Susan Stephens - His Rags-to-Riches Bride

She’d never thought she would see him again. Or not face to face like this, anyway. Had told herself that he was out of her life for always. Deliberately put herself at such a distance that she would be spared the pain of even an accidental glimpse of him. Promised herself that, gradually, the memories of everything that had happened between them would begin to fade, and she would find some kind of peace.

Yet here he was again, and all the shame and the trauma of their shared past were still as vivid and as painful as ever.

I haven’t forgotten a thing, she thought. And neither has he.

She passed the tip of her tongue over her dry lips. Faint inclination. That was the phrase he’d used, and it had bitten into her consciousness like acid dripping on metal.

Because that was as much as it had ever been. All the helpless passion—the feverish longing—had been on her side alone.

But I can’t let him think it still matters to me, she told herself. I dare not. I have to convince him that it’s all over for me too. That I’ve grown up and moved on.

She waited until her heartbeat had steadied, and her breathing rate had calmed a little, then made her way slowly over to Jamie’s room, favouring her damaged ankle as she went.

She turned the handle and made to push the door open, but it resisted stubbornly, as if there was some obstruction behind it. Laine put her shoulder to it, managing to create a gap just wide enough to give her access, and squeezed through it, wincing.

Then stopped dead, with a gasp of sheer dismay.

Because this was no longer a bedroom, but a landfill site. Every inch of space seemed to be occupied by something. There were stacks of boxes on the floor, next to crates of books and CDs, and a row of suitcases, elderly and unmatching. The bed’s bare mattress, she saw incredulously, was covered by the entire contents of her own wardrobe. And the blockage behind the door had been caused by an over-stuffed black binliner which had apparently fallen from a similar pile.

As if in a dream, Laine reached down and lifted it back into place.

Cardboard City, she thought, was right here, waiting for her.

It would take hours, she realised limply, to clear sufficient space just to cross the room. As for the leisurely bath and so-needed sleep—well, that was going to remain just a dream for the foreseeable future.

To her horror, she felt her eyes burning with sudden tears. After all the ghastliness with Andy, to come home to this! Plus bloody Daniel Flynn.

A lengthy business. His own words—the rotten bastard.

Because he’d known exactly what she was going to find here. These things weren’t Jamie’s, so they had to be his. He was sleeping in her room, and using this as his private dumping ground.

‘If I could only get to the window,’ she muttered furiously, crushing down any lingering remnants of self-pity. ‘I’d throw the whole sodding lot into the street.’

He’d emptied everything she possessed on to the bed—even her underwear—and the thought made her cringe. She’d wash and iron every single item before she allowed any of them anywhere near her, she promised herself grimly.

But if he thought she was going to deal with this appalling mess alone, he could think again. He was not going to get away with it, she vowed as she limped back across the living room and banged on the door.

It was flung open almost immediately, and Daniel confronted her unsmilingly. The towel had been replaced by a pair of jeans, but he was still barefoot and bare-chested, and Laine felt her mouth dry as unwanted memory pierced her.

‘What now?’ he demanded.

‘That other room,’ she said huskily, ‘is a pigsty. A tip. And I want to know what you intend to do about it.’

‘Nothing,’ he returned curtly. ‘Not my tip. Not my problem.’

Laine gasped. ‘What the hell do you mean? It’s packed to the ceiling with your surplus belongings, and I want them moved. Now.’

‘The true voice of command.’ His mouth curled. ‘Your seafaring days haven’t been wasted. What’s next on the agenda, Captain? A little light keel-hauling?’

She jerked a thumb in the direction of the room behind her. ‘That is now my half of the flat,’ she said. ‘And I want it cleared.’

‘Then I suggest you get started.’ He sounded faintly bored. ‘Although God knows where you’re going to put it all. And—just for the record—nothing in that room is mine. Some of the things belong to your brother, but most of it he’s storing for someone called Sandra. I believe she went with him to New York.’

‘Jamie left them?’ She stared at him. ‘Left me to cope with that terrible mess? Oh, he couldn’t have done. He wouldn’t.’ Her voice trailed away.

‘No?’ His smile was cynical. ‘If you wish to take the matter up with him, I can give you his number in Manhattan.’

‘Please don’t trouble yourself,’ she said crisply. ‘I’ll manage.’

She’d planned to wheel round and march away with dignity, but in mid-turn her ankle gave a jab of pain so fierce that she yelped aloud and faltered.

‘Going for the sympathy vote, Laine? It won’t work.’

But neither would her ankle, she realised, taking a deep breath as she gingerly tested her weight on it and winced uncontrollably.

‘What’s the matter?’ One swift stride brought him to her, his hand under her elbow.

‘Don’t touch me.’ She tried to pull away, but he’d seen the bandage and his grip tightened.

‘What the hell have you done to yourself?’ He sounded resigned.

‘My ankle’s twisted, that’s all,’ she said shortly. ‘Please leave me alone, and don’t fuss.’

‘I’m not the one squawking with pain.’

To her horror, Daniel picked her up and carried her to one of the long sofas that flanked the fireplace, placing her on the cushions. It was the work of a moment, but it forced an all-too potent reminder of the cool, clean scent of his bare skin into her consciousness.

Oh, God, she thought, a feeling akin to panic unravelling inside her, I don’t need this.

He knelt, and began to undo the bandage.

She said tautly, ‘I can manage by myself.’

His glance was ironic. ‘Now who’s making the fuss?’

Laine subsided, flushing mutinously. She stared over his shoulder, her teeth sinking into her lower lip, her nerve-endings jangling as Daniel frowningly examined the swollen joint.

‘When did you do this?’

She hunched a shoulder. ‘The other day.’

‘You should have rested it at once,’ he said tersely. ‘So start now.’ He rose lithely and went into the kitchen, returning a few minutes later with a plastic bag filled with ice cubes. ‘Here. Hold this against it.’

She complied reluctantly, her expression rebellious as Daniel tied it on with the discarded bandage.

‘Thank you,’ she said tautly when his task was completed.

‘No need for gratitude,’ he said caustically as he straightened. ‘I have a vested interest in seeing that you have both legs in good working order. Job hunting requires a lot of exercise, and you need to start earning without delay.’

She lifted her chin. ‘Please don’t worry. I’ve always paid my way.’

‘Not always,’ he said softly. ‘But these days I prefer cash, rather than kind. It’s more reliable.’

She was rigid. ‘What is that supposed to mean?’

‘Work it out for yourself,’ he said coldly, and disappeared back to the kitchen, leaving her gasping in fury. When he returned, he was carrying a glass of water on a saucer, with two capsules lying beside it.

‘Here,’ he said. ‘Take these.’

‘What are they?’

‘Painkillers,’ he said with a hint of acid. ‘Don’t worry. You won’t wake up in two days’ time in some Middle Eastern brothel.’