by Emma Darcy
“Miss Ashton?”
A male voice.
She opened her eyes.
The nurse was back, accompanied by a man who obviously had more authority. “I’m Dr. Jefferson,” he said. “Your fiancé is in surgery. He has broken ribs, one of which punctured his lung. I can assure you he’s in good hands.”
In surgery.
Fear sucked the breath out of her lungs.
Her father had died in surgery.
Which was why her mother had frantically sought other ways of ridding Harry of his liver cancer.
You can’t die, Quin, she thought fiercely. I won’t have you die on me.
“Now we have to get you up to X-rays, Miss Ashton,” the doctor carried on. “It appears you’re only suffering from concussion and deep bruising but we have to check. Do we have your co-operation?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
She clung to the thought that Quin was in good hands while she was X-rayed and had her head-wound stitched up. He was very fit and healthy. Most people did live through surgery. Quin would surely recover. It was just a matter of time.
As soon as she could, she’d tell him they could start planning to get married. The plain truth was she didn’t want to live her life without him again. Pain or pleasure…she no longer cared…as long as they were making a future together as best they could. For Zoe. And for each other.
She gratefully accepted the sedation the doctor ordered. She needed the pain to go away, needed the gnawing treadmill of worries and resolutions to stop for a while, needed to blot out the waiting time before she could go and see Quin for herself. The last hazy thought drifting through her mind was…
Tomorrow will be a new day.
No looking back…only looking forward.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
QUIN could hear his mother talking to him in Spanish. She was telling him about the games she’d played with Zoe, what an imaginative child she was, how sweet and caring and clever. It struck Quin there was something wrong with this scenario and he struggled to work out what it was. His mind seemed to have acquired layers of cotton wool. He concentrated on peeling them away. His mother continued to rave on about her beautiful grand-daughter.
But you’ve only seen photos of her, Quin suddenly thought, and the jab of that memory opened the door to other memories. The car accident. Nicole unconscious, bleeding from her head. His eyes flew open. He was in hospital, tubes attached to him, his mother sitting by his bed.
“Madre!” he croaked. His vocal chords felt as though they were rusty from disuse.
Before he could manage to say more, his mother leapt up from her chair in shock and alarm. “You are awake! Gracias Dios!” she cried as though it were a miracle, clasping her hands together in prayer. “I beg you, Joaquin, do not move. I must fetch a doctor.”
She was already turning to do so when he got out the most important word. “Nicole…”
It halted her only momentarily. “Nicole is fine,” she threw back at him in an agitated rush. “They only kept her here two nights to watch over her concussion and ensure there was no infection in the head wound. She has been home for days. Now please lie still while I get the doctor.”
For days?
Relief at being assured of Nicole’s well-being mixed with confusion over what had happened to him. How long had he been out of it? The tubes suggested they had been feeding him intravenously. He was attached to some kind of monitors, as well. He wriggled his toes to check that he still had mobility. His chest was sore. He had a hazy memory of being prepared for surgery.
But everything was okay. Nicole had not been badly hurt and he was alive, though not exactly kicking at the moment. His mother returned with a doctor and he was subjected to a series of medical checks, as well as a host of questions testing his memory and cognitive ability. Apparently he’d been in a comatose state since the surgery—broken ribs, punctured lung—but he was mending very nicely due to the absolute rest of not being conscious for the past five days.
Orderlies came in and cranked up the back third of the hospital bed so he could sit up with comfort and support. In moving, Quin caught sight of the blue Ulysses butterfly on top of the bedside cabinet. Seeing it caused a severe jolt to his heart. What did it mean? He hadn’t forgotten the silver chain. Being injured through no fault of his own didn’t deserve rejection.
He reached out to it. “How did this get here?”
“Zoe insisted on bringing it to make you feel better,” his mother answered with an indulgent smile.
The surge of fighting adrenalin eased.
“Your daughter and fiancée have been regular visitors,” the doctor remarked.
Fiancée?
Another thump to his heart.
“Oh!” His mother cried, clasping her hands again. “I have to call Nicole. I promised I would if you woke up.”
“Then do it, Madre,” Quin urged, wanting very much to ascertain if Nicole had changed her mind about not marrying him. It was highly encouraging news that she had come to visit him in hospital, bringing Zoe with her, too! Or had she simply been obliging Zoe’s wish to see her Daddy since he’d been in no condition to visit her. She might have simply called herself his fiancée to get easy access to him. Quin couldn’t quite bring himself to believe she’d had a complete change of heart since Friday night.
The doctor told the orderlies to bring Quin a light meal, then took his leave, satisfied that his patient had come out of his coma with no ill effects.
His mother returned in a flurry of excitement. “I couldn’t get onto Nicole. I forgot about evening classes at the dance school. But I spoke to Linda and she’ll let Nicole know. I expect she’ll come and visit you tomorrow morning, Joaquin.”
Would she? Now that he was out of the woods?
“Is it evening?” he asked, the artificially lit room making it impossible to tell.
“Yes, dear, and Nicole won’t get home until ten-thirty. Too late to visit tonight.”
“You’ve met her mother, as well as Zoe?”
“Oh, yes. The police informed us separately of the accident—how they’d been chasing a car thief and he ran the red lights, ploughing straight into your car. We both rushed here to the hospital and introduced ourselves to each other in the waiting room. I must say Linda has been very kind, giving me her company and welcoming me into her home to visit Zoe.”
“Did Nicole welcome you, too?”
She hesitated, possibly hearing the doubt in his voice. “She did not object, Joaquin,” came the cautious reply. “Nicole has been very quiet. Mostly we’ve met in passing. We have taken turns to sit with you, trying to talk you out of the coma.”
But he had not woken to Nicole’s voice.
Had she talked to him?
If so, what had she said?
He looked at the blue butterfly—his gift returned to him.
Or was it at the heart of a circle linking Nicole and Zoe and himself for the rest of their lives?
He wouldn’t know until Nicole came to see him…if she did.
Nicole stood outside the private room Quin had been moved to this morning and took several deep breaths, trying to calm the host of fluttering butterflies that had invaded her stomach. Evita Gallardo had assured her Quin was fine, completely himself again, and his first concern on waking from the coma had been to ask about her. So that had to mean he cared about her, didn’t it? Cared deeply?
Or maybe he’d just remembered the accident and wanted to know if she’d survived it. After all, there was Zoe to consider. She was the mother of his child and it wouldn’t be good for their daughter to be motherless.
Not good to be fatherless, either.
Zoe talked of little else but her daddy, her innocent little heart completely captivated by Quin. She’d been dancing around the house all morning unable to contain her joy and excitement at hearing he was better, sure in her own mind that the Ulysses butterfly had worked its magic on him.
Nicole knew she’d kept her own heart
tightly guarded from the moment Quin had appeared in her life again, determined on hauling her back into his. She’d kept reminding herself of how it had been before, refusing to believe it could be any different this time around.
People didn’t change.
But circumstances did.
Quin was now ready for the commitment of marriage and fatherhood. It was what she had once wanted from him. And the past few days of dreadful uncertainty had made her face the fact there was only ever going to be one man for her and he was lying behind this door, alive and well enough to make a future with her.
She didn’t have to lay her heart open to him.
She just had to go in and say she’d decided to marry him.
Quin would take it from there.
All that would be required of her was to keep saying, yes, give him his own way and let it happen, ignore any pain and take the pleasure.
Her heart was pounding.
She took another deep breath and opened the door.
Waiting for Nicole to come had sharpened all Quin’s senses. The click of the door opening was like a clash of cymbals in his ears. He felt his heart kick into overdrive as she stepped into his room, the instant impact of her unique beauty hitting him straight in the eye—a vision of such intense pleasure, all the magic moments she had ever given him streamed through his mind.
In one way it was like the very first time he’d seen her in the bank where they had both been employed seven years ago—the stunning sensuality of her long dark curly hair, swishing silkily around her lovely face; the thickly lashed green eyes, lit with a sharp intelligence that invariably challenged the man he was; the perfectly curved full-lipped mouth that promised so much sensual passion; the marvellous femininity of her entire body calling to everything male in him.
His woman…
He’d known it then. He knew it now. He’d let her go five years ago but he’d never succeeded in blocking her out of his memory, never succeeded in supplanting her with another woman, never felt so brilliantly alive with anyone else. He wanted her. He needed her. He had to have her.
A flush brightened her cheeks. Was he discomforting her with his staring? Did she feel the strength of the desire pouring from him? “Hi!” he said, trying to sound normal, flashing a warm smile to welcome her into his life again.
“Hi!” she echoed, returning a curiously shy little smile as though she felt awkward with the situation. “I’m glad you’re back with us, Quin,” she added, her eyes eloquently expressing relief at his recovery.
With us. Not with me.
But she hadn’t wished him dead, hadn’t wished him completely out of her life. And she wasn’t wearing jeans today, either. In place of her usual uniform for carrying out her deal with him, she wore a clingy green top outlining her lovely full breasts and a swinging frilled skirt in green and orange and brown—strappy orange sandals on her feet. Did this mean she felt differently about their relationship?
“I’m glad to see you looking so…so well,” he replied, his mind quickly skipping any words she might not want to hear from him. It was important not to make her feel pressured, he remembered, but he couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Please…will you sit with me for a while, Nicole?”
“I want to talk to you,” she said with an air of resolution, moving forward to take the chair beside his bed.
Perfume wafted into his nostrils. Quin breathed in the wonderfully exotic scent—the sweet smell of hope. Surely no woman wore perfume for a man she wasn’t interested in, but he warned himself not to assume too much. Casting around for a safe topic, he smiled whimsically and said, “The blue butterfly has been keeping me company. Please thank Zoe for it.”
The green eyes met his directly. “I promised to bring her in to visit you this afternoon, so you can thank her yourself, Quin. She’d like that. I needed to speak to you first, get things straight between us.”
Tension streaked through him. His mind pulsed with the certainty she was about to recant the title of his fiancée. Everything within him moved to battle-readiness and it took an enormous effort of will to remain still and silent and simply wait for her to lay out her position.
Her lashes swept down. She took a deep breath, clearly gathering herself to speak. Then her gaze lifted and locked onto his and the windows to her soul reflected a desperate need to make everything right.
“I was wrong to be so mean-hearted towards you, Quin,” she rushed out. “Using your…your desire for me to make you pay debts that had nothing to do with you.”
“I hurt you with my obsessive pursuit of the money my father took,” he said quietly. “Do you think I don’t understand that, Nicole?”
“You had good reason to do what you did,” she argued.
“I sacrificed us to a boyhood trauma.”
“Your mother held you to it, Quin.”
“No it was me, too. My pride. Worth too little in the end,” he said with a rueful grimace. “I don’t know if you can forgive me that, Nicole…”
“Yes, I can. I will,” she asserted emphatically, then hesitated, her expression flicking to eloquent appeal. “If you can forgive me for keeping Zoe to myself.”
“My fault for not sharing with you.”
“No. What I did was wrong. It was mean and nasty and vengeful. And I’m sorry…sorry…” She shook her head fretfully. “You gave your mother back her life. You gave my mother back her life. And all I’ve done is bitterly condemn you for not…not…” Tears welled and she quickly veiled them, looking down at her lap where her hands held each other tightly. Keeping her courage screwed to the sticking point?
“Not giving what we had together enough value,” he finished for her. “I should have, Nicole,” he added gravely. “I didn’t realise until after it was gone how much I should have valued it. I’ve been trying to show you…”
“I don’t want to talk about that,” she choked out, then took another deep breath and lifted her chin, wet eyes defiantly open to meet his. “It was a different time and place, Quin. This is now. You said on Friday night that you wanted me to be your wife.”
His lungs stopped working. His chest hurt. His heart drummed in his ears. He worked hard at forcing up enough breath to say, “I do,” desperately hoping this confirmation wouldn’t draw another rejection.
“Okay. I’ve decided to marry you. Zoe should have her father on hand and I—” she swallowed hard “—I want to be with you, too.”
Relief surged through him, easing the pain caused by tension. Elation danced through his mind. He smiled. “We belong together, Nicole.”
“Yes,” she agreed.
But there was no answering smile, no joy in her eyes.
“Nothing like a crisis to bring people together,” he said ironically.
“Yes,” she agreed, echoing his irony.
At least it wasn’t loaded with bitterness, Quin thought, though he was acutely aware that she wasn’t professing any love for him. Maybe that was forever lost. He was sensing only a recognition and an acceptance that they had a strong enough personal connection to make a marriage work, given that their daughter’s best interests should be considered.
A heavy weight settled on his heart. He’d done this to Nicole, failing to meet her emotional needs in the past, draining her of the love she had given him. Forgiveness for his failure didn’t guarantee restoration of what they’d once had together. It just meant moving on, leaving the bad emotional baggage behind, and her love for Zoe was probably a prime mover in her decision to marry him.
“What happened to the photo albums?” he asked, suddenly recalling they’d been in the car—precious mementoes of Zoe’s life so far.
“They weren’t damaged,” Nicole quickly assured him. “They were recovered by the police and handed over to my mother.”
“Well, thank God they weren’t lost,” he muttered, closing his eyes as a sickening wave of weakness rolled through him. The coma might have been good for healing after surgery but the days of immobility ha
d sapped his body of its normal strength, letting him know it when he least expected it, telling him now that the energy spent on this meeting with Nicole came at a cost.
Everything did. His determination to restore family honour had cost him Nicole’s love, cost him four years of his daughter’s life. Getting Nicole to connect with him again had cost him a lot of money. Not that he cared about that. He just wished he could have worked it all differently.
“Quin?”
He heard the quavery note of anxiety in her voice and savagely told himself that some measure of caring was still there and he could build on it. He felt her hand clutch his, enfolding it in warm softness, gently pressing. She didn’t want to walk away from him. Not this time.
“Are you all right? Should I call a doctor?”
“No. Just feeling a bit faint. It passes.”
“Maybe I should leave you to rest.”
Her hand started releasing his. He grabbed it, holding onto her. She was his woman. She had to know it.
“I’ll be back this afternoon with Zoe,” she assured him.
He opened his eyes, shooting her a look of blazing need that was totally beyond his will to control. “Kiss me, Nicole. That will make me feel better.”
It startled her, fear and uncertainty flicking across her face. He tugged her hand, pulling her towards him. She rose from the chair, stood beside the bed, her eyes worriedly searching his. “Are you sure, Quin?”
“Yes.”
She bent and grazed her lips gently over his, her free hand resting on the pillow beside his head. Quin closed his eyes again, breathing in her scent, savouring the taste of her, wishing he could hold her close, ruefully accepting it would be unwise, given his present condition.
His tongue flicked out to tease her into kissing him more deeply. She responded, making a slow, sensual and very intimate assault on his mouth. Pleasure flowed through him. He was sure there was an edge of passion in the feelings she transmitted, her own need and want tightly restrained, yet tugging at her to re-affirm the decision she’d made to marry him, be with him for the rest of her life.