The Fiancée He Can't Forget

He sighed, and she felt his warm breath tease her hair, sending tiny shivers running through her like fairies dancing over her skin. It made her feel light-headed again, and she stepped back.

‘I need some air,’ she mumbled, and tried to walk away, but her hand was still firmly wrapped in his, and he followed her, ushering her through the crowd and out of the French doors into the softly lit courtyard. Groups of people were standing around talking quietly, laughing, and she breathed in the cooler air with a sigh of relief.

‘Better?’

She nodded. ‘Yes. Thanks.’

‘Don’t thank me. You look white as a sheet. Have you eaten today?’

‘We just had a meal.’

‘And you hardly touched it. My guess is you didn’t have lunch, either, and you probably skipped breakfast. No wonder you had low blood sugar earlier. Come on, let’s go and raid the buffet. I didn’t eat much, either, and I’m starving.’

He was right on all counts. She was hungry, and she had skipped lunch, but only because she’d lost her breakfast. She never could eat when she was nervous, and she’d been so, so nervous for the last few days her stomach had been in knots, and this morning it had rebelled. And that dizzy spell could well have been low blood sugar, now she came to think about it.

‘It’s probably not a bad idea,’ she conceded, and let him lead her to the buffet table. She put a little spoonful of something on her plate, and he growled, shoved his plate in her other hand and loaded them both up.

‘I can’t eat all that!’ she protested, but he speared her with a look from those implacable blue eyes and she gave up. He could put it on the plate. Didn’t mean she had to eat it.

‘I’ll help you. Come on, let’s find a quiet corner.’

He scooped up two sets of cutlery, put them in his top pocket, snagged a couple of glasses of wine off a passing waiter and shepherded her across the floor and back out to the courtyard.

‘OK out here, or is it too cold for you in that dress?’

‘It’s lovely. It’s a bit warm in there.’

‘Right. Here, look, there’s a bench.’

He steered her towards it, handed her a glass and sat back, one ankle on the other knee and the plate balanced on his hand while he attacked the food with his fork.

He’d always eaten like that, but that was medicine for you, eating on the run. Maybe he thought they should get it over with and then he could slide off and drink with the boys. Well, if the truth be told he didn’t have to hang around for her.

‘You’re not eating.’

‘I’m too busy wondering why you don’t have chronic indigestion, the speed you’re shovelling that down.’

He gave a short chuckle. ‘Sorry. Force of habit. And I was starving.’ He put the plate down for a moment and picked up his glass. ‘So, how are you, really?’

Really? She hesitated, the fork halfway to her mouth. Did he honestly want to know? Probably not.

‘I’m fine.’

‘How’s the job?’

‘OK. I like it. As with any job it has its ups and downs. Mostly ups. The hospital’s a good place to work.’

‘Yes, so Ben says.’ He stared pensively down into his glass, swirling it slowly. ‘You didn’t have to leave London, you know. We were never going to bump into each other at different hospitals.’

No? She wasn’t sure—not sure enough, at least, that she’d felt comfortable staying there. Up here, she’d been able to relax—until Ben had arrived. Ever since then she’d been waiting for Matt to turn up unexpectedly on the ward to visit his brother, and the monoamniotic twins they’d delivered last night had been something he’d taken a special interest in, so once Melanie Grieves had been admitted, she’d been on tenterhooks all the time. Waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Well, now it had, and it was every bit as bad as she’d expected.

‘I like it here, it was a good move for me,’ she said, and then changed the subject firmly. ‘Who’s Jenny Wainwright?’

He laughed, a soft, warm chuckle that told her a funny story was coming. ‘Ben’s first girlfriend. We were thirteen or so. They’d been dating for weeks, and she wouldn’t let him kiss her, so I talked him into letting me take his place on the next date, to see if I had more luck.’

‘And did you?’

His mouth twisted into a wry smile. ‘No. Not that time. I did about two years later, though, at a party, and she told me he kissed better, so I went and practised on someone else.’

She laughed, as he’d wanted her to, but all she could think was that whoever he’d practised on had taught him well. She ought to thank her—except of course he wasn’t hers to kiss any more. Regret swamped her, and as she looked across and met his eyes, she saw tenderness in them and a gentle, puzzled sadness. ‘I’ve missed you,’ he said softly, and she gulped down a sudden, convulsive little sob.

‘I’ve missed you, too,’ she admitted, her voice unsteady.

He stared at her searchingly, then glanced down. ‘Are you all done with that food?’

Food? She looked at her plate. She’d eaten far more than she’d thought she would, to her surprise, and she was feeling much better. ‘Yes. Do you want the rest?’

‘No, I’m fine, but I’m supposed to be entertaining you, so let’s go and dance.’

Out of duty? Or because he wanted to? She hesitated for a second, then stood up, raising an eyebrow at him. Whichever, she wanted to dance with him, and she wasn’t going to get another chance.

‘Come on, then, if you really want to.’

Oh, yes. He wanted. He got to his feet and led her back to the dance floor.

She’d always loved dancing, and he loved dancing with her, loved the feel of her body, the lithe, supple limbs, the sleek curves, the warmth of her against him.

He didn’t get to hold her, though, not at first. The tempo was fast—too fast, he decided, after a couple of dances, so he reeled her in and halved the beat, cherishing the moment because he knew it wouldn’t last. How could it, with all they had behind them? But now—he had her now, in his arms, against his heart, and his body ached for her.

The tempo slowed, moving seamlessly from one unashamedly romantic, seductive number to another, until they were swaying against each other, her arms draped around his neck, his hands splayed against her back, the fingers of one hand resting lightly on the warm, soft skin above the back of her dress, the other hand lower, so all he had to do was slip it down a fraction and he could cup the firm swell of her bottom and ease her closer …

She felt his hand move, felt him draw her in so she could feel every move he made. Their legs had somehow meshed together so his thigh was between hers, nudging gently with every slight shift of his body, brushing the soft silk of her dress against her legs and driving out all her common sense.

She knew him so well, had danced with him so many times, and it was so easy to rest against him, to lay her head against his chest and listen to the deep, steady thud of his heart, to slide her fingers through his hair and sift the silky strands that she remembered so well.

Easier, still, to turn her head, to feel the graze of stubble against her temple and tilt her face towards him, to feel the soft warmth of his lips as they took hers in a tentative, questioning kiss.

I love you …

Had he said that? Had she?

She lifted her head and touched her lips to his again, and his breath seared over her skin in a shuddering sigh.

‘Amy—’

‘Matt …’

He lifted his head and stared down at her in the dim light on the edge of the dance floor, their eyes locked as each of them battled against the need raging within them. She could feel him fighting it, feel herself losing just as he closed his eyes and unclasped her hands from behind his neck, sliding his hand down her arm and linking their fingers as he led her off the dance floor and up the broad, sweeping staircase to the floor above in a tense, brittle silence.

They didn’t speak to anyone. They passed people in the hall, people on the stairs—they didn’t stop, didn’t look left or right, until the door of his room was opened and closed again behind them, and then he cradled her face and stared down into her eyes once more.

Still he didn’t speak, and neither did she. What was there to say? Nothing that would make any sense.

Slowly, with infinite tenderness, he touched his lips to hers again, and she whimpered softly and clutched at him, desperate for the feel of him, for his body on her, in her, surrounding and filling her.

‘Please,’ she whispered silently, but he heard her and took a step back, stripping without finesse, heeling off his beautiful handmade shoes, his hired suit hitting the floor and crumpling in a heap. After a brief fight with his cufflinks the shirt followed, then the boxers, the socks, and he spun her and searched blindly for the zip.

‘Here.’ She lifted her arm so he could find it, sucking her breath in as he tugged it down and the dress fell to the floor, puddling round her ankles and leaving her standing there in nothing but a tiny scrap of lace.

A rough groan was torn from his throat and he lifted her in his arms and lowered her carefully to the middle of the bed. Fingers shaking, he hooked his fingers into the lace at her hips, easing it away, following its path down the length of her legs with his lips, the slight roughness of his stubble grazing the sensitive skin as he inched his way to her feet, driving her to the edge.

He turned his head, looked back at her, and his eyes were black with need. She whimpered, her legs twitching under his warm, firm hands, and he moved, nudging her thighs apart, so nearly there—and then he froze, his face agonised.

‘Amy, we can’t—I haven’t—’

‘I’m on the Pill.’

The breath sighed out of him in a rush, and he gathered her into his arms, held her for a moment, and then his lips found hers again and he was there, filling her, bringing a sob of relief from her as his body slid home and she tightened around him.

‘Matt …’

‘Oh, God, Amy, I’ve missed you,’ he whispered, and then he started to move, his body shaking with control until she was sick of waiting and arched under him, her hands tugging at him, begging for more.

And he gave her more, pulling out all the stops, driving her higher and higher until she came apart in his arms, her reserve splintering under the onslaught of his unleashed passion.

Then he held her, his body shuddering in release, his heart slamming against his ribs so hard he thought they’d break, until gradually it slowed and he rolled to his side, taking her with him, their bodies still locked together as the aftershocks of their lovemaking faded slowly away into the night.

CHAPTER TWO

HE MADE love to her again in the night, reaching for her in the darkness, bringing her body slowly awake with sure, gentle hands and whispered kisses. She laid her hand tenderly against his cheek, savouring the rasp of stubble against her palm, her thumb dragging softly over the firm fullness of his lower lip.

He opened his mouth, drawing her thumb inside and sucking it deeply, his tongue exploring it, his teeth nipping lightly and making the breath catch in her throat. She shifted so she could reach him, her hands running over him now, checking for changes and finding only sweet, familiar memories. He moved on, his mouth warm and moist against her skin, and she joined in, their lips tracing tender trails across each other’s bodies. They were taking their time now for leisurely explorations, the darkness shielding them from emotions they couldn’t bear to expose—emotions too dark, too painful to consider.

That wasn’t what this night was about, Amy thought later as she lay awake beside him listening to the deep, even rhythm of his breathing. It was for old times’ sake, no-longer lovers reaching out to touch fleetingly what had once been theirs to love.

She was under no illusions. After the wedding, Matt would be going back to London, and she’d be staying here, nursing her still-broken heart but with a little more tenderness, a little more forgiveness in her soul. He wasn’t indifferent. Clearly not. But their lives had moved on, gone in different directions, and maybe it was for the best.

Maybe this was the way forward, for both of them. A little healing salve smeared gently over their wounds, kissing each other better.

She shifted slightly, seeking the warmth of his body, and he reached for her again in his sleep, drawing her closer, their legs tangled, her head pillowed on his shoulder as she slept, until the first light of dawn crept round the edges of the curtains.

He woke her gently, his voice a soft murmur in her ear.

‘Amy?’

‘Mmm.’

‘Amy, it’s morning.’

‘Mmm.’

‘You’re in my room.’

‘Mmm. I know.’

‘Sweetheart, everyone will know soon.’

Her eyes flew open, and she sucked in a breath, the night coming back to her in a flood of memory and sudden awkwardness. ‘Oh, rats. Damn. Um—Matt, help me get dressed.’

She threw the quilt off and starting searching for her underwear. Stupid, stupid … ‘Where the hell are my pants?’

Pants? He nearly laughed. Try cobwebs.

‘Take the dressing gown on the back of the door—have you got your room key?’

‘Yes, of course. It’s—’

In her clutch bag, which was—somewhere. She flopped back down onto the edge of the bed, dragging the quilt back over herself to hide her body from his eyes. Pointless, after he’d explored it so thoroughly, knew it so well in any case, but she was suddenly smitten with shyness. ‘It’s in my clutch bag,’ she admitted.

‘Which is …?’

Good question. ‘Downstairs?’

He groaned and rolled away from her, vanishing into the bathroom and emerging a few minutes later damp, tousled and unshaven. And stark naked, the water drops still clinging to his body gleaming in the spill of light from the bathroom door and drawing her hungry eyes. He flipped open his overnight bag, pulled out some jeans and boxers and a shirt, dressed quickly and took the room key out of the door lock.

‘What’s your bag look like?’ he asked briskly, and she dragged her mind off his body and tried to concentrate.

‘Cream satin, about so big, little bronzy chain. It’s got a lipstick, a tissue and the room key in it.’

‘Any ideas where?’

She shrugged. ‘The edge of the dance floor? I put it down at one point.’

He left her there, hugging her knees in the middle of the bed, looking rumpled and gorgeous and filled with regret.

He knew all about that one. How could he have been so stupid?

And why was she on the Pill, for heaven’s sake? Was she in a relationship? Or did she do this kind of thing all the time?

Hell, he hoped not. The thought of his Amy casually—

He swallowed hard and ran downstairs, to find that staff were already starting the mammoth clean-up operation.

‘I’m looking for a cream satin evening bag,’ he told someone, and was directed to the night porter’s office.

‘This the one?’

He wasn’t sure, so he opened it and found exactly what she’d said inside. Well, if the room key fitted …

He went to it, and it gave him immediate access. Her case was there, unopened, inside the unused room, and he carried it back to her.

‘Oh, Matt, you’re a star. Thank you.’

‘Anything to spare a lady’s blushes. I’ll go to your room,’ he said, ‘and if anyone knocks on the door, just ignore them. It’ll only be Ben or my parents, and they’ll ring me if it’s anything important.’

He slipped his mobile into his pocket, picked up his wallet and did the same, then gave Amy an awkward smile. ‘I guess I’ll see you at breakfast.’

She nodded, looking embarrassed now, her grey eyes clouded with something that could have been shame, and without dragging it out he left her there and went to the room that should have been hers, lay on the bed and let his breath out on a long, ragged sigh.

What a fool. All he’d done, all he’d proved, was that he’d never stopped loving her. Well, hell, he’d known that before. It had hardly needed underlining.

He rolled to his side, thumped the pillow into the side of his neck and tried to sleep.

How could she have been so stupid?

She’d known seeing him again would be dangerous to her, but she hadn’t realised how dangerous. She pulled the hotel gown tighter round her waist and moved to the chair by the window. She had a view over the courtyard where they’d had their buffet supper, could see the bench if she craned her neck.

Sudden unexpected tears glazed her eyes, and she swiped them away and sniffed hard. She’d done some stupid things in her life, most of them with Matt, and this was just the icing on the cake.

She got up and put the little kettle on to make tea, and found her pills in her washbag and popped one out. Thank God for synthetic hormones, she thought drily as she swallowed the pill. Or maybe not, because without the medication to control her irregular periods, they would never have spent the night together.

Which would have been a good thing, she told herself firmly. But telling him she was on the Pill was a two-edged sword. He probably thought she was a slut.

‘I don’t care what he thinks, it’s none of his damn business and at least I won’t get pregnant again,’ she said to the kettle, and made herself a cup of tea and sat cradling it and staring down into the courtyard until it was stone cold.

And then she nearly dropped it, because Matt was there, outside in the courtyard garden just below her, sitting on the bench with a cup in his hand and checking something on his phone.

He made a call, then put the cup down and walked swiftly across the courtyard out of sight. One of his patients in London needing his attention? Or Melanie Grieves, mother of the little twins they’d delivered on Friday night?

Or just coming inside to see whoever he’d spoken to—his parents, maybe?

Moments later, there was a soft knock at the door.

‘Amy? It’s Matt.’

She let him in reluctantly and tried to look normal and less like an awkward teenager. ‘Everything OK?’

‘Yes. I’m going to see Melanie Grieves. Ben asked me to keep an eye on her.’

She nodded. ‘Are you coming back for breakfast and to say goodbye to everyone?’

‘Yes. I don’t want to be lynched. Let me take my stuff, and I’ll get out of your way. Here’s your room key. Hang onto mine as well for now. I’ll get it off you later.’ He scooped up the suit, the shirt, the underwear, throwing them in the bag any old how and zipping it, and then he hesitated. For a second she thought he was about to kiss her, but then he just picked up his bag and left without a backward glance.

Amy let out the breath she’d been holding since he’d come in, and sat down on the end of the bed. There was no point in hanging around in his room, she thought. She’d shower and dress, and go downstairs and see if anyone was around.

Unlikely. The party had gone on long after they’d left it, and everyone was probably still in bed—where she would be, in her own room, if she had a grain of sense.

Well, she’d proved beyond any reasonable doubt that she didn’t, she thought, and felt the tears welling again.

Damn him. Damn him for being so—so—just so irresistible. Well, never again. Without his body beside her, without the feel of his warmth, the tenderness of his touch, it all seemed like a thoroughly bad idea, and she knew the aftermath of it would haunt her for ages.

Years.

Forever?

Melanie Grieves was fine.

Her wound was healing, her little twins were doing very well and apart from a bit of pain she was over the moon. He hadn’t really needed to come and see her, he’d just had enough of sitting around in the hotel beating himself up about Amy.

Not that he shouldn’t be doing that. He’d been a total idiot, and she really, really didn’t need him falling all over her like he had last night. And leaving the dance floor like that—God knows what everyone had thought of them. He hadn’t even asked her, just dragged her up the stairs and into his room like some kind of caveman.

He growled in frustration and slammed the car door shut. He’d better go back, better show his face and try and lie his way out of it. Better still, find Amy and get their story straight before his mother got her side of it and bent his ear. She’d always taken Amy’s side.

Oh, hell.

He dropped his head forwards and knocked it gently against the hard, leatherbound steering wheel. Such a fool. And his head hurt. Good. It would remind him not to drink so much in future. He’d thought he was sober enough, but obviously not. If he’d been sober—

His phone rang and he pulled it out of his pocket and stared at the screen. Ben. Damn.

He ignored it. He’d talk to Amy first—if he got to her before they did. If only he had her number. She’d probably changed it, but maybe not. He dialled it anyway as he turned into the hotel car park, and she answered on the second ring.

‘Hello?’

‘Amy, it’s Matt. We need to talk—we will have been seen last night. Where are you now?’

‘Oh, damn. In the courtyard. Bring coffee.’

Stressed as he was, he smiled at that. He found a breakfast waitress and ordered a pot of coffee and a basket of bacon rolls, then went and found her.

She was waiting, her heart speeding up as she caught sight of him, her nerves on edge. She couldn’t believe what she’d done, couldn’t believe she was going to sit here with him and concoct some cock-and-bull story to tell his family. Her friends. Oh, lord …

‘How’s Mel?’ she asked, sticking to something safe.

‘Fine. The babies are both doing well.’

‘Good. Ben and Daisy’ll be pleased.’

Silence. Of course there was, she thought. What was there to say, for heaven’s sake? Thank you for the best sex I’ve had in over four years? Not to say the only …?

‘Any sign of the others?’ he asked after the silence had stretched out into the hereafter, and she shook her head.

‘No. I put my bag in the car. Here’s your room key. So—what’s the story?’

‘We wanted to talk?’

‘We didn’t talk, Matt,’ she reminded him bluntly.

Pity they hadn’t, she thought for the thousandth time. If they’d talked, they might have had more sense.

‘You were feeling sick?’ he suggested.

‘What—from all that champagne?’

‘It’s not impossible.’

‘I had less than you.’

‘I think it’s probably fair to say we both had more than was sensible,’ he said drily, and she had to agree, but not out loud. She wasn’t feeling that magnanimous.

‘Maybe nobody noticed?’ she said without any real conviction, and he gave a short, disbelieving laugh.

‘Dream on, Amy. I dragged you off the dance floor and up the stairs in full view of everyone. I think someone will have noticed.’

She groaned and put her face in her hands, and then he started to laugh again, a soft, despairing sound that made her lift her head and meet his eyes. ‘What?’

‘I have some vague recollection of passing my parents in the hall.’

She groaned again. It just got better and better.

‘Maybe you thought I needed to lie down?’ she suggested wildly. ‘Perhaps I’d told you I was feeling rough? It’s not so unlikely, and it’s beginning to look like the best option.’

‘We could always tell them the truth.’

If we knew what it was, she thought, but the waitress arrived then with the tray of coffee and bacon rolls, and she seized one and sank her teeth into it and groaned. ‘Oh, good choice,’ she mumbled, and he laughed.

‘Our default hangover food,’ he said, bringing the memories crashing back. ‘Want some ketchup?’

‘That’s disgusting,’ she said, watching him squirt a dollop into his bacon roll and then demolish it in three bites before reaching for another. The times they’d done that, woken up on the morning after the night before and he’d cooked her bacon rolls and made her coffee.