you.’
His pulse had thrummed against his skin, his temperature rising, his whole body aware. Of her. She hadn’t removed the veil, but she’d kept on peering at him over it with devilment in her gaze, and he’d felt drawn to her excitement and bravado. She hadn’t been drunk on alcohol. Her eyes had been clear, pupils not pinpointed, so no drugs. But she’d definitely been intoxicated by something, and he’d begun to suspect that he was feeling the same way, too.
There’d been something about her. So different from everyone else at the party. But what had it been? What had made her unique? Had it been the veil? The air of mystery? Or just those eyes? Eyes that had looked so young, but had also spoken of a wisdom beyond her years. As if she knew something that no one else did. As if she’d experienced life and the gamut of emotions that came with it. And yet that night she’d been drawn to him, and he to her. She a purple and black veiled moth and he the flame.
‘Do you trust me?’
She’d smiled. ‘Can any woman trust a pirate?’
‘I’m not just a pirate.’
The corners of her mouth had twitched and she’d glanced at his mouth, then back to his eyes, and he’d been hit with such a blow of lust he hadn’t been able to help himself. He’d tried to look away, to take a deep breath, to regain control over his senses.
‘I need to go,’ she’d said.
‘Let me walk you home.’
‘No need. I have transport.’
‘Then let me walk you to it.’
He’d offered her his arm and she’d taken it, smiling through the gauze and looking up at him, her eyes gleaming.
He’d been overcome by a bolt of desire.
But what to do about it? He considered himself a gentleman. He had principles...he’d only just met her...but there was something...
They’d stood there staring at each other, each of them trying to force the words to say goodbye, but neither of them ready to leave just yet. Her eyes had glinted at him in the darkness, with a look that said she wanted more than this...
The first door they’d tried had been unlocked, and they’d found themselves inside a supply closet, filled with clean linen and pressed staff uniforms.
He’d stood in front of her, just looking at her, noticing the small flecks of green and gold in her eyes. They’d shone like jewels, and her pupils had been large and black as she’d reached for his shirt and pulled him close.
He’d lost himself in her. Completely forgotten who he was, where he was. All that had mattered had been the feel of her, the taste of her, as he’d hitched up her skirts, her million and one petticoats, slid his hands up those long, slim legs...
Freya...
Like two lost souls that had found each other, they had clutched and grasped, gasped and groaned. He’d reached to remove the veil, so that he could kiss her, so that he could seek out her lips and claim her for his very own, but she’d stopped him, stilled his hand.
‘Leave it. Please.’
‘But, Freya...’
‘No kissing...please.’
He’d respected her wishes. That veil had made her seem like forbidden fruit. An enigma. Her hat had fallen to the floor and her long blonde locks had tumbled around her shoulders like golden waves. And the dark stockings on her ever so creamy thighs had aroused a feeling in him that he’d never quite experienced before.
They’d given each other everything.
And when they were spent they had slumped against each other and just stood there, wrapped in each other. Just breathing. Just existing. It was all that they’d needed.
A sound by the door had made them break apart and rearrange their clothing.
She’d glanced at him, guiltily. ‘I must go.’
He’d stared at her, not knowing what to say. He’d felt as if there was so much he wanted to say to her, but it had all got stuck in his throat and he’d remained silent. He’d wanted to tell her to stay. To come back to the hotel with him. He’d wanted to ask her if he could see her again and that had both shocked and scared him—because he never made commitments.
But she’d slipped from the closet, and by the time he’d adjusted his clothes and made himself presentable again she’d been gone.
He’d scanned the ballroom, looking for her fall of blonde hair, looking for those all-seeing eyes, but she’d gone.
Jamie had signalled his security people and told them to look out for her, to check the car park, but like an enigmatic spy she had simply disappeared. Disappointed, he had got into his own car and been driven home.
But now she was here.
She’d turned to look at him after Jules had asked everyone to welcome him. She was here. Of all the places in the world he could have looked. In this hospital. On this ward. With him. Those eyes of hers had pierced his soul once again, reawakening his dormant desire and making every cell of his body cry out for her.
But there’d been something else. Something that had rocked him. Something he hadn’t noticed before. And now he understood about the veil.
Freya was scarred. Something had happened to her. To her face. She’d had work done. Skin grafts, no doubt. Painful surgeries and recovery. How many? What had happened to her? A house fire? Was that why she’d been at the charity event for the burns unit?
And he’d sensed her fear. Her shock. Had seen the horror in her eyes as she’d realised who he was. Then he’d seen her shame, because she’d noticed how he’d reacted when he saw her properly.
Angry with himself, he’d wanted to reach out, touch her, tell her that she should not be ashamed—but she’d bolted.
Jamie sensed a soul like his own. Someone who preferred the everyday to the limelight. Someone who avoided crowds and adulation. Someone who preferred to hide behind a mask.
He felt her magnetism. Her draw.
And helplessly he allowed himself to be pulled in.
* * *
‘It is you, isn’t it?’
Freya had quickly run to the kitchenette to make her patient’s husband a cup of tea. She’d slid into the small room, breathing a sigh of relief, wondering just how the hell she was going to get through work for the next few weeks if he was going to be here, covering for Sandra.
She’d just been kneeling down to put the milk back in the fridge when she’d heard the door open behind her and then his voice.
Freya closed her eyes and looked down, hoping the loose tendrils of her hair would cover her face. She didn’t want this. Didn’t need this. Tonight had already been overwhelming—finding out she was pregnant—but to have him here too? To have to have this conversation? Now? At work?
‘I’m
