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Authors: Miranda Lee
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were born. He’d only ever wanted sons, according to a conversation she’d once overheard. She’d been an accident, then had compounded things by turning out to be a girl, an unsporty, non-academic girl who just couldn’t compete with her overachieving, highly competitive brothers.
‘Mum … please … I don’t want to have this conversation right now.’
‘You know, Amber,’ her mother said, back to her usual stroppy tone. ‘Ever since you got mixed up with that man, you never have time to talk to me.’
Amber momentarily considered telling her mother that she’d broken up with Warwick, but fortunately stopped herself in time. No way could she stand the third degree over what happened. Or all the inevitable recriminations.
‘We’ve only just arrived, Mum, and I haven’t even had time to go to the toilet. I’ll give you a call later.’
‘Promise?’
‘Yes,’ Amber said, her chin beginning to wobble dangerously. ‘Bye for now.’ She choked back a strangled sob and hung up, after which she turned her mobile off.
For a long time she just stood there, clutching the phone and staring into space. The tears didn’t come, thank heaven. But she felt awful over the way she’d reacted to the phone ringing. How could she possibly want Warwick back? He was a bastard. An arrogant, selfish bastard!
And yet she’d fallen in love with him. Why? What had he ever done to deserve her love?
Okay, so he was a good lover. No, a
great
lover, she had to admit.
Amber shook her head from side to side. Was her so-called love for Warwick based on nothing more substantial than sexual pleasure? If so, then she was a terribly shallow person.
Her mind searched for other qualities Warwick possessed that deserved loving.
He was honest. She had to give him that. He’d never lied to her. At least, she didn’t think he had. He was also very generous, dispensing great chunks of money to this and that charity every other week.
But then, he could afford to, couldn’t he? came a cynical voice in her head. Easy to be generous when you were filthy rich.
What kind of man would he have been if he’d been born poor?
Amber decided it would be an interesting experiment to somehow put Warwick in a position where his life wasn’t so damned cushy. How would he handle adversity? Would it bring out the worst, or the best in him?
Amber shrugged her shoulders. She would never find out, would she? He was gone. Gone from her life, though not from her heart. She
did
love him, unfortunately. Love, it seemed, wasn’t always subject to reason, or reasons. It just was.
At last she dropped her phone back into her bag and made her way slowly along the hall to the tiny downstairs toilet, which was tucked under the staircase.
As she washed her hands afterwards the small mirror above the equally small hand basin showed nothing of the sadness she was feeling. She actually looked good, her bout of tears not having lasted long enough to bring on puffiness or dark circles. Finger-combing her windblown hair into place, she made her way back along the hall into her aunt’s roomy country-style kitchen to make herself a cuppa. There she took off her leather jacket and draped it over the back of a wooden kitchen chair before filling the kettle with water. She was just getting a mug down from the pine cupboard above the counter when the doorbell on the back door rang.
Once again, that shocking vulnerability hit home. She practically ran to the door, despising herself even as she flicked open the lock and wrenched the door wide.
It wasn’t Warwick. The tall, good-looking man standing on the back porch was a perfect stranger.
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘Y ES ?’ Amber said, unable to keep the dismay from her voice.
‘Hi there,’ he said, and flashed his business card. ‘I’m Jim Hansen, from Seachange Properties. I have an appointment to meet Mr Warwick Kincaid here at two p.m.’
Amber suppressed a groan. She’d forgotten about Warwick’s organising this
‘Mum … please … I don’t want to have this conversation right now.’
‘You know, Amber,’ her mother said, back to her usual stroppy tone. ‘Ever since you got mixed up with that man, you never have time to talk to me.’
Amber momentarily considered telling her mother that she’d broken up with Warwick, but fortunately stopped herself in time. No way could she stand the third degree over what happened. Or all the inevitable recriminations.
‘We’ve only just arrived, Mum, and I haven’t even had time to go to the toilet. I’ll give you a call later.’
‘Promise?’
‘Yes,’ Amber said, her chin beginning to wobble dangerously. ‘Bye for now.’ She choked back a strangled sob and hung up, after which she turned her mobile off.
For a long time she just stood there, clutching the phone and staring into space. The tears didn’t come, thank heaven. But she felt awful over the way she’d reacted to the phone ringing. How could she possibly want Warwick back? He was a bastard. An arrogant, selfish bastard!
And yet she’d fallen in love with him. Why? What had he ever done to deserve her love?
Okay, so he was a good lover. No, a
great
lover, she had to admit.
Amber shook her head from side to side. Was her so-called love for Warwick based on nothing more substantial than sexual pleasure? If so, then she was a terribly shallow person.
Her mind searched for other qualities Warwick possessed that deserved loving.
He was honest. She had to give him that. He’d never lied to her. At least, she didn’t think he had. He was also very generous, dispensing great chunks of money to this and that charity every other week.
But then, he could afford to, couldn’t he? came a cynical voice in her head. Easy to be generous when you were filthy rich.
What kind of man would he have been if he’d been born poor?
Amber decided it would be an interesting experiment to somehow put Warwick in a position where his life wasn’t so damned cushy. How would he handle adversity? Would it bring out the worst, or the best in him?
Amber shrugged her shoulders. She would never find out, would she? He was gone. Gone from her life, though not from her heart. She
did
love him, unfortunately. Love, it seemed, wasn’t always subject to reason, or reasons. It just was.
At last she dropped her phone back into her bag and made her way slowly along the hall to the tiny downstairs toilet, which was tucked under the staircase.
As she washed her hands afterwards the small mirror above the equally small hand basin showed nothing of the sadness she was feeling. She actually looked good, her bout of tears not having lasted long enough to bring on puffiness or dark circles. Finger-combing her windblown hair into place, she made her way back along the hall into her aunt’s roomy country-style kitchen to make herself a cuppa. There she took off her leather jacket and draped it over the back of a wooden kitchen chair before filling the kettle with water. She was just getting a mug down from the pine cupboard above the counter when the doorbell on the back door rang.
Once again, that shocking vulnerability hit home. She practically ran to the door, despising herself even as she flicked open the lock and wrenched the door wide.
It wasn’t Warwick. The tall, good-looking man standing on the back porch was a perfect stranger.
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘Y ES ?’ Amber said, unable to keep the dismay from her voice.
‘Hi there,’ he said, and flashed his business card. ‘I’m Jim Hansen, from Seachange Properties. I have an appointment to meet Mr Warwick Kincaid here at two p.m.’
Amber suppressed a groan. She’d forgotten about Warwick’s organising this
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