The Husband Dilemma

“Could you and I ever go back to the way we were?” About the Author Title Page CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN CHAPTER ELEVEN CHAPTER TWELVE Copyright

“Could you and I ever go back to the way we were?”

Jack continued, “Could we start all over again?” Before Kate could even react, his mouth was on hers, gently seeking an answer.

She felt weak and dizzy, helpless to control her arms as they wound themselves around his neck. She’d only ever felt like this once before...and only ever with him.

“You still feel it, don’t you, Kate? There is still hope for us...if we can only let go of the past.”

“Oh Jack...” She let her hands slide from his shoulders, shaking her head. “I shouldn’t have let you kiss me, Jack.” She looked up at him with stricken eyes. “Jack, I’m getting married in two weeks!”

Elizabeth Duke was born in Adelaide, South Australia, but has lived in Melbourne all her married life. She trained as a librarian and has worked in many different types of libraries, but she was always secretly writing. Her first published book was a children’s novel, after which she successfully tried her hand at romance writing. She has since given up her work as a librarian to write romance full-time. When she isn’t writing or reading, she loves to travel with her husband, John, either within Australia or overseas, gathering inspiration and background material for future romances. She and John have a married son and daughter, who now have children of their own.

Look out for Taming a Husband by Elizabeth Duke in The Australians, May 1999.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

KATE stared at her reflection in the mirrored wall of Madame Yvette’s Exclusive Bridal Fashions. The slender golden-haired woman in the classic white wedding gown stared back.

She felt a quiver of panic.

The wedding was so close. Less than three weeks away. Three short weeks.

It hit her for the first time. In just three weeks she would be a married woman, a wife, a life partner. Paired for ever with one man.

This was the biggest step she would ever take in her life. The most important, most life-changing, most permanent step...if you believed that marriage was for life, which she did. It was a bit scary.

Not that she had any doubts. She straightened her shoulders. Brendan loved her and she loved him. Even more important, she liked and trusted him. He might not be the most exciting man in the world, the most passionate man in the world. He might not have stunning good looks or a tanned athlete’s physique. He might not send her blood roaring through her veins the way... the way...

She had a fleeting image of piercing blue eyes, windswept black hair and powerful sun-bronzed shoulders.

She blinked the disturbingly vivid image away. The last man in the world she wanted to think about—now or ever—was Jonathan Savage. The way he could still haunt her on occasion, could still slip into her dreams at night, was maddening. It made no sense. It was nearly five years since that tumultuous day on Shelly Beach...the promising dream that had turned to a nightmare.

She hadn’t seen or heard of him since...or wanted to. Not consciously, at any rate.

Of course, it was the image of her gallant rescuer Jack, not the despised Jonathan Savage, that occasionally haunted her dreams. And Jack didn’t exist. He’d been a fantasy figure, a dream man, and dream men were illusions. She’d spent years looking...hoping...for another man who could make her feel the way Jack had—Jack, not Jonathan Savage—but no other man ever had. She’d finally realised that she was chasing after a phantom, an impossible dream, and had come back to cold reality.

Passion...feelings...weren’t to be trusted. It was trust, reliability, steadiness in a man that mattered, not how a man made you feel. Fire and passion only clouded the issue, blinding you to the harshly real human failings underneath...like heartless indifference and ruthless insensitivity!

She lifted her chin, relegating Jonathan Savage back to where he belonged...in the past. It was just pre-wedding jitters. All brides suffered them at some time or other. She’d panicked for a second, seeing herself dressed as a bride, realising how close the wedding was, how final it was. She was being silly. Everything was just fine. Everything was going to be fine.

‘You’re going to make a beautiful bride, Kate,’ a soft voice said from behind.

She turned her head, and summoned a quick smile. Melanie, her bridesmaid and best friend from their school days, as well as her current flatmate, had come to watch her final fitting. Only the hem and some beading needed to be done now ... and Madame Yvette, kneeling on the floor, was busily working on the hem right at this moment.

‘And you’re going to be a beautiful bridesmaid, Mel,’ Kate said warmly. ‘You’ll look stunning in that crimson dress we’ve chosen, with your dark hair.’

‘Always the bridesmaid, never the bride...’ Melanie’s smile was rueful. ‘This will be my third time. Not that I’m not delighted to be your bridesmaid, Kate, you mustn’t think—’

‘Your turn will come, Mel. It’s amazing no one’s snapped you up already. You have the loveliest face in the world, you don’t have an ounce of malice in you, and you’ll make some lucky guy the most wonderful wife...and be a perfect mother too. You’ve even had practice looking after babies and young children, with your work at the crèche.’

‘I think men find me boring,’ Melanie said with a sigh. She was a real homebody, happier spending her time curled up on a sofa reading a book or making dolls and toys for local fêtes and hospitals—or for her young charges at the crèche—than playing sport or going to parties. And yet she was far from dull. They often saw movies or plays together—when Kate’s schedule permitted—and a lively discussion always followed. Mel was a delight to be with.

‘But never mind about me. What about you, Kate?’ Melanie probed gently. ‘You were looking a bit wistful a moment ago. You’re not getting cold feet?’ she asked half-jokingly. But her soft dark eyes were concerned. ‘You...do love Brendan, don’t you?’

Kate gulped and turned back to the mirror. Melanie knew nothing about her brief, painful encounter with Jonathan Savage five years ago. There was only one other person who did know, and Diana was working in New York these days. Even before she’d left Australia, not long after their disastrous trip to Shelly Beach together, Diana had kept quiet about it, aware of Kate’s sensitivity on the subject.

Kate herself had never breathed a word to a living soul about what had happened on Queensland’s Sunshine Coast on that unseasonably hot September day. It was far too humiliating.

‘Of course I love Brendan.’ She injected surprise into her voice at the question. ‘He’s an easy guy to love.’ A thoroughly nice, thoroughly safe, thoroughly dependable guy. Not a heartless, high-flying, sweep-you-off-your-feet powerhouse like Jonathan Savage. Brendan was a gentle, steady, reliable, average sort of guy—average height, average looks, average temperament—with a better than average job as a tax accountant, running his own successful business.

There had been nothing average about Jack. Jonathan Savage, she corrected, with a hardening of her mouth.

Nothing steady or reliable either.

Poor Charlotte... Kate’s eyes misted as she thought of her sister.

‘There!’ Madame Yvette rose to her feet. ‘All finished. The gown will be ready for you to pick up by the end of next week, dear. Let me help you out of it now...’

Kate glanced at her watch as the beautiful silk and lace wedding gown was removed and whisked away. ‘Oh, heck, Mel, I’ll have to fly. I’m on duty at three!’

It was nearly that already.

‘You go ahead.’ Melanie waved her away. ‘I have to buy my mother a birthday present, to take home at the weekend.’ It was her afternoon off from the crèche.

Kate nodded, thanked her for coming, then dashed out to where she’d parked her car, uttering a string of curses when she found a parking ticket on the windscreen.

Her parking meter had expired! Furious with herself for not sending Melanie out during her fitting to feed in extra coins, she flounced into the driver’s seat and sped off in the direction of the hospital. She knew she could well end up with a speeding ticket as well, but better that than being late. She prided herself on her punctuality.

The doctors’ car park looked aggravatingly crammed with cars as she bowled through the self-opening gates. Lowly residents didn’t have reserved spaces. She would just have to drive up and down the rows of cars until she found a vacant spot.

Her eyes lit up as she spied a clear space. She swung the car into the vacant bay with a sigh of relief—only to groan in frustration when she saw the sign in front of her. ‘Nursing Director Only.’ Damn! She’d wasted precious seconds. She backed out again far too fast...and heard the sickening crunch of metal on metal.

‘Oh, no!’ she moaned, slamming her foot on the brake. She hadn’t seen the car passing behind her, and the driver, naturally, wouldn’t have been expecting her to back out a mere second after she’d nosed her way in! ‘Damn, damn, damn!’ she fumed. She had no one to blame but herself!

She jumped out of the car, hoping the other driver would be someone she knew so they could settle any damage details later. Hoping that the damage, if any, was minimal.

The driver of the other car—an expensive-looking BMW, she noted in dismay—was already stepping out of the driver’s seat, unfolding his considerable frame.

Just her luck to strike a big gun, she thought with a sinking heart. He was obviously a visiting consultant or professor, not a mere resident like herself. Worse, he was a doctor she didn’t know. A man of imposing presence, with the height and build of a gladiator—a sophisticated gladiator in a charcoal-grey suit.

‘What the hell were you thinking of, backing out like that?’ he roared, bending down to examine a large dent in the side of his car. ‘Look what you’ve done! This is a brand-new car!’

‘I’m sorry,’ Kate mumbled. Anyone would think she’d done it on purpose! A snap glance revealed that her own car had suffered no damage at all—thanks to the solid rear bumper bar. ‘I—I noticed that I’d swung into a reserved space, and I was just...’ She trailed off as he straightened and they came face to face for the first time.

A devastating swooshing sensation swept through her, as if all her blood and everything else inside her were rushing from her body. As if she were dissolving. Liquefying. The car park spun. Her head spun.

It couldn’t be.

She stared, trying madly to pull herself together, trying madly to stay upright.

It was Jack!

No, not Jack... Icy reality clawed its way back, swamping that initial, distressingly emotional reaction.

‘Jonathan Savage,’ she hissed through her teeth.

A very different Jonathan Savage from the bronzed, half-naked Samson who’d plucked her from the sea five years ago...

CHAPTER TWO

‘KATE, don’t waste this glorious sunshine. You go ahead down to the beach,’ Diana urged. ‘I’ll join you after the police have been. They said not to touch anything, so there’s nothing you can do here, and they won’t want us both underfoot.’

‘Are you sure?’ Kate glanced over the chaos around them.

‘Quite sure. I feel bad enough as it is, bringing you all the way up here to Queensland for nothing. I thought Charlotte’s briefcase would have been safe here at my beach-house, locked away in a cupboard.’

Kate and her sister’s friend Diana—a high-powered merchant banker just back from a two-year assignment in London—had arrived at Shelly Beach less than an hour ago to find that burglars had robbed Diana’s beach-house in her absence. Everything of any value had gone. The TV set, the video, the microwave, the radio.

And Charlotte’s briefcase. The briefcase Kate’s sister had entrusted to Diana’s care two years ago, shortly before her shock suicide. It was the reason Diana had brought Kate up here—so she could hand it over to Kate in private.

The briefcase contained highly delicate papers, Charlotte had confided to Diana. Papers she wasn’t ready to deal with yet and didn’t want to leave lying around at the family home for her father to find, or at the hospital where she’d worked.

‘Could you look after it for me for a while?’ she’d begged Diana. ‘If I’m hit by a bus or anything,’ she’d added—jokingly, Diana had thought, ‘you can hand it over to Kate. She can decide what to do with it. But not for a year or so, OK? Let the dust settle.’

And now the briefcase was gone, along with whatever personal papers Charlotte had locked away inside. For Diana’s sake, Kate hadn’t shown how dismayed she was that the last clue to her sister’s tragic suicide had gone.

Not that we need any more clues, she reflected darkly. Jonathan Savage is to blame for my sister’s death. If he hadn’t walked out on Charlotte... if he hadn’t been so cruel and uncaring...

Her eyes hardened as she thought of the note Charlotte had scribbled before drifting into that last deadly sleep: ‘I can’t live with the pain. Johnnie, forgive me.’

The pain of losing him...

Charlotte—hard-nosed, self-centred, blazingly ambitious Charlotte, who’d never been seriously interested in any man before, let alone head-over-heels in love—had been crazy about Jonathan Savage. They’d worked at the same hospital...trained together...spent most of their spare time together. And then he’d walked out on her, just like that, flying off to America without a backward glance.

It had devastated Charlotte. In her despair, she’d messed up a vital interview a week later, losing the surgical registrar position she’d craved for so long and worked so hard for.

For Charlotte, that must have been the last straw. Three weeks later she’d swallowed a bottle full of lethal pills. And even then she’d been thinking of him. ‘Forgive me,’ she’d written...as if she’d been freeing him of any blame or possible self-recrimination.

But Kate and her family did blame him. Jonathan Savage, the callous monster, had a lot to answer for. Kate drew in her lips, wondering if he had any idea how much pain and suffering he’d left behind. It was just as well he’d left Australia, or he’d have been suffering too, if her family had anything to do with it.

‘Off you go, Kate.’ Diana bundled her out through the door. ‘Better not go swimming, though...at least not on your own,’ she advised. ‘The beach isn’t patrolled and there’s quite an undertow. Not that it stops the surfies...or even swimmers on a calm day.’

Kate gave in, pausing only to change into a one-piece swimsuit, pulling a loose shirt over the top before grabbing her beachbag and towel, and the sketchbook she never went anywhere without. The realisation that Charlotte’s secrets were now lost—probably for ever—had cast a pall over her. Hopefully, the Queensland sun and the fresh sea air would brighten her up a bit.

A faint melancholy still clung to her as she crossed the low grassy sand dunes to the beach, though the fresh salty tang drifting up from the sea and the seeping warmth of the brilliant September sun did much to restore her spirits.

She came to a halt where the sandhills sloped down to the wide expanse of pure white sand, her gaze doing a lazy sweep of the beach. It was almost deserted... except for one lone male running along the shoreline.

She found her eyes following him...not warily, as might have been wise, but in sheer admiration. He looked like an Olympic athlete...a magnificent specimen, all rippling muscle, well-honed sinew, and smooth golden flesh that gleamed like burnished mahogany in the bright Queensland sunlight. For a startled second she thought he was stark naked, until she realised he was wearing brief swim-trunks that matched the colour of his tan.

Still watching him, she began to descend the sandy slope leading down to the beach, her feet leaving deep imprints in the soft grainy sand. As if sensing her presence, the bronzed Adonis glanced up and saw her. He waved as he loped along. She began to raise her own hand, then thought better of it and let it drop. He was a complete stranger to her, and there was nobody else around. Best not to encourage him...though it was tempting.

He kept on jogging at the same easy pace, away from her now, and she relaxed—noting at the same time that his magnificent physique was equally as stunning from behind, his massive shoulders tapering to lean hips, his powerful legs as fluid in motion as a loping jungle cat.

Her eyes followed him as the distance between them grew...and grew...until he was just a hazy outline against the pearly wash of the sunlit beach.

She found a snug little hollow at the base of the sandhills and spread out her towel on the sand. Glancing round to make sure she was still alone, she stripped off the long loose shirt covering her swimsuit—a low-backed, high-legged creation in a riot of different colours—and settled down on her towel to sunbake.

But after a few minutes she sat up again, and on an impulse reached for the sketchbook and pencil she’d brought down to the beach with her, just in case.

Just in case she saw something that inspired her.

A wicked smile curved her lips. Inspired her? That was putting it mildly!

She sketched a quick pencil outline, from memory, of the magnificently built hunk she’d seen—first a side profile, then from behind, showing his body in motion, his hand raised in a wave. His face, half turned towards her, was indistinct, due to the distance between them, so all she could give was an impression of a strong square jaw, dark eyes under heavy brows, and thick black hair, cut reasonably short...but every other detail of his impressive frame was clearly etched in her memory.

She became so absorbed in her task that she didn’t realise for a while how hot the afternoon had become, or how fiercely the sun’s rays were penetrating her lightly oiled skin, until she’d finished her sketches to her satisfaction and tossed the sketchbook down.

‘Whew! It’s hot!’ She sat for a moment, gazing longingly at the waves breaking on the shore and the glittering blue water beyond. She remembered Diana’s warning about not going swimming alone, but the water looked so inviting. And so safe.

There wasn’t a heavy surf today, which probably accounted for the absence of any surfies in the water. There were no swimmers either, but it was midweek and school term-time, and this was a secluded beach considered dangerous for swimming, as a sign above the beach warned.

There did appear to be a strong undertow sucking the swirling water back from the shoreline, but Kate was confident she could deal with it, if she didn’t go out too far. She’d always been a strong swimmer—a swimming champion, in fact, during her schooldays—which had toned and strengthened her body, despite its slender build.

So why not? Just a quick dip, to cool herself down. She’d go out no further than waist height. She needed something to relax her and cool her down after coming all the way up here during uni term to find that her reason for coming had vanished.

Having made up her mind, she jumped up and headed for the water, pausing as she reached the shoreline to glance around. There was still no one else on the beach, or anywhere in sight, and the spectacularly built jogger had disappeared, perhaps taking a shortcut across the sandhills above the beach, back to wherever he’d come from.

As a gently rolling wave crashed onto the shore and broke, she dipped her toe into the fizzing white foam swirling across the sand towards her. It felt good. Really good.

She took a step forward, and then another, picking her way through the bubbly shallows, resisting the pull of the undertow as the water surged back from the shore. She waded through the tumbling froth to waist height, then began to paddle gently, following the swell of the waves as they came, relishing the sensual coolness of the water as it flowed over her skin and streamed through her hair.

It was pure bliss...until it gradually dawned on her that she could no longer touch the bottom. As she tried to head back to shore, she realised she was making no headway, that some force was exerting pressure against her, dragging at her arms, her body, her legs.

Alarm snapped her out of her euphoria as she realised she was caught in a strong rip. She could no longer see the beach for the swell of the waves. All she could see was blue water and clear sky, the waves forcing her to struggle even harder. An icy fear gripped her.

I’m not going to make it, she thought in sudden panic, and had an agonising glimpse of her father’s face, and her mother’s, at the loss of another daughter. She couldn’t let it happen! She began to fight with all her might against the dragging current, kicking with her legs and thrashing her arms in a desperate attempt to force her way back to shore.

But she knew it was no good. She was making no headway at all, and she was tiring. Fast

Her flailing hands connected with something solid. She screamed and lashed out wildly, thinking it must be a shark.

As she blindly struck out, squeezing her eyes shut against her turbulent splashes, she felt a hard knock to her upper cheek, then heard a man’s voice rasping, ‘Don’t fight me, I’ll help you!’ as strong hands grasped her by the shoulders and swung her round.

An iron-muscled arm clamped around her from behind, across her heaving breasts, crushing her against what felt like an equally hard male body...an amazingly powerful body with massive strength, massive muscles, massive control. Even in her terror, she felt strangely safe in his arms...protected...as if she could indeed rely on this man to help her. As if she could place her life in his hands.

She went limp in his arms.

‘Good. Now...gently kick your legs,’ grated her rescuer as he struck out with his free arm, his other holding her in that vice-like grip. ‘We’ll make it if we pull together... if you don’t panic! If you’re too tired to kick, just relax and let me do the work.’

She didn’t panic. Or relax. She used her arms and legs to help as much as she could, though she had a sneaky feeling he didn’t really need her feeble attempts at assistance; he just hadn’t wanted her to fight him or try to hold him back.

Instead of fighting against the rip, he struck out diagonally across it, gradually making headway until suddenly the undercurrent dragging at them wasn’t there any more, and Kate realised with a gasp of relief that they’d managed to free themselves from its insidious pull. They were going to make it.

As if she’d ever had any doubt, from the moment her Herculean rescuer had seized her in his capable arms. Mighty arms...mighty shoulders...mighty legs. He had to be the powerful runner she’d seen on the beach earlier... he couldn’t be anyone else. How lucky that he’d seen her!

Now that they’d freed themselves from the pull of the undertow, the rest was easy. They even managed to catch a rolling wave, which swept them both in without either needing to make any effort at all. The wave shattered, dumping them on the shore in a tumble of white froth and a tangle of arms and legs.

As the water surged back, threatening to drag them back with it, he pulled her out of its sucking reach, onto dry sand. For a moment they both lay gasping, lungs heaving, throats rasping. She was still tangled in his arms, she realised dazedly. Still safe and protected in those great muscled arms.