word to get round that she was back.
Megan smiled warmly as she reached out for the keys to her lakeside lodge, eager to settle in, but her smile froze, her breath stolen painfully from her as the searing shock of recognition swept over her. It was Darrow.
She was barely aware of the weight of the keys as the receptionist dropped them heavily into her outstretched palm, though instinctively her fingers closed tightly around the cold metal, glad of the feel of something solid as her whole world seemed to come crashing down around her. She was no longer listening to the hotel receptionist; all her senses were trained on the silent, menacing figure that had suddenly appeared behind her.
She stiffened in absolute dread as his cold, dark eyes fixed on her with an electrifying intensity. She felt her breath catch in her tightening chest as she faced him. His hard, icy gaze sent a shiver of apprehension through her body. It was so unlike him. He was a completely changed man, cold and aloof.
Had she fooled herself for all these years? she questioned herself silently. Had she held on to an image that had been self-created, a dream of a man who had only ever existed in her foolish young mind? She had clearly remembered those eyes as soft and gentle, holding a shining light of loving warmth touched with a wicked gleam that mirrored his zest for life. Now they were like freezing shards of ice, cruel and ruthless. Megan shut her eyes momentarily, to block out the image she now saw, a mockery of the man she had known.
She dragged her eyes from his hard, hypnotic gaze and concentrated on the receptionist, forcing herself to appear calm though her mind was a riot of emotions and thoughts. She never would have come back if she had known he was here. It was painful enough having to return, to rake up all the old memories, without the added problem of him being here. She smiled politely as she took the sheaf of papers being handed to her, nodding in agreement as she moved back, eager to be away from him. She could still feel his icy blue eyes searing into the very depths of her soul, as if searching for some trace of the girl he had known. Megan’s eyes darted quickly back to his but she could detect no glimmer of recognition, and, despite everything, that hurt.
‘Megan.’ His low voice was unmistakable, its deep and resonant tone instantly recognisable. She felt the panic rise in her chest as a fleeting shiver of expectation. Yet gone was the familiar intimacy she remembered; there was only a trace of bitter humour in his tone. She turned, her expression questioning, though her blood had chilled to freezing within her. Her agitation was growing with every passing minute as she met the cool appraisal of his eyes.
‘Yes?’ she said politely, her voice betraying none of her inner turmoil as she caught the familiar scent of his aftershave that teased half-forgotten secrets back into her mind. His eyebrows rose swiftly, as if he was amused by her cool fa
There was a strain to his expression, a sharpness to his handsome features that had not been there before, but his mouth was as sensuous as ever, still full of the heady promise of love—love that she had given so willingly and foolishly. Megan tried to suffocate the growing resentment she felt at his presence and the threat it posed. It had been difficult enough to come back, especially under the circumstances, without him being here to exacerbate the situation.
‘It’s been a long time, Megan,’ he commented drily, ignoring her question as his eyes travelled quickly over her body with an intensity that heated her blood. She stiffened slightly under his deliberate scrutiny, hating the effect that his close proximity was having on her, and she forced her body to relax, casually flicking her red hair from her face.
‘Thirteen years is a long time, Darrow,’ she agreed, her voice unexpectedly composed, carefully hiding the confusion that raged beneath her cool exterior.
He nodded slowly in agreement, a frown creasing his brow. ‘You’ve changed,’ he noted, nodding appreciatively.
Megan allowed herself a secret smile. She certainly carried the veneer of confidence well. The skilfully applied make-up and expensive clothes all helped to create the image of a confident, outgoing woman, but inside she was still the little girl searching for the love and security that she had never really known, and which she was determined to give her own son. A sudden wave of panic surged through her body as she thought of the damage Darrow’s presence could have on Luke.
‘I’ll take that as a compliment,’ she said serenely, pushing her fears to the back of her mind. ‘Shall I?’ she added, her veneer slipping under his intense scrutiny.
‘Yes,’ he replied, his eyes never leaving her face, and she felt a touch of heat colour her cheeks.
‘You’re looking well,’ she returned, hating this banal conversation, but she was at a complete loss as to what to say under the circumstances. He did look well, too, she mused. The years had only added to his strength of character. His body was as firm and lean as ever, but he had always enjoyed sports of all kinds—a real outdoor man, she remembered with painful clarity. ‘Older, perhaps,’ she finally acknowledged, fixing a smile on her face.
‘None of us is getting any younger,’ he agreed with a smile, then added seriously, ‘And yet there was a time when we couldn’t wait to be older, remember?’
Remember? How could she ever forget, when she carried with her the constant symbol of their love? It had been love—at least then. Until he had gone to America and fallen in love with someone else, all in a matter of a few months. They had loved each other deeply and that was the reason why she had never told him. She had not wanted to stand in his way.
A grey veil of unshed tears filmed her eyes as her mind drifted back to that fateful day. It hadn’t been a deliberate ploy, but once she had found herself pregnant, Megan had thought that no one would stop them marrying. She had longed to tell Darrow, to see the pleasure on his face when she told him the wonderful news.
But he had had news of his own, she remembered with pain. A chance of a lifetime. He had won a writing scholarship—a year in America. She couldn’t have told him, robbed him of his chance to become a writer, stood in the way of his ambition. She had known how much that meant to him, and besides, he’d be back, so she had foolishly thought.
‘Some of us grew up very quickly anyway,’ she said with sudden bitterness as she recalled how he had betrayed her.
At first he had kept in touch. Letters had arrived three or four times a week, and Carrie had been mentioned in every one. Then nothing for one whole month, not a line, and she had known. She had understood what had happened.
He had mentioned Carrie, a girl he had met, in all his previous letters and they had obviously been seeing a lot of each other. Megan had known that she couldn’t compete with an attractive American who had wealth and position while she had nothing to offer to him—and how that had hurt. The pain of separation had been almost unbearable, but the realisation that she had lost him forever had seared her very soul.
She watched him stiffen now at the sharpness of her voice and it gave her a grim pleasure. ‘I was glad to get away,’ she added, throwing at him a final insult, reminding him that she too had found someone else even if her relationship with Karl had only been a fiction to save her pride. She was delighted when she saw that it irritated him.
‘So why come back now?’ he questioned. There was a trace of hidden anger in his tone, an unspoken accusation that he was unable to make. Megan felt a sudden surge of anger through her body but she quickly masked it. She had to remain as cool and as distant as he. She would never, ever give him the satisfaction of seeing her respond to him, no matter how difficult that might be.
‘My mother—’ she began simply, but he cut in, embarrassed by his own insensitivity.
‘I forgot, I’m sorry, Megan,’ he reassured her, for a fleeting moment looking like the young man she had known, so that the ice around her heart melted a little, warmed by his sympathy. He pushed his thick dark hair from his face, revealing an attractive touch of grey to his temples, a sad reminder that time had indeed travelled