Best Friend...Future Wife. Claire Baxter

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СКАЧАТЬ Luke had arrived. To her, he’d seemed much more than one year older. He had such a physical presence even then. Muscular from playing football. Tall. Of course, it didn’t help that she was such a tiny thing. He’d towered over her and would have scared her if not for his smile. That mind-melting, breath-stealing, knee-weakening smile.

      Della sighed and tossed the make-up into her bag. Emerging from the bathroom, she heard a commotion near the front door.

      ‘It’s a taxi. It’s them!’

      Della recognised the voice as Lyn’s younger sister, Megan. Poppy, the baby of the family at twenty-five, called to her mother and Dawn’s excited voice joined the mix.

      Della didn’t go to them. Time for family. Real family. As inclusive as they’d always been, she wasn’t real family. Back in the lounge, she picked up her glass and made for the French doors which opened to an expansive deck. She leaned on the waist-high balustrade and sipped her drink while gazing down on the established garden. Dense shrubs screened out the neighbours, and low-growing plants packed the curving flower beds. She’d always loved this garden. So different from the weed-infested lawn and corrugated fencing of her parents’ place. She soaked up the sense of peace the garden offered. She needed it more than ever.

      ‘There you are, Shrimp.’

      Della gave a violent start, sending a minor flood of margarita onto the lawn below. Luke’s deep and teasing voice was unmistakeable. It had the same effect on her it always had, making her nerves jump to attention, ready to react to every provocative word he said. She turned.

      Oh God, he looked amazing. The last time she’d seen him, his dark-blond hair had been short, but he’d changed jobs since then and his hair had grown past his collar. More like the young Luke. Casual. She guessed appearances didn’t matter so much now he wasn’t on TV any more.

      His smile widened as he observed the so-called glass in her hand. Her hand tightened, as did her stomach. That killer smile had no doubt served him well. Even a hardened, gun-toting rebel couldn’t refuse an interview when faced with such a smile.

      His warm grey eyes twinkled as he raised them to her face. ‘You must be thirsty,’ he said.

      Suppressing the urge to fling herself at him, she shrugged. ‘Stress relief,’ she said, regretting the words the moment they left her lips. Even more so when he frowned.

      ‘A hard day at work,’ she said quickly.

      His frown deepened. ‘Don’t you like your job?’

      ‘Yes, of course I do. You don’t need me to tell you work can be stressful, no matter how much you enjoy it.’

      He should know if anyone did. For ten years as a foreign correspondent, he’d travelled the world’s hot spots, mainly in Asia, covering stories of conflict and disaster. He’d pioneered solo-journalism, working completely alone, travelling and reporting without a crew, carrying a backpack of portable digital technology to shoot, write, edit and transmit multimedia reports. He hadn’t chased headlines or taken part in pack journalism, but had specialised in pursuing stories that were not getting mainstream news coverage and putting a human face to them.

      Della lifted the glass and gulped a mouthful of margarita. Too much. When she’d managed to swallow it, she said, ‘Well, anyway, what about you? How are you?’

      ‘Fine.’ He watched her for a moment. ‘So where’s my kiss? My hug? I’ve had them from everyone else. I haven’t been around for a while, in case you haven’t noticed.’

      ‘Oh. Yes.’ Leaning forward, she gave him an awkward, one-armed hug while she held the glass well out of the way.

      He hugged her back, tighter than necessary. She could feel the heat of his body through his shirt, and a heat of a different kind rushed through her own body. It reminded her what it was like to be—to feel—attracted to a man. Then he kissed her on the cheek. She pulled away in a hurry.

      His grin gave her the impression he knew why. But he couldn’t. There’d never been anything physical between them. Never. Not even the suggestion of an attraction. He couldn’t possibly know.

      She let her gaze slide over his face. His nose still had the slight kink in the middle from the time Lyn had dared him to skateboard down a handrail. Lyn had blamed herself when he’d landed face-first on the concrete steps. She should have known better than to issue a challenge to Luke. He’d never backed away from a challenge. Not then. Not later.

      He intercepted her gaze and held it. ‘You look great, Shrimp. Not a day older than when I first left.’

      She couldn’t say the same for him. The dangerous and outdoor life he’d led had added plenty of lines around his eyes. Lines that creased deeply when he smiled. But that wasn’t a bad thing. Age had added character to a face she would once have called perfect.

      She gave a tiny snort. ‘Don’t they have opticians where you’ve been living?’

      He ignored her question. ‘I like what you’ve done with your hair. Short suits you. It’s sophisticated.’

      ‘For a shrimp?’

      ‘It wasn’t short last time I came over, was it?’

      ‘No, I only had it cut recently.’ Not that he’d have noticed on that trip three years ago, she thought. He’d had eyes for no one but his new wife. She doubted her own presence had even registered with him.

      He hadn’t shaved in a while, probably on account of the long flight. On him, the look wasn’t so much scruffy as sexy. Her nerve endings twitched again. Her reaction to Luke contrasted sharply with the antipathy she’d felt for the men she’d dated over the last few years. She’d almost had to force herself to take a physical interest, and had begun to think she wasn’t capable of it. This was a bad time to find out she was.

      Suddenly feeling overdressed in her business suit next to Luke’s torn jeans and battered denim jacket, her eyes widened. ‘Is that the same jacket you had when we were kids?’

      He nodded. ‘I wondered if you’d recognise it.’

      ‘Your job must pay poorly if you can’t afford some decent clothes.’ Since he’d given up the journalism and taken up running an orphanage, she guessed he’d taken a big drop in salary. But he would never be poor. His grandfather had left a trust fund that would see him through.

      He shrugged. ‘I won’t part with this jacket. It has sentimental value.’

      She gave him a sceptical look, and he laughed. ‘Plus, it’s comfortable.’

      ‘And comfort clearly ranks highly in your world. Why else would you hike through the mountains of Afghanistan—?’

      ‘Now Luke, you’re not teasing Della, are you?’

      Della turned towards Dawn as she joined them on the deck.

      ‘We had enough of these games when you were kids,’ Dawn said.

      ‘Actually, I’ve complimented her new hairstyle.’ He slid an arm around his mother’s waist and hugged her to his side. ‘But she doesn’t believe she looks gorgeous.’

      Dawn СКАЧАТЬ