out how good she felt now. Then there was that hair…the thick and lustrous rich red corkscrew curls. One hundred per cent natural and unique, just like the rest of her. Let loose, those curls would cascade around her shoulders and down her back like living flames. His fingers itched to bury themselves in the silken, fiery mass, to have the strands caressing his skin, to see them fanned out across his pillows.
Francesca had always been a lady—and way out of his league. She appeared as graceful and stylish ten years on, enough that just looking at her reminded him of the chasm that had yawned between them. The classy girl who, outwardly, had appeared to have everything and the boy from the wrong side of the tracks with the bad reputation. Flickers of anger and doubt churned in his gut. What made him think he had any more right to be around her now than he had a decade ago? Yes, he had changed. He’d beaten his background, his father’s legacy, and had made a success of himself, had shown he was his own man. Had Francesca changed, too? If she remembered him at all, would she view him as she once had or would she now regard him in the same way the rest of the town had always looked on a Devlin male…as something dirty to be wiped off the undersides of their shoes?
He needed to look into her eyes, to know what lurked there now, to see if the sadness and innocence had gone, to judge her expression as she faced him unprepared. As he neared her, she frowned at whatever was being discussed. He sensed her tension, her discomfort in the presence of her colleagues, noting the way she moved back to maintain her personal space. At once he felt protective, ready to step in if needed, just as he had all those years ago when he had put himself between her and the bullies at school.
But every thought went out of his mind when she turned her head and looked at him. All he saw were those remarkable silver-grey eyes—eyes that for years had haunted his dreams and instantly made his insides slam with need. Eyes that widened now in stunned recognition.
‘Luke?’
His name was a whisper of breath on her lips. He stood still under her swift observation of him, aware of the curious glances of her colleagues. Her gaze skimmed his face and clashed with his own once more.
‘Hello, Chessie.’
‘My God, it is you.’ Shocking him with her unexpected boldness, she stepped forward and slid her arms around him in a welcoming hug he had never dreamed she would initiate. That his surprise appearance had knocked her so off balance that she acted this out of character took his breath away. ‘It’s been years.’
Ten long, solitary years. Instinctively his arms closed around her, drawing her as tightly against him as he dared without alarming her. One hand splayed across the small of her back, tempted by the enticing swell of her rear, while the other hand indulged in feeling the silken strands of hair bound now in the braid—a braid he wanted to knot around his wrist so he could draw back her head and plunder her mouth with his own. He somehow managed to resist both urges to touch and to taste.
What he couldn’t resist was to nuzzle into her to breathe in her very essence. Her subtle scent, flowery and sensual, teased his nostrils, sparking his desire anew, reminding him of the one other time in his life he had been able to hold her this close for far too short a time. Then she had been a girl, now he felt the woman…all soft curves and feminine sweetness. The seductive press of firm, perfect breasts against his chest that made him want nothing more than to bare them, shape them, taste them, bury his face against them. Francesca belonged in his arms, in his bed. And if all went to plan—if dreams really did come true—she would be there. Soon.
With regret, he allowed her retreat as soon as he sensed her withdrawal. She stepped back a pace, failing to mask her confusion at her effusive welcome of him, uncertainty evident in the slightly slanted mesmerising grey eyes fringed by long, thick, sooty lashes. The young Francesca would have been too shy and scared to approach anyone, much less have physical contact with them. He could tell from her growing tension that the reticence to touch and be touched outside a professional setting remained, and that her initial, instinctive response to him had shocked her. All of which confirmed that deep inside Francesca hadn’t changed that much and that he needed to be gentle and patient with her.
Luke watched the play of emotions across her face as she pulled herself together. The scattering of freckles he remembered so well dusted the ivory skin across her high cheekbones and over her small, straight nose…freckles that had always intrigued him. He longed to know where else on her body she had them, wanted to kiss each and every one.
Her lips held his attention next. Unadorned and dusky pink, they were the perfect shape, the top lip with its Cupid’s bow and the sensual curve of the fuller lower lip. A mouth that was made for kissing, a mouth he yearned to taste. He searched her eyes, relieved to see in those silvery depths a memory of the girl she had been. A hint of the innocence was there, the aloneness, as was the acceptance of him for who he was, and he was thankful the years had not hardened her or coloured her view of him.
Now he needed to spend time with her, to learn about the woman she had become, to begin to draw her back in to him. ‘Are you in a rush? Do you have some time to talk?’
He knew she was free because he had found out her schedule and planned his business at the hospital to ensure that he saw her. But would she admit it or would she try to fob him off? The outcome was crucial and uncharacteristic nervousness fluttered inside him as he waited for her answer.
‘I’m on my lunch-break.’ Her smile, tentative though it was, warmed him from the inside out, but it was her ready agreement that pleased him most. He waited as she turned to excuse herself from the colleagues who were still hovering nearby. ‘Is it all right if we talk about this later?’
‘If we must, Francesca.’ The lukewarm comment came from one of the men, his gaze speculative and not entirely friendly as he looked at Luke.
Luke returned the appraisal coolly, issuing a silent warning of his own, wondering if the guy had designs on the lady himself. Tough. Now he had found her again, he wasn’t making way for any other man to make a move on her. Stepping closer to her side, he settled a proprietorial hand at the small of Francesca’s back, feeling the jolt spear through him as the connection was made. He steered her down the top-floor corridor in the direction of the staff canteen before anyone could detain them or she could change her mind.
Francesca could not believe Luke was here, in the flesh, as if she had conjured him up from her dreams. Dreams that had plagued her in the past eight weeks since she had seen his mother. Eight weeks in which she had been unable to get Luke out of her mind, despite telling herself countless times that she had to forget about him. She had never expected to see him again but here he was, very much a man in place of the boy he had been ten years ago, but even more seductive, wicked and drop-dead gorgeous than she remembered.
Six feet three inches of solid, leanly muscled male. Dressed in dark grey chinos and a shirt a couple of shades lighter, he looked smart but casual, definitely not a man anyone would ignore. The top button was undone, the open collar displaying the strong column of his throat, while the shirt’s sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, revealing foreams lightly dusted with golden hair. His hands were well shaped and attractive, the nails neat and cared for—and one of those hands remained on her back, branding her skin through the thin fabric of her tunic. A ripple of awareness ran along her spine, centring on that touch, on the closeness of his body as he walked beside her, brushing against her with every step. She could feel his warmth, detect the earthy, musky aroma of him that teased and excited her senses. What was wrong with her? She never reacted like this, and certainly never noticed the way a man smelled, for goodness’ sake!
Her pulse racing, her body burning, she cast a furtive glance at Luke from the corner of her eye. Collar-length dark blond hair, shot through with lighter strands, framed a strong, far-too-handsome face, a seductive mouth that
