Emma Darcy: The Ultimate Choice

She clenched her hands and whirled on him. 'If you were reasonable, you would have investigated in the first place, instead of…' To her intense mortification, tears rushed into her eyes. 'My grandfather doesn't have a lot of time!' she stormed over the lump in her throat. 'He's eighty-four years old and he doesn't have the… the will to keep going any more. That's what you've done to him with your damnable… damnable…'

She took a deep breath to steady her quivering lips, and smeared the tears away with a quick swipe of her hand, no longer caring what Justin St John thought of her. She was determined to speak out even if it was futile.

'It was terrible when Henry Lloyd died. He and Grandpa had been such close friends all their lives. They'd shared each other's joys and griefs all these years. And Henry Lloyd always wagered that Grandpa would die first, that he'd outlive him by a decade or two…'

Her voice hardened into bitter accusation. 'Then you come and take the heart out of him. What was left of it. One killing blow after another. The shock of having his home threatened on top of the grief of losing Henry. The stress of having to go to the solicitors. Henry Lloyd would turn in his grave if he knew. You're a no-good…' She was lost for words to describe him.

And he wasn't listening, anyway. He seemed to be staring straight through, her. There was a frozen look about his face, as if he had completely withdrawn to another time and place.

Hopelessness dampened the rebellious fire that had driven her so far. It had all been a waste of time and energy coming here. She forced herself to move back to the table which held her equipment. There was nothing she could do but pack up and go.

'What is your grandfather's name? His full name?'

'What does it matter?' she muttered resentfully, ignoring him as she put the oil and tissues back in her bag.

There was a slight rustle of cloth as he pushed himself off the table. A hand closed around her arm and swung her around to face him. The impact of him-so near, so threateningly male in his semi- nakedness-tripped her heart and caught the breath in her throat.

'Tell me!' he commanded, taking hold of her other arm in an imprisoning and punishing grip.

Her pulse leapt in wild agitation, but a surge of defiance forced her to meet his eyes in angry challenge. Yet something in their expression-a pained, haunted look-startled her into answering him.

'It's Michael. Michael O'Reilly.' Her voice came out husky, strange to her own ears.

He closed his eyes and shook his head. He withdrew one hand from her to rub at his eyelids with finger and thumb. 'I'm sorry,' he said on a note of deep regret. 'I didn't think… it's so long ago…'

The last words were expelled on a ragged sigh, and Kelly didn't know what to make of them. Nor did she think to ask. The play of emotion on Justin St John's face held her mesmerised. She had judged him as unfeeling, yet she found herself caught up in the pain that emanated from him.

He dropped his hand to her shoulder as his eyes opened, and they were the washed grey of a bleak winter, shadowed by dark elements that instantly encompassed her and struck a quivering uncertainty in her heart. His fingers squeezed a light reassurance, but she didn't feel reassured. He was a stranger to her, yet somehow… they were not the hands of a stranger.

'I am sorry to have caused you both so much distress,' he said in obviously sincere apology. 'I was…preoccupied with other things and neglected to check on what was happening.' He grimaced, then took a deep breath. 'Tell your grandfather… assure him that I will not contest his ownership of the portion of Marian Park that he has always occupied. I will instruct my solicitor to give him legal title to it so that no question about possession will ever arise again. However; should either he or you ever wish to sell, I would like first option to buy.'

She stared at him blankly, not believing the words he had said, looking for the trick, looking for the lie.

His mouth tilted. 'Is that enough? What more can I do?'

'It's unbelievable,' she whispered, bewildered by his about-face. 'Do you know my grandfather?'

'No. Not personally. A long time ago I had a connection with the Lloyd family. What you said about the relationship between your two families stirred a recollection. And I'd forgotten that your grandfather's name is not necessarily your own. I apologise again… for doubting you.'

His expression changed to one of whimsical tenderness. A glow of warmth dispersed the shadows in his eyes, and the harsh lines of his face smoothed and took on a boyish charm. 'You obviously love him very dearly.'

Again Kelly found herself oddly breathless. A feeling of pleasure tingled through her veins and her heart was pumping with extraordinary vigour. 'Yes,' she said in that husky voice that didn't seem to belong to her. 'My parents died when I was two years old, and Grandpa brought me up.'

'I see,' he murmured.

The hand on her shoulder slid to the curve of her neck and slowly curled around it. His thumb brushed down her jawline in a tingling caress. Kelly swallowed to counteract a sudden dryness in her throat. It was madness-absolute madness to think what she was thinking: he was nearly twice her age-she had hated him only a few minutes ago- and whatever was throbbing between them couldn't be what she thought it was.

A sense of shifting… to a complete understanding. That was what it had to be. A relaxation from all the emotion spent. A new appreciation of each other.

His gaze dropped to her mouth.

Her lips actually parted in anticipation.

Her heart thundered.

His head started to bend.

Madness, her mind screamed.

She closed her eyes tight and willed her mouth to speak. 'Please let me go.'

The words were hardly more than a whisper.

She heard his sharp intake of breath. The powerful link-whatever it was that had bound them together in those few electric seconds-was broken even before he withdrew his physical hold on her. She was aware of a sharp, bereft feeling in herself. Her eyes flicked open in the quest for understanding, but she caught only a fleeting glimpse of tearing conflict on his face before he turned away from her.

'I'll call Roy to come and carry your equipment out for you,' he said in curt dismissal, and walked stiffly to the table, where he picked up a telephone and punched a number on the house intercom.

Kelly suffered a rush of emotions that kept her tongue-tied as he spoke to his secretary. Embarrassment that she might have misread his intentions was uppermost. Her own reaction to him didn't bear thinking about. Shame squirmed through her. She had been so wrong about him. He was being more than fair with Grandpa. And she had said such dreadful things…

He replaced the telephone and threw her a tight, bleak look. 'He'll be right down. If you'll excuse me…'

'Wait!' she cried as he stepped towards the bathroom.

She sensed his reluctance, but he turned to face her. All the harsh lines were back-no boyish charm now. His expression was one of cold, tight reserve, and the tension emanating from him almost strangled her vocal cords.

'I'm sorry for having thought so badly of you,' she croaked.

'That's immaterial now, Miss Hanrahan. I will have the title papers delivered to your grandfather. Please don't come back here again.'

'But…' His hardline rejection of any more personal communication between them was shocking and surprisingly hurtful. 'You haven't let me thank you,' she finished limply.

'I don't need to be thanked for doing what should have been done in the first place.'

Still she struggled against his edict, driven by a tumult of feelings that she didn't stop to define. 'The physiotherapy…I could come back tomorrow and…'