The Fiancée He Can't Forget. Caroline Anderson

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СКАЧАТЬ ‘The edge of the dance floor? I put it down at one point.’

      He left her there, hugging her knees in the middle of the bed, looking rumpled and gorgeous and filled with regret.

      He knew all about that one. How could he have been so stupid?

      And why was she on the Pill, for heaven’s sake? Was she in a relationship? Or did she do this kind of thing all the time?

      Hell, he hoped not. The thought of his Amy casually—

      He swallowed hard and ran downstairs, to find that staff were already starting the mammoth clean-up operation.

      ‘I’m looking for a cream satin evening bag,’ he told someone, and was directed to the night porter’s office.

      ‘This the one?’

      He wasn’t sure, so he opened it and found exactly what she’d said inside. Well, if the room key fitted …

      He went to it, and it gave him immediate access. Her case was there, unopened, inside the unused room, and he carried it back to her.

      ‘Oh, Matt, you’re a star. Thank you.’

      ‘Anything to spare a lady’s blushes. I’ll go to your room,’ he said, ‘and if anyone knocks on the door, just ignore them. It’ll only be Ben or my parents, and they’ll ring me if it’s anything important.’

      He slipped his mobile into his pocket, picked up his wallet and did the same, then gave Amy an awkward smile. ‘I guess I’ll see you at breakfast.’

      She nodded, looking embarrassed now, her grey eyes clouded with something that could have been shame, and without dragging it out he left her there and went to the room that should have been hers, lay on the bed and let his breath out on a long, ragged sigh.

      What a fool. All he’d done, all he’d proved, was that he’d never stopped loving her. Well, hell, he’d known that before. It had hardly needed underlining.

      He rolled to his side, thumped the pillow into the side of his neck and tried to sleep.

      How could she have been so stupid?

      She’d known seeing him again would be dangerous to her, but she hadn’t realised how dangerous. She pulled the hotel gown tighter round her waist and moved to the chair by the window. She had a view over the courtyard where they’d had their buffet supper, could see the bench if she craned her neck.

      Sudden unexpected tears glazed her eyes, and she swiped them away and sniffed hard. She’d done some stupid things in her life, most of them with Matt, and this was just the icing on the cake.

      She got up and put the little kettle on to make tea, and found her pills in her washbag and popped one out. Thank God for synthetic hormones, she thought drily as she swallowed the pill. Or maybe not, because without the medication to control her irregular periods, they would never have spent the night together.

      Which would have been a good thing, she told herself firmly. But telling him she was on the Pill was a two-edged sword. He probably thought she was a slut.

      ‘I don’t care what he thinks, it’s none of his damn business and at least I won’t get pregnant again,’ she said to the kettle, and made herself a cup of tea and sat cradling it and staring down into the courtyard until it was stone cold.

      And then she nearly dropped it, because Matt was there, outside in the courtyard garden just below her, sitting on the bench with a cup in his hand and checking something on his phone.

      He made a call, then put the cup down and walked swiftly across the courtyard out of sight. One of his patients in London needing his attention? Or Melanie Grieves, mother of the little twins they’d delivered on Friday night?

      Or just coming inside to see whoever he’d spoken to—his parents, maybe?

      Moments later, there was a soft knock at the door.

      ‘Amy? It’s Matt.’

      She let him in reluctantly and tried to look normal and less like an awkward teenager. ‘Everything OK?’

      ‘Yes. I’m going to see Melanie Grieves. Ben asked me to keep an eye on her.’

      She nodded. ‘Are you coming back for breakfast and to say goodbye to everyone?’

      ‘Yes. I don’t want to be lynched. Let me take my stuff, and I’ll get out of your way. Here’s your room key. Hang onto mine as well for now. I’ll get it off you later.’ He scooped up the suit, the shirt, the underwear, throwing them in the bag any old how and zipping it, and then he hesitated. For a second she thought he was about to kiss her, but then he just picked up his bag and left without a backward glance.

      Amy let out the breath she’d been holding since he’d come in, and sat down on the end of the bed. There was no point in hanging around in his room, she thought. She’d shower and dress, and go downstairs and see if anyone was around.

      Unlikely. The party had gone on long after they’d left it, and everyone was probably still in bed—where she would be, in her own room, if she had a grain of sense.

      Well, she’d proved beyond any reasonable doubt that she didn’t, she thought, and felt the tears welling again.

      Damn him. Damn him for being so—so—just so irresistible. Well, never again. Without his body beside her, without the feel of his warmth, the tenderness of his touch, it all seemed like a thoroughly bad idea, and she knew the aftermath of it would haunt her for ages.

      Years.

      Forever?

      Melanie Grieves was fine.

      Her wound was healing, her little twins were doing very well and apart from a bit of pain she was over the moon. He hadn’t really needed to come and see her, he’d just had enough of sitting around in the hotel beating himself up about Amy.

      Not that he shouldn’t be doing that. He’d been a total idiot, and she really, really didn’t need him falling all over her like he had last night. And leaving the dance floor like that—God knows what everyone had thought of them. He hadn’t even asked her, just dragged her up the stairs and into his room like some kind of caveman.

      He growled in frustration and slammed the car door shut. He’d better go back, better show his face and try and lie his way out of it. Better still, find Amy and get their story straight before his mother got her side of it and bent his ear. She’d always taken Amy’s side.

      Oh, hell.

      He dropped his head forwards and knocked it gently against the hard, leatherbound steering wheel. Such a fool. And his head hurt. Good. It would remind him not to drink so much in future. He’d thought he was sober enough, but obviously not. If he’d been sober—

      His phone rang and he pulled it out of his pocket and stared at the screen. Ben. Damn.

      He ignored it. He’d talk to Amy first—if he got to her before they did. If only he had her number. She’d probably changed it, but maybe not. He dialled it anyway as he turned into the hotel car park, and she answered on the second ring.

      ‘Hello?’

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