the harsh reality of the clinic’s financial problems. ‘We’ve just got to get Dr Singh on side.’
‘Ooh, I do love a challenge.’ Skye placed Mim’s proffered paintbrush on top of the paint-pot, then she rubbed her hands together. ‘Okay. How shall we handle it? You take the bribery? I’ll do the corruption?’
‘No! I’d get struck off! But … on the other hand …’ Mim giggled, then stuck one hand on her cocked hip. She raised the hem of her knee-length skirt to her thigh and wiggled her bum suggestively. A move she’d learnt from her salsa DVD—Spanish, sultry and super-sexy. ‘If we want to influence a man, how about good old-fashioned women’s wicked ways?’
‘Ahem.’
At the sound of the man’s purposeful cough Mim’s breath stalled somewhere in her chest.
Excellent. Just dandy. Sexy salsa? On her desk?
With burning cheeks she dropped the hem, slicked on her most accommodating smile and swivelled slowly to face Dr Singh. Trying desperately to cover her embarrassment. ‘And then, Skye, you shimmy to the left … Ohmygod.’
As she caught a clear view of their visitor her heart stalled along with her lungs. Jolts of awareness and pain and excitement slammed through her veins. Heat and ice clashed in her gut. So not Dr Singh.
She gasped for oxygen and whispered his name on a jittery breath. ‘Connor? Connor. What are you …?’
Framed in the doorway, filling the space, three years older, three years more distinguished in an expensive designer suit, and with three years’ worth of questions simmering behind cool liquorice eyes, stood Connor Wiseman.
Here?
Why? Why today when she was up to her eyeballs in assessors? Why this millennium?
The years had been kind to him, he’d grown into those sharp cheekbones. Casual bed hair. And, God, those darkest grey eyes searching her face. No trace of the flecks of honey that had heated her and held her captive. Cold onyx.
He stepped into the tiny room. His presence, a stark study of monochrome against what now felt like the garish colours of her office, was commanding and alluring. Every part of him screamed of success. Just like she remembered.
His mouth curled into a sardonic smile as he spoke, ‘Well, I guess the mystery of my runaway fiancée has finally been solved. I’ll call off the search party.’
‘Yeah, right. Wouldn’t have taken Sherlock two minutes to find me.’ If anyone had bothered to look.
Clearly she had hurt him.
That much had been obvious by his prolonged silence. But it was accentuated now by the anger glittering in those dark eyes, even after all these years. Uber-successful guys like Connor weren’t used to rejection, so it would have cut deep to be thrown aside by someone very definitely not of his pedigree.
And now, on top of everything else, God only knew what he thought about her early morning silly burlesque performance. Judging by the fixed set of his close-shaven jaw, very little.
She sucked in her stomach, thrust her shoulders back and stepped down from the desk, wishing she’d chosen something more impressive to wear than her favourite jumper and skirt ensemble. Hoping against fading hope that old and washed out was the new demure.
‘I was very clear, Connor. I called, but you refused to speak to me. And I said, in my goodbye note, that Atanga Bay is my home. This is where I will always choose to live.’
‘And now finally I get a chance to see what was so much better than Auckland.’ The top of his lip twitched then tightened back into a thin line. He glanced at the overstuffed cushions, the tumbling piles of paperwork, the brightly coloured, mismatched family-friendly atmosphere she’d tried to create in her beloved ramshackle clinic. ‘Is this a heritage property? Or just plain old?’
‘It might not be up to your swanky city standards, but it’s mine. I’m updating it. Slowly. It’s a work in progress.’
‘Oh, so post-modern?’ His lips tweaked to a one-cornered grin as he surveyed the white on a sea of fading yellow.
‘Under construction,’ she fired back as she straightened her spine even further. Damn him, Connor’s ability to rile her clearly hadn’t abated after all these years. She would not let him get the better of her. Where was her super-fast wit when she needed it? Playing hooky with her fabulous financial acumen and supermodel looks. ‘And I love it here.’
‘I’ll leave you two to get reacquainted. Lots to do …’ Skye scurried out of the room, taking the stepladder and paint-pot with her.
Mim watched her ally leave and ached to go with her. In the dark hours she’d imagined this reunion moment so many times. Planned what she’d say, how he’d react. But never had she imagined this intense pain in her chest. Or the mind-numbing paralysis of being in the same room as him again. She rubbed her hands down her skirt and looked up into his face. She knew it intimately, every curve, every plane. The face that stalked her dreams with alarming regularity even after three years.
And now he was here. What to say to the man you ran out on the night before your engagement party? Even if it was the most misguided, precipitous engagement in the universe.
‘S-so, are you j-just passing through?’ Hoping the blush on her cheeks and the irritatingly stammered words wouldn’t give her away, Mim grabbed for nonchalance. ‘A social call?’
‘I’m here on business.’
‘Oh, yes, business. Naturally.’ For some reason her stomach knotted. So he wasn’t here to see her. Of course not. Why would he? And why did it matter? Three years should have been been ample time to get over her all-consuming first, and last, love.
She breathed the knot away. ‘There’s a new development at Two Rivers, I guess? But there’s nothing medical going in there. Just houses, I think.’
‘I don’t know. I’ve only just seen the place, but it’s not a bad idea. Food for thought.’ He looked out the window with a quizzical expression. Eyebrows peaked, clearly impressed at what he saw. Out there at least. How could he not be? The wide sweeping ocean and pristine white sands of Atanga Bay were breathtaking. ‘Got potential.’
Understatement of the year. ‘Pure Wiseman. Take a beautiful vista and reduce it to money. Your father would be proud.’
‘Somehow I doubt that.’ His hands curled round the handle of his briefcase, the knuckles showing white. She’d forgotten his relationship with his father was based on business rather than familial ties.
She forced a smile. ‘I meant identifying potential. You always were good at that.’
‘But not you, it seems.’
‘I stand by my decisions.’ Three years and a lot of dried-up tears ago they’d believed they’d had potential. A dynamic force in the face of his father’s hostility. The regular rich guy and the kooky girl out to take on the world. If only for their very different dreams for the future, which she’d been unable to overcome.
But she’d never forgotten him. She wished her life had encompassed more of him, wished her mother—or
