doubt that the bad boy still lurked within Luke Devlin! She had only just seen him again after a gap of ten years, yet she could tell that there was so much more behind the relaxed outward image he portrayed. Anyone who wrote him off as some kind of lazy surfer character would be in for a surprise—ignore the sharp intelligence at your peril.
She had yet to recover from the shock of acting so out of character that she had boldly stepped up and hugged him. It was as if some inner compulsion had taken her over, driving her to do something she would never normally do. Whatever had possessed her? She didn’t touch people. Not voluntarily, personally, not beyond what was necessary for work. And she hated to be touched. Yet her first instinct had been to embrace Luke. Brazenly. She had initiated the contact, had enjoyed it, had not wanted to let him go. She had been drawn to him rather than holding herself apart, excited rather than repelled, aroused rather than turned off. Being in Luke’s arms had felt right. And that scared her.
Francesca very much feared that however much she had tried to convince herself to the contrary over the years, she had never got Luke out of her head…or her heart. But there had never been a future for them beyond her foolish imagination. If Luke had ever been aware of her at all, it could only have been as the annoying girl who had hung around on the periphery—always on the outside, looking in.
For years growing up she had watched Luke from afar but they had come from such different worlds. Her own, materially rich but emotionally poor, had been strict and repressed, governed and controlled by her domineering mother, while Luke’s had been rough and wild, coloured by the Devlin reputation, his father and older brothers always in trouble with the law. Not that she had ever believed the things they had said about Luke. He’d been nothing like the other Devlin men. Luke had never been anything but kind to her, as protective as an older brother, her hero, her secret love, until he had vanished ten years ago.
Francesca realised with despair that she was even more attracted to Luke now than when she had been a shy, awkward teenager. A shiver of remembered embarrassment ran through her as she recalled the day the bullies had shoved her at him in the playground, daring her to kiss him. She would never forget Luke’s kindness, his understanding. Or the unexpected, wildly exciting passion as he had given her her first ever kiss, a kiss she had never forgotten to this day. A kiss by which she had judged every one she had received since…finding them all lacking.
Her gaze slid from the green fire in Luke’s eyes to the sultry curve of his lips. How would they feel now? What would the kiss of the man be like compared to the kiss of the boy? She smothered a gasp of shock as the very thought caused her breasts to swell with arousal. Her nipples peaked as she imagined the heat of his mouth on her flesh, his hands touching her all over, and a coil of fire tightened her womb and pooled between her legs. Dear heaven! This was crazy.
Shocked by her thoughts and her body’s instinctive, betraying reaction, she allowed Luke to open the door for her and she stepped ahead of him into the canteen, both regretful and thankful when the disturbing touch of his hand dropped from her back. After selecting their food—a tuna salad for her and lasagne for him—they headed to a free table. Francesca was aware of the curious glances from fellow staff members and could imagine some of what they were thinking, seeing her with a man like Luke. She knew what they called her, and why, but, then, she had spent her whole life having people talk behind her back and call her names. Except Luke. For all their differences, the opposing reasons why it was so, they had shared that understanding, that empathy. Of being the outsider, alone, unwanted.
‘Am I imagining it or are people staring at us?’ Luke asked, the relaxed ease with which he sat down in contrast with the tight edge to his voice.
‘No. People are probably shocked to see me here with you.’
Luke’s expression hardened. ‘Because I’m a Devlin?’
‘Of course not,’ she corrected him, displaying a hint of the inner steel it had been necessary for her to develop long ago to survive. ‘I doubt they would even know, Luke, much less care. It’s not you, it’s me.’
‘Why would that be?’
Francesca found herself captured by the expression in his magnetic green eyes—protective, sultry, intense. As if he was interested in her and what she had to say. As if she mattered. Clearing her throat of the sudden lump that seemed to have lodged there, and trying to clear her mind of her foolish fancies, she focused on her lunch as she answered his question.
‘I’m known as the Ice Maiden around here.’
She had strived for a self-mocking tone, one that would signify that she didn’t care a scrap what anyone said about her. That she hadn’t quite pulled it off was obvious from the tiny pulse along Luke’s tensed jawline and the narrowing of green eyes that flared with annoyance and the same kind of defensive gleam she remembered from their schooldays when he had been her self-appointed guardian.
‘Are you, now?’ He took a forkful of food, his gaze straying round the room, the challenge in them unmistakable to anyone who looked at him. ‘I doubt they’ll be calling you that much longer.’
It felt good to know that Luke’s instinctive reaction was still to take her side without question. But she was an adult now, used to fighting her own battles. Besides, he was just visiting, passing through. She couldn’t allow herself to get used to seeing him again, or to come to rely on him being her buffer against the difficult and hurtful things that sometimes happened.
No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop looking at him, searching out all that was familiar, learning all the changes maturity had brought to his far-too-handsome features. The dark blond hair was streaked by natural highlights and the sun. A couple of stray locks tumbled in reckless disarray across his forehead, adding to his rakish appeal. His face was masculine, strong, compelling, his nose straight, his cheeks lean, his clean-shaven jaw determined. She forced herself not to linger any longer on the temptation of his mouth, disturbed that she, who was always so cool and so uninterested in men, felt such a buzz of sexual awareness whenever she was near Luke.
The next moment she was looking into mesmerising green eyes, eyes that held a hint of mischief that stole her breath and a darkly sensual intent that shocked her and made her tingle all over. All manner of questions chased one another through her mind. Why was Luke in Strathlochan? What coincidence had brought them together in the hospital corridor at that moment in time? Where had he been these last ten years? What had he done with his life? Was he single? The last crashed her back to reality and fired a warning through her. It was no business of hers what he did and who he was with. Luke was a forbidden fantasy from her past. That was all. It would be wise for her to remember that rather than let her imagination, and this surprise meeting, run away with her.
‘How is your mother, Luke?’ she asked, seeking safer territory as they finished their meal. ‘I saw her recently when she came in after breaking her arm.’
‘I know, and I’ve been wanting to thank you. Ma told me how wonderful you were with her.’
His genuine gratitude, and his obvious care for his mother, warmed her. ‘I was pleased to help. Has she recovered now?’
‘She had the cast off two weeks ago and is fine. She came down to stay with me in London for a while but was glad to get back home.’ He pushed his empty plate aside and leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, the action somehow making him feel much closer. Green eyes watched her intently. ‘It was thanks to Ma that I knew you were back in Strathlochan.’
‘I see.’
Francesca didn’t see at all. The remains of her lunch forgotten, she struggled to draw air into
