The Last Woman He'd Ever Date. Liz Fielding

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      Of course she’d heard him.

      “Wait, damn it…”

      He’d sounded angry.

      Why would he be angry? He was the one who’d kissed her without so much as a by-your-leave…

      ‘I brought your shoe,’ he said.

      She took it from him without slowing down, without looking at him. It was caked in wet sticky mud and she tossed it defiantly back into the ditch.

      ‘That was stupid.’

      ‘Was it?’ Probably. Undoubtedly. She’d come back and find it later. ‘What’s your on-the-spot fine for littering?’

      ‘Are you sure you want to know?’

      She stubbed her toe on a root and he caught her arm as she stumbled.

      ‘Get lost, Hal,’ she said, attempting to shake him off. He refused to be shaken and she glared up at him. ‘Are you escorting me off the premises?’

      Bad choice of words, she thought as his mouth tightened.

      ‘It’s for your own safety.’

      ‘Safety? Archie isn’t going to bother me now I’m on foot, but who’s going to keep me safe from you?’ she demanded, clearly not done with ‘stupid.’

      ‘You’ve had a shock,’ he replied, all calm reason, which just made her all the madder.

      ‘Now you’re concerned!’

      Too right she’d had a shock. She’d had a shock right down to her knees but it had nothing to do with Archie and everything to do with crashing into Hal North. Everything to do with the fact that he’d kissed her. That she’d kissed him back as if she’d been waiting to do that all her life. Maybe she had…

      How dare he be all calm reason when she was a basket case?

      ‘It’s a bit late to start playing knight errant don’t you think?’

      ‘You’re mistaking me for someone else.’

      ‘Not in a hundred years,’ she muttered, catching her breath as she stepped on a sharp stone, gritting her teeth to hold back the expletive, refusing to let him see that she was in pain.

      The last thing she needed was a smug I-told-you-so from Hal North.

      It did have the useful side effect of preventing her from saying anything else she’d regret when Hal moved his hand from her arm and looped it firmly around her waist, taking her weight so that she had no choice but to lean into the solid warmth of his body, allow him to support her.

      The alternative was fighting him which would only make things worse as she limped the rest of the way home, her head against his shoulder, her cheek against the hard cloth of his overalls. The temptation was to simply surrender to the comfort, just as she’d surrendered to his kiss and it took every crumb of concentration to mentally distance herself from the illusion of safety, of protection and pray that he’d put her erratic breathing down to ‘shock.’

      When they reached her gate, she allowed herself to relax and took the fishing rod when he handed it to her, assuming he meant her to give it back to Gary.

      ‘Thank you…’ The word ended in a little shriek as he bent and caught her behind the knees, scooping her up like some bride being carried over the threshold. Hampered by the rod, she could do nothing but fling an arm around his neck and hang on as he strode along the gravel path that led around the house to the back door.

      ‘Key?’ he prompted, as he deposited her with an equal lack of ceremony on the doorstep.

      ‘I’m home. Job done,’ she said, propping the rod by the door, waiting for him to leave. She was damned if she was going to say thank you again.

      ‘Are you going to be difficult?’ he asked.

      ‘You bet.’

      He shrugged, glanced around, spotted the brick where she hid her spare key. ‘My mother used to keep it in the same place,’ he said, apparently oblivious to her huff of annoyance as he retrieved it and opened the door. ‘In fact, I’m pretty sure it’s the same brick.’

      ‘Go away,’ she said, kicking off her remaining shoe in the scullery where the boots and coats were hung.

      ‘Not before the statutory cup of hot, sweet tea,’ he said, following her inside and easing off his own boots.

      Her suit was damp and muddy, her foot was throbbing and her body, a jangle of sore, aching bits demanding her attention now that she’d come to a halt, responded with a tiny ‘yes, please’ whimper. She ignored it.

      ‘I don’t take sugar.’

      ‘I do.’

      Behind her, the phone began to ring. She ignored it for as long as she could, daring him to take another step then, with what she hoped was a careless shrug—one that her shoulder punished her for—she limped, stickily, into the kitchen and lifted the receiver from the cradle.

      ‘Claire Thack…’

      Hal pulled out a chair, tipped off the two sleeping cats and, taking her arm, eased her down into it before crossing to the kettle.

      ‘Claire?’

      ‘Oh, Brian…’

      ‘Is there a problem?’ Brian Gough, the news editor, sounded concerned rather than annoyed, but then she had always striven to be one hundred per cent reliable—hoarding those Brownie points that every working mother needed against the days when her daughter was sick and her needs had to come before everything, even the desperate necessity of making a career for herself. ‘Only I’ve just had Charlie on the phone.’

      Charlie… That would be Charlie Peascod, the Chief Planning Officer. Her important ten o’clock meeting. She caught sight of the clock and groaned.

      Hal heard her and turned. ‘Are you okay?’ he asked, with what appeared to be genuine concern.

      ‘No,’ she hissed, swivelling round so that her back was to him in an effort to concentrate. ‘I’m s-o s-sorry, Brian but I’ve had a bit of an accident.’

      ‘An accident? What kind of accident? Are you all right?’

      ‘Y-yes…’ she said as, without warning, she began to shiver.

      ‘You don’t sound it.’

      ‘I will be.’ Behind her there was a world of comfort in the sound of the kettle being filled. The sound of the biscuit tin lid being opened. She refused to look… ‘I was going to c-call you but…’ But it had gone clean out of her head. Her important meeting, her job, pretty much everything. That’s what a man like Hal North could do to you with nothing more than a kiss. ‘I f-fell off my bike.’

      ‘Have you been to the hospital?’ he asked, seriously concerned now, which only added to her guilt.

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