Gabriel West: Still The One. Fiona Brand

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      Instead of the door releasing she must have hit the window button because glass slid down and damp air flowed across her face. She heard a soft imprecation. Seconds later her door swung open and West leaned in, released her seat belt, and she found herself hauled out into the rain. His arms came around her as her stomach cramped painfully, anchoring her against him as she emptied the meagre contents of her stomach into the shrubbery bordering the car park.

      When she was finished she sagged against him, uncaring that it was raining and that they were both getting wet. An odd peacefulness settled over her at his silent support, his heat and strength engulfing her. All of the issues that existed between them aside, she was too needy, in too much pain, and too disoriented to do anything but accept his help.

      The thought drifted into her mind that West might have broken her heart, but he had never broken her trust.

      As crazy as it seemed, it was true. He had made promises, and he had kept them, and she’d married him knowing that their relationship would be constantly sidelined by SAS operations. If she was honest, in that sense, she had let him down.

      A car cruised past. The bright gleam of headlights scythed the drizzle and broke the fragile peace.

      “Are you ready to make a move?” West’s voice was low, with that calm note that said he would stay here holding her in the rain if that was what she wanted.

      She’d forgotten that about him—that still, quiet quality. Years ago it had intrigued her. She’d fallen in love with his dark, soft voice, but somewhere along the way, the very qualities that had drawn her so powerfully had started to grate.

      He had been too controlled, too patient, and she hadn’t had enough of either quality.

      “Can you walk?” His voice was close to her ear.

      “Just.”

      He left her leaning against the car while he closed the window and collected her bag and the leather jacket. She heard the gentle thunk of locks engaging, then he draped the jacket over her shoulders, wrapped his arm around her waist and urged her toward the brightly lit entrance of A&E.

      The rain eased off as they approached the steps, leaving the night still and sodden and heavy with the scents of car exhaust and bitumen.

      Tyler lifted her head and caught her reflection in the glass doors, then wished she hadn’t. Her face was as white as the makeshift bandage around her head; her hair was straggling around her shoulders and what she could see of her suit beneath the jacket was wrinkled and sticking clammily to her skin.

      West, in stark contrast, looked fresh and sharp and gorgeous, his bronzed shoulders sleek and glistening under the lights. The fact that he had no shirt didn’t seem to affect him. “You know, West, I had this fantasy of how in control I’d be the next time I bumped into you. This isn’t it.”

      “Tell me about it.” He paused on the steps and produced a clean handkerchief so she could wipe her face.

      Groggy as she was, she noticed it was monogrammed. “You get your handkerchiefs monogrammed?”

      “Don’t crucify me over it. They were a gift from a friend.” An offbeat smile flitted across his mouth. “Roma McCabe gives them to me at Christmas just to tick me off.”

      The humor in his voice, the sheer intimacy of the gift threw Tyler off balance. Numbly, she wiped her face and blew her nose. She knew who Roma McCabe was—the only daughter of the wealthy and powerful Lombard family. She was also aware of West’s business connections with that family, and that Roma had married one of West’s friends, Ben McCabe, but somehow the closeness of the connection had never sunk in. She had always considered West to be a loner—a man no one could ever truly get close to—most especially not a woman.

      It registered that despite having lived with West for three years, she didn’t know him at all.

      It also registered that against all the odds she was jealous.

      The wail of an arriving ambulance went through West like a knife as the doors to the brightly lit waiting room slid open, flooding his nostrils with the smells of antiseptics and cleaners, the stale miasma of too many people. The abrupt sensory overload briefly spun him back to his childhood and early teens, to broken ribs and pain and, once, the wrong end of a knife. The proximity of sick, hurt people—the hospital itself—closed around him, made the back of his throat tighten. He dipped and nuzzled the top of Tyler’s head, breathed in her pretty, subtle scents, at once taking refuge in the woman in his arms, and conferring protection. If he’d had any doubts before about walking back into Tyler’s life, they were gone.

      She might not like it, but right now, she needed him.

      Chapter 4

      Late-morning sunlight angled through Tyler’s hospital-room window, flooding the crowded room with a brilliance that made her wince as she straightened from gathering her clothes and shoes from the small bedside locker. With careful movements, she transferred the items into the small overnight bag that was lying open on her bed.

      Apart from Detective Farrell and her father’s personal assistant, Claire Wheeler, the room was full of men: her father, Harrison, and her brother, Richard, Ray Cornell, the investigating detective, and two of Laine’s key managers, Kyle Montgomery and Ashley James.

      They were all here ostensibly out of concern for her welfare, but Tyler couldn’t help a spurt of cynicism at that thought. Over the past few days, after the initial storm of publicity over the theft, she’d noticed her work colleagues had begun to avoid her, and the sense of isolation stung.

      Unless the business managers of Laine’s diamond house could shed light on the theft or the mugging, there wasn’t much point to the visit. With the press crucifying her for the loss of the jade, and the details of her past splashed across the front pages of all the major dailies, there was nothing much to do but pick over the carcass.

      The media had dismissed her doctorate, her years of experience and her charity work. They had thrown a murky shadow over the fact that she was even in the business of buying, selling and consulting on rare jade and artifacts. They had taught the public and, it seemed, her work colleagues, to view her in a different light. She was no longer Dr. Tyler Laine, expert on Eastern and Pacific-Rim artifacts, she was the daughter of Sonny Mullane, a petty criminal with a record as long as both of his lean, sinewy arms. Aside from operating as a small-time fence, Sonny had been a thief, a safecracker, and a pimp. If there was any crime he hadn’t committed other than murder, then, as far as Tyler was concerned, that crime hadn’t yet been invented.

      According to the tabloids, the fact that Sonny Mullane’s daughter had been adopted by the Laine family didn’t make her any better than she had been.

      “Can you remember any other details about the people who attacked you?”

      Tyler shifted her attention to Cornell. The question was delivered politely, but with a flat patience that told Tyler that no matter how devoid of emotion his light gray eyes appeared to be, Cornell wanted more from her than the scanty details she’d so far been able to supply him.

      “I can’t give you any more of a description,” she said flatly. “There were two of them. It was dark and they were wearing balaclavas. One of them was olive-skinned and tanned: he looked Asian.”

      She gripped the bedside table and lowered herself СКАЧАТЬ