how your Mum was doing and there you were, pouring your heart out," he winced slightly, "no pun intended."

I stared at him, torn between anger and relief. "How much—how much did you hear?"

He shot me a rueful glance. "Pretty much all of it, I think."

"Luke…"

"But I'm glad I did. Bloody hell, Becks." He blew out a sigh. "I thought you were back with him. I thought you were back with Daniel."

"So did everyone else. Well, everyone except Sarah." I bit my lip. "It was such a stupid thing to do. But I thought—I thought Mum was dying."

Luke slid his arm around me, hugging me awkwardly as we walked. "You do realise her heart attack wasn't your fault, don't you? That was the result of years and years of accumulated damage. A time bomb waiting to explode."

"But all the stress—"

"Maybe hurried things along a bit but it was going to happen anyway, babe. She's probably had undiagnosed high blood pressure for years. I saw her heart this afternoon, okay? It wasn't your fault, I promise."

I saw her heart. I grimaced, trying to chase away the startling image in my mind of Luke rummaging around inside my mother's chest.

"Yeah, probably best not to think about that too much," he murmured sounding amused, apparently reading my mind.

"You mended her broken heart," I said, glancing up at him, wondering if he remembered what he'd said to me that night in the hotel.

He smiled. "Hey, I told you I could."

He remembered. And remembering exactly what we'd been doing—what he'd been doing to me when he'd said it, I suddenly felt very warm indeed. "How—how was the wedding?"

Luke's smile broadened into a grin at the abrupt change of subject. "Good. The weather was fine, the bride looked pregnant—I mean, radiant."

"Julie's pregnant?" Why did it seem as though every woman in the world was pregnant right now?

"Hey, it's a family tradition. My grandmother was pregnant with my Dad when she got married. My mother was pregnant with me when she got married."

"And your speech?"

He shot me a curious look. "Who have you been speaking to?"

"Caitlin. She said you were worried about it."

"Did she indeed?" He rolled his eyes, holding up his hand and flapping his fingers against his thumb. "Nice girl, but boy, can she talk. Don't tell her any of your secrets."

I hesitated. "She also said you were supposed to be on leave this week."

"See what I mean?"

"So why were you here?" The question had been whirling about in my head ever since Caitlin had told me. "You shouldn't even have been here."

There was a slight pause. "No, I guess not. Lucky coincidence, eh?"

I stopped dead in the middle of the hallway, something about the lightness of his tone giving him away. "It wasn't a coincidence," I breathed, staring at him in frank astonishment. "You knew."

"Becks—"

"How on earth…? You knew? You knew she was my mother?"

"All right, babe. Stay calm." And gently taking my shoulders, Luke gazed into my eyes. "Yes, I knew."

"But how?" I shook my head in bewilderment. "I don't understand."

He drew in a breath. "That Saturday morning at the hotel—when I went back to your room, you'd gone. The cleaners were in there. And when I asked at Reception and they told me you'd checked out…" He frowned. "I couldn't believe you'd left without saying goodbye."

"I was going to leave a message."

"I know." His eyes softened. "The girl on the desk told me. She said there was a guy with you but she didn't know who he was. But it turned out she'd only just started her shift. The girl who was on before saw Daniel. He'd told her that your Mum had had a heart attack and she was the one who told him which room you were in. He told her he was your fiancé."

"Right," I murmured. And then I frowned. "I still don't understand. How did you know Mum was here? How did you know where I lived? Did they tell you? Because they shouldn't have—"

Luke shook his head. "Oh I'm sure they wouldn't have told me. But they didn't need to. I already knew."

"What?"

He gave me a rueful smile then glanced down at my right forearm. "I put those stitches in, Rebecca Marie Ashmore, remember? And by the looks of things, I'm going to have to take them out again, too."

I stared at the use of my full name, finally comprehending he'd seen that and my home address on my notes at the Minor Injuries Unit. "You knew all along?" I said slowly. "You knew we lived in the same city?"

He nodded. "When I got back on Sunday, I contacted Admissions and asked whether a Mrs Ashmore had been admitted with a heart attack. And lo and behold, she had. I was down in the Cath Lab on Friday and just happened to notice she was on the list for an angiogram today. I've always got a mountain of paperwork to get through anyway, so I thought it wouldn't hurt to be around, just in case. Besides, the guy who's covering for me this week, well." He grimaced. "He's an okay enough surgeon, but…"

Luke the perfectionist. I gazed at him, my mouth suddenly going very dry. He'd done all that for me. "It really wasn't a coincidence, was it?"

He shook his head. "Nope."

"So when you came up to talk to us after the operation—you knew you were going to see me?"

He grinned. "Well, there was always the chance it was a completely different Mrs Ashmore, I guess. But yes, that was the plan."

"And there was I—"

"—all wrapped up in Daniel's arms." He grimaced. "Seeing that was bad enough, but when I realised your Daniel was that Daniel…"

I stared at him, my sense of euphoria dissipating. "Chloe," I faltered.

He nodded slowly, his gaze remaining steady on mine. "I know. There are things we need to talk about. But not here." And letting me go he dropped his hand into mine, tugging me into motion. "Come on. Let's get you home."

Chapter 8

I awoke with a start, uncomfortably warm, the bedclothes stifling, wrapped far too tightly around me. Judging by the darkness, it was still very early. In fact, somehow the room appeared a little too dark. Puzzled, I lifted my head and shoulders from the bed to look towards the window, wondering whether there'd been a power cut and the street lamps were out. But to my astonishment I couldn't see the window.

I couldn't see a thing.

"Fuck!" I gasped, sitting bolt upright and waving my hand in front of my face. "What the fuck?"

"S'okay," a male voice murmured sleepily. "Lie down, babe. Go back to—"

I screamed, scrambling out of bed as fast as I could. "Fuck!" I yelped again as it occurred to me exactly whose voice it was, my heart thudding painfully in my chest. "Oh God!"

"Good morning to you too." Luke sounded both amused and apologetic. "I should've known there wasn't a chance you'd sleep straight through."

"What? Where am I? Where are you?" Hearing movement, I peered through the gloom, just about managing to make him out. "Why the hell is it so dark in here?"

"You're at my place, in my bed. Well, you were in my bed. And it's the middle of the night, why do you think it's dark? " He patted the duvet. "Come on Becks, get in again. Let me cuddle you back off to sleep."

"Your place?" Desperately trying to remember how I'd landed up there, I stared at him, suddenly realising the reason I was so warm was because I was still fully dressed, minus my shoes. "Your bed?"

"You fell asleep while we were driving, just for a change. What is it about my car? And before you ask me why I didn't wake you up, I tried, okay? Maybe not that hard, but you were out for the count. You didn't even stir when I carried you up here."

"You carried me up here?"

"Are you just going to repeat everything I say? Babe, you need to get some rest. Back to bed, now."

I didn't move, the previous day's events streaming back to me like a clip show on fast forward. The operation, the conversations I'd had with Sarah, with Daniel, with my mother. With Luke.

"You're not going to do as you're told, are you?" he said at last, sounding resigned.

I hesitated, playing for time. "I need the loo."

"Of course you do." He sighed. "Okay. Hang on." I heard him fling back the duvet and then a click, the room suddenly flooding with low warm light. I blinked hard, watching as he slid out of bed himself, rather relieved to see he was wearing a dark T-shirt and boxer shorts. "Bathroom's just there," he said, pointing towards a door in the corner of the room. "The light switch is on the wall outside."

"Thanks," I mumbled, already stumbling across the room. And flipping on the switch I burst through the door, closing it behind me as fast as I could. But when I turned around, I felt my jaw drop in astonishment. "Wow."

The bathroom was as big as my bedroom at my mother's house. Bigger, probably. Alongside the toilet there was a huge white bathtub with gold-coloured fittings, on the other side a black-topped vanity unit with two gleaming white basins. And to my right there was a walk in shower—good grief, a huge shower, big enough for a family of four to wash in all at once. On closer inspection I saw not one but two showerheads and a ridiculously complicated-looking control panel.

But even more disconcertingly, as I took a few tentative steps forward I discovered I could see myself from every conceivable angle in the mirrors banding the walls. Every surface glittered beneath the tiny spotlights in the ceiling, the wall tiles above and below the mirrors shining like highly polished marble.

"Becks?" Luke called as I drew level with the bath. "I've left you some towels and a toothbrush by the sink. Help yourself to anything else you need. There's a T-shirt there too if you want to get out of those clothes."

I hesitated, looking at the neat pile on the vanity unit. "You know—maybe—maybe you should just take me home."

"Babe." His sigh was clearly audible through the door. "It's two in the morning. I'm not taking you home. And before you ask, I'm not calling you a cab either. If it makes you more comfortable, I'll sleep on the couch and you can have the bed, okay?"

I bit my lip, knowing from his tone he wouldn't back down, not entirely sure I wanted him to. "I'll sleep on the couch," I said at last. "It's your bed."

"I don't think so." There was a pause, a pause in which I could easily imagine the half-amused, half-irritated expression on Luke's face. "I'll go and make us some hot chocolate."

"What?"

But there was no reply.

Trying to ignore my three hundred and sixty degree reflection, I used the loo then padded across to the vanity unit. And after peeling off my clothes, I had a quick wash, burying my face in one of the wonderfully soft white towels when I'd finished. "This is crazy," I whimpered, wondering whether I could stay locked in the bathroom for the rest of the night, knowing if Luke so much as kissed me, I'd be lost. I wanted to be in his arms, in his bed. I longed to feel his skin against mine, to feel him inside me, filling me in the way only Luke could fill me, thrusting slow and deep. But I couldn't let that happen. Not while there were questions that still needed answers, questions I was frightened to ask. Questions I had no right to ask.

Sighing, I lowered the towel and studied myself in the mirror. "Hey there, gorgeous," I muttered sarcastically, shaking my head at the sight of the dark rings beneath my eyes and my mussed-up hair. But then Luke had never seen me looking exactly at my best, had he?

"Your hot chocolate's ready. What the hell are you doing in there?"

I started at the sound of his voice then grimaced at my reflection. "Nearly—nearly done," I called back, unfolding the T-shirt he'd left me and rolling my eyes at the logo emblazoned across the front. Oxford University. Well, of course he'd gone to Oxford.

When I finally emerged Luke was standing outside the bathroom door holding two steaming mugs. "Nice," he murmured with a smile, eyeing me up and down, his gaze warmly appreciative. "You look so much better in my clothes than I do."

I felt the colour flooding my cheeks, growing hotter still when he noticed my discomfort, his smile broadening. He'd seen me naked more than once, yet somehow I felt way more exposed like this, his T-shirt barely reaching the tops of my thighs.

"Come on then." He jerked his head towards the bed, already moving towards it. "Come and try some of this chocolate. It's my Granny's recipe. I promise you'll never—" And then he stopped, seeming to realise I wasn't following. After placing both mugs on the bedside cabinet he turned around, his smile waning. "Okay, I get it. I've got to sleep on the couch, haven't I?"

Not at all sure what to say, where to start, I stared back at him miserably, watching as his expression hardened.

"This is about Chloe, right? You want me to tell you what happened. Now?" He blew out a sigh. "What is it with you and this need to have middle of the night chats?"

I swallowed hard. "You don't have to tell me anything," I managed at last, unable to look at him any longer, my gaze dropping to the cream carpet. "Because it isn't any of my business, is it? And you're probably thinking that you shouldn't need to explain. That I should be able to trust you after everything we've been through together, after what you did for my Mum. And you're right, I should. The trouble is, it isn't you I don't trust, Luke."

I paused to draw breath, feeling oddly weak. "It's me. I can't trust my own judgement. I spent all those years with Daniel, believing everything he told me, believing all his lies. How could I have not seen what was happening, what he was doing? How could I have been so stupid? I let him treat me like a fool. I was a fool."

"Oh no, babe." Having neither seen nor heard him approach, I gasped as Luke's arms swept around me, his voice gentle in my ear. "No, no, no. You're nobody's fool. He was the fool. He didn't deserve you darling, d'you hear me? He never deserved you."

Stunned to hear the almost fierce tenderness in his tone, I closed my eyes, allowing him to gather me close, feeling his fingers raking repeatedly through my hair, the sensation soothing yet arousing at the same time. And I don't know how long we were locked together like that, how long my head was pressed against his shoulder, how long I listened to the steady, reassuring thump of his heart, only that when he finally spoke I almost jumped out of my skin.

"I met her at a nightclub."

Drawing back to look at him, I shook my head as my gaze landed on his. "You don't have to tell me anything. It really isn't any of my business."

His blue eyes seemed darker than usual. "Oh yes it is. Well, I'd like it to be, anyway."

I stared at him in astonishment. Did that mean what I thought it meant? "Luke…"

"But let's get you back to bed first. You're getting cold, babe." Taking my hand he drew me towards the king-sized divan. "I promise you, if you don't want me to stay here with you afterwards, all you have to do is say the word and I'll sleep in the living room."

I had no reason to disbelieve him. And after he'd arranged my pillows so I could sit comfortably propped up against the headboard, I slid back beneath the duvet, watching as he crawled up the bed to perch cross-legged in front of me, his expression grave, his gaze remaining steady on mine.

"You already know what sort of guy I used to be," he began quietly. "Tim used to call me 'Love-'em-'n'-leave-'em Luke'." He winced slightly. "With good reason. I really couldn't tell you just how many women there were. I didn't sleep with them all but I slept with quite a few. Mostly just the once. I'm certainly not proud of it now, but if I'm honest, I guess I was at the time. It was like a game. To me, anyway. I doubt the women saw it that way."

"Some of them probably did."

He gave me a rueful smile. "Don't go trying to make this easy on me, babe. There's no question I was a self-centred, egotistical bastard."

"But you said you weren't a bastard," I said, suddenly finding I wanted to make light of his words, struggling to cope with the images that were already flashing into my head. Luke, in bed with girl after girl, making love to them the way he'd made love to me. "You said you were a tosser, not a bastard. You said that you knew who your parents—"

"Becks." His eyes softening, he reached forward and took my hands between his own, squeezing my fingers gently. "I'm sorry. I know you probably don't want to hear all this, but I think you need to know. I want to be honest with you because when I'm done, I need to know that whatever decision you make about me is made for the right reasons. I'm not going to lie to you. I'm not going to sugar-coat anything, okay?"

Once again, I found myself intrigued by his choice of words. Was it possible Luke wanted something more to happen between us? "Okay," I agreed at last, squeezing his fingers in return. "Go on. I'm listening."

He lifted my hands to his mouth and kissed them. "Tim blames my womanising on the fact I'm a short arse," he said, with another rather shame-faced smile. "Now he's a clinical psychologist so maybe I should accept that he knows better than me but I think it's a piss poor excuse. Yes, I got bullied a bit in primary school for being, shall we say, vertically challenged? But it wasn't like anything else was ever a problem. I was a smart kid but I wasn't a geek. I liked learning, it came easy to me. I still had time to be the class clown. And I guess when I hit my teens, flirting with the girls was kind of a natural progression."

"Tim's a clinical psychologist?" Somehow I found it hard to believe that the lanky guy I'd seen on the beach was also a doctor.

For the first time in a while, Luke grinned. "Yeah. I tell him that the only reason he specialised in that field was so he could figure out why he wasn't a hit with the girls."

"Well, it couldn't have been easy being your best friend."

"Probably not," he conceded, sobering quickly. "Poor sod. God only knows why he stuck around but he did. Actually, he probably became a psychologist because he spent half his life counselling all the women I never called again." He gave a mirthless laugh. "I can't believe that hasn't crossed my mind before."

"So why didn't you call any of them again?" I frowned. "Were you scared of commitment or something?"

Luke looked sheepish again. "In all honesty—God, this is going to sound shallow—I never thought about having any kind of long term relationship. I was having far too much fun. My first couple of years at Oxford were a blast. Partied hard, drank too much. Had to rein it in a bit when I started working on the wards but somehow I found time to have a damned good social life, right up until I qualified and got myself a job here.

"After that, it got tougher to fit everything in. Working eighty hours a week as a house officer kind of takes it out of you, especially when you're studying for exams but I still managed some play time. Bloody stupid. It was obvious that sooner or later the shit was going to hit the fan."

He grimaced. "I failed an exam. A major one. And you'd think that would've been the wake-up call I needed but instead of dealing with it I just acted as though nothing had happened. The day I got the results I took myself off to a nightclub and got well and truly hammered. The next morning, I woke up in yet another strange bed lying next to a girl called Chloe."

"Ah." Even though I'd known it had to be coming, I still experienced an odd jolt in the pit of my stomach at the name. "So that's when it happened?"

"Apparently." Luke's expression was curiously unreadable. "Though to this day, I don't remember anything about that night. I'd seen Chloe at the club a few times, that's how I knew who she was. She'd always made it quite obvious she was interested in me but to be honest, she wasn't my type and I'd never made a move on her before. I don't remember leaving with her, I don't remember going back to her place and I certainly don't remember sleeping with her."

He shrugged. "I do remember having the hangover from hell and true to form, I didn't hang around too long that morning. And this may sound terrible but it's true. I didn't give her another thought until she turned up on my doorstep a few weeks later and told me she was having my baby."

I stared at him, puzzled. "But Chloe always said that he—I mean you—were her boyfriend. She said that you'd been out on quite a few dates."

"Nope. It was just that one night. Though," he hesitated, his eyes narrowing, "it makes sense, in a weird sort of way, that she'd managed to convince herself it was more than that. The things she said, the way she behaved."

"What?" I frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Well, it was all a bit surreal, actually. As I said, she just turned up one evening. I've no idea how she found out where I lived. But from the moment I opened the door she seemed, well, away with the fairies, to be honest. As if she was high on drugs. Maybe she was." He shook his head. "Calling me 'sweetheart' and 'lovey', making big eyes at me. Very bizarre."

"Very." It was my turn to hesitate, aware we were getting to the part I already knew and steeling myself to hear the worst. "So what happened next?"

Luke rolled his eyes. "Well, I invited her in. Like you do when a girl turns up at your door and tells you she's having your baby."

"Happened a lot, huh?" I couldn't resist the jibe even though I was quaking inwardly.

"Ouch." But there was a hint of a smile playing at the corners of Luke's mouth. "No, she was the first. And the last." He sighed, the smile vanishing. "She was kind of hysterical. Manic, even. Didn't let me get a word in edgeways, gabbling on about how wonderful it was that she was having my baby, that we were going to be a lovely little family, that she knew—she just knew it was going to be a girl and we could call her Daisy—"

"Daisy?"

"—and when were we going to get married? Because it would have to be soon otherwise she'd never be able to find a dress big enough."

"What?" I gave an astonished choke of laughter. "She just assumed you'd get married?"

"Oh, she'd gone beyond assuming." He looked grim. "Way beyond. As far as she was concerned, it was a done deal. She told me she'd already found the engagement ring and the wedding ring she wanted, that she'd phoned the Registry Office and that there was an available slot for us to get hitched two weeks on Saturday if that was okay with me. Oh and did I have any preference for a photographer?"

I gazed at him in disbelief, rendered speechless for a moment. "She's always been a bit over the top, a bit melodramatic," I faltered at last, shaking my head a little. "But you're making her sound psychotic."

He closed his eyes briefly. "I've discussed this with Tim a thousand times, asked him what I should've done, what I should've said. Because there's no question I handled it all wrong. But it'd been one hell of a day, I was tired, I'd been in theatre all day and most of the night before. And she wouldn't listen to me, wouldn't listen to reason, wouldn't let me say a word, just went on and on and on." He grimaced. "I know I shouldn't have done what I did. It was just a knee-jerk reaction, I lost my rag."

I bit my lower lip, unable to meet his eyes any longer even though I finally understood. "And you hit her."

There was a silence—a silence that soon developed into an uncomfortably lengthy pause. All at once I could feel the blazing heat of Luke's intense gaze. "She said I hit her?" he said slowly. "She actually said I hit her?"

I experienced a rush of shock at the dismay in his tone. "You didn't?"

"Becks!" He sounded as distraught as I felt. "Do you honestly believe I would've done that? You really think I'd…?" He released my fingers abruptly, dropping his head into his hands. "Fuck!"

"But…" I gazed at him in consternation. "She said that was why. She said that you shoved her. That she fell and that that was why she—"

"Lost the baby?" he finished, raising his head to shoot me another startled look. "That's what she told you? That's what she told everybody?"

I found myself cowering beneath the ferocity of that stare, my heart beginning to thud violently against my ribs. "Look, I didn't know her back then. I didn't meet Daniel until a couple of years afterwards."

"Fuck." But Luke's expression had already softened considerably. "Well that explains a lot." He drew in an unsteady breath. "My God, that explains a lot."

"You didn't know?"

"I knew they blamed me. Hell, I blamed me. I didn't have a problem with that. But Becks, I swear to you. I swear to God. I didn't touch her."

I looked at him, not knowing what to say, wanting to believe him so much it actually hurt. "Then what…?"

He winced. "I lost my temper. You have to understand, she just wouldn't stop, going on and on about how happy we'd be, how great it'd be to be married, to raise our baby together. And though I tried to talk to her, she wouldn't listen, wouldn't let me speak. So in the end, I yelled. Roared, in fact. Swore at her. Told her she was crazy, out of her mind. A fucking lunatic." Luke looked ashamed. "I've never felt as out of control as I was that day and I hope to God I never do again. It was unforgivable."

"You yelled at her?" It was my turn to send him an incredulous glance. "That's all?"

But he didn't seem to have heard. "The next thing I know, she's grabbing her tummy, doubled up in pain and there's blood soaking through her jeans. Just like that, no warning. And I didn't know what to do, how to help." He shook his head, no longer looking at me. "Well that's not quite true, of course I knew. I knew it was too fucking late to do anything. I knew there wasn't a chance in hell she could lose that much blood and not lose the baby. I took her to the hospital, of course, but…" He gave a helpless shrug.

"You yelled at her?" I repeated, moved by his obvious distress. "Luke, I'm no doctor but even I know that shouting at a pregnant woman wouldn't cause her to have a miscarriage."

"I know. Don't get me wrong, I do know that. I know that it almost certainly would've happened anyway."

"Then—"

He held up a hand. "And I know that something like one in three pregnancies end in spontaneous abortion in the first twelve weeks, okay? But I made it about ten times worse for her."

"You made it worse?" I was aware I was echoing everything he said but to be truthful, I was finding it difficult to understand why he still felt responsible. "Luke, she was the one who turned up at your door, babbling on like a mad woman about you two getting married. Did she really think—?" And then I stopped, his words suddenly sinking into my consciousness. "Wait a minute. Chloe was more than twelve weeks pregnant. She's always said she was four months pregnant. That'd be what, more like sixteen, seventeen weeks?"

"Nope." Once again, Luke's face was hard to read. "The guy on call in Obs and Gynae that night was a friend of mine. He showed me the ultrasound pictures. She was around ten or eleven weeks along at the very most."

"What?" I shot him a bewildered look. "I don't understand. Why would she say she was four months gone when she was only ten or eleven weeks? Surely she wouldn't have got that wrong? Why would she think—why would she say that she…?" And then the penny dropped, my eyes widening. "Oh."

He didn't respond, his solemn gaze continuing to hold mine as I regarded him with mounting horror, the last piece of the puzzle finally falling into place. She'd lied. Oh, she'd wanted him to be the father. Of course she'd wanted him to be the father. Luke was a doctor, a surgeon, someone who could provide for her, give her the standard of living she'd always wanted, that she'd craved since the death of her father in her early teens and had continued to crave, if her most recent relationship with the married merchant banker was anything to go by.

"It wasn't your baby."

Luke gave his head an almost imperceptible shake. "No."

I stared at him, almost at a loss for words. "But you let everyone believe it was!"

He raised his eyebrows. "You think anyone would've believed me if I'd said it wasn't?" Reaching across to the bedside cabinet, he picked up both cups of hot chocolate and handed one to me. "Try this. Should be just right to drink now."

"Luke!"

He took a sip from his own mug before smiling at me over the rim. "Go on."

Obediently, I tipped a little into my mouth, swallowing quickly. "But you should have told them," I protested, still struggling with the idea he'd taken the blame. "It would've been easy enough to prove that you—oh." I stared at him in wonder as I finally tasted the warm, velvety liquid, Luke's smile broadening as he monitored my reaction. "Oh, wow."

"Like it?"

He watched me with obvious pleasure as I readily took another mouthful, my assaulted taste buds reeling at the flavours. The creamy sweetness, a hint of spice—was that cinnamon? Nutmeg? And there was something else, something that gave the syrupy concoction one hell of a kick. "Chilli?" I ventured in astonishment.

Taking another swig from his own mug, he nodded. "Just a little. My Granny usually puts a fair bit more in but it's a stimulant and you need to get some sleep at some point tonight."

I regarded him with suspicion, now detecting a faint but distinct alcoholic note. "What else is in this?"

Luke grinned. "I can't tell you that. Family secret. My grandparents went off travelling around the world when my father left home. They ended up spending quite a while in Mexico. My Granny picked up the recipe there. When Julie and I were kids we used to beg her to make it for us."

"Cornish Granny?"

"Yep. She's almost ninety now, but she swears by the stuff." He grinned again, motioning to me to carry on drinking. "She looks pretty well on it, too."

I took another sip, delighting in the way the chocolate coated my tongue, closing my eyes as it slid easily down my rather dry throat. But even as I drank, my mind was turning cartwheels, frantically trying to digest what he'd told me and attempting to match his version of events against the fragments I'd heard from Daniel. And suddenly I let out a gasp, my eyes shooting open, the mug jerking in my hand. "They beat you up."

Luke was still watching me, his eyes soft. "I know," he said, gently catching my fingers and righting the mug.

"Luke!" I gazed at him in dismay. "Daniel and his mates—they went round to your place and—"

"—kicked the shit out of me." He gave a small smile. "Yes, I know. I was there."

"But you hadn't done anything! You didn't hit her. You didn't make her lose the baby. It wasn't even your baby!" The full horror of what my former fiancé and his friends had done washed over me like a huge icy wave. "They could've killed you!"

"Hey, they did me a favour," he said lightly, gesturing towards his face. "I never liked my nose that much before anyway."

"They broke your nose?"

"Amongst other things."

"Oh God, Luke." My voice cracked on the words.

"And I deserved it."

"What?"

Hearing my outraged tone, he shot me that rueful smile again. "I deserved it. No, hear me out," he added as I began to splutter. "Maybe not because of Chloe, I'll admit, but babe, I was an utter bastard." He sighed. "All those girls, all those one night stands. Someone needed to teach me a lesson. Someone needed to show me I couldn't carry on like that, treating women like objects. Don't get me wrong, I was always bloody careful, I always made sure I used a condom, but accidents happen. Sooner or later I really would've got one of them pregnant, screwed up her life and for what? For ten minutes of hedonistic pleasure?"

I stared at him, unable to think of a single thing to say, my mouth opening and closing uselessly. "Luke," I faltered at last, shaking my head slightly. "I—you didn't…"

"It's okay." He reached forward, cupping my cheek in his hand. "I'm grateful they did what they did. It was the boot up the rear I needed. It made me completely rethink my life. What I was doing, where I was headed, why I was doing what I was doing. I was training to be a surgeon, for heaven's sake. To save lives, not stuff them up."

Nudging the hot chocolate back up to my lips, he waited while I drained the mug then gently prised it from my fingers, setting it back down on the cabinet with his own. "When the bones and bruises healed, I took myself off to the gym and got fit." He grimaced "Boy, was I out of shape. I stopped going out every night, stopped drinking, started studying, passed that exam I failed and started getting on with what was really important. My father once said it was the making of me. He's probably right."

I regarded him in silence for a while as his words swam around in my head, realising he meant every one of them. Good things could come out of bad situations. Incredible though it seemed, when Daniel and his friends had beaten Luke up after Chloe's miscarriage, they'd set in motion a whole chain of events that had led directly to him developing the skills required to save my mother's life. But had he really been celibate ever since that fateful day? Right up until the afternoon he'd rescued me from the beach?

"What do you think?"

For a moment, I feared I'd voiced the thought aloud. "Wh-what?"

He smiled. "Do I have to sleep on the couch? Or," he tugged gently at the top of the duvet, "do I get to spend the rest of the night here with you? It's your call."

Oh boy. I felt an almost violent tug in my womb as I gazed back at him, my traitorous body reacting even faster than my mind to the idea of Luke lying down next to me and scooping me into his arms. "Of—of course you don't have to sleep on the couch," I managed at last, my heart beginning to hammer in my chest as I pushed at the duvet in turn, making it obvious I wanted him to climb in.

He smiled, rising to his hands and knees and clambering beneath the covers. "Thanks babe," he said, yawning hugely before sliding down beside me and pulling the duvet back over us both. "It's pretty comfy out there but this is so much better and I really do need to get some sleep. So do you." And stretching out an arm, he leaned across to the cabinet and switched off the bedside lamp. "We'll talk some more in the morning, okay? Get some rest, now."

That was it? I stared into the darkness in astonishment. The conversation was over and now it was time to sleep? Without so much as a kiss or even a hug? I turned to retrieve the pillows from behind my back and rearranged them for my head before easing down the bed myself, so disappointed—so frustrated—I wanted to cry. Had I completely misinterpreted the way he'd been looking at me, the things he'd said? It seemed that way. And when Luke heaved a sigh and rolled on to his side, turning away from me, I grew sure.

Stupid, a little voice screamed in my head. This was Luke, king of the one-night stands. Not only that but if he was to be believed, he hadn't had any kind of relationship with a woman in years. What on earth had possessed me to think anything could ever happen between us? Nothing was going to happen, was it?

But then again, a much more rational part of my brain argued, if that was the case, why had he bothered telling me the whole sorry tale? He hadn't needed to tell me any of it but he'd said he wanted to. And why had he made sure he was the surgeon who operated on my mother? Why would he have done that if he hadn't had some kind of ulterior motive? To hell with getting some rest. I needed to know. I needed to know now.

"Luke?" I whispered, tentatively touching his shoulder. "Are you asleep?"

There was no reply. Cursing under my breath, not brave enough to wake him, I too rolled over, at last daring to slip my arm around him before cuddling into his back. It wasn't enough—it wasn't nearly enough—but it was something. I could pretend he was mine, at least for now. And closing my eyes, I breathed in his scent, burying my face into the back of his T-shirt.

***

I was in Luke's arms. At some point, he'd turned over and gathered me close, his body pressed to mine, his hands beneath my T-shirt, warm on my bare flesh. I could feel the bulge of his erection against my inner thigh, felt the rhythmical, primal undulating of his body against mine. Was I awake? Was this why I'd awakened? I wasn't sure, didn't know I wanted to be sure, my eyes remaining firmly closed as my hands embarked on a tentative expedition of their own, slipping beneath Luke's T-shirt, roaming across his smooth skin.

When I lifted my head, his mouth found mine, my lips parting readily, welcoming the dizzying pleasure of his languorous kiss. Oh this was good, this was heaven. Who cared if I was dreaming so long as he was kissing me like this? As the kiss deepened, I found myself rocking into him in turn, the need to feel him against me, inside me, growing steadily more acute.

His hands were moving now, over my shoulders, the length of my back, my spine tingling beneath his touch. In turn, I responded, emboldened by that kiss, by my heady desire, my own fingers sliding lower to his waist and dipping beneath the elastic of his boxer shorts. I heard his soft groan against my lips, one hand coming down to join mine, helping me to push the fabric down and away, freeing him from the confines of his underwear.

And as my fingers closed around him, marvelling at the feel of the silky soft skin stretched over rock hard flesh, his fingers found the evidence of my own arousal, the copious moisture pooling there. I writhed against him as he caressed me, my heart beating wildly, my breathing growing ever more ragged until at last he relented, easing me on to my back, settling into the cradle of my thighs.

I cried out when he finally entered me, the stretching sensation exquisite, my legs curling around his as he opened me wide. I'd almost forgotten the pleasure, the overwhelming sense of completion, how right this felt, how well we fitted together. Yet this was even better than before, the friction sweeter than ever.

Still fearing this was a dream, I kept my eyes firmly closed, revelling in the feel of each and every thrust, Luke moving oh-so-slowly, stroking that sensitive place he'd found deep inside me before. But once again, this seemed different. Though that familiar tension was building, a river of pleasure walled up behind a dam, somehow he was holding me there. Somehow he was holding me in that place between plateau and peak, that pressure low in my belly growing and rising, far beyond anything I'd ever experienced, almost frightening in its strength and intensity.

Until wonderfully, the dam broke, my orgasm surging through me in a violent wave, rolling over and over, radiating from my very core to the tips of my fingers. And as I trembled beneath him, Luke too gave a shudder, plunging deep inside me one last time, finding his own release.

Breathing hard, he wrapped his arms around my still quivering body, easing us both on to our sides, one hand coming up to gently caress my hair. When I opened my eyes I found he was smiling at me, the approaching dawn allowing just enough light into the room for me to see his expression. "Hi," he murmured, kissing me tenderly. "It's early. Back to sleep now, babe."

"Luke…"

"Uh uh." He shook his head, still smiling. "No you don't. Not this time. No more night time chats."

"But…"

He groaned softly, his arms tightening around me, his hand tucking my head against his shoulder. "Ssh," he whispered, dropping another kiss into my hair. "Not now, you're going to sleep."

And giving up the fight, exhaustion settling over me like a heavy blanket, I allowed my eyes to drift closed once more, surrendering to the warmth of his embrace.

Chapter 9

Bacon. Was that what I could smell? And coffee?

Curious, and suddenly ravenous, I opened my eyes to find myself flat on my back in bed looking straight up at the ceiling, puzzled to see the unfamiliar lampshade hanging there. And with a gasp, I sat bolt upright, staring wildly around me, taking in the taupe and cream décor, the huge antique pine chest of drawers in front of me, the built-in wardrobes.

Luke. This was his bedroom. I was in his bed. He'd operated on Mum, I'd fallen asleep in his car on the way home and he'd taken me back to his place. In the middle of the night, he'd told me about what had happened with Chloe and then… Oh. Then we'd…

I turned quickly even though I already knew he couldn't be there, the sheets beside me cool to the touch. He'd obviously been up for a while.

"Wow," I murmured under my breath as I collapsed weakly back on the pillows, my heart rate slowly returning to normal. "Oh, wow." And closing my eyes, I stretched out my limbs, revelling in the softness of the mattress beneath me, that wonderful telltale ache between my thighs. Except that wasn't all I could feel down there. Something was different. I was wet. Too wet. Oh dear God.

Pushing back the duvet, I slid out of bed and raced to the bathroom, my head spinning as I frantically began counting days. It was okay, I realised with a rush of relief. I ought to be safe. Just. But how on earth could I have let that happen? I'd never been careless before, never been so swept away in the moment, so overwhelmed with passion I hadn't even considered the consequences.

The consequences. An unexpected picture dropped into my mind. Luke sitting behind me, his arms around me, his fingers splayed over my heavily rounded belly. I swallowed hard, blinking the image away. Good grief, what was I thinking?

After taking a longing look at the shower I decided against using it without permission. Quite apart from the fact I wasn't sure how to switch it on, it looked spotlessly clean. There didn't appear to be a single watermark on the shower screen, the fitments gleaming as though they'd never been used. But surely they had? How could anyone have a shower like that and not use it?

I spotted a navy blue bathrobe hanging on the back of the door and after shrugging it on, I yanked the door open again, only to find myself face to face with Luke.

"Morning," he said with a smile, once more giving me that look that seemed to warm me from the inside out. "I was going to bring you breakfast in bed, but seeing as you're already…" He stopped, his eyes narrowing as I stared back at him, heat already rushing into my face. "Now what?"

"We had unprotected sex," I blurted out, even though I knew it was as much my fault as his. "I can't believe we did that. I can't believe—"

"I know," he interrupted, gazing at me for a long moment, his expression quite unreadable. Then abruptly, he reached out to take my hand. "Shall we have breakfast?"

"But…" He wasn't concerned? I gaped at him in astonishment as he tugged me over to the door and out into what I discovered to be a large open-plan living area, my jaw dropping further still.

Like the bedroom and the bathroom, this too could have come straight from the pages of a glossy magazine, a seating area to my left, replete with black leather settees and a huge flat screen television; to my right, the kitchen, another gleaming confection of chrome-coloured appliances and granite-topped cabinets.

"It looks like a show home," I heard myself saying weakly as he ushered me across to a rather formal-looking dining table and drew out a chair.

"It used to be," he said, waiting for me to sit down. "I'll have you know that this," Luke made quotation mark gestures using his index and middle fingers, "is 'a luxury executive apartment'. I bought the place and everything in it about six months ago. Figured it would save a lot of time. I hate wandering around furniture shops, you see. And let's face it, it looks pretty impressive. I won't have to worry about decorating for a while." He shrugged. "To be honest, none of it is really to my taste but as I don't spend much time here anyway, it doesn't matter."

"Married to your job, huh?" I murmured, only realising how thirsty I was when I noticed the cafetiere of coffee and the jug of orange juice in front of me, reaching for the latter and pouring myself a glass even as he headed back towards the kitchen area.

He turned to shoot me a quizzical glance. "Who told you that?" And then he groaned. "Caitlin."

I swallowed my third gulp of orange juice then smirked. "I think she fancies you."

Rolling his eyes, Luke plucked up an oven mitt with a flourish and stooped to open the oven door. "I spoke to her on the phone a few minutes ago, actually. She's working an early shift this morning and she's looking after your Mum again. They've reduced your Mum's sedation and they're weaning her off the ventilator. With any luck they'll be able to extubate her soon."

I stared at him in anxious confusion. "In English?"

He gave me an apologetic smile, returning to the table with two plates and sliding one in front of me. "Sorry. She had a good night and she's doing well. She's waking up, she's starting to breathe on her own and by the time we get to the hospital they'll probably be thinking about taking out the tube. Better?"

Much. I hadn't realised how frightened I'd been. It felt rather as though I'd been holding my breath and could finally breathe again myself, a leaden weight rolling away from my chest. "She's—she's going to be okay?"

At the quiver in my voice, Luke put down the other plate then kneeled beside me, looping the strap of the oven mitt around my shoulders and propelling me into his arms. "Hey, I'm good," he murmured. "Did you really think she wouldn't be?"

I pulled back to shoot him a glare but couldn't quite manage it, finding myself smiling through my tears. "You arrogant—"

"—tosser? I know." Grinning, he kissed my nose then straightened up, throwing the oven mitt over the chair besides mine. "Come on, babe. You need to eat."

I looked down at my plate as he rounded the table to sit opposite me, feeling my smile broaden. "You've made me a bacon sandwich."

He frowned. "Don't tell me you're a vegetarian?"

I shook my head, wanting to laugh. "No. It's just—Luke, you're a heart surgeon. A bacon butty?"

His expression cleared, his smile returning. "Hey, that's not just any bacon butty, you know. The bacon's been grilled, the fat's been cut off and that's a warm granary bap, fresh from the bakery downstairs on the corner."

I gazed at the delicious-looking bread, my mouth watering at the aroma. "You've been out already?"

He nodded. "Ketchup?" he asked, reaching for the bottle and offering it to me. "Very good for you, fantastic source of lycopene, rich in antioxidants."

Laughing now, I took the bottle, opening the bap and squirting a line across the lean bacon. Then lifting the sandwich to my lips, I took a bite, my eyes sliding closed as I began to chew. Dear God, it tasted wonderful.

"Besides, you can come with me to the gym later if you like." I opened my eyes again to find him watching me in amusement. "Unless, of course," he added as I took another bite, mischief in his eyes, "you can think of a more pleasurable way of burning off any excess calories."

"Luke!"

He chuckled when I spluttered, reaching forward to hand me my glass of juice. "So," he said when he was satisfied I'd recovered, taking a bite of his own sandwich, "just how likely is it that we made a baby Tosser Foster last night?"

It was just as well I hadn't yet taken another mouthful because I'd probably have choked again. "Not very," I admitted warily. "Not so long as—I mean—so long as I…" This was silly, I thought as I floundered over the words, heat rushing into my face. Luke was a surgeon. There was no need to be embarrassed.

"Your period was last week, right?"

I stared at him in astonishment, wondering how he could possibly have known.

He smiled. "You told me yesterday you knew you weren't pregnant. And even if you hadn't told me that, I happened to notice you had two pills left in the packet when I was in your bathroom at the hotel."

"Does anything get past you?" When he shook his head, I gave him a rueful smile then sobered quickly as it dawned on me what I'd need to do. "Oh God. There still might be a problem, though."

"Becks." Luke stretched out a hand to cover mine. "I haven't slept with anyone in a long time. After the whole Chloe thing, I made a point of getting myself checked out for every disease I could think of."

"Oh no, it's not that." I was touched he'd thought that was what I was worried about. "Though while we're on the subject, I've always used condoms too, so I don't think you need to worry too much either." Thank God, I thought with an inward shudder. Goodness only knew how many times Daniel had been unfaithful to me. "No, it's just that I need to start a new packet of pills today."

"Okay." He motioned at me to carry on eating. "That's easy. You're staying at your Mum's house aren't you?"

"How did you know that?" I asked through a mouthful of sandwich, too surprised to wait until I'd swallowed.

He grinned. "You told me last night, remember? In the car. About ten seconds before you fell asleep."

"Oh." Chagrined, I took another bite. I could barely remember getting into Luke's car, let alone the rest of the journey.

"So we'll call in on the way to the hospital and pick them up."

I shook my head. "That's the problem. I haven't got any there. I'm going to need to go to the flat."

"Ah." Luke's eyes softened in understanding. "But Daniel won't be home, will he? Surely he'll be at work."

I bit my lip. "He's on leave. We're both on leave. We're supposed to be on our honeymoon in the Maldives, remember?"

"Right." He gazed at me solemnly for a moment. "Then I'll come with you."

"I don't think so." Despite my misgivings, I found myself smiling. "I don't think that'd be a good idea, do you?"

Luke pretended to be offended. "Hey, you think I can't take him?" he said, sliding up his sleeve and showing me a bulging bicep. "Just say the word, babe. Say the word."

I laughed. "Tempting, believe me. Something tells me he wouldn't stand a chance against you now."

"You'd better believe it. Hold still."

"What?"

Having finished off the last mouthful of his sandwich, he leaned across the table towards me, touching the tip of his finger to my top lip. "Messy girl," he murmured, showing me the smear of tomato ketchup on his fingertip before raising it to his own lips and licking it off.

Oh boy. A prickle of awareness rippled down my spine, my lip tingling where he'd touched it. "Well," I said hesitantly, helpless to stop that now familiar heat flooding into my cheeks. "I could definitely use a shower."

It was Luke's turn to laugh. "Come on then," he said, rising from his chair and jerking his head towards the bedroom. "You're going to love this." Following him back into the room, I smiled to myself. He had such a cute bottom. "My sister reckons I only bought this place because of the bathroom," he said, oblivious to my admiration. "She could have a point."

"It's quite something," I agreed, looking up again as he switched on the light, once again finding myself rather overawed by the sight of all those sparkling tiles and mirrors. "And very clean." So clean in fact, Luke could probably have performed surgery in there.

He twisted around, shooting me an amused glance. "That's not my doing."

"It isn't?" I couldn't help but feel a little relieved. I'd feared his hygiene standards might be rather hard to live up to. "Then…?"

"I have a cleaner. Rita. She comes twice a week. She's quite a character, always complaining that there's never enough for her to do around here." Luke grinned. "I tell her not to worry, that she should spend one hour pushing the Hoover around and spend the other on the settee reading a magazine. That'd be fine by me." He shrugged. "But she won't have it. So she indulges in championship bathroom cleaning."

"It looks beautiful."

He nodded. "Too beautiful. I hate spoiling it. And very often I don't. I end up using the facilities at the hospital a lot of the time. But," he beckoned me across to the shower, opening the screen door, "she'll love that someone's used it. Now, I know this looks complicated—"

"Complicated?" I echoed, giving the control panel a dubious look. "Luke, my shower has one knob and a button. Hot, cold. On, off."

He grinned again, looking for all the world like a small boy about to show off a new toy. "Watch." Reaching into the shower, he tapped at the keypad. There was a second's delay, enough time for him to back out of the way then the water spray began, a steady, ordinary stream. "Now," he said, smiling back at me. "You can have this. Or," he prodded at the keypad again and the water pressure increased perhaps five fold, pounding down into the tray like torrential rain, "this." Another quick tap and the water began pulsing, spurting from the showerhead in sharp bursts. "Great when you need a massage."

I could well imagine. If I had a shower like it, I doubted I'd ever be able to get to work on time in the mornings. "Right," I said at last when he'd demonstrated at least a dozen different modes and I was utterly bamboozled. "So, how did you get it to behave like a normal shower again?"

"Rebecca." He shot me an exasperated glance then began to laugh, shaking his head. "Oh, what the hell, we've got time."

To my surprise and secret delight he abruptly peeled off his sweatshirt then shrugged off his jogging bottoms, leaving him completely and gloriously naked. But before I could look my fill, he drew me closer, untying my dressing gown and pushing it off my shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. I shivered as he reached for the bottom edge of my T-shirt, his fingers skimming my bare skin as he pulled it up and over my head. Then he steered me into the cubicle, closed the screen door behind us, turned on the shower and swept me into his arms.

For a while, neither of us moved, revelling in the feel of warm skin pressed against warm skin, the water from both showerheads cascading over us like a hot fountain. But when I tilted my head to look at him, his lips found mine and we kissed, my hands roaming across his back, those broad shoulders; his hands moving over my body on a teasing mission of their own.

I whimpered in disappointment when he pulled away, Luke smiling as he showed me the bottle of shampoo he'd retrieved from the shower caddy. "S'okay. I'm only going to wash your hair."

Oh well, in that case… "Do I get to wash yours too?"

He smiled again, taking my hand and pouring a little shampoo into my palm before adding a fair-sized dollop to his own. Ducking out from beneath the spray, I reached up first, sliding my fingers into those water-flattened dark curls, massaging his scalp the way he'd massaged mine all those… All those days ago? Was that really all it had been? It already felt as though it could've been years.

I laughed as he rewarded my efforts with a groan of satisfaction then heard my own pleasured gasp as his hands burrowed into my hair, working the pads of his fingers deep into the roots. But seemingly not content with that, he then began drawing the suds lower, over my shoulders, down my arms, over my breasts, soaping me thoroughly, caressing me everywhere. And when I followed his lead, mirroring his movements, pretty soon we were both covered in foam.

Spinning me around, Luke gathered me to him, my back slithering against his abdomen as his hands slid over my ribs, one rising to capture my right breast, his thumb brushing repeatedly over my nipple, the other moving lower across my belly then lower still, finding my now-aching centre. Already aroused, it took only a few sure strokes of his clever fingers to make me come, my rapturous sob resonating around the bathroom.

He held me close while I floated back down to earth, murmuring endearments, whispering praise before drawing me back under the spray, allowing the water to rain over us both, washing all traces of soap away. And then I was turning, sinking to my knees, almost overwhelmed by the desire to return the pleasure he'd so selflessly afforded me.

Luke made an odd, strangled sound as I drew his cock into my mouth, gazing down at me as I looked up at him. "Becks." His voice was hoarse, his eyes wide. "Babe, you—oh God! You really—don't need to—do this."

If I could've smiled, I would have. I knew I didn't need to but, perhaps for the first time in my life, I truly wanted to do what I was doing, concentrating on taking in as much of him as I could. Though that was no easy task. Even semi-erect he was considerably bigger than any of my previous boyfriends and as he swelled rapidly I found it difficult to manage much more than the head. If Luke minded my ineptness, he certainly didn't show it, his face contorting with pleasure, his breathing growing ragged.

"Becks," he ground out at last, "you have to stop that."

I couldn't see why, his enjoyment was obvious. So I carried on, using my fingers now as well as my mouth, swirling my tongue across the under side, trying to remember every trick I'd ever learned. Until all at once I felt his strong hands on my shoulders, pushing me away before reaching down to seize me around the waist, hauling me to my feet. "Becks! I said stop. You're going to make me come."

"But that's the point!" I gave a puzzled laugh. "I want you to come."

"Not like that," he growled, shaking his head. "Not without you." And then he was turning me around again, pushing me forwards, taking my hands and planting them on the tiles in front of me. I gave a gasp as he moved in behind me, edging my feet apart with his own, feeling for me with his fingers. Then I could feel him against me, poised for entrance, perfectly aligned. Hot. Hard. Huge.

I wailed as he plunged inside me, driving deep—oh God, impossibly deep—on that very first thrust, appreciating immediately just how very wet I was, how ready I'd been, how much I'd wanted this. I could hear, could feel the water thundering down around us, somehow intensifying the friction of each stroke, heightening my desire, my need for him. And soon I was pushing back against him, trying to force him further inside me, trying to increase the pace.

"You like this?" he said, his voice so very close to my ear, a note of surprise in his tone, his hand moving to my lower belly, pulling me even more tightly against him with each thrust.

"Yes," I breathed, barely capable of speech, the sensations almost too intense, the pleasure all-consuming. "Oh God, yes. But Luke, please?"

"Mmm?"

"Don't wait for me." I recognised the sounds he was making, knew he was close, knew he wanted me to be there with him. But I wasn't ready, not quite. Not yet. "Please? It's okay!"

To my astonishment, he reached up for the showerhead above my head, pulling it down from its holder. I saw his hand in front of me, saw him stab at the control panel and watched as the stream of water became a pulse. And as he continued to plunge deep, he turned the spray on me, allowing the jets of water to spurt first across my over-sensitised breasts then my belly, then finally—oh God—down between my thighs. The result was explosive, my orgasm flooding through me in a devastating burst, Luke tensing before finding his own completion, his cry of pleasure merging with my own.

For a few moments I couldn't see, couldn't breathe, couldn't speak, only gradually becoming aware of the arms still around me, holding me close, my legs so jelly-like I knew I would've fallen without the support. And by and by I realised I couldn't see because my eyes were closed, opening them at last to find I was staring at the tiles in front of me, Luke's soft laughter rumbling in my ear.

"Holy shit," he murmured, planting kisses on my neck. "I think you just turned me inside out."

When I didn't reply, he twisted me around, seeming to discern from just one glance how depleted I was feeling. Adjusting the spray back to normal, he gently cleaned me up before returning the showerhead to its bracket then wrapped me tightly in his arms, hugging me as though he'd never let me go. As the deliciously warm water continued to cascade over our bodies, I let my head droop on to his shoulder, my eyes drifting closed again as his hand gently caressed the length of my spine.

"I love you."

"Wh-what?" Startled, not at all sure I hadn't fallen asleep, that I hadn't merely been dreaming, I lifted my head to stare at him.

Luke smiled, those blue eyes unwavering on mine. "I know. It's probably way too early to tell you that but…" He shrugged, looking unrepentant. "I do and I just had to tell you."

No. I couldn't have heard him right. "Tell me—tell me what?"

"Becks!" He gave an uncharacteristically self-conscious laugh. "I've made a point of never saying those three little words to any other girl in my life. You're really going to make me say them again?"

I looked at him helplessly, aware of just how fast my heart was beating, those 'three little words' rolling around and around in my head. "Luke…"

"I love you." Cupping my cheek, he leaned in to kiss me, still smiling, his gaze very warm. "It's okay, babe, I know it's too soon. I'm not expecting you to say it back. I just wanted you to know." And then he drew in a deep breath. "So," he said, his tone much lighter, "let's get you out of here. Let's get you…"

But I wasn't listening anymore. It was yesterday afternoon and I was back in that quadrangle not far from the WRVS coffee shop at the hospital, sitting on the bench with Sarah.

That's the thing about falling in love, she'd said. You can't control it. You can't decide when it's going to happen.

"God, I hate it when she's right."

It was Luke's turn to look bewildered. "What?"

"Sarah." And suddenly I was smiling, beaming in fact, feeling rather as though someone had switched on a bright light inside of me. "She told me yesterday I'd fallen in love with you."

"She did? You have?" I could see that same light in Luke's eyes, his own smile brightening. And then, the cogs in his mind evidently whirring furiously, he added, "Your sister knows about me? You told her?"

"She knows about you but she doesn't know that it's you. I would've told her but yesterday, when you came up to speak to us after Mum's operation…" I stopped, remembering how wretched I'd felt. "You wouldn't even look at me."

Luke winced. "Becks, I thought you were—"

"—back with Daniel, I know." I shook my head. "But then you were there when I fainted. And for a moment, I thought everything would be all right."

"So you're admitting you fainted now?"

I pretended I hadn't heard. "Then Daniel went and spoiled all that as well. So of course I didn't tell her. There didn't seem to be any point. Because I thought…" And suddenly I realised my eyes were filling with tears. "I thought it was over. Oh!" I gave a sob as Luke's expression softened. "I love you and y-you love me. Why the hell am I crying now?"

"Aw, Becks." Smiling, he stroked my wet hair back from my face then kissed me tenderly. "Come on, babe. I think it's time we got you dry."

On emerging from the steam-filled bathroom, the bedroom seemed startlingly bright and airy. Luke insisted on drying every inch of me himself, frowning as he patted the skin dry over the nearly healed wound on my arm. "Those stitches are coming out today," he said firmly. "Make sure I don't forget."

I gazed down at my forearm, wanting to ask whether it would hurt but certain he'd laugh at me. "You branded me," I said instead, smiling when he looked baffled. "See?" As he watched, I traced the L shaped scar with my fingertip.

Luke smirked. "Oh that," he said lightly. "Yeah, I like to leave my mark on all my patients. Your mother's got two actually. One on her leg and one," he unwrapped the towel from around my shoulders, "just here," he finished, similarly drawing a line down the valley between my breasts and laughing when I shivered with pleasure. "I think we'd better get you dressed before I start getting ideas," he said reluctantly. "We're never going to get to the hospital at this rate. Want to borrow a pair of my boxer shorts?"

I stared at him in surprise as he left me to go and open the top drawer of that huge pine chest. "I beg your pardon?"

"Well, I'm guessing you haven't any clean underwear tucked away in your handbag. Or have you?" His grin broadened as I pulled a face at him. "That's what I thought."

And so it was I found myself sitting in Luke's Mercedes twenty minutes later feeling acutely conscious of the loose cotton nestling against my nether regions, despite the fact no one could possibly have guessed I was wearing his shorts beneath my trousers.

"So." Hearing the amusement in his voice, somehow I just knew what was coming next. "What are the chances of you staying awake long enough to tell me where we're going this time?"

"Oh, ha bloody ha." I gave his shoulder a playful jab then told him the address of the flat. "It's not exactly in the posh end of town, I know. Not like your place. But it's home. Well, it was," I added with a sigh.

He smiled. "Actually, until six months ago I lived two streets away from you."

"Really?" Astonished, I found myself wondering just how many times I'd seen him, how many times I'd walked past him without having any idea who he was. It didn't seem possible.

Luke was nodding. "And I loved it there. But Tim kept going on at me about climbing the property ladder and well, I gave in. Don't get me wrong, I like where I'm living now but it still doesn't feel like home."

"No," I murmured, as he navigated a busy junction. "I don't suppose the flat's ever going to feel like home again, either."

After turning right and pulling into a faster stream of traffic, he shot me a sympathetic glance. "What will you do? Put it up for sale, I s'pose."

I frowned. "What?"

"Well, you'll have to, won't you? Presumably Daniel will want his share."

"His share?" I gave a rather bitter laugh. "What share? It's my flat. It's in my name. I was living there before I met him. Mum gave me the money for the deposit and I got a mortgage for the rest."

"And you're still letting him live there? Becks!"

"I know. But with everything that's been going on, it just seemed easier to let him stay for now. He knows he's got to move out soon."

"Good. Although…" Luke grimaced slightly. "He might still be able to say that he's entitled to part of it, you know. If he can show that he contributed to the bills or paid money towards the mortgage."

I gave a snort. "Contributed to the bills? Luke, he's never got any money. I don't know how he does it, but he always manages to spend all of his pay in about three days. I used to count myself lucky if I didn't have to buy my own birthday card."

He shot me a bewildered glance. "Remind me again why you were going to marry this guy?"

"Oh." I heaved a sigh. "I thought I loved him. He was good-looking, funny. Life and soul of the party. All my friends were jealous when we started going out. I guess I was flattered he wanted to be with me."

"Becks, you're amazing." The warmth in his tone made me feel all gooey inside. "Why wouldn't he want to be with you?"

"Well, no one had ever made me feel that way before. It felt—different. Special. He used to spend money on me back then. He was always buying me silly presents." I bit my lip. "To be honest, I couldn't believe it when he asked me to marry him. We'd been going out for a year and a half. And then, well, the wedding stuff kind of took over. I s'pose I should've seen the signs but everyone else seemed to like him so much. My Mum…" I sighed. "Well, you know that Mum thinks the world of him. And my all friends thought I'd got it made.

"So I told myself that the little things I'd started not to like about him didn't matter. You know, things like not coming home when he said he would, going out with his mates when we were supposed to be going out, forgetting anniversaries…" I trailed off, realising the more I told Luke, the bigger fool I was beginning to sound. "Stupid."

"No." His hand landed on my leg, his fingers warm even through the fabric of my trousers. "He was the stupid one. He had you, and he threw it all away. Threw you away. What an asshole."

"Luke!" I found myself laughing weakly at the disgust in his tone.

He grinned, giving my thigh a gentle squeeze. "Still, his loss is my gain, right?"

As we turned into my street, I found myself feeling inexplicably nervous. I hadn't been back to the flat in more than three weeks, not since the afternoon of what should've been my wedding day when I'd dashed inside and stuffed as many of my clothes as I could into two suitcases. I gazed up at the three storey whitewashed building as Luke pulled up outside, drawing in a deep, steadying breath.

I felt his fingers curling around mine. "Sure you don't want me to come in with you?"

"No. He's not here. His car's not here, thank God." I'd checked the car park the moment we arrived. "Besides, I'm only going to be a minute."

I jumped out of the car before I could change my mind, striding with a confidence I didn't feel towards the communal entrance. It was a perfect spring morning, the sun shining, the sky a cloudless blue, a hint of a breeze sending a slight chill through my barely dry hair. But I felt curiously out of place. Although the flat had been mine for nearly six years, I found myself looking up at the block and seeing things I'd never noticed before; the decorative brickwork beneath the windows, the yellow curtains in the window of the flat next to mine. This was home but I felt like a visitor.

My keys in my hand, I went inside and crossed the lobby, taking the stairs to the first floor. Nothing had changed. The corridor looked just the same, the fake palm in the window at the end as dusty as ever, the plastic gnomes propped up outside my neighbour's front door still grinning at me inanely.

But on opening the door to my flat, I realised something was different. The sound of the television, a children's programme blaring from within. The smell of toast—burnt toast—mixed with something else, a sweet, slightly sickly aroma I recognised but couldn't quite identify. And the sight of a coat, not mine, not Daniel's, hanging from the row of pegs to my left.

Heart racing now, somehow I managed to walk to the end of the narrow hall. But on reaching the living room I found I couldn't move anymore, the scene that met my eyes causing me to stop dead in the doorway.

Toys were scattered across the floor, an assortment of dolls in various states of undress, a miniature shopping trolley containing brightly-coloured plastic fruit, a teddy bear strapped into a buggy. As I stared, quite unable to make any sense of what I was seeing, I heard someone call from the bathroom.

"Daniel? Is that you?"

Even though it'd been obvious someone was there, I jolted violently at the sound of the unfamiliar female voice. And when I realised just whose voice it must be, shock washed through me in an icy wave. Oh God, I'd been such a fool.

But before I could turn and make good my escape, a beaming toddler came running into the room. Wearing a pink dress, her hair a mass of golden ringlets, she too stopped dead, surveying me with solemn brown eyes.

Eyes that were just like Daniel's.

Chapter 10

"Drive."

"What?" Luke regarded me with astonishment as I slid into the car beside him, hastily closing the door. "What happened?"

"Just drive." I scrabbled for the seatbelt, pulling it around me with trembling fingers, my keys slithering off my lap to the foot well. "Oh fuck."

"Babe," I heard him say as I reached down to retrieve them. "We're not going anywhere. Not until you tell me—"

"Luke, please!" I begged, straightening up. "I can't—don't make me explain now. Please? Just—just get me out of here."

There must have been a look of utter desperation in my eyes for without further argument, he started the car, pulling away from the kerb at speed. The inertia pushing me back in my seat, I closed my eyes, aware I was shaking, my heart still thudding wildly in my chest.

God, I'd been stupid, I'd been such a fool. Why hadn't I guessed? How could I not have known? Daniel's affair hadn't been a holiday romance. It hadn't been an affair at all. He'd been with the girl for years. They'd even had a daughter together.

But none of it made any sense.

Because he'd wanted to marry me. It wasn't as though he'd ever appeared to have second thoughts. Far from it. He'd been so involved with everything to do with the wedding, from the booking of the cars to the booking of our reception, from meeting the vicar to organising our honeymoon in the Maldives, checking then re-checking every detail with zeal. Through it all, we'd been close—well, I thought we'd been close. Intimate. Okay, maybe we hadn't made love as often as we had at the start of our relationship, but I'd just assumed that was normal for a couple who'd been together for a while.

But it hadn't been normal at all, had it? The whole time, he'd been with her too. Doubtless he'd had sex with her too. Well, quite obviously he had. And had it not been for the fact he'd accidentally sent that text message to me instead of her on the morning of the wedding, we'd have been married by now. What the hell had he had in mind? Bigamy?

"No." The thought made my stomach churn with a vengeance, waterbrash rapidly flooding my mouth. And oh God, that buzzing noise was back, growing louder and stronger, a surge of heat sweeping over me. "Oh no," I groaned, feeling horribly clammy. "Luke, I'm going to be—"

The next thing I knew, the car was no longer moving and Luke was opening my door, reaching in to scoop me out. "Don't you dare," he said in a tone that would brook no argument, hoisting me up in his arms before nudging the door closed again with his knee. "D'you hear me? Don't even think about it. I made you that bacon butty with love, Rebecca—and it's staying down, okay?"

I nodded weakly, trying my hardest to regain control, the fresh air on my face helping, the dizziness already easing away. And as he carried me, I gazed up into his face, stricken by the concern in his eyes. "Where are we?" I whispered, managing to raise my head just enough to see we were heading towards a park bench.

"By the river. S'okay, just ssh." Holding me firmly, he lowered us both down to the bench, easing me into a more comfortable position across his lap. And for a minute or two, we sat in silence, Luke gently stroking my hair while I listened to the sound of the breeze rustling the leaves on the trees above us, the distant quacking of ducks somewhere up stream. "Daniel," he said at last, sounding rather grim. "He was there, wasn't he?"

"No." I shook my head, watching as the furrows in his brow deepened. "But she was."

"She?"

"Janine." It felt odd to say the name. I hadn't known what it was before.

Luke's arms tightened slightly. "You mean…?"

"Daniel's other woman," I finished for him. "Yes. And her baby." I hesitated. "Daniel's baby."

"What?"

I hadn't had a chance to bolt. Within moments of seeing the cherubic-looking child, her mother had emerged from the bathroom, clad in cream satin pyjamas. A tall, thin girl, perhaps a little younger than me, with over-bleached blonde hair, roots sorely in need of a touch up. We'd stood looking at each other for what could only have been seconds but seemed considerably longer.

"Shit," she'd said, her face going pale. "You're Rebecca, aren't you?"

I wasn't sure what was worse, that she was there or that she knew who I was. But the strangest calm had descended on me and I heard myself saying, rather sarcastically, "Well, I don't think we've been formally introduced but yes, I'm Rebecca. And you are?"

"I'm—I'm Janine," she'd stammered. "Look, Daniel's not here. He's just—"

"And this is?" I'd interrupted, pointing at the toddler who was still staring up at me as though mesmerised, those huge brown eyes unblinking.

"Issie." At the sound of her name, the little girl charged to Janine's side, half-hiding behind her mother's leg. "Short—short for Isabel."

"Hello Issie." I softened my tone as I addressed the little girl directly, beginning to get that now familiar feeling I was trapped in a bad dream. "How old are you, then?"

"She's eighteen months," Janine answered, looking increasingly uncomfortable. "Listen…"

"And she's Daniel's child, isn't she?" It hadn't really been a question. Isabel was the spitting image of him, just a miniature female version. But even if I hadn't already been sure, Janine's openly guilty expression would've provided all the confirmation I needed. "Right," I said lightly, at a complete loss as to how I was supposed to feel or what I was supposed to say next. "Well, there are a few things I need to pick up, so if you don't mind…"

I'd pushed past mother and daughter and headed into the bathroom, the signs of their occupation everywhere. Janine's toiletries were on the tiled windowsill. There were plastic ducks in the bath, nappies and baby wipes stacked on the floor in front of the scales and a changing mat parallel to the bath. But when I opened the mirrored cabinet above the sink, I was taken even further aback to see the other woman's things crammed in next to mine. A cheap supermarket brand of tampons, face cream, perfume, make-up. Just how long had she been staying there?

In order to retrieve my pills I'd had to start removing her things, at first placing them neatly on the ledge above the basin. But after I'd removed half a dozen items, a fit of blind rage suddenly struck. Putting my hand into the cabinet, I'd swept everything out, the entire contents of the shelf clattering down into the sink, boxes of contraceptives and all. And having extracted the boxes, I'd dropped them into my handbag before turning on my heel and marching straight out of the flat, not bothering to direct so much as a glance in Janine's direction.

Luke swore softly as I finished telling the tale then pressed his mouth to the top of my head, dropping kisses into my hair. "Bastard," he murmured furiously. "Becks, I've had it with this wanker. Give me one reason why I shouldn't slice off his dick with a blunt scalpel."

"Luke!"

"I'm serious." His fingers moved over my throat, checking my pulse. "And what kind of woman is she? For heaven's sake, she knew about you? She knew you and Daniel were going to get married and she was happy to go along with it?"

"It's pretty weird," I conceded, grimacing at him as I grabbed his hand and pulled it away from my neck. "Stop that, I'm okay now. It was just the—"

"Shock," he finished tersely, peering into my eyes now. "Okay, he can keep his dick. Let me just castrate him. Bad enough that he's fathered one child."

"Luke!" But this time my objection was rather less than half-hearted. I was finding it particularly difficult to deal with the fact Daniel had a daughter. I'd found it hard enough to cope with the idea he'd had an affair. To discover that not only had he had an affair, but that it'd been going on for years. "There must've been signs," I murmured, thinking aloud. "Why didn't I know? How could he have kept this hidden? Surely somebody must've known something."

"Babe…"

"Why did he want to marry me?" Pushing Luke's arms away, I struggled to sit upright, staring at him in bewilderment. "If he had her, and he had a baby with her, why did he still want to be with me? Even last week, when he brought me home from Cornwall, he was asking if we could make another go of things. Why the hell would he want to do that? Why would he want both of us?"

He gazed back at me, once again wearing that expression I couldn't quite read. "I can't answer that," he said at last. "I think that's something you're going to have to ask him."

I stared back at him, puzzled by that look, my mind working furiously to make a connection between all the times I'd ever seen it. And all of a sudden, I knew what it meant, a rush of relief flooding through me, that beacon of light inside me seeming to burn more brightly than ever.

"Luke, you tosser." Leaning forward, I kissed him as passionately as I knew how, my arms curling around his neck. "It's you I want. Not him."

He gave a startled laugh as I kissed him once more then reciprocated with equal enthusiasm, pulling me down on top of him as he toppled down sideways to the bench, cushioning me with his body. "Wow," he said contentedly when I finally raised my head for air. "What did I do to deserve that?"

"I wanted you to know I love you."

"Yeah, I kind of got that." He smiled as I laid my head on his shoulder, reaching up to caress my cheek. "I love you too."

"You really do, don't you?" I smiled back, still not quite able to believe it. "Maybe we should be thanking Daniel for being a bastard. We'd never have met otherwise."

"Hmm." He rolled his eyes as he stretched out his other hand, flexing then clenching his fingers meaningfully. "And I think I know the perfect way to thank him."

I looked at him and then at his fist, unsure whether he was serious. "You wouldn't?"

Laughing now, he shook his head before dropping another gentle kiss on my lips. "Feeling better?"

Slowly he eased me upright again, still holding me close, watching my face as we rose. To my relief, the nausea had completely abated, but I felt oddly weak, as though I hadn't slept for days. Although that wasn't surprising. It wasn't far so from the truth. "I'm okay," I said lightly, grimacing as his eyebrows lifted in response and knowing he wasn't fooled for a moment. "Well, I will be. Luke… Please can we go? I really, really need to see Mum now."

He nodded before tucking my head in against his chest, resting his cheek against my hair. "Come on then," he murmured before pulling me to my feet. And slinging an arm around my waist as we walked, he steered me back up the bank towards the car.

"You're never going to be able to park," I said when we finally arrived at the hospital, dismayed to see just how many cars were queuing on the slip road for a space. It was only ten o'clock but already the sign up outside the multi-storey car park read 'FULL'.

Luke shot me an amused look. "Babe, at what point did you fall asleep last night? It was before we got to my car, right? You were sleep-walking, weren't you? I thought you'd gone a bit quiet." And still grinning, he pulled into the other lane and turned off into a road clearly sign-posted 'Staff Car Parking only'.

"Oh." I couldn't remember a thing about going to his car last night. I'd just let him lead me out of the hospital, too strung out by the day's events to notice where we were going. "Don't tell me, you have a spot with your name on?"

Already peering down the long lines of parked cars for a space, he laughed. "I wish. I'm really not that important in the grand scheme of things, just another consultant. Ah, there we go."

Luke pulled the car into what appeared to me to be a very narrow bay before jumping out to help me, holding my door so it didn't knock against the car besides his. Then taking my hand, he led me back up the hill and in through the main entrance of the hospital.

He was still holding my hand as we walked on to the Cardiac Intensive Care Unit, Caitlin's eyes widening when we arrived in my mother's room. "Hi," she said, not quite managing to cover her surprise as she stared at me and then Luke, her welcoming smile a little too dazzling. "I was just telling Gillie that I thought you'd be here soon."

"Mum!" Pulling away from Luke, I rushed to her side, relief flooding through me as I saw her eyes were open, smiling as her face brightened in recognition. "Don't you ever scare us like that again, do you hear me?"

As she nodded I became aware of Caitlin behind me. "Your Mum's doing very well, Becky. She's off the ventilator now and breathing on her own."

"But…" There was still a tube in Mum's mouth, attached to a thick length of pipe. Not knowing what it was, I gestured towards it rather helplessly.

"That's a T-piece. That's just oxygen going through there. We don't take the tube out straightaway in case there are any problems but I'll be taking it out in a few minutes. Then she'll be able to talk to us again. Although," Caitlin smiled at her, "you're a bit sleepy, aren't you, Gillie? It's all the pain medication."

"And how are we doing with pain control?" I heard Luke say as he came up the other side of the bed. "Have we got it right yet?"

Mum turned towards him, her eyes narrowing slightly before she gave him another brief nod. I knew what that look meant. It meant 'who the hell do you think you are?'

Luke sent me a grin that told me he knew what that look meant as well. "Too much analgesia and she'd be too sleepy to breathe deeply, too little and it'd hurt too much to breathe deeply," he explained. "It's not always easy to strike the right balance." And then he was looking at Mum again, his expression softening as he touched her hand. "Good morning," he said gently. "I'm Luke Foster. You can blame me for all of this. I was the one who performed your surgery yesterday."

I watched Mum's face brighten again, saw the flash of understanding in her eyes. And as he began to describe what had happened, keeping his explanations simple and to the point, I felt a strange sense of pride as I listened. This was Luke, my Luke. The skilled surgeon who'd known what to do, how to make her better, how to save her life. I wasn't sure I'd ever be able to thank him enough.

"Anyway," he finished at last. "I realise it's not fair to tell you all this when you can't talk to me so I'll be back to answer any questions you might have when the breathing tube's out. I think that'll be quite soon now."

"Just need to draw up this infusion and then I'm on it," the nurse confirmed, busy with a syringe at the end of the bed.

"Excellent." Luke smiled at Mum and then at me. "That should give me enough time to get something else done then. Caitlin, I need a suture removal kit. Where can I find one?"

"Oh no." Realising what he was asking for and why he wanted it, I felt my face fall. "Not now."

He grinned, apparently enjoying the startled looks both Caitlin and my mother were shooting in his direction. "Yes, now," he said firmly, reaching across to pick up my hand in order to show Mum the long line of stitches in my arm.

"They're in the treatment room," Caitlin said, not even trying to hide her surprise now. "On the bottom shelf just inside the door. Mr Foster…" She hesitated, seeming rather perplexed. "I could take those out for her if you wanted me to."

"Oh, I think I'll manage, thanks." Now I wasn't in any doubt at all. Luke was definitely enjoying my discomfort. "Let's go." And still gripping my hand he drew me down the bed. "We'll be in the pre-admission suite if you need us. Back in a bit," he said cheerfully then tugged me out of the room before I could take another glance at my mother.

"Luke!" I hissed, mindful of keeping my voice low as we re-entered the main ward area. "I—I can't believe you just did that."

He chuckled softly, leading me into a small room behind the nurses' desk. There was barely enough time to take in the cupboards and the neat rows of trays on the counter tops containing medical supplies before he retrieved a rectangular package from one of the shelves and waved me back out of the door. And then we were leaving the unit, going back through the double doors, turning right into an empty twin-bedded ward just before the exit to the lifts.

"Make yourself comfy," he said, gesturing towards the bed nearest the window and pulling the curtain across, effectively dividing the room in two and shielding us from anyone passing by.

I stared at him for a moment in confusion, watching as he moved across to the sink to wash his hands. "What?"

He sent me a grin over his shoulder. "Lie down, babe."

"But…" He had to be kidding, right? "I don't need to do that, do I? It's not like this isn't going to take long, is it? And it isn't going to—I mean, it won't—"

"Hurt?" Lifting his eyes heavenwards for a moment, Luke came back towards me, kicking a small metal trolley across to the bedside. "Get on the bed, Rebecca."

I perched on the very edge of the bed, watching nervously as he opened the package and spread out its contents across the top of the trolley. "Is it going to hurt?" he mocked, shaking his head. "Yesterday, I cracked open your mother's chest with a saw."

Dear God. That hadn't been something I'd wanted to visualise. "Thanks for that."

Laughing softly, he turned to me at last only for the mischief in his eyes to disappear the moment he saw my face. "Oh, Becks." To my surprise, he climbed on to the bed behind me then hauled me up until I was propped against him, sitting between his outstretched legs. "Not sure how we'll explain this if anyone comes in, but what the hell." And planting a kiss on my neck he leaned over to retrieve instruments from the trolley. "Right," he said solemnly, showing me what he was holding. "Stitch cutter, forceps. Relax. I'm not going to hurt you."

Reassured by his embrace, I watched as he lifted the knot of the first stitch then sliced through the suture, experiencing only an odd tickling sensation as he pulled the thread back through my skin. "That's it?"

I could feel his smile as he brushed his lips against my temple. "Uh huh. Think you can manage without an anaesthetic?"

Embarrassed, I didn't respond, smiling reluctantly when he kissed me again. "Did you really have to use a saw?"

"'Fraid so." He sounded amused, already removing the next stitch. "To cut through the sternum. Want me to talk you through the whole procedure?"

"Maybe another time," I said faintly, repressing a shudder and racking my brains for a change of subject. "So you saw my mother's breasts, huh?"

He gave a startled choke of laughter. "Occupational hazard, I'm afraid. Why, want to know how you compare?"

"Oh, I don't know. Don't they say, 'show me the mother'—"

"—'and I'll show you the daughter in twenty to thirty years time'?" he finished. "Well, let's just say your prospects look good, babe."

"Luke!" I tipped my head back to glare at him and was rewarded with another kiss.

"I'm kidding. It's actually pretty hard to see what a woman's breasts are like when she's lying flat on an operating table. Unless they're fake of course. And then of course, everyone comes to have a look."

"I hope you're still kidding." But something about his lack of reply made me rather suspect he wasn't.

We sat in silence for a while, Luke steadily working his way through the stitches, the tension gradually leaving my shoulders as I settled back against his chest. But then I remembered finding myself at peace the last time we'd sat like this, that evening up on the rocks while we'd waited for the tide to go back out. And revelling in the feel of his arms around me, Luke's breath warm against my ear, I allowed my eyes to drift closed.

So the familiar beeping sound of someone tapping a number into a mobile phone came as a rather unwelcome surprise. Jerking back to full wakefulness, I twisted around to see Luke grinning. "Ssh," he mouthed, using the forceps to point towards the curtain. "Someone's out there. Don't say—"

"Hi, it's me. I just got your message. What's up?"

At the sound of the rather irritated male voice, a cold wash of shock flooded through me. Daniel.

"You do realise I shouldn't even be speaking to you? You know what they're like about mobile phones in hospitals."

Oblivious to my dismay, Luke rolled his eyes then nudged my shoulder so I was facing forward again and began using the forceps to grasp the knot of the next stitch.

"What?" If Daniel had sounded irritated before, now I knew he was pissed. "Please tell me you're joking? She actually came round? When?"

The high-pitched voice emitting from the receiver was only just audible but although I couldn't distinguish the words, the caller's distress was obvious. A split second later, so was the identity of the caller.

"Fucking hell, Janine!"

Luke tensed behind me. "Janine?" he whispered, his mouth so close to my earlobe his lips tickled. "Isn't that…?"

I nodded once, equally tense, my shock at hearing Daniel's voice abruptly giving way to blind rage. But when I tried to pull away, Luke's arms tightened around me, holding me in place.

"Well what the fuck did you say?" Daniel raged on. "Does she know who you are? Did she see…? Shit."

Livid now and suddenly desperate to confront my ex-fiancé, I fought against Luke's restraining arms in vain. "You're staying put," he murmured, motioning down at the three remaining sutures in my arm. "I'm not done." And to my utter astonishment, he coolly began working on the next one.

"Okay… Okay. Calm down." All at once, Daniel's tone became much more conciliatory. "Well, there's not much we can do about it now, I suppose. No, I know." There was a longer pause and then he sighed heavily. "No, they wouldn't let me in to see her. Something about taking out the breathing tube. Yeah."

I couldn't believe Luke wouldn't let me go. Daniel was talking about my mother as though he still had a right to see her, a right to care, when in truth he had no right at all. He'd lied to me; he'd lied to us all for goodness knew how many years.

"So no, it's not looking promising. It looks like she's out of danger for now. Yeah." Much to my bewilderment I could hear deep regret in his tone. "I know. It could've worked out just fine. Would've solved a lot of problems."

What could've worked out just fine? Mystified, I tried to look at Luke, only for him to firmly turn me around again, finally working at the one remaining stitch.

"Well." Daniel sounded resigned now. "It may still work out, who knows? Her heart's working okay for now but how long will that last? My mate's Dad had a bypass operation a couple of years back and he only made it another six months. Chances are, Gillie won't last that long either."

Six months? Panic-stricken, I twisted around to gaze at Luke again and found he was shaking his head. "Bollocks," he mouthed, looking exasperated now. "Grafts can last ten to fifteen years."

"Maybe I'll still be able to blag my way out of this one," Daniel carried on. "Gillie's always liked me, after all. Though I s'pose once Becca tells her about you and Issie…" He heaved a sigh, as though the consequences of his actions had only just occurred to him. "Oh well," he said, just as Luke pulled the last thread from my forearm. "Pity this didn't happen yesterday, eh?" Then he gave a rather bitter laugh. "I could've pulled out the plug of her life support machine."

"That's enough!" I gasped, leaping off the bed at the precise moment Luke obligingly opened his arms, charging across to the curtain and wrenching it back. "You bastard! You utter bastard!" And before Daniel had a chance to react, I flew at him, barrelling into his chest with a strength I didn't even know I possessed, the mobile phone slipping from his hand as I slammed him against the wall. "I want you out!" I spat into his face. "Do you hear me? I want you and that tart and your kid out of my flat!"

"Becca!" he gulped. "It's not what you think. It's not what it looks like."

"Not what it looks like?" I gave a choke of incredulous laughter. "Fuck, Daniel, it's exactly what it looks like. Just what kind of fool do you think I am? Yes, I've been a fool, my God, I've been a fool. But even I'm not that stupid. I want you out—by this evening."

"You don't understand." Daniel gazed at me, looking increasingly desperate. "They don't have anywhere else to go. She couldn't pay the rent, they were evicted from their place."

"And that's my problem?" I couldn't believe I was hearing this. "I don't care! I want you out. All of you!"

"Becca, please. We don't have any money. Have a heart."

"'Have a heart'?" I echoed in disbelief. "You were just talking about turning Mum's life support machine off and you're telling me to 'have a heart' because you're…" Then I stopped, grasping in a blinding flash of comprehension what this was all about. "You're broke," I breathed, hardly able to believe I hadn't guessed before. "That's it, isn't it? My God, that's why you're here." And seemingly of its own volition my right hand was swinging upwards, balling into a fist before colliding with his cheek. "You bastard!" I screamed, wild with fury. "You wanted her to die, didn't you? Shit, you're in her w-huh!"

Before I could finish, Daniel grabbed me by the throat and suddenly it was me that was up against the wall, the back of my head smashing into the plasterboard with a dizzying thwack. "You don't get it," he said, still with that odd note of despair, leaning in until his face was scant inches from mine. "You can't throw us out, do you hear? It was a one-night stand, you have to believe me. I never thought she'd get pregnant."

"Daniel!"

I heard my sister's shocked voice but couldn't see where she was, Daniel's hand pressing so tightly against my windpipe, everything was going black. "And I loved you. Not her, not Janine. I just didn't know what to do. I didn't have the money to support them by myself, Becca!"

"So you thought you'd use her money instead?" Wrenching Daniel's hand from my neck Luke shoved him hard in the ribs, sending him sprawling to the floor. The next thing I knew, Daniel was on his back, Luke's foot planted over his chest. "You gutless fucker, did you never think of telling her the truth? Of course not. You couldn't be a man."

Gasping for breath I slid down the wall, watching as Daniel peered up at Luke. "Foster?" he exclaimed. "You again? You hit me! I'll have you done for assault!"

"Be my guest," Luke said, sounding calm. "But I think you should know someone else witnessed what you just did." And as he gestured towards the doorway I saw Sarah at last, her mouth gaping open in horror. "So go ahead, get the police involved. I'm sure they'd be interested to hear from you. Because if you don't do the honours, I think I just might. In fact," he gave a shrug and removed his foot, "maybe it's time I pressed charges against you myself."

Daniel cast a frantic glance at my sister as he struggled upright, suddenly looking rather pale. "Sarah," he faltered as he reached for his phone. "Believe me, this isn't what it looks like."

"Get out," she said coldly, her voice shaking with anger. "Just go—and never come back." And ignoring him as he staggered out of the room, she hurried forward, her huge belly swaying as she ran. "Becky! Oh God, are you all right?"

But Luke was already crouching in front of me, gazing straight into my eyes. "Nice right hook, babe," he murmured under his breath, cupping my cheek with his hand. "Remind me to never piss you off."

And letting out a sob, I buried my face into his shoulder.

"Is she hurt?" Sarah exclaimed as his arms folded around me. "She hit her head pretty hard."

"I'm all right," I mumbled, sinking into the solid warmth of his embrace, drawing strength from him as though he was a battery. But when I felt his fingers at the back of my head gently parting my hair, I gave a wail of frustration. "No, don't! Stop fussing. I'm fine—ow-ow-ow!"

Having found the sore place, Luke rocked back on his heels and shot me an appraising look. "How many fingers?" he asked with a sigh, holding three up in front of me.

"Five," I retorted, being deliberately obtuse. "Stop it, you tosser, I'm fine."

"Becky!" Sarah sounded outraged. "Mr Foster, I'm sorry, I can't believe she just said that. Becky, that was so rude!"

For a moment I stared up at her in total confusion then caught Luke's hastily repressed grin. "That's quite all right," he replied, deadpan. "I'll take that as a good sign." Solemnly, he reached down for my right hand, shaking his head when I gasped. "And I'll take it that hurts," he said, examining my already-reddened knuckles. "I think we'd better find you some ice."

"Thank goodness you were here," Sarah breathed, still using that over-polite, rather formal tone, the same tone Mum used when she was on the telephone. "I don't know what would've happened if you hadn't been here to stop him."

"I didn't quite stop him in time," Luke said regretfully, sliding his hands beneath my arms and gently lifting me to my feet, grimacing when I swayed against him.

"Well, I hurt him first." I lifted my hand to look at it more closely, wincing as I flexed my fingers. Having never thumped anyone before, I'd had no idea how painful it would be. It felt rather as though I'd rammed my fist into a wall.

Sarah gave a snort of derision. "Oh believe me, he deserved so much worse than that. But let me get this straight," she added, frowning as she rubbed at her lower spine. "Daniel's going to be a father?"

"No, he's already a father," I corrected, saying the words without emotion. The truth still hadn't quite sunk in. "He has a little girl and she's eighteen months old. Her name's Issie and she's living in my flat with her mother."

"What?"

I bit my lip. "Where's Graham?"

"He had to pop into work. He dropped me off downstairs. He'll be in later. Becky…" Sarah looked aghast. "They're actually living in your—?"

"Have you seen Mum?" I interrupted. "She's off the ventilator. Caitlin was just taking out the tube." But when I glanced at Luke I discovered he was gazing at me so tenderly I found myself on the brink of tears. "Sh-she'll be done by now, won't she?" I added hurriedly, blinking hard. "Can we go back and see her?"

He nodded then slid an arm around my shoulders, brushing his lips against my temple. Sarah stared, her face a picture of bewilderment. Realising she was struggling to decide whether what she'd just seen was borderline acceptable or entirely inappropriate, I suddenly wanted to laugh instead.

"I'd completely forgotten about the will," she said, still shooting curious glances at the two of us as we headed back down the corridor towards the intensive care unit. "If Mum had died…"

"Daniel's in your mother's will?" Luke gave me a startled look.

I nodded. "She had a new one drawn up not long after we got engaged. She insisted on naming each of us individually. Sarah and I get forty percent each and Graham and Daniel get ten percent each."

"And ten percent is a lot," Sarah said, grimacing as she rubbed at her back again. "Dad left Mum quite a bit of money when he died."

"No wonder Daniel was sticking around." Luke shook his head slightly. "He must be pretty mad at me."

"Wait a minute." Sarah slowed to a halt, turning to face me. "When did you and Daniel get engaged?"

"What?" I pulled a face. "You know when. December, remember? Not last year, the year before. He made some crack about not having to get me a Christmas present then—and he didn't either, did he? Why?" I asked, feeling my frown deepen as Sarah and Luke exchanged glances.

My sister blew out a sigh. "Eighteen months ago."

"Yes, I suppose." And then I understood. "Oh God." He'd asked me to marry him around the time his daughter had been born.

"Bastard. I don't know how he can live with himself," Sarah muttered furiously. "And this girl…?"

"Janine," I supplied automatically.

"Janine. You saw her? Did she see you too? She knew who you were?"

I gave a rather weary nod.

"So she knew Daniel was going to marry you? What kind of woman would go along with that?"

"A desperate one?" Luke suggested, earning himself a glare from Sarah. "Well, maybe you should give her the benefit of the doubt for now. She may not have known all along. Daniel lied to Becks. It's not so difficult to believe he lied to Janine as well."

"Sorry?" Her eyes narrowed. "Becks?"

Luke grinned, giving my shoulders one last squeeze as we arrived outside Mum's room. "You go in. I'll go and get that ice."

As he walked away, Sarah gave me an incredulous look. "What the hell…?"

I hastily pushed at the door before she could finish, Caitlin greeting us with another of her characteristic welcoming beams. "There you are," she said cheerfully. "We were just wondering whether we should send out a search party."

"Yes, well, you can blame Daniel for that," my sister said, already moving past me and heading straight towards our mother. "Thank God you're awake, Mum. You're never going to believe what he's done now."

"Sarah!" I stared at her and then at Mum, a part of me noting with relief that the tube was gone, her smile visible through the clear plastic of the oxygen mask now covering her face. "Not now!"

"She needs to know." Sarah bent to kiss her, her expression softening as she smiled back at her. "My God, Mum, you had us worried."

I saw my mother mouth the word 'Sorry' before turning her head to look directly at me, frowning slightly."

Sarah followed her gaze, looking rather grim. "Becky and Daniel aren't getting back together again, Mum. She only told you that because she thought you were dying."

"Don't!" Aghast now, I looked to Caitlin in desperation. "Tell her this isn't the right time."

"There's never going to be a right time," Sarah said before the nurse could reply. "You're always going to be thinking 'I can't say that' or 'I can't tell her this' because you think she's going to have a relapse or another heart attack or something. But let's face it, if that's going to happen, then it's better that it happens here, right? While she's still in hospital surrounded by people who'd know what to do?"

"Sarah!"

"It's okay." I felt Caitlin's hand on my arm. "This is what you were talking about last night, isn't it? You can tell her, she isn't as fragile as she looks. And your sister's right, this is as good a time as any."

"Oh Mum—I'm so sorry," I said, the words coming out in a rush as I moved to her side. "I didn't know what to do. I didn't mean to lie to you. But it's true, it's over with Daniel."

But to my surprise, my mother didn't look at all shocked. Instead she stretched out a hand to me, smiling rather apologetically as I took it. "I know," she said, her voice sounding rather croaky.

"You know?" I shook my head puzzled. "But how? Who told you?"

She smiled again, gently squeezing my fingers then said a word I didn't quite catch. It sounded rather like 'wool'.

"Sorry?" I frowned, racking my brains for what she might've meant. "What was that? I didn't hear you."

She rolled her eyes slightly then mouthed the word again. Mystified, I turned to Sarah who was staring at Mum in consternation. "Cornwall?" she said, shaking her head slightly. "What about Cornwall?"

I regarded Mum with astonishment. "You heard me last night?" I ventured disbelievingly. "You heard what I told you?"

Sarah shot me a withering glance. "Don't be silly. She couldn't have possibly have heard anything anyone said last night. She was fast asleep. Mum?" She turned back to our mother, giving her a mollifying smile. "Becky came back from Cornwall over a week ago, remember? The day after you had your heart attack?"

Mum gave Sarah an equally withering glance. "I know," she whispered before smiling at me again. "You met someone?"

It was Sarah's turn to look astonished. "You know that Becky met someone in Cornwall?"

"What's that about Cornwall?" I almost jumped out of my skin at the sound of Luke's amused voice right behind me then shrieked as he clapped something cold against the back of my head before reaching around me for my right hand. "Ice," he said with a chuckle, even as I felt him press another bag of the chilly cubes against my knuckles.

"Mr Foster's just come back from Cornwall," Caitlin put in cheerfully. "Isn't that right? Stag do, wasn't it?"

"That's right," he agreed, moving nearer until I was effectively standing in the circle of his embrace. "Turned out to be quite a weekend."

And suddenly I saw Sarah was staring at my forearm, a startled expression crossing her face as she looked up at me then Luke then back at me. "Your stitches are out."

It was difficult to repress a smile. "Yes."

"Mr Foster took them out," Caitlin interjected. "I offered to, but he insisted on doing the job himself."

Sarah was staring at Luke now. "That's why you were there just now? You were taking Becky's stitches out?"

I felt him nodding, his hair brushing against my cheek. But just as I saw the look of pure astonishment crossing her face and was certain she'd guessed, there was a curious spattering noise, Sarah's gaze dropping abruptly to the floor. "Oh no," she breathed, sounding horrified. "Oh God!"

"Whoa." Thrusting both bags of ice into my hand, Luke started moving around the bed, holding out his arm. "Come over here and sit down."

"What?" I stared at them in alarm. "What's wrong?"

Luke sent me a grin, already guiding her towards one of the chairs just inside the door. "Your sister's waters just broke."

"But they can't have done," Sarah protested, looking in dismay at the puddle she'd left in her wake. "The baby's not due for another two weeks. Maybe that was just—" And then she stopped again, her eyes widening in shock as she clutched at her belly, her face contorting with pain.

"Sarah!" I gasped, rather frightened now. "Oh God, Luke. She's—"

"—in labour," he finished gently, holding both her hands as he waited for the contraction to pass before helping her sit down. "You know, I don't think this baby wants to wait," he told her with a smile.

But having recovered, Sarah was now staring at him, an even odder expression on her face. "Luke?" she said, her eyes narrowing. "Becky just called you Luke?"

"Cornwall," my mother said unexpectedly, her hoarse voice audible in the sudden silence. "It's him," she added, smiling at me as I turned in astonishment. "Right?"

When I nodded, Sarah gave a delighted gasp. "He's the one?" She gazed at Luke as he straightened up. "You're the one who rescued her from the beach? You're that surgeon? You're the one who put those stitches in her arm?" And then her gaze narrowed again, a truly mischievous look in her eyes. "Oh my God. You're the one who…?"

"Sarah!" I interrupted hastily, now rather wishing I'd left out more of the finer detail. But then I'd thought I'd never see him again.

"I'll go and call the porters, shall I?" I heard Caitlin ask, not even trying to conceal her amusement. "Tell them we have a customer for Maternity?"

"That'd be great," Luke said as he walked towards me, shooting me a knowing smile. "Hmm," he said, gathering me into his arms. "I'm the one who what?" And laughing as the heat rushed into my face, he lowered his mouth over mine.

Epilogue

"So…" After a lengthy pause, clearly intended to maximise the gravity of her words, the Registrar gave the assembled guests on the terrace of the White Sands Hotel yet another beaming smile. "I now pronounce you husband and wife."

Hearing the immediate burst of clapping and wolf whistles that followed that statement, I turned around, laughing as I scanned the rows of delighted faces. There was Mum, looking younger than she had for years, resplendent in a pink suit with matching pink hat, my sister and brother-in-law standing to her left, Sarah holding thirteen-month-old Harry's hands in a vice-like grip. But the majority of the noise was coming from the four guys standing in the second row on the other side of the aisle, all of whom were cheering raucously.

"Luke?"

His sea-blue eyes met mine as the Registrar spoke, the warmth of his smile declaring his love for me far more effectively than words could ever express. "Yes?"

"You may now kiss the bride."

"Oh!" Laughing now, he placed his hands on my waist and began pulling me forward. But just as I was about to close my eyes, anticipating the pleasure of his mouth on mine, he paused, his gaze narrowing slightly. "Actually…"

And suddenly, he bent down, making me shriek as he scooped me up into his arms and promptly bore me off down the aisle to the accompaniment of even more whooping and clapping, the Registrar calling after us in tones brimming with mirth. "Hey! I said you could kiss the bride, not kidnap her!"

"Luke!" I gasped between helpless giggles as he reached the edge of the terrace and began bounding down the steps of the hotel. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I've not had you to myself in forty-eight hours," he said with a grin, still holding me tightly as he jogged across the road and headed for the slope that led down to the beach. "Do you have any idea how hard that's been? If it wasn't your Mum there, it was your sister, if it wasn't your sister, it was mine." And pulling up at last, he lowered me down to the sand, his arms folding around me. "Now I'm going to kiss the bride," he said contentedly, smiling into my eyes.

I whimpered helplessly as he captured my mouth, loving the feel of his lips over mine, the way his tongue sought then danced with my own. And for a while almost everything else ceased to exist. There was nothing but Luke and me and the sound of the sea, the waves turning relentlessly against the shore.

So it wasn't until Luke finally raised his head I realised exactly where we were, the small sandy cove deserted save for us, the cliffs to the rear sheer granite. "Hey," I said laughing, turning my head to look at the rocks rising to my left, still able to picture the stocky guy in red-board shorts who'd hauled me up them to safety, remembering the scene as though it was yesterday. "Did you have this in mind all along?"

He grinned, shaking his head. "It honestly just occurred to me. But hey, we could've got married right here, couldn't we? I could've worn those shorts and you could've worn that skimpy red bikini." And laughing again as I shot him a glare, he turned me around in his arms so that we were both facing out to sea. "That's not to say that I don't love what you have on. You look stunning in that dress," he murmured, planting a kiss on my neck. "But I can't wait to get it off you either."

Giggling again, I leaned back in his arms, relishing the feel of the warm June sunshine on my face, the slight breeze barely disturbing the simple white gown I was wearing, fitted so exactly to my contours it felt rather like a second skin. And as though Luke had been able to read the next thought that crossed my mind, his hand drifted down over my tummy.

"So," he said softly. "How does it feel to be the first Foster bride in generations not to walk down the aisle with a bun in the oven?"

The words were spoken innocently enough. Too innocently.

With a gasp, I spun around to look at him, seeing from the mischievous glint in his eyes that he knew. "How?" I gasped, staring at him in disbelief. "How on earth could you know about that? Even I didn't know until this morning!"

He grinned, cupping my chin in his hands and kissing me triumphantly. "You sent Sarah out to buy a pregnancy test."

"Yes." I gazed at him with suspicion. "She told you? But I made her promise not to say anything! It was her idea. She put the thought in my head. It hadn't even crossed my mind."

Luke looked amused. "So you didn't think anything of the fact that every night for a fortnight, you've been crashing out on the couch when you got home from work?"

"I just thought I was tired. What with all the wedding plans…"

He rolled his eyes. "And it didn't occur to you that the reason you suddenly couldn't stand the smell of coffee anymore might have something to do with us having made a little Tosser-Foster?"

I couldn't repress a giggle. "We're definitely going double-barrelled then?"

"Well, I thought we might. It's got a certain something, don't you think? Rebecca Tosser-Foster. Luke Tosser-Foster, Consultant Cardiothoracic Surgeon."

"Wait," I breathed, staring at him again. "You knew days ago?"

He nodded solemnly. "Of course I knew. Who do you think put the idea in Sarah's head?"

"But why didn't you say anything?"

He smiled, lifting a hand to my cheek then gently touching my hair. "You had quite enough to worry about already. I didn't want you getting stressed about that too. But I wanted you to know today. It's a Foster family tradition, after all."

And still smiling, Luke pulled me in for another of those wonderful kisses and once again, time seemed to stand still.

"Hey!"

The sound of Tim's voice carrying on the breeze broke us apart at last. He was standing on the low rocks at the very corner of the cove, Luke's nine-month-old niece Maisie—my niece now, I realised with a rush of pleasure—slung across his hip. "The Registrar wants you to come back and sign the register!" he shouted. "Oh, and the photographer wants to know if you still want photos of this joyous occasion?"

Luke grinned at me then held up a hand to his best man. "Okay!" he called back, laughing. "Tell them we'll be there in a minute."

"You'd better be!" Even from this distance, I could see Tim looked nervous. "Are you two crazy?" And turning slightly, he motioned towards the thin band of sand separating the rocks from the rolling waves. "The sea's on its way in, you know. Do you want to get caught by the tide?"

Luke and I both glanced up at the rocks before smiling at each other in unison. Then hand in hand, we strolled around to the beach and made our way back up the sand.

* * * * *

About the Author

Lily Evans lives in Northamptonshire, England with her husband and teenage son.

Lily started writing novels at the age of seven and hasn't stopped writing since!  Luckily, she has plenty to write about, thanks to taking her time over settling on a career.  So far, Lily's varied occupations have included selling electronic widgets, teaching, nursing and... Well, if she told you what she does now, she'd probably have to kill you.

She loves writing (of course), watching films (especially romantic comedies!), cooking and reading.

She also enjoys taking long walks along sandy windswept beaches so it's a bit of a shame Northamptonshire's around 75 miles from the nearest coast…

Also by Lily Evans and available at Smashwords

Anything for You

Solstice

Inhaltsverzeichnis

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Epilogue

About the Author