are you going to do about Kate’s place? You can’t just leave it empty indefinitely. You’ll have to do something with it.’
‘Could I rent it out, do you think? I mean … as a holiday house?’ She didn’t want to sell it. Not straight away.
‘I suppose so. But you’ll have to find yourself a reliable agent. And soon. Your father went up there last weekend and mowed the lawns and watered the garden but you can’t expect him to keep on doing that. The place is your responsibility now.’
Amber’s heart jumped when she heard the familiar sound of the front door being opened. Warwick was home at last. Thank heavens! She was beginning to worry that he might have had an accident.
‘Mum, I’m sorry, but I have to go now. I’ll come over tomorrow and pick up the keys. Will you be home?’
‘Yes. But only till twelve. I have a hairdressing appointment at twelve-thirty.’
‘I’ll be there before then. Bye.’
Amber tossed the phone back down on the granite counter-top and hurried out of the kitchen, her heart thudding behind her ribs in a maddening mixture of excitement and annoyance.
Just the sight of him tipped her emotions more towards excitement. Warwick was still the most handsome man she’d ever seen, with a strongly masculine face, a well-shaped head, sexy blue eyes, and an even sexier mouth. Combine that with a body to die for and an English accent that could cut glass and you had a man who’d give James Bond a run for his money. In fact, he would make an excellent James Bond in Amber’s opinion, his suave man-about-town façade hiding a ruthless inner core. He wasn’t totally heartless, as her mother had said. But he was extremely formidable.
It took courage to confront Warwick with anything, even his tardiness. Normally, Amber forgave his tendency to be late for things.
But not this time.
‘Where on earth have you been?’ she demanded to know. ‘You knew I was cooking a special dinner for us tonight. Why didn’t you call me? I left enough messages on that damned phone of yours!’
CHAPTER TWO
WARWICK closed the front door behind him, slipping the security chain into place before turning his attention back to his understandably upset girlfriend.
How exquisitely beautiful she looked in that glorious pink dress! Beautiful and desirable. Not that it was a sexy garment, by any means. There was no provocative décolletage on display. The neckline was modestly scooped, and the simple flowing style skimmed rather than clung to her curves, the handkerchief hemline reaching down past her knees.
But never before had a girl turned Warwick on the way Amber could—so damned effortlessly. She didn’t have to flirt, or do any of the boldly seductive things his previous women had done. She only had to be in the same room and his hormones jumped to attention.
Suddenly, Warwick wasn’t sure if he could continue with the plan he’d started putting into action recently, the one where he showed himself to be the ruthless man he actually was. Much easier to give up on that idea—however perversely noble it was—apologise profusely for being late and do what his body was urging him to do: ravish her all night long.
The temptation was powerful. But so—as Warwick kept discovering to his surprise—was his conscience. For some time now it had troubled him deeply. Thanks to that wretched aunt of Amber’s.
Of course, he himself had known right from the start that it had been wrong to take a girl like Amber to his bed. She’d been too young, too sweet and too sensitive.
But he just hadn’t been able to resist her. The chemistry between them had been electric, right from the first moment they’d set eyes on each other.
Just one night, he’d told himself at the time. To see how it would feel to make love to someone wholesome. Someone who blushed when you looked deep into her eyes; someone whose attraction for him shocked her enough to make her resign.
Well, he’d found out what it was like and, come the next morning, he hadn’t been able to let her go.
But now the time had come for him to do so.
Time to be cruel to be kind.
‘Please don’t start sounding like a wife, Amber,’ he said coldly as he strode into the room, loosening his tie and undoing the top button of his shirt as he headed for the built-in bar in the corner. ‘I texted you that I’d be late,’ he threw at her after selecting a glass and reaching for the whisky decanter. ‘For pity’s sake, woman, don’t nag.’
‘I … I don’t think it’s nagging to demand politeness,’ she returned in a small, almost crushed voice.
He should not have glanced up at her, not then. Not when her soft blue eyes looked so wounded.
Hell on earth, he couldn’t do this. Not tonight. That would be just too cruel.
‘You’re right,’ he said more gently. ‘Sorry, sweetheart. I’m a bit wound up. Had to sort out a few problems with one of the building contractors. That’s who I was with all this time,’ he lied. He’d actually been sitting in a bar in town all by himself, nursing a whisky for two long hours till he was rudely late. ‘What say I go shower and change into something more comfortable whilst you rustle up dinner?’ he suggested. ‘It’s not spoiled, is it?’
‘No.’ Immediately, her dulled eyes glowed with happiness, sending a dagger of guilt plunging into his own wretchedly dark heart.
Oh, Warwick, Warwick, he thought almost despairingly. How are you going to get yourself out of this mess? The girl loves you. Can’t you see that?
Yes, of course I can see it, came a frustrated voice from within.
It wasn’t the first time this realisation had jumped into Warwick’s head. That day he’d gone bunjee-jumping, for instance, when the damned rope had gone awry and he hadn’t been killed. More was the pity. Amber’s feelings had been written all over her face. She’d been trembling with shock and relief when he was brought back up, unharmed.
Unfortunately, being loved the way Amber loved him—with such sweet sincerity—was as powerful as the most addictive drug. Giving up the way she made him feel was going to take a massive act of will, one that Warwick didn’t think he was capable of this evening. Knowing she wanted him to make love to her after dinner was weakening his resolve to end their relationship.
Maybe it was time to tell her the truth about himself, to force Amber to face the fact that there was no future with him.
Could he do that? Should he?
Unfortunately, revealing his genetic flaw and all its appalling inevitabilities might not bring about the desired result. If Warwick had learned one thing about Amber’s character during the last ten months, it was that she was as compassionate as she was passionate. She would become visibly upset whenever she saw those ads about poor starving children, and could only be soothed when he promised to make regular donations to whatever charity was canvassing for help. Stories about neglected animals inevitably brought similar distress, as did reports on the news about more bombs killing innocent women and children in war-torn countries. Warwick had taken to putting a box of tissues at the ready by the sofa to mop up her
