anything remotely resembling merriment.
Then, just as he turned to leave, his attention was caught by a crowd of chattering, laughing men who’d surged through from Customs. Dexter saw that they were rugby players on tour, complete with team kit, coach, acolytes and, he noted appreciatively, a team mascot.
The mascot’s burgundy head bobbed up and down amid the ruck, almost lost under the welter of burly arms and giant hands. But between the mountainous shoulders and tree-trunk thighs Dex had glimpsed her dazzling grin and stunning legs. For the first time in a week his stony face cracked with the faint hint of a smile.
‘Hey, babe, here’s your meeter-and-greeter!’ shouted one of the giants, pointing directly at him.
Dex turned around, expecting to see—somewhere behind him—a welcoming committee of seven-foot giants in striped jerseys bulging with muscles. He saw nothing of the kind.
And when he turned back he noticed that the scrum had parted to reveal the mascot in all her glory. Despite his hurry to leave, he paused, utterly arrested by the startling sight.
She was like an exotic butterfly, shimmering with glitter and iridescence. Obvious, for sure. Not his type. Yet something about her joyous exuberance and lovely face touched his rock-bottom spirits and lifted the weight that had settled so leadenly in his mind.
He blinked. The butterfly was coming in his direction, her smoky eyes fixed with eager interest on the placard he was still holding.
His mouth dried. It couldn’t be. Wrong shape. Wrong personality…
‘Hi,’ she said breathily. ‘I’m Maddy. Are you the driver?’
Maddy? He stared. Impossible! And yet there were the enormous grey eyes, though they were sparkling instead of how he remembered them—apprehensive and all too ready to shed tears.
There was something vaguely familiar in that mouth, too, even if the fine cheekbones and delicately shaped nose bore no resemblance to the podgy, childish features he remembered.
‘You are my driver?’ she prompted with an extraordinarily sweet smile, enunciating clearly and making steering motions with her hands.
‘Uh,’ he said inadequately, wondering how anyone short, plump and permanently anxious could ever have hatched into this extraordinary, confident bombshell of a woman.
She put her head on one side and looked uncertain.
‘Oh, dear. You’ve no idea what I’m saying, have you? My Portuguese is horribly rusty. Do you speak any English?’ she asked with slow care.
He’d thought that nothing could surprise him any more. He’d travelled the world. Been startled, shocked and scared out of his wits. One broken arm, several broken ribs and a snake-bite to show for his travels. Two passionate affairs, a wonderful but poignantly brief marriage, his bride dead of dengue fever before their unborn child could survive outside the womb. His mouth tightened and he forced back the desperately painful memory.
Perhaps because he put himself in dangerous situations, life was always flinging him off balance. And it had done it again.
This was an amazing transformation. Tubby little Maddy. To this! He rubbed a hand over his stubbled jaw in amazement.
‘English. Er—yeah,’ he managed, and she nodded, bright with relief, then wiggled her way back to the rugby players, blissfully unaware of Dexter’s confusion. He found that his jaw had dropped open and hastily closed it.
Ironically, she hadn’t recognised him at all. Though of course he’d changed considerably since his skinny youth. That could be to his advantage. Could he keep his identity a secret? His mind whirled with possibilities.
He’d been expecting the dullest, dreariest woman alive. After all, Maddy had been brought up by her tyrannical old grandfather and was still living with him. He’d imagined that she’d only survive such a relationship if she was subservient and obedient.
He’d believed that she had meekly obeyed her grandfather’s command to put herself up for marriage because she was too scared to disobey. In other words, he’d been convinced she must be a doormat.
This Maddy, however, would be on the doormat, wiping her feet on others. It didn’t make sense.
He appraised her body and her manner. Spectacular. Flirtatious. Confused, he drew in a sharp breath as something else occurred to him. By no means was this a timid granddaughter who was doing old man Cook’s bidding. She was assertive enough to know exactly what she was getting into.
His eyes narrowed. That meant she really wanted to be a bride to the Fitzgerald heir! The mercenary little minx!
Well, he’d soon put her straight about her chances. He’d only agreed to meet her at the airport because his grandmother wouldn’t get off his back about this getting married business. Apparently she’d had a crisis of conscience, now that old man Cook was in poor health and Maddy was likely to be left a pauper when he died.
Dex was far too busy to dance attendance on a woman. But he’d been sure that his grandmother would forget her desire to marry him off when she saw how unsuitable the dull, meek little Maddy was—and when he made it clear that he had no interest whatsoever in his proposed boring little bride.
With a flash of amusement, it occurred to him that Maddy was unsuitable—but in a totally unexpected way! This seductive little madam might make men’s eyes come out on stalks, but she’d horrify his grandmother.
He relaxed. He’d be off the hook. What a relief.
Dazed, he watched the men bending to kiss Maddy farewell, her slender, luscious body dwarfed by so much muscle and brawn. One solid head after another dipped gently towards hers. There were promises of meetings; she was going to watch them play; they were going to treat her to a slap-up meal.
And then they were gone in a rush of testosterone and body odour and Maddy was dashing up to him again, bodice glittering, eyes as bright as diamonds.
Hell. He nearly smiled at her infectious enthusiasm.
‘Hope you don’t mind,’ she apologised. ‘Had to say goodbye. They were so sweet to me on the flight. Sorry if you’ve been waiting long,’ she breathed happily, flushed and flashing a friendly grin at him.
Her extraordinary hair was tousled and there was such an air of sensuality about her that she looked as if she’d been recently hauled away from a particularly energetic orgy.
Dexter tried to keep his scowl going but it was hard. He felt as if all the darkness that inhabited his body had been lit up by an arc lamp. But he couldn’t let himself be diverted. There were far more important things on his mind.
‘I’d given you up,’ he muttered, his voice hoarse from the inhalation of the dust and smoke he’d been working with all day.
He had already focused again on the matter that had occupied his mind and body for the past week: the wreckage of his old family home. Or what had once been a home.
His mouth tightened into a grim line and his features settled into a heavy frown. He was impatient to get back, get things done.
‘Oh, dear. You do look cross! It wasn’t my fault, though. The fact is,
