‘WHO THE HELL has a symposium just before Christmas?’ Sean lugged his duffle bag onto the train, threw it onto the overhead rack and sat down opposite Isabel.
Angry as he was with the whole situation, he couldn’t help but note that she looked as pulled together as any self-respecting Delamere girl would be. A dark furtrimmed hat sat on her head, her straight golden hair flowing over her shoulders. A smattering of mascara made her green eyes look huge and innocent, and her cheeks had pinked up from the bitter north-easterly that had whipped around them as they stood on the Eurostar platform. A red coat covered her from neck to knee. At her throat was a chain of what looked like diamonds. They weren’t fake. He knew her well enough to be sure of that. She looked like an Eastern European princess rather than a doctor.
And, despite himself and the rage still swirling round his gut, he felt a pull to wrap her in his arms and warm her up. Damn it.
She barely took her eyes away from the glossy magazine she was reading. ‘It was originally planned for September, but had to be postponed because of a norovirus outbreak at the hotel the day before it was due to start. That’s smack in the middle of conference season so all the other appropriately sized venues were already full. This was the only time they could rebook it. So we’re stuck with it.’ Now she lifted her head and glared at him. ‘Like I’m stuck with you. But I won’t let that spoil my time in Paris.’
She was angry with him? ‘Whoa. Wait a minute. Let’s backtrack a little … you’re pissed with me because of what exactly? Because I don’t remember me keeping any secrets from you for the last seventeen years.’ The train was beginning to fill. People were taking seats further down the carriage, squealing about Christmas shopping, so yes, he knew this wasn’t the time or the place.
But she answered him anyway, her voice quiet but firm. ‘Sean, I apologised for that and I cannot do anything about it. You want to keep going over and over it, feel free but it won’t change a thing.’
Her eyes clashed with his in a haughty, assertive glare. She was not going to move on this, he could see. But he could see more than that too. He could see how tired she was. How much she was hurting. How the proud stance was a show. And he felt like a jerk. She’d been through a traumatic time and had achieved so much despite it.
And how she had him feeling bad about this whole scenario he couldn’t fathom.
Dragging a book from his backpack, he settled down. It would get easier, he asserted to himself, being with her. He’d get over the swing of emotions from anger to lust. He’d get bored of looking at her. Surely? He would stop being entranced by that gentle neckline, the dip at her throat where the diamonds graced the collarbone. He’d get tired of the scent … expensive perfume, he guessed, but it was intoxicating nonetheless, sort of exotic and flowers and something else. Her …
Now, where was he …? Ah, yes … neonatal emergencies … distraction therapy.
As the train jerked to depart she closed her magazine and gazed out of the window. Luckily the seats beside them were free; they had the four-berth area to themselves. ‘I’ve never been to Paris before.’
For a minute he thought she was talking to herself, then he realised it was actually an attempt at a civil conversation. Fine, they were in a public place. He could do civil just to get through the two-and-a-half-hour journey. But that would be as far as it went. ‘It’s a great place. I went a few years ago, when I did my gap year. I travelled around Europe for a bit.’
An eyebrow rose. ‘I didn’t know you did a gap year?’
‘There are lots of things you don’t know about me, Isabel. There are years and years of my life you know nothing about, and you’ve spent the last couple of months that I’ve been here running in the opposite direction whenever I’m around too. Hardly surprising you know nothing at all.’
‘I know.’ Tugging off her coat and hat, she plumped up her hair and looked at him. ‘I’m sorry. After what I told you yesterday you’ll understand that I just couldn’t deal with you being back in my life again.’
Guilt could do that to you, he mused. ‘And now?’
She shrugged a delicate shoulder. ‘Now I don’t have a choice. Thanks to Jacob.’
‘Indeed. So let’s make a deal, shall we?’
‘Depends what it is?’
‘We’ll attend this conference as a team to represent the department. But after that, in our downtime, you don’t get in my way and I won’t get in yours.’ That should do it. No cosy dinners, no shared intimacies. He could revisit some old haunts, discover new ones. On his own. He stuck out a hand.
‘Fine by me.’ She took it, her eyes widening at the shot of something that zipped between them as their palms touched. Heat burnt her cheeks as, with equal force, it seared through him, wild and unbidden, shocking in its intensity. For a moment she locked eyes again with him; this time he saw fire there. Then she let go and wiped her palm down her trousers as if trying to erase any trace of him from her skin. ‘So, what are you going to do? In Paris? Do you have plans?’
‘Oh, we’re doing polite chit-chat? The ever-so-charming Delamere dialogue?’
All heat extinguished in a second, her glare intensified. ‘Gosh, you really do hate me and my family, don’t you?’
‘Isla’s sweet.’ He let the insult by omission sit with her for a moment. What was that line between love and hate? He knew he was straddling something of equal measure. He wanted her, and he didn’t want her. Too much either way, it was disturbing. ‘I was actually referring to the way you smooth over any difficult social encounter. How easy it is for you to glide seamlessly from one meaningless subject to the next.’
‘Then you don’t know me at all either, Sean. You think you do, but whatever misapprehensions you have about me, they’re wrong. I’m not like my mum and dad. I never was. I used to hate being paraded in front of the cameras and the elite with a begging bowl for whichever charity they favoured that month. Don’t get me wrong, I loved the causes they were fighting for, but I always felt awkward and embarrassed to be there.’
He kept his face passive. ‘I thought I knew you. I always believed you were polar opposites to your parents.’ And even though he’d consoled himself over the years that she had just resorted to Delamere type and turned her back on him, here she was challenging him. Because he’d seen her in action, the compassion and the dedication. Truth was, he didn’t know her at all now, not really. He knew what she’d once been, but the young, bright Isabel Delamere didn’t exist any more—he was learning that very quickly.
And the other unpalatable truth was that he was intrigued by her. He’d found out her secret and should have packed his bags—job done, history exposed—and put her and Cambridge behind him. But now he was in forced proximity with her and, well … she was a whole new fully realised version of the girl he’d known—a more professional, more intense, more dedicated version. It wouldn’t hurt to learn just a little bit more. For old times’ sake. ‘I guess the Delamere name would have helped your job prospects no end, though.’
They were interrupted briefly by a waiter bringing the Chablis and cheese platter Sean had ordered on boarding.
Even though they were at loggerheads she still accepted a glass of wine from him. Took a sip. Then answered, ‘Just like you I got where I am by sheer hard work. My name didn’t open any doors for me. Once out of the State of Victoria no one’s heard of Daddy—well, a few have but no one cares. He’s a neurosurgeon too, which isn’t very helpful to someone who wants a job in obstetrics.’
‘It can’t have hindered you, though.’
She shook her head. ‘Whatever you want to believe, you clearly have it all worked out. But in reality I’m just bloody good at my job. I certainly don’t have to prove myself to you; my competence is between me, and my patients. Who, I might say, have ranged from a preeclampsic mum in Kiwirrkurra, to a too-posh-to-push minor British royal and everything in between. So get off your high horse, Anderson, and give me a break.’
‘You worked in Kiwirrkurra? I didn’t know that. Impressive.’ Kiwirrkurra had to be one of the most remote areas in the country so up-to-date technology and equipment would have been lacking, not to mention the barren, dry heat that shrouded the place. Not many would have been able to cope with the workload and unpredictability of outback medicine. It was the desert, for God’s sake; somehow he just couldn’t imagine Isabel there. ‘How the hell did you keep your diamonds free from all that red dust? Must have been a nightmare.’
‘Well, I didn’t take—’ She paused … looked at him … shook her head again, eyes rolling. ‘You’re pulling my chain. Ha-bloody-ha. Well, let me tell you, it was so-o-o hard, the dust got everywhere, and I mean, everywhere. I had to polish my diamonds every night before I went to bed.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Nah.’ But there was a smile there. It glittered, lit up her face. And for the first time since he’d been in this hemisphere it felt as if there was a breakthrough between them. Tiny, compared to what they’d had years ago—or at least what he’d thought they’d had—but it was something they could hang the next week on instead of all this anger-fuelled bile. She laughed then. ‘Well, you still know how to wind me up, I’ll give you that.’
‘Too easy, mate. Too easy.’
She had some more wine. ‘Tell me about your gap year.’
How to capture the wealth of experiences in one conversation? ‘It wasn’t much different from a lot of people’s to be honest. I took the year off between university and internship. Went to India to do some volunteer work at a community hospital—went for a month, stayed ten. Then took two months to see some of Europe.’
Her eyebrows rose. ‘Must have been interesting, India?’
He laughed. ‘Interesting is definitely one way to describe it. It was hard, harrowing, enlightening and liberating too. Maternal death rates are diabolical. Infant mortality’s the same … all for the sake of a little bit of knowledge and some simple resources. Running water would be a good start.’
‘You always were altruistically minded. You wanted to save the world. You wanted to achieve so much. And clearly you have. Do you remember when we—?’
‘Anyway, when I was in Paris …’ He cut her off, not wanting to do any of that Memory Lane stuff. He didn’t want to remember that all-consuming passion they’d shared—for life, for their futures, for each other. The soft way she’d curled around him, the kisses. She might have let her guard down a little but he needed to make sure that his was firmly in place.
She’d already shattered his heart once—offered no explanation at the time and expected him to accept the new status quo, her rules: no questions asked. What were the chances she’d changed? Very little. And maybe she was right, maybe he didn’t know her now, but he knew she was all but married to her job. He knew she could be single-minded when she wanted. And, if her actions at sixteen were anything to go by, she didn’t allow anyone into that private part of herself. Not really.
So yes, while he could be convivial and keep the peace and put up a decent social front, he was better to be always on guard when it came to Isabel Delamere.
‘Best thing about these conferences is the extra-curriculars, right?’ Phil, the man sitting on her left, a portly GP from Hastings, nudged Isabel’s side with a conspiratorial wink and clinked his glass against hers. All around the long wooden table people swirled and sipped and laughed and chatted in a dozen different languages trying to identify flavours that Isabel was sure shouldn’t be in wine. Petrol? Asparagus?
‘Yes. Well, I guess so. This is particularly fun. Any excuse for drink.’ Although, she’d probably had quite enough on the train. Any more and she might lose her good-sense filter. Thankfully they’d had check-in at the hotel and registration for the conference before coming out on this delegates’ do, so she hoped the lunchtime wine had cleared her system. The only downside to the trip so far—apart from Sean’s presence—had been finding out that his room was next door to hers, so any downtime activities he’d be having in the City of Love had better not take place in their hotel. She did not want to hear that through the walls.
‘Ah …’ The man next to her laughed. ‘I detect a funny accent. Aussie, are you? Or Kiwi? I can never tell the difference.’
She gave her new friend a smile. ‘No one ever can outside of the southern hemisphere, apparently, but we are very proud of our differences. And our wines. I’m Australian.’
‘It’s a bit like the league of nations here—that guy over there, Manuel, he’s from Spain and Natalie’s from Belgium.’
‘Nice to meet you.’ It was lovely to be surrounded by such a diverse group of people. Phil seemed pleasant enough, but even though Sean thought she was the queen of small talk Isabel just didn’t feel in the mood tonight, which kind of went against the whole conference spirit. Thank goodness Phil wasn’t one of the people she needed to schmooze, because schmoozing was the furthest thing from tonight’s wish list.
Before she got embroiled in any more conversation she looked down the table to the woman standing at the end leading the wine-tasting, and noticed things were getting started again. ‘Oh, she’s talking. All this swilling and sniffing … I’m never going to get the hang of this.’ Isabel listened intently and tried to think about the taste of biscuits and did Madame really say pomegranate? Isabel wasn’t sure she could taste anything other than, well … wine. But she wasn’t going to admit that.
It was lovely. It was. The wine was delicious, pomegranate or not. The atmosphere in the ancient stone wine cellar—le cave—was cosy and lighthearted. She was in Paris! She’d had a glimpse of the Eiffel Tower, and the amazing old buildings and the Seine River and it all looked breathtakingly beautiful, like a film set. She should have felt on top of the world to be here. Drinking wine. Lots and lots of different kinds of wine, with clever, articulate people. But something was niggling her.
And he was sitting to her right.
All six feet one inch of dark and distracting niggle.
By some cruel twist of fate the organisers had placed him next to her. Which did not adhere to the keep out of my way game plan. The seating had been arranged so they were all squashed in along narrow benches that meant that she couldn’t forget him. She could feel him. Couldn’t keep out of his angry gaze. Couldn’t ignore him chatting up the beautiful French midwife on his right.
Brunette. Stacked. Young. Hanging, open-mouthed, on his every word. The dashing, antipodean doctor with stories of daring deliveries in deepest Rajasthan. Damn him. It was hard not to listen, as Isabel, too, was mesmerised by a history she knew nothing of.
‘“Rabies!” my colleague was shouting. “This camel has rabies, get me off, I want a different one!”’ Sean was entertaining their half of the table now. His smile engaging, his drawl lilting and captivating. ‘He was half sliding, half scrambling round this poor animal’s neck in his hurry to get off it. I told him not to be such an idiot. It wasn’t rabies—male camels foam at the mouth to attract mates. “He’s not sick,” I said. “He just fancies you, mate.” You should have seen his face …’
I could have been there, Isabel thought to herself. They’d planned volunteer work abroad. They’d planned a future. And instead of listening to his adventures she would have been the one retelling them. Oh, damn … this wine was going to her head and making her maudlin.
Paris, she reminded herself. I am a Parisian woman. I care not for ze ex.
The very beautiful Frenchwoman at his side seemed to have forgotten her haughty Gallic woman-warrior roots and was flicking her long bouncy curls in a very flirty way as she tilted her head back and laughed at Sean’s story.
‘Very good. Very funny.’ Isabel patted Sean’s arm and gave the brunette a hard stare before flicking her own hair and snagging her fingers in it. ‘Ouch. I … mean … Can you please pass the crackers?’
Flicking and flirting were way out of her comfort zone. She made a mental note to practise in the comfort of her hotel bedroom.
‘Of course.’ Sean turned around and gave her a weird look as she dragged her fingers through a knot and grimaced, before he flashed her a lovely wide smile. And she was the only one in the room who knew it didn’t have an ounce of authenticity to it. ‘What do you think of the wine, Isabel? As good as back home?’
‘Oh, I don’t know …’ She looked at her surroundings, breathing in the age-old aroma of fermenting grapes and oak barrels, and sighed. ‘There’s something about Paris … Sacrilege, I know, but everything seems better here.’
‘Even me?’ This time his grin was real. And her gut tightened in response. He was joking with her, and she was aware that she’d drunk more than her fair share of wine, so yes … he did seem a teensy bit better. Not that she was about to admit to that.
The newly adopted Frenchwoman in her wanted to throw him a disdainful shrug as if he were but crumbs on ze floor, but the Aussie in her came out fighting. ‘Ah, Seany Boy, I don’t want to burst your bubble, but there’s only so much that grog goggles can enhance.’ And so that had been a little over-loud and rather more matey than she intended.
His voice again, close to her ear. Too close. Was it hot in here? ‘Are you okay, Isabel? It’s been a long day. You look a bit flushed. You sound a little … tense.’
Hardly surprising under the circumstances. ‘I’m fine, thank you for asking.’ The wine-tasting woman was handing out small glasses of something that looked like cough syrup. That made how many glasses they’d each consumed? Isabel didn’t dare to think. ‘Too much of this, I guess. I’d better be careful.’
‘Spoilsport. We’re in France—you need to chill a little.’ He swirled the stem of his glass before he looked at her again. ‘Vivienne and a few of the others are thinking of going to a club after this …’
‘Vivienne?’
His confused frown deepened as he flicked his thumb to the woman on his right. ‘Yes, Vivienne. She’s from Aix-en-Provence.’
‘Lucky her. She’s very pretty.’
He shrugged. ‘Yes, she is.’
A pang of something Isabel didn’t want to acknowledge, but knew damned well was jealousy, arrowed through her tummy. He wasn’t hers to pine after. She’d made sure of that years ago, and to hammer that message home she’d spilled her secret to him and watched any kind of hope shrivel. ‘Well, have fun. At the club. With Vivienne.’
He grinned, eyes darting to the long dark tresses, the flicking. ‘I intend to.’
I bet you do. Irritation rising from her stomach in a tight, hard ball of acid, Isabel tried to wriggle her feet out from under the table, which was easier said than done. ‘Really? You can’t wait until I’ve gone?’
‘What the hell …’ he growled, his voice hard and low, ‘… has it got to do with you?’
‘Because …’ It hurts. Because—she realised with a sharp sting in her chest—I want you to look at me like that, as if you’re anticipating a delicious treat.
Definitely too much wine.
The best idea would be to leave him to it. Really, the best idea would have been not to allow him to come in the first place. No, the best idea … She sighed. Why was it that the best ideas always happened after the event? She finally managed to get her feet out from the bench and tried to stand up, wobbling a little, then losing her balance in her new high-heeled suede boots. ‘Oops.’
Quick as a flash he caught her by the arm and steadied her. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, I just wobbled. I’m fine.’ But she wasn’t, not now. At the touch of his hand on her bare skin, desire fired through her. It had been so long since she’d felt it, so alien to her, it was a shock. All at once her body craved more touching. More touching him. More everything.
Oh, God. She looked at his broad chest covered in a crisp white collared shirt. At the model-worthy jawline. At that smiling mouth that seemed to mock and tease and was still so damned kissable. At those dark eyes boring into her. But most of all she felt his heat against hers. And she realised, with even more disbelief, that she wanted Sean Anderson in her bed.
Which was … well, it was surprising. Ever since she’d lost the baby her sexual experience had been marred by a deep-seated fear of getting pregnant; she’d been uptight and never really enjoyed herself. And she’d always felt, strangely, as if she was betraying Sean. So she hadn’t really explored that side of herself.
Of all the idiotic things. Of all the pointless wanting … She could not want him. After all, he’d made it very clear that he didn’t want her at all. And who could blame him?
But it was happening. And not only that, his breath was whispering across her neck sending more and more shivers across her body. ‘Do you need a hand getting home, Izzy?’
She edged away from the heat. ‘Not at all. I’m a big girl now. Besides, don’t you have la belle Vivienne from Aix-en-Provence to consider? I don’t want to cramp your style.’
He blew out an irritated breath. ‘Really?’
‘Yes. Really.’ She could hear her voice rising and struggled to keep it low and steady so the others couldn’t hear, particularly the hair-flicking lady. ‘I’m just saying what I see. It’s clear as day that you have plans for later. And we all love extra-curriculars, right?’
Sean’s hand dropped from Isabel’s arm and she could sense the rage rippling through him. His eyes darkened beyond black. His voice was hushed but angry. ‘You made it very clear a long time ago that there was nothing you wanted from me. What the hell do you expect me to do? Keep hanging on? Because I will not do that, Isabel, I have my own life to live. I won’t wait around for you to decide what you want.’
‘I’m not asking you to.’
‘Funny, because that’s not how it seems to me. You don’t want me to go with Vivienne? You don’t want me to have fun, that’s for sure.’
‘Never in your wildest dreams, Sean Anderson, would I ever want anything from you. It’s too late for that, way too late.’
‘And whose fault is that?’
As if she didn’t know already.
His words were like daggers in her heart. And he was so close, too close. His mouth in kissing distance—which was such an inappropriate thought right now, but there it was. Her heart thumped in a traitorous dance.
‘Whatever. Go, do what you like. I’m leaving now anyway.’ Biting back her anger as much as she could, Isabel looked from Sean to Vivienne to the rest of the table, who were grinning in the candlelight and had no idea of the shared history and the huge amount of balls it was taking just to be here with him at all.
She needed to get away from him. To put their past life far behind her. To put this new attraction back where it couldn’t hurt her. Who’d have thought it, but after seventeen years of fighting she needed to get over Sean Anderson all over again. And fast.