by Miranda Lee
Jim recovered quickly. ‘I’ll ask again, you know.’
This time, Amber gave him a firm look. ‘Please don’t. You’ll be wasting your time.’
‘You already have a boyfriend, is that it? ‘
‘I did. Till recently. And I don’t want another right now.’
‘Understood,’ he replied, but with a smug little smile hovering around his lips. ‘Call me if you need anything. Anything at all.’
‘I will,’ she lied again. No way would she be calling Jim Hansen, even if she decided to sell tomorrow. She’d find a female agent who wouldn’t give her any hassles. ‘Thank you for calling,’ she finished up coolly, hoping that he would finally get the message.
She stood there and watched him stride over to his car, a shiny black sporty number with HANSEN spelt out on the black and white number plate. Not a Ferrari, but it looked expensive just the same. He gave her a wave and another smile as he climbed in.
Amber returned the wave but not the smile.
Just go, she thought irritably.
He did. Eventually. Though he took his time.
Amber sighed her relief once the black car disappeared up the street. And to think she’d wanted his company earlier.
The sun suddenly going behind a cloud sent a shiver running down her spine. Crossing her arms, Amber had just turned to go back inside when she heard a decidedly familiar sound. The noise a Ferrari made when throttling down was unlike any other sound.
She spun back round, her mouth falling open as Warwick swung his car into the driveway in much the same way as he’d left earlier. After accelerating into the back yard at a ridiculous speed, he did a U-turn across the lawn and screeched to a halt in the same space Jim Hansen’s car had occupied a few seconds earlier.
This time, Amber’s immediate and only reaction to Warwick’s return was shock. Down deep, she’d been absolutely certain that he would not come back. He was out of the car in a flash, his face darkly frustrated as he marched around the front and over to her.
‘I was beginning to think I’d have to come inside and throw that idiot out,’ he ground out. ‘What in hell were you doing with Hansen that took so long? Or shouldn’t I ask?’
Amber’s mouth finally snapped shut, her shock giving way to outrage.
‘No! You shouldn’t ask. What I do with Jim Hansen, or any other man, is none of your business. We’re finished. Remember? ‘
‘We’re finished when I say we’re finished, madam. And that’s certainly not today. Now, do you want to argue out here where all the neighbours can hear? Or shall we go inside where we can talk like reasonable adults?’
He didn’t wait for her to answer, cupping her right elbow with steel-like fingers and steering her firmly back inside through the open door. Once in the hallway, he kicked the door shut, then took hold of both her shoulders, forcing her to look up into his angry blue eyes.
‘I’m going to ask you one more time, Amber. What took you so bloody long with that oily-looking person?’
‘I don’t know what you’re so upset about. You’re the one who arranged for Jim to call.’
‘So it’s Jim already, is it?’
‘And why not? We don’t stand on ceremony here in Australia. We get on a first-name basis pretty quickly. I would have thought a man as smart as yourself would have noticed our easy-going Aussie culture by now.’
‘Very funny. Have you asked Hansen to sell the house?’
‘Not as yet. I’ve decided to live here for a while.’
‘Really. If that’s the case, then I wonder why our esteemed estate agent left here with that Cheshire Cat grin on his face. Still, it doesn’t take a genius to work out the reason behind his smugness. Given the amount of time you spent with him, he probably thought he was on to a sure thing.’
‘Oh, for pity’s sake!’ Amber wrenched herself out of Warwick’s almost painful grip and marched into the nearby kitchen where she was able to put the table between herself and Warwick. Not to protect herself from him, but because she wanted to hit him more than she’d wanted to hit anyone in her life.
He followed her, his body language that of a man struggling with some suppressed violence of his own.
‘Hansen asked you out, didn’t he?’ he bit out as he gripped the back of one of the wooden chairs with whitened knuckles.
Why, oh, why did she have to look guilty?
‘What’s it to you if he did?’ she threw at him in desperate defiance. ‘You don’t want me. Not really. You were going to break up with me. The only reason you’re here now creating a fuss is because your precious ego’s been bruised.’
His hands curled into furious fists as they dropped to his side. ‘I’m warning you, Amber.’
She drew herself up to her full height, her chin lifting. ‘I’m not afraid of you, Warwick Kincaid.’
‘You should be. As for my not wanting you, you’re very wrong about that. I do want you, Amber, more than ever. Now tell me that you haven’t agreed to go out with Hansen.’
Amber stared at him. Goodness, he was jealous! Blackly, insanely jealous! That was why he wanted her more than ever. Not because he’d realised he was in love with her, but because some other man was showing interest in her.
‘Tell me,’ he repeated in ominous tones.
Her temper rose to a level previously unknown to her. ‘Don’t you dare try to bully me, Warwick Kincaid. I don’t have to tell you anything of the kind. You don’t own me!’
‘Don’t I? We’ll just see about that! ‘
He was around the table in a split second, coming at her with burning eyes. Amber did the only thing she could think of to do. She shoved a chair into his shins and ran. Unfortunately, not out the back door, which would have been the more sensible escape. But up the stairs where the only barriers to being caught were the less-than-adequate locks on the bedroom doors.
Behind her she heard him coming. Fast. Her heart hammered hard in her chest as total panic set in. What was he going to do? Warwick could be a ruthless seducer when he wanted to be. But he’d never forced her to do anything she didn’t ultimately want to do, even when she hadn’t initially wanted to do it, like last night.
Was that his plan now? To show her that she had no power against him once she was in his arms?
But if he succeeded in seducing her, she would be left with nothing, not even her pride …
Suddenly, Amber’s rushing feet clipped the edge of the slightly higher top step, sending her sprawling onto the thin strip of patterned carpet that ran along the upstairs hallway. Before she had time to get up, he’d reached her.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked as he lifted her, his voice as perversely gentle as the hands encircling her waist.
‘You keep away from me!’ she screamed, wrenching out of his arms and pushing him away quite violently.
He crashed back against the wall, grunting with pain. For a split second Amber just stood there, staring at him. But as soon as he levered himself away from the wall, she came to her senses and made a second dash for it, this time down the stairs, thinking if she could only make it outside she’d be safe.
She almost made it. Speed, however, was her undoing once more, not helped by the shiny soles of her nice new boots. Halfway down the stairs, her left foot shot out from under her, her right leg buckling when she tried to take all her weight on her right foot. It was then that she tipped forward, and the hallway floor rushed up to meet her.
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘OH, MY God!’ Warwick cried out.
He couldn’t save her. It all happened too fast.
Warwick would never forget the horrible sound Amber’s head made when it hit the floor at the bottom of the stairs, or the way she lay, in a crumpled heap. Not moving, maybe not breathing.
She’s dead, came the horrifying thought as he raced down the stairs, his own heart almost stopping as he knelt beside her still body and tried to find her pulse.
‘Please don’t let her be dead,’ he prayed for the first time in his life.
When her eyelashes fluttered and a soft moan escaped her lips, his heart lurched back to life, his relief almost as great as his guilt.
Because her falling was all his fault. What had he thought he was doing, threatening her like that, then chasing her up the stairs? No wonder she’d panicked. He’d obviously scared her.
So much for his earlier plan to return and play the role of the penitent lover, all apologies and kisses. Instead, as he’d sat outside in the street, waiting for Hansen to leave, he’d fairly seethed with uncontrollable jealousy. Because once he’d seen that black sports car with the personalised number plate, he’d known what kind of man Jim Hansen would be. He knew the type well. When he’d spotted the handsome devil driving out with that smug smile on his face, he’d come roaring back inside like some Neanderthal caveman, his primal emotions bypassing his brain as he’d tried to get his way through sheer brute force.
Aside from the fact that he deplored that kind of macho behaviour, such tactics simply didn’t work with the modern woman. You couldn’t hit her on the head with a club, then drag her off to your cave and ravish her for hours.
Not without ending up in jail.
He deserved to be in jail. Or in hell.
Damn it all, he was in hell!
‘I’m so sorry,’ he groaned as he tried to work out what to do first. ‘So terribly terribly sorry.’
When he started sliding his arms underneath her body, her eyelids shot up. ‘Don’t you touch me!’ she cried out, eyes and voice alarmed.
‘Don’t be silly. You can’t stay here on the floor. We have to get you onto a bed. Now where’s the closest? ‘
‘No!’
‘For pity’s sake, I’m not going to hurt you, Amber. What kind of man do you think I am?’
‘I don’t know,’ she choked out. ‘I don’t know any more.’ And she turned her face away from him. But not before he glimpsed tears filling her eyes.
Never in his life had Warwick felt so low, or so remorseful.
‘I give you my word,’ he said sincerely as he lifted her up into his arms, ‘that I won’t do anything more to upset you.’
Her eyes turned back to his then, haunted, unhappy eyes.
‘What more could you possibly do, Warwick?’
How right she was. He’d reached new depths of reprehensible behaviour today, having had no consideration for Amber’s feelings, having thought of no one but himself.
Of course he’d been treating women badly for years, using them to satisfy his own base needs, then discarding them when he’d grown bored with their wanting more from him than just sex. He’d justified his behaviour by selecting the sort of good-looking, gold-digging female who hadn’t been too broken-hearted when he’d sent them off into the sunset loaded with jewellery and cars and the odd apartment or two.
He could never, however, justify what he’d done to Amber. She was just not like that.
He had to let her go. But first he had to make things right here. He couldn’t just leave when she might have concussion and who knew what other injuries, all of which were his fault. The thought that she might have really hurt herself in that fall still appalled him.
‘Amber, I—’
‘No,’ she interrupted, stiffening in his arms. ‘I don’t want to listen to anything more you’ve got to say. Just put me down and go.’
Warwick might have admired her spirit at any other time. But he could hardly do what she wanted and still live with himself.
‘Please understand, Amber, that I can’t do that,’ he said firmly. ‘Firstly you might have concussion after a bad fall like that. Secondly, I think you could have broken something.’
‘I haven’t done any such thing. Here. Put me down and I’ll show you.’
He sighed when she began to struggle. Silly stub-born girl! In the end, it was easier to lower her to the floor—very gingerly—and let her try to stand up.
Her gasp of pain, plus the awful shade of grey to which her face turned, showed him that he was right. She’d broken something all right.
‘I … I think … my ankle,’ she said weakly as she tried to balance on her left leg, at the same time clutching at his arm. ‘I think I will have to lie down. Aunt Kate’s bedroom is just over there,’ she said, biting her bottom lip as she nodded towards a doorway across the hall. ‘Oh … I … I …’
He caught her this time before she hit the floor, scooping her limp body up into his arms and hurrying into the bedroom she’d indicated.
It was a truly ghastly bedroom, in Warwick’s opinion, all dark wooden furniture with lace everywhere and the most hideous crocheted bedspread he’d ever seen.
He lowered Amber onto said bedspread, trying not to worry too much. She’d just fainted, that was all. No one died from fainting. He wondered if he should cover her with a blanket. It was quite chilly inside the house. Whatever heating there was clearly wasn’t on. Not wanting to move her, he reefed the bedspread out from the foot of the bed and turned it back up over her legs. By the time he glanced back up at her face, her eyes were open.
‘I fainted,’ she said, as though it were a crime.
‘Yes,’ he agreed.
‘I’ve never fainted before.’
His smile was gentle as he sat beside her on the bed. ‘Possibly because you’ve never broken an ankle before. I have and it’s not a very pleasant experience.’
‘You have? When?’
‘A few years back. An abseiling accident.’
‘Abseiling,’ she repeated drily, and shook her head at him. ‘What haven’t you done, Warwick?’
‘I haven’t tried base jumping,’ he said, pleased to see the colour coming back into her face. ‘Now first things first. Are you in a lot of pain?’
‘Not so much now that I’m lying down. My ankle’s throbbing a bit and I have a headache. Nothing I can’t stand.’
‘But why should you stand it? Your aunt must have kept some painkillers. Where did she store her medicines? Over there, in that bathroom? ‘
‘No. In the kitchen. In the cupboard above the fridge.’
‘I’ll go and check. Now don’t go trying to get up, madam,’ he warned as he stood up. ‘I don’t want to come back here and find you on the floor.’ Warwick grimaced when he glanced down at the ancient, dusty rug by the bed. ‘Certainly not this floor. The mites in that rug just might have you for lunch!’
Amber did try to move once he’d left the room. But the pain was too awful to continue. There was nothing she could do but lie back and let Warwick minister to her. Which was the last thing she wanted.
Possibly it was the last thing he wanted as well. Warwick was not the sort of man who would enjoy playing Florence Nightingale. He was used to being waited on, not the other way around.
If only he hadn’t come back. If only she’d never met him in the first place!
Life was cruel all right.
He returned quite quickly with a glass of water and two white tablets.
‘I found some strong painkillers,’ he said and popped the tablets into her hand. ‘You’re not allergic to codeine, are you?’
‘No,’ she said, and swallowed the tablets, drinking most of the water with them.
‘Right. I’ve been thinking. We’ll have to find a doctor who’ll call here at the house. No way can I get you into the Ferrari with a broken ankle. So who shall we call? What about your aunt Kate’s doctor? She must have had a GP, having lived up here for so long.’
‘I have some bad news for you, Warwick. Doctors don’t make house calls on the coast.’
‘What? Not even family doctors?’
‘No, not even family doctors.’
He looked decidedly sceptical. ‘Why not? ‘
‘Because there aren’t enough of them to go around as it is. I think you’ll find the situation is pretty much the same all over Australia. We have a major shortage of medical staff in this country. You’ve been lucky not to have been sick since you came here, or to have fallen off any of those stupi
d mountains you climb and ski down.’
‘So what do you do if you have an accident?’
‘You either drive yourself to the emergency section of the local hospital, where, because of the lack of doctors and nurses, it sometimes takes hours to be seen. Or you call an ambulance in the hope that when you arrive at that same place, you’ll hopefully be seen a little more quickly. Though I wouldn’t bank on it. Given I can’t even walk, I think an ambulance is the best course of action.’
Warwick couldn’t imagine anything worse than sitting for hours with Amber in an inadequately staffed emergency room, waiting to be treated.
There had to be some other solution.
And then it came to him: Max Richmond! He might never have met the hotel magnate, but he knew Max was both rich and successful, the kind of man who’d have connections.
‘What about Max Richmond?’ he asked Amber. ‘Didn’t you say he lived not far from here? You told me that he and his wife were close friends of your aunt Kate.’
‘Well, yes, but I don’t think that—’
‘Do you have his phone number?’ Warwick interrupted.
‘Yes, but—’
‘But nothing, Amber. I’m not having you sit around in some hospital waiting room for hours. Max Richmond is sure to know a local doctor who’d be willing to make a house call, for a price. After that we can organise to have you taken to a private hospital. What’s his number?’ he asked as he pulled his phone out of his trouser pocket.
He was doing it again, Amber realised wearily. Taking over. It was what he did best, of course. But the days of his taking her over were over. She’d found the courage to leave him today, and, despite it breaking her heart, she knew she could not let him seduce her back into his life in any way, shape or form. She had to stand on her own two feet, even if she had a broken ankle.
‘Warwick,’ she said, after counting to ten.
‘What is it?’
‘I don’t know Max Richmond’s number off by heart and I wouldn’t give it to you, even if I did. Now please … ring an ambulance for me.’
He didn’t say or do anything for several seconds, but just frowned. But then he nodded with what she hoped was acceptance.