From this angle there was no mistaking the pugnacious jut of Conall’s jaw. Silently she cursed her body for letting her down so dramatically. But, she vowed, she’d recover quickly. She had to.
‘No hospital. Please.’
She still had nightmares about being stuck there, with the kind but firm staff telling her to be patient while she lay, terrified she’d never feel whole again.
Obsidian dark eyes claimed hers and she felt a rush of something hot and sweet. Did his expression soften? But if anything, the muscles in his arms and torso seemed to stiffen, pulling her closer.
‘I’ll do my best. Trust me, Greer.’
Chapter Ten
CONALL WOKE TOthe feeling of being watched.
Not the nape-prickling alert that signalled danger. This was a wash of sensation, like the lap of a warm wave against bare flesh on a tropical beach.
He recognised it instantly. Greer. Looking at him.
Something surged high and hard in his chest. Delight. Her trawling gaze had always felt like a caress, even in the days when they’d both tried to stifle the unstoppable attraction between them.
His buoyant joy punctured. Those days had been easy in comparison with what they faced now.
Then they’d both struggled, trying not to break the taboo of an office romance, where the imbalance of power between them was so immense. Or so it would seem to the outside world. In reality Greer had just as much power over him as he had over her. Most of the time they worked as partners, and when it came to essentials they were equals, sharing everything.
Until she walked out on you.
Turned her back without a second thought and left you frantic with fear.
The only other time he’d felt anything like that terror was as a small child, told by strangers that his mother was dead. He’d been taken into care then sent to a father he didn’t know, all the time struggling to comprehend that his mother had left him.
For Greer to abandon him like that proved she hadn’t been herself. The woman he knew was capable yet caring, tender and generous. Yet she’d left him in limbo for weeks, wondering if she were okay… If she were even alive. He’d been frantic about her, and hurt that she’d walked out.
Adrenaline rushed through his blood at the memory, making his heart pound faster while the remembered taste of terror, like rust and blood, filled his mouth.
He’d been frantic, wondering if she’d been so distraught after losing the baby she might harm herself.
He’d told himself Greer wouldn’t do that. But he’d never thought her capable of disappearing as if he meant nothing to her. That had cut deep.
He’d been desperate to get back to her in Australia, then desperate to find her and keep her safe. He felt that same urgency now. To fix things. To heal them.
Conall took his time stretching out the kinks acquired from a night in a chair not built for someone his height. When he opened his eyes it was to see that lapis lazuli gaze whip away towards the morning light filtering around the curtains.
‘How do you feel? How’s your head?’
She looked at him then and at least he couldn’t see that haze of pain that had clouded her eyes yesterday. ‘Good, thanks.’ Then, as he continued to stare, she lifted one shoulder, her mouth forming the tiniest moue, as if regretting being caught out. ‘A lot better at any rate. Thick in the head but it’s not throbbing anymore.’
He nodded, relieved that at least she’d stopped pretending. ‘That’s great news.’ She didn’t want to return to hospital, but any sign of problems and he’d have no compunction taking her. ‘Hungry?’
‘I am, but I’ll wait until I’m home.’
It was a slap in the face. Did she realise how that sounded, or wasn’t she thinking?
Only years exposed to the cutthroat business world, first in his father’s home, then working for himself, allowed Conall to mask his emotions.
‘You really want to do this now?’ He’d hoped things would be easier today. He should have known better.
‘Do what?’
She pushed herself up in the bed, flinging back the bedclothes as if about to rise, only to stop. Wide-eyed, she surveyed the midnight-blue silk-and-lace nightgown she wore. It was provocative and skimpy, drawing attention to every feminine curve.
