Read Online Risk of a Lifetime (Mills & Boon Medical) by Caroline Anderson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Caroline Anderson
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it was.
Number fifty-six, in shiny letters on the gate. She glanced up and down the street, but it was deserted, and she opened the gate and went through into the carport. There was a car in there, a sleek, wicked-looking BMW convertible that had bad boy written all over it, and as she closed the gate she heard the scrape of a chair and he ducked through a curtain of wisteria and walked slowly towards her.
He was dressed, like her, in jeans, with a washed-out blue cotton shirt open at the neck, and he looked good enough to eat. He gave a slight smile, and she thought he looked—relieved?
He stopped a few feet away. ‘Hi. I wasn’t sure you’d come,’ he admitted, and the touch of vulnerability took away some of her nerves.
‘I said I would,’ she told him, although she’d hesitated at the gate. Her heart was trying to climb out of her chest, her mouth was dry and her legs felt like boiled noodles, but he held out his hand and she walked up to him and put her hand in his, and he drew her to his side, dropped a gentle, undemanding kiss on her cheek and ushered her through the trailing wisteria to the secluded garden.
It was beautiful, heavy with the scent of honeysuckle, touched with the last rays of the evening sun, and it enclosed them in a little green haven. It could have been the garden of Eden, and any minute now she expected the serpent to appear with an apple.
No serpent. Just Ed, his hand warm on her spine, leading her to a little bistro set tucked into a sheltered corner. ‘I’ve got a bottle of Prosecco on ice, or if you don’t fancy that I have wine, juice, tea and coffee—all sorts,’ he said.
There was an ice bucket on the table, next to a pair of elegant champagne flutes and a cluster of bowls, and she sat down just before her legs gave way.
‘Prosecco sounds lovely. Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome. How was your mother about it?’
‘Fine. I told her I was going for a drink with you.’
‘Well, you’re not lying, then, are you?’ he murmured, and twisted the cork out with a soft pop. Vapour poured like smoke out of the open neck of the bottle, and he poured the wine carefully into the glasses, put the bottle back on ice and then handed her a glass.
‘To us,’ he said softly, and she met his smouldering eyes and felt the heat in them spread through her body like wildfire.
‘To us,’ she repeated, and then she didn’t quite know what to say, so she dragged her eyes away from his before she drowned in their midnight depths.
He snagged a handful of nuts and sat down, sprawling back in the chair and crunching them up with those almost perfect, even teeth, and she reached for an olive and bit into it for something to do.
The tension was palpable, and she took a sip of the Prosecco. Bubbles tickled her nose and she wrinkled it, and he smiled. ‘Tickles, doesn’t it?’ he murmured, and she nodded.
His eyes searched hers, and he smiled ruefully.
‘Annie, relax. We’re having a drink. That’s all.’
That was all? She felt the tension drain out of her like a punctured balloon, and then a wash of something that felt curiously like disappointment.
‘OK.’
He chuckled and leant forward. ‘It doesn’t have to be all,’ he clarified. ‘It could be more.’ And his eyes trapped hers and dragged her in.
More? Oh, Lord, she wanted more...
‘Why don’t we start with the drink?’ she said, almost managing to keep the squeak out of her voice, and his mouth kicked up at the side.
‘Good idea. How are the kids?’
‘Fine,’ she said, not wanting to think about the fact that she was a mother. Not now, not in this situation. It seemed—inappropriate, somehow, as if that was another person. ‘How’s your grandfather?’
‘Rubbish.’ His smile died, and he looked away. ‘He’s going downhill. I don’t know how long he’s got, but I hope it’s not much longer. It’s just so painful to watch, and it’s tearing my grandmother apart.’
‘I’m
Number fifty-six, in shiny letters on the gate. She glanced up and down the street, but it was deserted, and she opened the gate and went through into the carport. There was a car in there, a sleek, wicked-looking BMW convertible that had bad boy written all over it, and as she closed the gate she heard the scrape of a chair and he ducked through a curtain of wisteria and walked slowly towards her.
He was dressed, like her, in jeans, with a washed-out blue cotton shirt open at the neck, and he looked good enough to eat. He gave a slight smile, and she thought he looked—relieved?
He stopped a few feet away. ‘Hi. I wasn’t sure you’d come,’ he admitted, and the touch of vulnerability took away some of her nerves.
‘I said I would,’ she told him, although she’d hesitated at the gate. Her heart was trying to climb out of her chest, her mouth was dry and her legs felt like boiled noodles, but he held out his hand and she walked up to him and put her hand in his, and he drew her to his side, dropped a gentle, undemanding kiss on her cheek and ushered her through the trailing wisteria to the secluded garden.
It was beautiful, heavy with the scent of honeysuckle, touched with the last rays of the evening sun, and it enclosed them in a little green haven. It could have been the garden of Eden, and any minute now she expected the serpent to appear with an apple.
No serpent. Just Ed, his hand warm on her spine, leading her to a little bistro set tucked into a sheltered corner. ‘I’ve got a bottle of Prosecco on ice, or if you don’t fancy that I have wine, juice, tea and coffee—all sorts,’ he said.
There was an ice bucket on the table, next to a pair of elegant champagne flutes and a cluster of bowls, and she sat down just before her legs gave way.
‘Prosecco sounds lovely. Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome. How was your mother about it?’
‘Fine. I told her I was going for a drink with you.’
‘Well, you’re not lying, then, are you?’ he murmured, and twisted the cork out with a soft pop. Vapour poured like smoke out of the open neck of the bottle, and he poured the wine carefully into the glasses, put the bottle back on ice and then handed her a glass.
‘To us,’ he said softly, and she met his smouldering eyes and felt the heat in them spread through her body like wildfire.
‘To us,’ she repeated, and then she didn’t quite know what to say, so she dragged her eyes away from his before she drowned in their midnight depths.
He snagged a handful of nuts and sat down, sprawling back in the chair and crunching them up with those almost perfect, even teeth, and she reached for an olive and bit into it for something to do.
The tension was palpable, and she took a sip of the Prosecco. Bubbles tickled her nose and she wrinkled it, and he smiled. ‘Tickles, doesn’t it?’ he murmured, and she nodded.
His eyes searched hers, and he smiled ruefully.
‘Annie, relax. We’re having a drink. That’s all.’
That was all? She felt the tension drain out of her like a punctured balloon, and then a wash of something that felt curiously like disappointment.
‘OK.’
He chuckled and leant forward. ‘It doesn’t have to be all,’ he clarified. ‘It could be more.’ And his eyes trapped hers and dragged her in.
More? Oh, Lord, she wanted more...
‘Why don’t we start with the drink?’ she said, almost managing to keep the squeak out of her voice, and his mouth kicked up at the side.
‘Good idea. How are the kids?’
‘Fine,’ she said, not wanting to think about the fact that she was a mother. Not now, not in this situation. It seemed—inappropriate, somehow, as if that was another person. ‘How’s your grandfather?’
‘Rubbish.’ His smile died, and he looked away. ‘He’s going downhill. I don’t know how long he’s got, but I hope it’s not much longer. It’s just so painful to watch, and it’s tearing my grandmother apart.’
‘I’m
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