by Various
Yet who was it? Who could it be? Zoe struggled to her feet, her heart starting to beat with steady, heavy thuds. The figure was drawing closer, and there was something terribly wonderful about the slow, deliberate strides he was making. Zoe took a few faltering steps down the drive, one hand stretched out of its own accord, in supplication…and then she stopped.
She could see now it was Max, and she knew instinctively this was one journey he needed to make all on his own.
Yet it seemed to take an age for him to walk the drive; Zoe knew it was a quarter of a mile, yet it felt as if he were crossing the Sahara. She thought of how unfamiliar everything must be to him, how strange and perhaps scary, so many uncertain bumps and turns, and yet still he walked. When he was close enough so she could see his face, she saw he was smiling and she let out a little cry of joy.
Max came to a halt a few feet away from her. ‘I smell roses,’ he said.
‘They’re in bloom, everywhere—’
‘No, it’s more like rose water. It’s you.’
‘It’s my shampoo actually.’
Max smiled. ‘I thought that’s what it was.’
They remained silent, standing, and Zoe felt the words bloom inside her, ready to burst right out of her. You came. You found me. I love you. Yet somehow she kept them back and waited for Max to speak.
‘I’m sorry,’ Max said finally, ‘for putting you through so much hell.’
A little bubble of laughter escaped her. Forgiveness was easy. ‘Apology accepted.’
‘It shouldn’t be that easy.’
‘I told you before—it doesn’t have to be hard.’
Max was silent for a long moment; the sun beat down on both of their heads. ‘I suppose that’s what I’m afraid of,’ he said quietly. ‘That it’s going to be too hard…for me.’
‘I’ll be with you.’
‘I don’t want to fail. I don’t want to fail you.’
Zoe blinked hard. ‘You won’t, Max, because you love me. We can be strong together.’
Max was silent again. ‘I thought I sent you away because I was protecting you. Doing the honourable thing. But you were right, Zoe. It was fear. I was afraid. I still am.’
‘So am I,’ she whispered. ‘It’s OK.’
‘It was hell getting here,’ Max said. A smile flickered around his mouth. ‘I did it the hard way, to test myself. The subway, the airport and then a bus to Balfour village. I walked the rest.’
She let out a little disbelieving laugh. ‘You really do like to put yourself through the mill. You could have at least taken a taxi to the airport.’
He laughed, and suddenly, wonderfully, he snatched her into his arms, buried his face in her hair. Zoe’s arms came around him, revelling in his familiar strength. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he whispered against her hair, his lips pressed to her brow. ‘I’m so sorry.’
And Zoe knew he was…Sorry for everything, from the moment on the beach when he’d sent her away, her hopes and heart in ashes, to the afternoon in his office when he’d told her he couldn’t be involved in their baby’s life, to the morning after they made love. Even before that, she suspected, to the mistakes he felt he’d made nineteen years ago, the mistakes whose repercussions could be felt even now.
‘I forgive you, Max,’ she whispered. ‘I forgive you and I love you.’ She drew back then, her hands cupping his face, staring deep into those dark grey eyes. He looked back, and Zoe knew he could see her. Perhaps not with his eyes, but with his heart. She kissed him then, sweetly, deeply, conveying all the hope and love and happiness she felt deep inside, wanting him to feel it too. And when he kissed her back, she knew he did—and more.
Finally they broke apart and, smiling, Zoe reached for Max’s hand. ‘Come inside,’ she said, ‘and meet my father.’
Annie’s Secret
Carole Mortimer
Carole Mortimer was born in England, the youngest of three children. She began writing in 1978 and has now written over one hundred and fifty books for Harlequin Mills & Boon. Carole has six sons, Matthew, Joshua, Timothy, Michael, David and Peter. She says, “I’m happily married to Peter senior; we’re best friends as well as lovers, which is probably the best recipe for a successful relationship. We live in a lovely part of England.”
Prologue
Italian ski resort, January 2006
‘HAVE your friends all deserted you…?’
Annie, having been gazing apprehensively down the Italian mountain slope, trying to decide whether she felt up to the risk of skiing down her first black run, now felt a quiver down her spine that owed nothing to the danger of the slope or the chill in the air and everything to the sound of that huskily accented voice that spoke so teasingly behind her.
That quiver turned to a delicious shiver as she turned and took her first look at the man who had spoken. Very tall, and dressed all in black, with wide shoulders and narrow waist and hips, he looked like one of those male models her older sister Bella so often worked with. Except there was nothing in the least false or affected about this man’s raw sexuality.
Black reflective sunglasses prevented Annie from seeing what colour his eyes were, but the rest of him certainly took her breath away. Shoulder-length dark hair showed beneath his woollen ski hat; the face behind the sunglasses was tanned, with high cheekbones and a long aristocratic nose above a sensually chiselled mouth, and his square jaw was strong and determined.
He gave her a devilish grin, his teeth very white and even against the dark swarthiness of his skin. ‘Or perhaps you simply changed your mind about attempting this particular run?’ he taunted.
That was exactly what Annie ha. done!
She hadn’t been too sure if she wanted to come on this holiday when a dozen or so of her university friends had suggested they all go on a post-Christmas skiing trip to Italy before they settled down to studying for their final exams in the summer, but surprisingly the past week had been a lot of fun. The weather had been perfect. The skiing fantastic. And there had been a noisy party in their chalet every night, usually with lots of other guests staying at the resort invited to join them.
After years of suffering the fierce competitiveness of her sisters when they went on their annual winter holiday to Klosters, Annie had found herself blossoming in the more relaxed company of her friends. So much so, that today, with only three days of her holiday left to go, she had decided to attempt a black run. Unfortunately she had chickened out after the last of her friends had already set off to join the others for hot chocolate in the cafeteria at the bottom of the mountain.
Only to now find herself being challenged by this gorgeous Italian…
‘I was just taking a breather,’ she excused, not quite truthfully.
He flashed her a hard, knowing smile. ‘Then perhaps you would care to join me in a race to the bottom?’
And perhaps she wouldn’t! It would be foolish, totally reckless, to accept this gorgeous man’s challenge. Wouldn’t it…?
Foolish an. reckless, Annie acknowledged. But after being practical and sensible all her life, wasn’t it time she did something foolish and reckless, like following this sexily attractive man down a mountain? Of course it was!
Annie straightened determinedly. ‘That’s fine with me!’ She dug her poles into the soft snow to push herself forward onto the run.
An experienced if only competent skier, Annie was no match for the skill of the man who overtook her within seconds of them setting off, his style much more daring than her own as he hot-dogged down the mountain ahead of her.
Needing all her concentration just to remain upright, Annie nevertheless found herself watching the sheer elegance of the man’s style. He moved so smoothly, so capably, that just looking at him was exhilarating. By the time she skied to a halt beside him at the bottom of the mountain her cheeks were flushed and her eyes a bright periwinkle blue.
‘That was fun!’ She laughed up at him breathlessly.
‘Yes, it was.’ He gave her another of thos
e devil-may-care smiles as he removed his sunglasses to reveal the deepest, darkest brown eyes Annie had ever looked into.
‘Want to try it again?’ she suggested enthusiastically, reluctant for this time with him to end. With three beautiful sisters older than her, Annie rarely found herself the object of any man’s interest, let alone one as gorgeous as this one.
The man grinned down at her. ‘I have finished skiing for today and now it is my intention to return to my chalet and drink schnapps.’
The light went out of the young woman’s deep blue eyes, her smile becoming noticeably disappointed. ‘Oh.’
He looked down at her speculatively. ‘Perhaps you would care to join me?’ he asked.
‘I would?’ She blinked up at him owlishly. ‘I mean…yes, I would.’ She gave a firm nod.
‘Luc.’ He removed his ski glove before proffering his hand.
She returned the gesture, her hand small and warm in his much larger one. ‘Annie.’
Luc had kept to himself since his arrival at the resort two days ago, but nevertheless he had seen the group of university students intent on having a good time. He had noticed this young woman in particular as she seemed to stand slightly apart from the antics of her friends. She was certainly worth noticing, with her long, rich chestnut-coloured hair, the vibrant blue of her eyes flashing whenever she laughed and the way her blue ski suit outlined the lush, feminine curves of her body. He’d been consumed by a curiosity to see the lushness of those curves without the ski suit…
If nothing else, her joining him for schnapps might succeed in a temporary banishment of the mess Luc had left behind him in Rome.
‘I will wait here for you if you wish to tell your friends where you are going.’ He glanced across to where her friends were seated outside the cafeteria, chatting and laughing together as they enjoyed warming drinks.
‘I—Yes.’ Colour warmed her cheeks. ‘How thoughtful of you.’
Not thoughtful at all, Luc acknowledged cynically, but merely an effort on his part to make sure that the night he was now contemplating enjoying with this young woman was not interrupted by her friends if they came looking for her.
He reached up and gently touched the creaminess of her cheek, instantly aware of the darkening of those wide blue eyes and the way her breath caught and held in her throat. ‘Do not keep me waiting long, hmm?’ he encouraged throatily.
Once again Annie felt that thrill of awareness down the length of her spine. Dear God, this man was lethal. Absolutely, one hundred per cent lethal. And for once in her so-far-practical life, Annie was going to be daring. Reckless. And to hell with the consequences.
Chapter One
Lake Garda, Italy
June 2010
‘I’LL be home in a couple of days, darling.’ Annie spoke warmly into her mobile, totally unaware of the sunshine and beauty of the scenery of the lake outside the long windows of the bustling hotel as she hurried down the carpeted hallway to the conference room on the ground-floor level. ‘I love you too, Oliver—oomph!’ Annie was brought to an abrupt—and painful—halt as she crashed into an immovable object.
A warm, firmly muscled, very male object, Annie recognised as the free hand she had raised to steady herself came to rest on one broad shoulder and she felt the ripple of those powerful muscles beneath her fingers.
‘I’m so sorry—’ Annie’s laughing apology strangled in her throat, her face paling, as she looked up into the coldly brooding, breathlessly handsome face.
No…
It couldn’t be Luc!
Could it?
Annie felt absolutely stunned. Could this man really be the same one she’d met four and a half years ago? Apart from the fact that she had only ever seen the tall and lithely muscled Luc in ski wear or casual denims and cashmere sweaters, and this man was dressed in an expensively tailored suit and white silk shirt with a silver-coloured tie meticulously knotted at his throat, he certainly looked a lot like the man Annie had met, and spent a hot and steamy night with, all those years ago.
Except…
That Luc had had shoulder-length dark hair, whereas this man’s hair was cut short—in an effort to control the inclination it’d had to curl? But this man’s eyes, dark as onyx in an arrogant and harshly uncompromising face, were the same. As was the long slash of a nose, and the chiselled mouth above a ruthlessly set jaw.
He looked identical, and yet, at the same time, so very different…
The Luc Annie had met on an Italian ski slope four and a half years ago had possessed a reckless glint in the ebony darkness of his eyes. His hard grin had betrayed that same air of devil-may-care that had drawn the quiet and—until then—eminently sensible twenty-year-old Annie to him, like a moth to a flame.
There was not even a hint of that dangerous recklessness now in those penetrating black eyes that returned Annie’s gaze so coldly.
Eyes that also seemed to totally lack the same jolting recognition that she now felt…
Annie removed her hand as if burnt from the broadness of his shoulder as she took an involuntary step backwards. At the same time becoming aware that she hadn’t so much as drawn in a breath since she had looked up and instantly recognised her fiercely passionate lover in this icily controlled man.
Annie took a much-needed breath. ‘Scuse, signore—’.
‘I speak English, signorin.,’ he bit out curtly.
Dear God, that voice…
No amount of steely coldness could ever disguise the voice that had once murmured husky encouragements against Annie’s throat and breasts as she climaxed again and again beneath the fierce, possessive thrusts of his hard body…
It wa. Luc.
But a different, much colder Luc than Annie remembered.
Twenty-six-year-old Luc had been wild and restless. Everything he did—from skiing to lovemaking—had been possessed of a driving, single-minded energy that dared anything and anyone to deny him. The same single-minded energy with which he had set out—and succeeded—in seducing Annie…
No one looking at the man standing in front of her could ever doubt that he possessed that same determination of purpose. But now that energy was as fiercely controlled as it had once been wild, and his emotions were hidden behind a face that showed only an arrogance and ruthlessness that made Annie shiver as he continued to look down at her coldly from a vastly superior height.
Luc’s patience, never at a premium, evaporated with each second that this young woman continued to stare up at him as if she had seen a ghost. Or her worst nightmare. Certainly not the reaction that Luc was accustomed to evoking in any woman!
A humourless smile curled his lips. ‘Or perhaps it is signor.?’ he asked.
‘No, you were right the first time,’ she answered.
Luc felt a slight stirring of memory as the woman spoke softly. Her voice possessed a husky quality that somehow seemed familiar.
He took in her medium height and slender body, clothed in a black business suit and white silk blouse. Her hair was a deep chestnut brown secured at her nape, her face heart shaped. It was an arrestingly beautiful face with a small, uptilted nose, and sensually full lips above a pointed and determined chin. A face dominated by eyes as deep a blue as Lake Garda itself.
Again Luc felt that slight stirring of familiarity. ‘Have we met before, signorin.?’ he asked slowly.
She blinked before giving a brittle, dismissive laugh. ‘I don’t know, have we?’ she said, deflecting his question back at him.
Luc bit back his increasing impatience. ‘I believe . asked first?’ he pointed out coldly.
And he could go on asking, as far as Annie was concerned! All this time, all these years, Annie’s worst fear had been that she would somehow, somewhere, meet Luc again. A meeting that she knew would complicate her life in ways she didn’t even want to contemplate.
Now, by some terrible mischance, she ha. met him again, had met the man who had changed her own life forever—and he didn’t even remembe. her!
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The relief Annie should have felt was overlaid by a deep resentment. This man had literally skied his way into her life and introduced the normally reserved Annie Balfour to an intensity of passion and excitement she had never known before or since, before disappearing again just as abruptly.
Only for her to now realise that their time together, all those wonderful memories that she had never quite been able to put from her mind, had meant so little to him that he didn’t even remember her.
Arrogant louse!
Her chin lifted in silent challenge. ‘I’m sure on. of us would have remembered if that were the case, signore.’
Luc wasn’t so sure. The pallor of this woman’s face, the angry resentment he sensed beneath her tone, seemed to tell a completely different story. One in which he had patently not appeared in a good light.
As the only son and heir of a rich and powerful Italian business entrepreneur, Luc’s youth had been one of wealth and privilege, with his every wish being granted. As a consequence, Luc knew he had become arrogant, and possessed of an overconfidence in his own infallibility. A youthfully arrogant belief that had continued after he had proved to have his father’s flare for business, and at only eighteen had been placed in a position of power within his father’s business empire. Until the overconfident Luc had taken one risk too many and the whole of his father’s empire had come tumbling down about their ears…
Luc’s mouth tightened as he thought of that time. Of the past four and a half years when he had concentrated single-mindedly, often ruthlessly, on rebuilding that business empire until it was bigger and better than ever. Years when there had been very few women in his life, and even then only ones who had shared his bed for the night and been quickly forgotten afterwards.
Had the young woman who now stood before him in the crisp black business suit, with her chestnut-brown hair secured in that no-nonsense bun at her nape, the clear lines of her face bare of any make-up to enhance her natural beauty, been one of them?
