what have you missed about me?’
He kissed her again, then cupped her cheeks and looked into those clear sea-green eyes. ‘I’ve missed your colour, your resilience. Your independence.’ He punctuated each with a kiss. ‘The way you listen when I talk, as if I matter. The way you push me to open up because you give a damn.’
He saw her eyes spring with moisture and smoothed the dampness away with his thumbs.
‘I’ve even missed your chaos, believe it or not.’
‘I’ve been trying to do something about that,’ she whispered.
‘Don’t ever change. I love you just the way you are, feminine hygiene products on my bathroom shelf and all.’
He smoothed a hand over her breast so that he could feel her heart beating beneath his palm. ‘You made me realise I’ve been existing but I’ve not been living. I’ve been hiding behind my navy career, too afraid to take another chance on love.’
‘I was afraid too.’ She closed her hand over his. Over her heart. ‘You taught me to trust again.’
‘I reckon we’re pretty darn good for each other.’
‘I reckon so. Except you forgot one thing.’
‘Yeah?’
‘You forgot how much you missed making love with me.’
‘I didn’t forget.’ And he tumbled with her back onto the bed.
He was home.
LINDSAY ARMSTRONG was born in South Africa, but now lives in Australia with her New Zealand-born husband and their five children. They have lived in nearly every state of Australia, and have tried their hand at some unusual—for them—occupations, such as farming and horse-training—all grist to the mill for a writer! Lindsay started writing romances when their youngest child began school and she was left feeling at a loose end. She is still doing it and loving it.
HOLLY HARDING had the world at her feet—or she should have had.
The only child of wealthy parents—although her father had died—she could have rested on her laurels and fulfilled her mother’s dearest ambition for her, that she settle down and make an appropriate, although of course happy, marriage.
Holly, however, had other ideas. Not that she was against wedlock in general, but she knew she wasn’t ready for it. Sometimes she doubted she ever would be, but she went out of her way not to dwell on the reason for that…
Instead, she concentrated on her career. She was a journalist, although occasionally she partook of the social scene so dear to her mother’s heart; Sylvia Harding was a well-known socialite. It was on two such occasions that Holly had encountered Brett Wyndham, with disastrous consequences.
‘A masked fancy-dress ball and a charity lunch? You must be out of your mind,’ Brett Wyndham said to his sister Sue.
He’d just flown in from India, on a delayed flight that had also been diverted, so he was tired and irritable. His sister’s plans for his social life did not appear to improve his mood.
‘Oh, they’re not so bad,’ Sue said. She was in her late twenties, dark-haired like her brother, but petite and pretty—quite unlike her brother. She was also looking a bit pale and strained, whilst trying to strike an enthusiastic note. ‘And it is a good cause—the lunch, anyway. What’s wrong with raising money for animal shelters? I thought that might appeal to you. I mean, I know they may only be cats and dogs…’
Brett said wearily, ‘I can’t stand them. I can’t stand the food, I can’t stand the women—’
‘The women?’ Sue interrupted with a frown. ‘You don’t usually have a problem there. What’s wrong with them?’
Brett opened his mouth to say, They are usually the most ferociously groomed set of women you’ve ever seen in your life, from their dyed hair, their fake eyelashes, their plucked eyebrows, their fake nails and tans; they’re ghastly. But he didn’t say it. Although she didn’t have a fake tan or fake eyelashes, his sister was exquisitely groomed and most expensively dressed.
He shrugged. ‘Their perfume alone is enough to give me hay fever,’ he said moodily instead. ‘And, honestly, I have a problem with the concept of turning fund-raising into society events that bring out all the social climbers and publicity seekers.’ He stopped and shook his head.
‘Brett, please!’
But Brett Wyndham was not to be placated. ‘As for masked fancy-dress balls,’ he went on, ‘I can’t stand the fools men make of themselves. And the women; something about being disguised, or thinking they are, seems to bring out the worst in them.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, beloved,’ he said dryly, ‘They develop almost predator-like tendencies.’ For the first time a glint of humour lit his dark eyes. ‘You need to be particularly careful or you can find yourself shackled, roped and on the way to the altar.’
Sue smiled. ‘I don’t think you would ever have that problem.’
He shrugged. ‘Then there’s Mark and Aria’s wedding coming up shortly—the reason I’m home, anyway.’ Mark was their brother. ‘I’ve no idea what’s planned but I’m sure there’ll be plenty of partying involved.’
Sue’s smile faded as she nodded, and tears came to her eyes.
Brett frowned down at her. ‘Susie? What’s wrong?’
‘I’ve left Brendan.’ Brendan was her husband of three years. ‘I found out he was being unfaithful to me.’
Brett closed his eyes briefly. He could have said, I told you so, but he didn’t. He put his arms around his sister instead.
‘You were right about him.’ Sue wept. ‘I think all he was after was my money.’
‘I guess we have to make our own mistakes.’
‘Yes, but I feel so stupid. And—’ she gulped back some tears ‘—I feel everyone must be laughing at me. Apparently it was no big secret. I was the last person to know,’ she said tragically.
‘It’s often the way.’
‘It may be, but it doesn’t make it any easier.’
‘Are you still in love with him?’ Brett queried.
‘No! Well, how could I be?’
Brett smiled absently.
‘But one thing I do know,’ Sue said with utter conviction. ‘I refuse to go into a decline, I refuse to run away and hide and I refuse
