“Rowena. You feel it, too, don’t you?”

Oh, yes. She felt it. A weird kind of humming in the air between them. When he’d touched her just now she’d felt as if her body were supercharged. “I don’t do this sort of thing.”

“Neither do I.” His voice was wry. “But something about you makes me want to.”

Just as well she was sitting down, because her knees had just turned back to jelly. “I…” Her mouth was too dry to force the words out.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to do. But I’d really like someone to hold my hand right now.”

She reached out and curled her fingers around his hand, keeping the pressure light.

He responded by curling his own fingers around hers.

And everything else vanished. There was just the two of them at the edge of the lake, under the stars.

24/7

The cutting edge

of Harlequin® Medical Romance™

The emotion is deep

The drama is real

The intensity is fierce

Dear Reader,

This is probably the most emotional book I’ve ever written—and probably also the most personal.

It started when my friend Phil did a fund-raising trek through Chile. When I saw her photos, I thought it would be a fabulous setting for a book. I knew I’d need some incredible emotion to balance the incredible setting, and that meant dealing with an issue I’ve found very hard to face for the last eighteen years. My mother died from breast cancer the Christmas six weeks before my twenty-first birthday, and I still miss her terribly. Luckily, being a writer, I’m able to express my feelings in fiction. So this book is a tribute to my mother.

Rowena has a tough time growing up, loses the nearest she’s ever had to a parent, falls in love and then has a health scare that could break the hero’s heart as well as hers. But Rowena is a fighter. Together, she and Luke face the worst, and…Without giving too much away, I think you’ll like the ending. I really believe that after deep heartache you can journey on to find happiness—I have. I have the most wonderful husband in the world, my beloved daughter was actually due on my mother’s birthday (which I don’t believe is a coincidence) and I have a gorgeous son. I can’t ask for more. And I know that my hero and heroine will be as lucky as I am, in the end.

With love,

Kate Hardy

Where the Heart Is

Kate Hardy

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

In loving memory of my mother,

Sandra Christine Shirley Sewell, 1945–1986.

So special. So deeply missed.

CONTENTS

Cover

Dear Reader

Title Page

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

HIS hair was the first thing she noticed. Down to his shoulders, dark and with the tiniest wave to hint that, when short, it curled. Antonio Banderas as El Mariachi, Rowena thought. Beautiful. Her fingers itched to touch it.

As if he’d felt her staring, he turned round. Glanced her way, just for a moment—but enough for her to note that his dark eyes held shadows. Shadows even deeper than her own.

She shook herself. He was a stranger. Though admittedly he was the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen—the most gorgeous man any of the other women in the airport had seen, too, judging by the looks he was attracting. Tall, dark and dangerous, with a mouth that promised paradise, dressed in black, he was every woman’s fantasy.

Then she realised his gaze had returned to her. There was a faint question in his eyes; she gave the tiniest shake of her head. The attraction might be mutual, but nothing was going to come of it. She’d bet serious money that he had a wife and kids at home. Despite that faint air of danger, Rowena thought, he was the type. A family man.

And she most definitely wasn’t a family woman.

She hauled the backpack onto her shoulders, ready to join the rest of the group. Carly, the woman she’d sat next to on the flight out, smiled nervously at her. ‘I can hardly believe we’re here in Santiago, over seven thousand miles away from London.’

‘Well, it’s what we’ve been waiting for. Training for,’ Rowena reminded her, returning her smile. ‘Though there’s still a four-hour flight to go.’

‘And then the coach trip. Six hours, the information pack said.’ Carly grimaced. ‘I hate coach travel. It always makes me sick.’

Rowena was just about to ask if Carly had bought some travel sickness tablets before she’d left England, when she remembered. Right here, right now, she wasn’t Dr Thompson, registrar in the emergency department at the Queen Elizabeth Hospital, Manchester. She was just plain Rowena Thompson, in Chile with a group of people who were doing a one-hundred-kilometre trek through the Torres del Paine National Park in Patagonia to raise money for leukaemia research. If she admitted to medical knowledge, either she’d get annexed as one of the trip’s medical officers—which wasn’t what she wanted—or she’d have people sidling up to her, wondering if she could just give them a bit of advice about a long-standing health niggle or ‘just take a quick look at’ yada, yada, yada.

In another time, another place, she’d have obliged. But not now. The next ten days were for Peggy. And nothing, but nothing, was going to distract Rowena from raising an obscene amount of money. Money that still wouldn’t be enough to find an instant cure for leukaemia. Money that wouldn’t bring Peggy back. But she had to believe it would help. That it would stop someone else feeling as if part of the sun had gone out when someone they loved died from the disease. Because maybe, just maybe, if enough people raised enough money, researchers would finally find a cure.

She shook herself. No doom, no gloom. Peggy had been like sunshine, even towards the end. In the last week she’d admitted to ‘not feeling myself today’. Everyone had known what she’d really meant. She’d known she was dying. They’d smiled in front of their friend and colleague, then left the ward, leaned against the wall in the corridor and wept. Raged at the injustice—that the best emergency nurse they’d ever known had been dying from a disease that couldn’t be cured. And then they’d gone back to the emergency department and got on with their jobs. True professionals who’d ignored the fact that they were bleeding inside and concentrated on their patients.

‘Sit near the front, try to get a window open if you can, and keep your eyes straight ahead,’ Rowena offered.

‘And don’t think about the way the coach lurches round the bends,’ Carly said with a grimace. ‘Yeah.’ Then her eyes widened. ‘Wow. Is he with us? How did I miss him in London?’

Rowena knew exactly who she’d see, even before she glanced briefly over her shoulder. ‘He’s probably one of the guides.’ He looked Chilean—those deep dark eyes, that olive skin—as did the people he was talking to; she could hear the odd Spanish word she recognised in their conversation. QED: he was a native.

‘Mmm. Well, that’ll keep my mind off the coach journey. Maybe I’ll end up sitting next to him,’ Carly said hopefully.

‘Maybe.’

Rowena had intended to catnap on the four-hour flight, but the view from the window was too good to be missed—a spectacular view of the Andes, and then the dramatic ice fields. Strange to think that when she’d left home yesterday, it had been the middle of an August heat wave, at almost thirty degrees centigrade. Where she was heading, she’d be lucky if it got above two degrees. She smiled to herself. Everyone had said she was mad, planning to trek through Chile. And when the heat wave had started three days ago, they’d added she was raving mad, to give up on a rare English summer.

At Punta Arenas, the group boarded an elderly coach to take them to Puerto Natales. She was the last to take her seat—and, to her shock, the only space left was next to Mr Gorgeous.

Hadn’t Carly been dying to sit next to him? And, anyway, why wasn’t he sitting with the other trek organisers? Stifling the tingle of panic in her stomach, she sat down.

A six-hour trip. Next to a man whose smile had turned every female knee in the vicinity to jelly. Including her own.

Oh, boy.

‘Buenas dias, señora.’

Rowena didn’t bother correcting him to señorita; she simply smiled back. ‘Good afternoon.’

‘Good afternoon. My name is Luke,’ he said, in perfect, unaccented English.

Not what she’d expected. But, then, if he’d been a guide for a reasonable length of time, of course he’d speak perfect English. Probably French, German and Italian as well. ‘Luke’ was probably the Anglicised version of his name.

‘Luke MacKenzie.’

MacKenzie? No way was that a Chilean surname. The surprise made her meet his eyes—and then she wished she hadn’t, because awareness of him turned her stomach to water. Hell and double hell. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

And now he was waiting for her to tell her his name. She could be rude and just ignore him—but she’d still have to sit next to him for the next six hours. He’d probably guess why she was ignoring him, too: that she was trying to suppress the spark of attraction towards him. She decided to play it safe, be polite and throw a much-needed barrier between them. ‘Rowena Thompson.’

Then she made a second mistake. She took his outstretched hand. A brief clasp, a polite handshake—the English way—and yet it felt as if the contact had been much, much more intimate. As if he’d drawn her hand up to his lips, kissed the back of her hand, then turned her palm over and licked the pulse at the base of her wrist.

She felt a muscle work in her jaw. This wasn’t good. She didn’t want to react to him like this. Didn’t want anyone in her life. Not now, not in the future. Not ever.

‘Welcome to Chile,’ he said softly.

‘You…live here?’ she croaked, cursing her voice for letting her down. For telling him that she was affected by him.

‘For the moment.’

So he was an Englishman abroad. He looked the outdoor type. She definitely couldn’t imagine him working in an office, or any place where he’d be trapped indoors, away from the elements. ‘You’re one of our guides?’ she guessed—merely making conversation.

‘Trek medical officer,’ he said.

Luke MacKenzie was a doctor?

The surprise must have shown on her face because he shrugged. Just one shoulder, as if he’d come across this reaction so many times that he was bored by it. ‘Don’t let the hair fool you,’ he said softly. ‘I’m qualified.’

Her face burned. ‘I, um, didn’t mean to be rude.’ This was where she should offer information in exchange. I’m a doctor, too. But the words stuck in her throat, again. Right here, right now, she wasn’t a doctor. She was a fundraiser. And she was going to do this properly. Keep everything compartmentalised and under control. ‘Is this your first trek?’ she asked politely.

He smiled again, though there was something odd about his smile—something she couldn’t put her finger on. ‘No. I’ve been working here for a year.’

A year spent outdoors. No wonder his skin was that beautiful shade of olive: caused by the sun, rather than a Spanish heritage. But why would a trained doctor spend a year out here? Or had he been on secondment to a hospital in Santiago and this was his last chance to see the ice fields before he went back to England?

She shook herself. It was none of her business. Maybe he’d left England because he hated all the administration and politics that were slowly strangling hospitals. The latest one—a European Directive to limit the hours they worked—was going to cause even more chaos, and George, their consultant, was neck-deep in paperwork. To the point where he’d threatened to take early retirement and everyone knew he actually meant it.

‘Is this your first trek?’ Luke asked, throwing her question back at her.

She nodded. ‘Though I’ve been in training.’ On the Pennines. Every day off, for the last four months, she’d spent walking uphill and down, across scree and uneven paths, breaking in her walking boots and increasing her strength—in between running events to raise the sponsorship the charity had asked her to find to cover the minimum of her costs for the trip. Once word had spread about what she was doing, she’d raised more than those costs from the emergency department alone. Ex-patients who remembered Peggy had read the story in the local paper and sent donations. And one six-year-old boy had even sent his pocket money along with a note in wobbly childish handwriting, a gift which had brought a lump to her throat and tears to her eyes.

‘I hope everyone else has been as sensible.’

‘Hmm?’

‘We always get at least one,’ Luke said. ‘The type who was too busy to do any training, even in the gym, before flying out here. A hundred kilometres isn’t far. Split over eight days, that’s about two hours’ walking a day.’

‘On level ground, maybe.’ Rowena had read her information pack thoroughly and knew the truth. They’d be walking for up to eight hours a day, over a wide variety of terrains.

‘So we end up with…’

He paused, and Rowena almost fell into the trap. Almost listed the most common injuries—blisters, sprains, strains. And if the novice trekkers were unfit, overweight and not wearing proper shoes, probably a case of plantar fasciitis as well—damage to the tissue that stretched from the heel to the toe. Fascia tissue took months to heal, and plantar fasciitis often needed a steroid injection into the heel to cure it.

‘A problem for you,’ she finished.

Funny, she’d assumed the doctor changed with each trek, though it made sense to have someone permanent, someone who knew the terrain and was familiar with procedures out here. Still, it was an unusual career choice. No chance of progress—more like a sabbatical, taking time out of his career. Why? Had he, too, lost someone to leukaemia?

But that was private, his business, and she didn’t want to know. Didn’t want to get involved. ‘Your wife must miss you if you’ve been out here for a year.’

Hell and double hell. Why had she said that? Now he’d think she was fishing, trying to find out if he was free. He’d think she was trying to flirt with him. Anyway, if he was married—and she stood by her first impression, that he was a family man—his wife was probably out here with him. She could be one of the guides meeting them at Puerto Natales, for all Rowena knew. They probably worked together somehow.

His eyes were unreadable. ‘I’m not married.’

‘Oh.’ How to put both your size sevens in your mouth at once. Maybe his wife had died of leukaemia—maybe that was why he was out here, and Rowena had just managed to scrape the top layer off his scars. Or was that a slight trace of amusement in his voice? She was cringing inwardly to the point where she couldn’t meet his eyes. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to be nosy,’ she mumbled, feeling her cheeks burn.

‘No pasa nada.’

‘Sorry, I don’t speak Spanish.’ Though it made her look at him.

And he was smiling. With an edge, admittedly, but he was smiling. ‘No worries,’ he translated. ‘Literally, it’s “nothing happens”, but it means more or less “no worries”.’

He had a point. She was over seven thousand miles away from Manchester. Away from the emergency department. Away from the red tape. All she had to do was walk through the Torres del Paine national park—in the shadow of the three huge towers of granite which gave the park its name—and come out the other side. Walk through her own pain, her loss, and start to heal.

No worries.

‘Right.’ She gave him a tight smile, and hoped he’d let the conversation drop for a bit.

It had definitely been a mistake, angling for a seat next to her, Luke thought. But he hadn’t been able to help himself. He’d caught her eye at the airport—beautiful eyes, a deep slate blue you could drown in—and he’d felt that instant hot zing of attraction. She’d given the tiniest shake of her head, telling him that, no, she wasn’t interested. He should have respected that.

The fact he hadn’t…was worrying. He didn’t do relationships. Not any more. Not since Charlie.

Charlie. He forced down the gut-wrenching guilt. Hell. He was doing his penance, wasn’t he? A year spent in Patagonia, where Chile’s slender length broke up into hundreds of small islands. A land of glaciers, deep valleys and wooded mountains. The edge of the Andes, where condors flew and the winds tore through you.

Though it wasn’t enough. Would never be enough. It couldn’t blow away the guilt, the feeling that the better half of him had died.

Not that he’d talk about it to anyone. It was still too raw. Which was why he’d stayed aloof for the last eighteen months. Split up with the woman he’d intended to marry—she deserved better, after all—and had turned down every offer since.

And there had been offers.

Most of the people on the charity treks had a special reason for raising money. They usually did it in memory of someone they’d lost, a tribute combined with a pilgrimage. But some did it just to keep a friend company. And those were usually the ones who noticed the guides and the trek doctor. The ones who let the southern hemisphere seduce their senses. The ones who sidled up to his tent under starlight. Offered.

Luke always, but always, said no. Even though he could hear Charlie’s voice so clearly in his head, asking him when he was going to stop wearing the hair shirt. It wasn’t just for penance: Luke hadn’t wanted to lose himself in mindless sex with someone he’d never see again. And he didn’t want a relationship either. No one-night stands, no for evers, and nothing in between. Staying apart had been his choice. The sensible thing to do.

And that was why Rowena Thompson was dangerous. This had been the first time in eighteen months that he’d felt desire coil hot in his belly.

Desire you can’t act upon, he reminded himself. You’re not going to get involved. Besides, she may not be wearing a wedding ring—he’d checked that out the second she’d sat next to him—but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t have someone waiting for her at home. And she’s one of the trekkers, which means she’s under your care. Which means she’s off limits. Another week or so, and you’ll never see each other again.

He could manage a few measly days…couldn’t he?

He had to revise that before they reached Puerto Natales. He hadn’t even managed six hours. They’d had two rest breaks. That meant two chances to move, swap places with one of the regular guides. And Luke hadn’t done it. He’d spent his time sitting right next to Rowena. He hadn’t done the sensible thing and dragged himself away.

Admittedly, they hadn’t had a personal conversation. He’d kept it light, told her about the park’s flora and fauna, the history of the park he’d learned from the guides over the last year.

‘So it’s going to be cold and wet in the national park?’

‘About two or three degrees centigrade,’ he confirmed. ‘But then you have to add in the wind-chill factor. That’s why we recommend people wear a fleece and light layers—and breathable waterproofs. You’ll probably get drenched from rain or just the wind blowing water from the lakes…’ Mmm, he definitely wasn’t going to let his thoughts go any further along that route: the idea of Rowena Thompson in wet, clinging clothing was a bit too much of his self control. ‘But you’ll be able to shower at the end of the day.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘I assume you’re going to be sleeping in the refugio?’

‘The hostel, you mean?’ At his nod, she gave him a scornful look. ‘No. I’m sleeping in a tent.’

Like he was.

Maybe next to him.

And that wasn’t going to be good for his peace of mind. Maybe he should try to put her off. ‘I hope you’re good at putting up a tent in the wind.’

She frowned. ‘How do you mean?’

‘We get sixty-mile-an-hour winds in Patagonia,’ he clarified. Not constantly, but some of the gusts could be that harsh. ‘That’s why we use low-rise tents. Anything higher tends to break. And, of course, it’s winter here.’

‘I’ve camped out before.’ Her chin lifted.

Stubborn, as well as beautiful. ‘I’m just warning you. It can be a bit rough at night. No one will think any the less of you if you stay in the refugio.’

‘I’ll think less of me,’ she said simply.

He didn’t have an argument for that. Fine. He’d just make sure his tent was as far away from hers as he could get.

CHAPTER TWO

EXCEPT he didn’t. Luke pitched his tent right next to Rowena’s. OK, so he didn’t go quite as far as offering to help her put up her tent—the look on her face told him she was determined to do it on her own—but Luke kept an eye on her all the same. He didn’t sit anywhere near her when the group paused for a bowl of curanto for their evening meal—a hearty stew of fish, meat and potato, served with a chunk of cornbread—but he was still aware of her, of every single movement she made.

When they turned in for the night, his senses were at white heat. He swore softly. What was it about Rowena that had crashed through his barriers? He never, but never, let anyone ruffle his composure like this. Never let himself feel that fierce ache of wanting. Never let himself wonder how soft her mouth would feel under his. Never lay there fantasising about just how well his body would fit into hers.

Hell. He’d turned into a hormone-crazed teenager in the space of a few seconds. How could it have happened? He was supposed to be the responsible, sober medical officer—the man who was friendly to the trekkers, kept their spirits up when they flagged, and sorted out any medical problems quickly and efficiently. He’d worked out here for a year. He could do the job in his sleep.

But now, here he was, concocting steamy fantasies about the woman in the tent next to his. Picturing her straddling him, her head thrown back in abandon as he slid inside her. Imagining the taste of her skin. Rubbing his tongue along his lower lip as if she’d just nibbled it. Hell, he could almost feel her mouth trailing over his throat, over his pecs, moving slowly south until—

‘Stop it,’ he told himself, and rolled over onto his front. He squeezed his eyelids shut, gritted his teeth and dug his nails into his palms. This was a bad case of lust. It was probably only happening because he’d been celibate for the last eighteen months. It was just a physiological thing. It’d pass.

He hoped.

The next morning, the group set off on the way to Lake Pehoé.

‘I’m glad this first bit’s so flat,’ Carly confided to Rowena as they walked together. ‘I was hoping we’d ease in gently. I mean, I trained in that huge climbing centre in North London and even managed to work up to a couple of levels above the novice climbing walls, but at the end of the day it’s not like doing the real thing, is it?’

Rowena grinned. ‘I think I was luckier, in Manchester. At least I had easy access to the Peak District and the Pennines.’

‘Well, I’m not going to moan. I’ll try not to, anyway,’ Carly said. ‘I’m doing this for Shanna.’

‘Shanna?’ Rowena asked gently.

‘My niece. She’s eight. She had leukaemia, but she’s in remission at the moment.’ For a moment, Carly’s lip wobbled. ‘She’s my sister’s only child. An IVF baby.’ She gulped. ‘It doesn’t seem fair that she should have leukaemia.’

It wasn’t fair that Peggy had had it either. ‘Leukaemia isn’t fair,’ Rowena said softly. ‘But Shanna’s young. There’s a good chance she’ll be fine.’ Unlike Peggy.

‘I’ve read up on it,’ Carly said. Her eyes were bleak. ‘If she’s one of the unlucky ones…’

‘Hey. Don’t think that way. And you’re here, aren’t you? The money you’re raising is going to help find a cure. You’re doing something positive about it.’

‘Yeah. And I shouldn’t be moaning. I came here to…well, to get away from it for a while, as well as to raise money for the cause.’

Me, too, Rowena thought. Though it wasn’t quite working. Even though the scenery around them was stupendous—they were walking alongside the Lago del Toro, under the shadows of the peaks of the Torres Massif—the pain wasn’t going away. The emptiness. The need she’d sworn she’d never let herself feel again.

‘Morning. How’s it going?’ a soft voice asked, and Rowena nearly stumbled. Damn. Why couldn’t she have some kind of early warning radar where Luke MacKenzie was concerned?

Carly blushed. ‘We’re fine—aren’t we, Rowena? This is an amazing place. Oh, by the way, I’m Carly.’

‘Luke MacKenzie, trek medical officer.’ He took her outstretched hand, shook it and smiled at her.

She gaped. ‘You don’t look like a doctor.’

He grinned. ‘A white coat wouldn’t stay pristine for long out here. Besides, it wouldn’t be warm enough.’

‘Mmm, I didn’t think it’d be this chilly.’

‘Chilly in Chile.’ He smiled at her. ‘Did you sleep well?’

‘Not bad. Though doubtless tonight, after our first proper day of hiking, I’ll be out like a light,’ she said wryly.

‘And you, Rowena?’

Rowena had hoped that he’d keep talking to Carly, that she’d be able to slide away very gently and walk on her own, leave them to chat together. But it was as if Luke had guessed her intention and wanted to stop her. ‘Fine,’ she muttered. Actually, she hadn’t slept well. And when she had slept, she’d dreamed. Dreamed really X-rated stuff, involving a certain dark-eyed man, which had made her unable to meet his eyes that morning at breakfast.

He was probably used to women throwing themselves at him. Well, she wasn’t going to make a fool of herself and add her name to the list. Definitely not.

‘What’s that animal over there?’ Carly asked, pointing at a shaggy, light brown animal.

To Rowena’s relief, Luke switched into guide mode. ‘It’s a Patagonian guanaco—you’ll see a lot of them in the national park. They’re a sort of wild relative of the Andean llama,’ he explained. He told them more about the trees, too, the lenga and coigue.

‘And the park’s name—does it mean “towers of pain” because the trek can be tough?’ Carly asked.

He chuckled. ‘Not exactly. “Paine” is a Tehuelche Indian word for “blue” —that’s the colour of the water and the colour of the ice. You’ll also see the Cuernos del Paine, when we get to Lake Pehoé—they’re granite towers, called “the horns” because of their shape.’ He grinned. ‘Though there’s a great legend about how they were formed. They were made by an evil serpent called Cai Cai, who caused a flood which killed the warrior tribe in the region. The snake turned their bodies into stone and then created the horns.’

‘I see.’ Carly nodded.

‘You’ll see a lot, over the next few days,’ Luke told her. ‘In the forests around here, it’s a birdwatcher’s paradise—catitas, woodpeckers, long-tailed meadowlarks and the great horned owl. Plus you’ll see condors, glaciers…and I think you’ll like Lake Pehoé.’

‘Just don’t go swimming in it?’ Carly guessed.

He grinned, and Rowena had a vision of Luke swimming in the lake in the Andean summer. He’d be confident in the glacial waters, disappearing under the surface and emerging like a seal, his hair slicked back and shining wetly in the sun. And then…

‘Rowena?’

‘Uh, sorry. I thought I saw a condor,’ she lied. She just hoped that Luke hadn’t been able to read her thoughts. But when she glanced at him, she had the nasty feeling that he knew exactly what she’d been thinking.

And that he’d been thinking along the same lines.

Wet, bare skin.

This was crazy. She didn’t do relationships. Not long term, not short term. Nothing. Nada, as he would say. So why did she have the hots for a man she barely knew, a man she’d never see again after the trek was over?

To her relief, he let them walk on and moved to the group following them, chatting lightly to them. Then she realised what he was doing. Assessing the walkers, checking if anyone was having difficulty, who might need more help, who was a potential medical case. Exactly what she would have done, in his position. Putting his job first.

She liked that. She liked it a lot. And that made it even harder to stay away from him. Though she knew she ought to, for her peace of mind.

After a lunch of empanadas—a minced beef pastry which also contained tomato, raisins and hard-boiled egg—they set off on the final leg to the camp. The path was much steeper, climbing upwards, and Rowena was glad she’d taken the time to do a few stretches after lunch—her calves were definitely feeling the strain.

But it was worth it when they reached Lake Pehoé. ‘Wow,’ she said softly. The water was turquoise and shimmered under the cool winter sky. She’d seen pictures of it in the guide book she’d bought when she’d signed up for the trek, but she hadn’t been prepared for it to be this beautiful.

‘Want me to take a photograph of you together?’ Luke asked.

He’d done it again. Crept up on her and taken her by surprise.

Though she noticed that Carly wasn’t complaining. Carly smiled and handed him her camera, then made Rowena pose with her in front of the lake, with the Cuernos del Paine rising up behind them. ‘You’re right, it’s fabulous,’ she said. ‘It reminds me of the Mediterranean, that incredible turquoise blue.’

Why couldn’t she talk that easily to him? Why did it feel as if her mouth had been stuffed with sand? But if she didn’t do something, Carly would notice. She might even comment. Or, worse, realise what had made Rowena so tongue-tied. So Rowena handed her camera to Luke, muttered instructions on how to use it and smiled her thanks when he returned it to her.

Dinner was another meal of hot soup followed by stew and cornbread. Rowena passed on the offer of pisco sours—the traditional Chilean spirit mixed with egg white, lemon juice and sugar—and stuck to a single glass of Merlot, not wanting to risk a hangover when they had a hard day’s walking ahead. Carly turned in early, and Rowena almost wished she’d chosen a bed in the refugio too—though when she left the bar for her tent, she was glad she hadn’t.

Despite the hardness of her bed and the coolness of the night air, it was worth sleeping in a tent. Tonight there were no clouds and no wind, and the night sky took her breath away. The stars were bright—much brighter than they ever were in Manchester, with all the city’s light pollution—and the sky looked like indigo velvet. It made her want to reach out and touch it…And then she heard a scream.

Human, or a bird?

Then she heard another scream, and this time it was unmistakable. ‘Help!’

She grabbed her torch and headed towards the sound.

She was the second person on the scene, behind Luke by about ten seconds.

‘It’s Stephen,’ the young woman by the edge of the lake sobbed.

One of the group who’d been drinking pisco sours, Rowena noticed.

‘He fell in. We were messing about. I didn’t know we were this close to the edge. He can swim, but…’

But he’d been drinking—and the water was very, very cold. Either factor would impair his ability to swim. Putting both into play meant he was likely to drown.

‘I thought he was messing about—you know, pretending he was in trouble.’ The young woman gulped. ‘But then I realised he really was in trouble.’

‘How long’s he been in?’ Luke asked.

‘A few minutes.’ She shook her head, clearly panicking, and when you were scared, Rowena knew, it was hard to judge how quickly time passed. ‘I don’t know.’

In waters that cold, with a low air temperature as well, just a couple of minutes could give Stephen hypothermia.

Luke’s mouth was set in a thin line. ‘I’ll give you the lecture later. Just stand back—I don’t want anyone else falling in. I’ll get him.’ He stripped off his jacket and then plunged into the lake.

Rowena put her arm round the young woman and guided her back from the edge. The rest of the group was silent. ‘You’re Melissa, aren’t you?’

‘Yes. I…We didn’t mean it. I didn’t know those drinks were so strong. They tasted…Well, it was a laugh. He just lost his footing.’

‘He can swim,’ one of the others put in.

‘Yes, but this is glacial water. It comes from an ice field,’ Rowena pointed out. ‘Look, can one of you run back to the refugio and get some blankets and towels? We need them now.’

‘I’ll go,’ one of them said, and immediately raced towards the refugio.

‘Why do you need blankets?’ another asked.

‘The air temperature is cold—his body’s not going to be able to cope with the shock of it on top of the cold water,’ Rowena said.

‘He’s not going to die, is he?’ Melissa wailed.

‘It’s likely that he’s going to have at least a mild case of hypothermia—’ the risk increased with every minute he was in the water ‘—so he’s in for a rough night.’

‘Hypothermia? Isn’t that what you get when you’re old, or if you’ve been on a mountain all night?’

‘It means your body’s core temperature is a couple of degrees lower than normal,’ Rowena explained. ‘It happens more quickly in cold water. As your body cools, your brain and nerves work more slowly and your muscles start to cramp. That means Stephen’s not going to be able to swim properly, and his heart might not beat properly either.’

‘So he’s going to be really ill?’

‘It depends on how fit he is and how cold the water is. And drinking alcohol increases the risk of developing hypothermia,’ Rowena added.

Melissa looked frightened enough. Rowena decided not to add that if Stephen’s temperature went too low, his heart rate would drop, he could slip into a coma, and he might even die. ‘I think in future it might be a good idea to decide to have a few drinks or to have a night-time stroll round the lake—not both.’

‘We never meant this to happen. We were just having a laugh, enjoying the stars and that. He slipped on the rocks and fell in,’ Melissa said, her voice shaky. ‘I thought he was messing about at first. You know what blokes are like.’

The blankets arrived at the same time that Luke emerged from the lake, supporting Stephen and half dragging him.

Luke nodded approval at the blankets and towels. ‘Quick thinking. We need to get him out of this wet stuff and dry him, and get him back to the refugio.’

‘You’re wet as well,’ Rowena pointed out as she helped Luke strip the wet clothing from the groggy man and blot the water from his body with towels.

‘I’m a doctor and I’m used to the climate.’

‘Don’t be so ridiculous. If you stay out here in wet clothes, you’ll develop hypothermia as well! We need the trek medical officer at peak fitness,’ Rowena snapped.

‘I’ll change when we get in,’ Luke said.

She didn’t bother arguing, simply helped him wrap Stephen in the blankets and supported him on the way back to the refugio. The young man was too cold and disorientated to talk to them—he simply accepted their help with mumbled thanks and stumbled along between them.

‘Shall I get him a hot drink?’ Melissa asked.

‘No, if you try to warm him up too quickly you could burn him,’ Rowena answered. ‘Where’s your medical kit, Luke?’

‘In the refugio. It’s safer there than in my tent.’

Stephen’s girlfriend clearly needed something to do to make her feel as if she was doing something to help. ‘Melissa, can you run ahead and get the kit? And have you got a room or were you sleeping in tents?’

‘I’ve got a room,’ she said.

‘Good. We’ll need it for him tonight,’ Rowena said.

‘I’ll get the stuff,’ Melissa said.

When they got to the refugio, Melissa was waiting with the medical kit.

‘Got an ear thermometer in there?’ Rowena asked.

Luke nodded. ‘Stephen, I’m just going to put this in your ear and take your temperature, OK?’ he asked. The young man nodded. ‘Thirty-three degrees.’

Low, but manageable, Rowena thought. So they wouldn’t need to call out the air ambulance. Yet.

‘That’s good. You’ve got mild hypothermia, Stephen, so we’ll be able to help you right here, with something called passive rewarming. That means we’ll wrap you in warm blankets to reduce the amount of heat your body’s losing to the air.’ Luke gave Melissa a tight smile. ‘Don’t look so scared. He should warm up again in three to four hours.’

‘We need to avoid afterdrop, so we’ll keep his arms and legs uncovered, but we’ll cover his head and neck,’ Rowena added quietly. Because the body’s extremities cooled faster than the torso, if they warmed his arms and legs, the colder blood in Stephen’s limbs would re-enter his circulation and make his hypothermia worse. Heat was lost more quickly from the head, so keeping Stephen’s head covered would help.

Luke’s eyes narrowed. ‘You know about hypothermia?’

Oh, no. She’d been bandying technical terms about without thinking. It must be obvious to him that she was a medic. ‘I’ve done some first aid,’ she admitted. It just happened to be part of her job as an emergency department registrar. Though he didn’t need to know that much detail.

‘Do I get him a drink now?’ Melissa asked.

‘Not until he stops shivering,’ Luke said. ‘But shivering’s a good sign. It means your body’s warming up again,’ he added to Stephen.

‘When you get too cold, your body loses the shiver reflex,’ Rowena explained.

‘Right,’ Melissa said, biting her lip. ‘So he’s going to be OK?’

‘We’ll keep an eye on him but, yes, he should be fine,’ Luke reassured her.

‘Go and get changed,’ Rowena told him. ‘I can cope here for a few minutes.’

Again, Luke gave her that assessing stare, but he nodded and left. When he returned, he was wearing jeans—old, faded, but snug enough to make Rowena feel a surge of lust—and a black fleece.

‘Should I get you a warm drink?’ Melissa asked.

‘That’d be kind. Yes, please,’ Rowena said, before Luke could say anything. When the young woman had left the room, she glanced at Stephen. He looked drowsy; the chances were he wasn’t going to pay that much attention to what she was saying. She added quietly to Luke, ‘She needs something to do—something to make her feel as if she’s helping. She’s feeling guilty about what’s happened.’

His eyes were hard. ‘So she damned well should. Of all the stupid things—drinking and then going near the edge of the lake! It’d be bad enough on a warm night in a hot country, but to do it here, on the edge of a glacial lake in the middle of winter…’

‘Hey. She’s young, she’s frightened. She knows she’s done wrong, and if you shout at her you’re likely to make that whole bunch aggressive towards you.’ Rowena had seen it happen before too many times on a Saturday night—a lot of the Saturday night emergency cases could be traced back to the effects of alcohol. The ones who came in with the emergency case had usually been drinking, too, and from her first weekend in the ED Rowena had been taught to defuse the situation, keep it light and make sure any aggression didn’t spiral out of control. ‘Keep it calm.’

‘But it was such a stupid—’

‘I know. She knows. They all know. Trust me, you don’t need to give them a lecture.’

Melissa came in and overheard Rowena’s last words. ‘Yeah. She’s already done it for you—in a nice way. I’m sorry. We all are,’ she said. She took Stephen’s hand. ‘Steve’s kid brother died from leukaemia,’ she said quietly.

Stephen opened his eyes. ‘Being here—we’re trying to do something to help, so it doesn’t happen to someone else,’ he mumbled. ‘Sorry I caused all this trouble.’

‘It wasn’t your fault,’ Melissa defended him. She turned back to face Luke and Rowena. ‘Steve was feeling a bit raw tonight, so we thought we’d cheer him up. We didn’t realise how strong those pisco sours were—or how near the edge of the lake we were. It won’t happen again.’

Rowena saw a muscle tighten in Luke’s face. He was clearly reining in his temper—but why? Had he seen someone die in the glacial waters around here? Or was it the story of Steve’s brother that had upset him? Had Luke lost a younger brother or sister?

It’s nothing to do with you, she reminded herself. Back off. And he hasn’t told you of his own free will, so prying is just going to hurt him.

In the end, Luke shrugged. ‘It’s getting late. You’d better get some sleep.’

‘I’d rather stay.’

‘It’s going to take a while until Steve’s warmed up again,’ Luke said shortly. ‘You’d be better off getting some rest. We’ve got a long day tomorrow.’

‘But—’ Melissa began.

‘Don’t worry, we’re going to keep checking his temperature until it’s back up to normal,’ Luke said.

‘We’ll call you if there’s anything we need,’ Rowena promised, seeing that the young woman was near to tears. ‘He’s going to be fine.’ When Melissa left, she glanced at Stephen, who’d dropped back into a doze, and said, ‘You didn’t need to be quite that harsh with her.’

Luke’s face said it all for him. Back off. Now.

She changed tack. ‘I don’t suppose there’s any chance of warmed, humidified oxygen?’ They’d need it if Stephen started to deteriorate, and she’d be happier if she knew it was nearby.

‘Put it this way, where we’re going tomorrow, the only contact we’ll have with the outside world is by radio,’ Luke said dryly. ‘We’re a long way from a state-of-the-art medical facility.’

‘Just wondered.’

‘If I think he’s deteriorating, I’ll call the air ambulance.’

Still that tightness in his voice. Something had clearly upset him, but she could tell that he wasn’t going to talk to her about it. She sat in silence with him, writing down sets of observations every fifteen minutes.

The next thing she knew, Luke was shaking her awake.

‘Huh?’ Then years of practice from her time as a junior doctor came to the fore, and she was awake instantly. ‘Sorry. I meant to stay awake, help you.’

‘No pasa nada. If you’re not used to being outdoors all day, the fresh air tends to make you sleep well at night.’

She flushed. ‘Even so. How’s Steve?’

‘His temperature’s back to normal.’

She glanced at her watch. As she’d expected, it had taken three hours. ‘That’s good.’

‘We’ll hand him over to Melissa now.’ He shepherded her out of the room and found Melissa, who was hunched over a half-empty mug of tepid coffee.

Melissa looked worried, as if she wanted to know what was going on but was scared Luke would bite her head off if she asked.

Luke obviously saw it, too, because his tone was gentler this time. ‘I’m sorry I snapped at you earlier. I guess being drenched in ice-cold water doesn’t do much for my manners.’

She smiled awkwardly. ‘Sorry.’

Luke put her in the picture quickly. ‘If you’re at all worried during the night—and I mean if anything doesn’t seem quite right to you—then I want you to call me. It’s unlikely he’ll develop any complications but if he does, the earlier we know about it the better chance we have of helping him.’

‘I promise,’ Melissa said solemnly. ‘And thank you. I know what happened was our fault, and we didn’t deserve…’ Her voice tailed away.

‘Hey.’ Luke squeezed her shoulder. ‘I was young once. I’ve got drunk and done stupid things. Though I drew the line at swimming in a glacial lake in the middle of winter.’

‘Well. Thank you anyway,’ she said, smiling through the threatening tears.

‘I’ll walk you to your tent,’ Luke said to Rowena.

She was perfectly capable of finding her own way back, but she found herself nodding. ‘Thanks.’

He waited until they were out of the refugio before asking, ‘So how come someone who’s “done some first aid” knows rather more than the average person about treating hypothermia? Are you on a mountain rescue team somewhere?’

‘No. I…’ She sighed. ‘OK. I’m a qualified doctor, too.’

‘How come the organising team didn’t know that?’

‘Because I don’t want to be responsible for other people. I’m here to walk, raise money.’

‘Mmm-hmm. And that’s why you waded right in just now.’

‘You were the one in the water,’ she pointed out.

‘Don’t split hairs.’ He gave her a sidelong look. ‘That’s the thing about being a doctor. You never quite switch off, do you?’

‘I suppose not,’ she admitted.

They walked in silence to her tent—a silence which grew tenser by the second. Rowena was beginning to find it hard to breathe. All she could think of was how it would feel to have his mouth covering hers. Hell. This was the last thing she needed. She dragged in a breath. ‘Thanks for walking me back.’

‘Least I could do.’

She hadn’t intended to meet his eyes. By starlight, they were very dark and very intense. And his mouth wasn’t that far from hers. She saw the instant he realised it, too, and she moved away before he could make the thought reality. ‘See you tomorrow,’ she said, knowing she was being a coward, and ducked into the safety of her tent.

CHAPTER THREE

ROWENA was a doctor, just like he was. So why hadn’t she said anything before? She’d claimed that she didn’t want to be responsible for others, but he didn’t believe that. When you were a doctor, being responsible for others was part of the territory. And hadn’t she stepped in to help when she’d been needed?

Maybe she was shy. He’d noticed that she either chatted to Carly or stayed on the sidelines of the group, not saying much. He didn’t think she wasn’t being snobby or standoffish—it was almost as if she didn’t know how to mix in, had never been taught how to be part of a group.

Not that it was any of his business. He should just follow her lead and back off.

Except he was sure she felt the same.

And he couldn’t back off. Something drew him to her. The same something that gave him the kind of dreams he really didn’t want to wake from. Maybe, Luke thought the next morning, as he gulped a cup of viciously strong coffee in a vain attempt to clear his head, maybe he just needed to get it out of his system. And hers.

Maybe it would be good for both of them. No strings attached, no promises, no broken hearts. She’d lost someone close, too, so maybe this was a way of helping them both heal. Let the barriers down, let the pain out, let themselves move on instead of being stuck in regret and mourning and loss.

Maybe.

Stephen was up and about at breakfast and seemed none the worse for his adventure the night before. Rowena smiled at him and Melissa, gulped her coffee and disappeared before anyone in that little group could hail her as a hero. She hadn’t done that much after all.

When they started the next part of the hike, the forest was cool and damp, and Rowena was glad of her waterproof jacket. The scramble up to the top was easy—but the view of the lake and the glacier took Rowena’s breath away. She’d expected the glacier to be white or grey, but it shimmered in different shades of blue, huge vertical waves and peaks of frozen ice, as if a choppy sea had been frozen in mid-wave. The lake itself was grey, which she’d read was due to the mineral content of the water. Obviously the glacier was named after the lake.

She could hear a rumbling, crashing noise in the distance. She couldn’t place it at first, and then she realised that small bergs were ‘calving’ from the Grey Glacier and falling into the lake. The wind was driving the smaller bergs down to the shoreline. The smallest lumps of ice were white, but the larger pieces were bright blue, like the glacier.

‘It’s stunning,’ she breathed.

‘The southern part of the Patagonian Ice Field,’ Luke said, his voice filled with pride. ‘It’s the largest ice field in the world.’

Ice, ice, everywhere—and not a single bit of it could cool her body’s reaction to him. Panic made her want to run, but she knew that would be stupid. Immature. Maybe a neutral conversation would help ease the pressure. And didn’t English people always talk about the weather? ‘I thought ice was clear or white.’

‘It is when there’s air in it and the pressure’s low. In a glacier, the weight of the ice causes major pressure within the ice, and that’s why it’s blue. The bigger blocks end up in coves and inlets; as they melt, the density of the ice slowly decreases and they lose their colour.’

‘And I thought they were supposed to move really slowly.’

‘Glaciers, or icebergs? The glacier’s receding at a rate of just over three centimetres a day. New caves and crevasses form every day—so every time I come here, it looks different.’ He sounded wistful.

He was standing close enough to touch her. All she had to do was take a step backwards and she’d be in his arms. She could almost feel the pressure of his body against hers, the warmth leaping out between them. What would it feel like to curl her fingers through his hair? Her hands almost itched with the urge to touch him, to pull his head down to hers and touch her lips to his.

But that would be a seriously stupid move. She didn’t do flings. Didn’t do for evers. Didn’t do relationships, full stop.

She mumbled some excuse about needing to see one of the others, and stepped away. But she was aware of every move he made on the way back. And even though she was sitting on the opposite side of the dining room that evening, during their customary meal of soup, hot tea and stew, it felt as if she was right next to him.

Why couldn’t she get him out of her head?

The worst thing was, the one time she caught his gaze, his eyes were saying exactly the same thing. Hot, dark, full of passion. Passion he kept reined in—but it was there. And she knew it was all for her.

Ah, hell. Maybe she should break a rule. Just this once. Let somebody get close to her. And maybe she shouldn’t. Who knew if one night would be enough, for either of them? And it wasn’t fair to start something she couldn’t finish.

It was another clear night, so Rowena sat at the edge of the lake to watch the stars, wrapped in a scarf and gloves and a thick jacket. Last night, when Stephen had fallen into the lake and she’d been caught up in the rescue, she hadn’t had the time to pinpoint the Southern Cross. Tonight Stephen and his friends were safely inside the refugio—and, she noticed, they hadn’t touched a single drop of alcohol. So tonight she’d be able to enjoy these moments on her own.

The sky was so very different from home. Darker, without the light pollution that usually lightened the city sky. The stars were sharper, more intense, and the constellations unfamiliar. And then she saw it: the Southern Cross.

‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ a soft voice asked.

She should have guessed that Luke would follow her out here. They’d been avoiding each other all day, ever since the glacier—but every time they’d looked up, they’d met each other’s gaze. ‘Mmm.’

‘Would you rather be alone?’

Yes. No. Both. She shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’

He sat on the rocks next to her, close but not actually touching. ‘At least we shouldn’t have to rescue anyone tonight. That’s something. Did you enjoy the glacier?’ She’d joined the group which had trekked right to the edge of the glacier for the best view.

‘Yes. Funny, a year ago, I wouldn’t even have thought of coming here.’

‘And now you’re raising funds.’ His voice was soft, so gentle. ‘You lost someone to leukaemia?’

Her throat felt tight. ‘A colleague.’ Though Peggy had been much more. Peggy was the mother she’d never had. The kind of mother she’d wanted—and had discovered that she definitely didn’t have. And when she’d first joined the emergency department and Peggy had found out that the young doctor would be on her own for Christmas, she had insisted that Rowena join her family for the holiday. She’d even made up a stocking for Rowena to open—nothing expensive, just a bottle of nail varnish and a tangerine, some nuts and a silly toy—but it had been the first Christmas stocking Rowena could ever remember getting. Which had been something, at the age of twenty-five.

‘I lost someone, too.’

So that was why he was out here. Trying to make a difference.

‘Even though we saved Stephen’s life yesterday, it’s not going to bring back the ones we loved, is it?’ he asked quietly.

To her horror, Rowena felt a tear rolling down her face. She dashed it away. ‘I don’t cry. Ever.’ She’d cried herself out when she was much, much younger. ‘Just ignore me.’

But he didn’t. Instead, he took her hand. The hand she’d used to brush the tear away. And he just sat there, holding her hand in a no-pressure silence. He, too, had gloves on, but she could feel the blood throbbing through his fingers, and panic welled up inside her. People didn’t hold her hand. Not even when…

She wasn’t going back there. The past was staying exactly where it belonged. She didn’t need to explain anything to him. And she didn’t need kindness or affection. Not from him, not from anyone. She wrenched her hand out of his.

‘Why are you running away from me?’ he asked.

She lifted her chin. ‘I’m not.’

He didn’t try to disagree with her, to her relief. But his next words shocked her. ‘Rowena. You feel it, too, don’t you?’

Oh, yes. She felt it. A weird kind of humming in the air between them. When he’d touched her just now, she’d felt as if her body had been supercharged. ‘I don’t do this sort of thing.’

‘Neither do I.’ His voice was wry. ‘But something about you makes me want to.’

This was a very, very bad idea. She didn’t want to be his friend. Or his lover. Somehow, she had to push him away. And she could think of only one way to do it. ‘Don’t you have a girl on every trek?’

‘No. It’s against my principles.’

How could he sound sincere and amused at the same time? She looked at him, and realised he’d meant it. In the starlight, his eyes were very dark and his face very sombre.

And then he smiled. Just a tiny, rueful quirk of his lips. ‘But I want to, with you.’

Just as well she was sitting down, because her knees had just turned back to jelly. ‘I…’ Her mouth was too dry to force the words out.

‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to leap on you,’ he reassured her, clearly misinterpreting her silence. ‘I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to do. But I’d really like someone to hold my hand right now.’

He wanted comfort from her? That was a first. Nobody had ever asked her to hold their hand before, except a patient who was in pain. Part of her was in a flurry, not knowing what to do, how to make him feel better. But she suppressed her thoughts and acted on instinct. She reached out and curled her fingers round his hand, keeping the pressure light.

He responded by curling his own fingers around her hand.

And everything else vanished. There was just the two of them at the edge of the lake, under the stars.

‘Is it an anniversary?’ she asked softly.

‘No. Eighteen months and four days.’

So he was still counting.

‘You?’ he asked.

‘Christmas.’

‘There’s never a good time to lose someone, but Christmas has to be the worst. Sympathy cards instead of season’s greetings.’

Except Rowena hadn’t even had those. After all, she wasn’t Peggy’s relative, merely a friend and colleague. Peggy might have been the nearest Rowena had had to a mother—but Rowena wasn’t family. She hadn’t been able to intrude where she’d known she hadn’t really belonged. So she’d stayed on the sidelines and tried to ignore the huge empty space deep inside her.

‘It still hurts. Some days, I wonder if it’s ever going to stop hurting,’ he said. ‘Just when I think I’m doing fine, something triggers a memory and I’m back at the start.’

‘Me, too.’ Even something as silly as Peggy’s favourite dish being the staff canteen’s special of the day.

‘I’ve been single for eighteen months. I had all the tests you can think of before I came out here, and I’m clean. I don’t do flings. I don’t do happy ever after either.’

He could have been speaking for her. Though she’d been single for a lot longer.

‘But right now I want you, Rowena. I want to lose myself in you. And maybe I can kiss you better, too.’

‘And tomorrow?’

‘I don’t know,’ he said simply. ‘I can’t think beyond right here, right now.’ He raked his free hand through his hair. ‘Hell. I’m not even thinking straight. Ignore me. And I’m sorry if I’ve offended you. I mean, asking you for a one-night stand. How tacky can I get? I didn’t—’

She cut him off by leaning over and pressing her mouth to his. Just lightly. It was meant to be a ‘stop babbling, it’s OK’ kind of kiss, but it didn’t work out that way. The next thing she knew, her hands were threaded through his hair and his mouth was demanding more from hers.

‘It’s cold out here,’ he whispered when he broke the kiss. ‘I’d like to continue this somewhere warmer. Somewhere private.’

‘My tent or yours?’

He smiled. ‘I hoped you’d say that rather than slapping my face. Though I should warn you that I don’t think I can stop at kissing.’

She couldn’t either. His hand was resting lightly on her knee, and she was willing it to move higher. ‘We’re both doctors. We should be sensible.’

He clearly guessed she meant birth control. ‘Uh-huh. I could go to the refugio.’

Except that would mean asking round to find someone who had a stock of condoms. Rowena didn’t want the gossip. Or, even worse, the wait. She wanted Luke. Right here, right now. ‘I’m on the Pill. But I don’t sleep around,’ she emphasised. Been there, done that, when she’d been eighteen. Six months of trying to block out the worst of all rejections. She’d learned then that sex couldn’t fill the emptiness, so what the hell did she think she was doing now?

The sensible side of her told her she should stop right now. The reckless side stuffed its hand over the sensible side’s mouth and cheered her on. So she tipped up her face in offering, and he kissed her again.

He was shaking when she broke the kiss. ‘I don’t sleep around either.’ There was a long, long pause. ‘So. Are you saying we…?’

‘Uh-huh.’ She couldn’t resist mimicking him.

‘Right now, there’s nothing I’d like more,’ he informed her, his voice husky, ‘than to beat my chest, do a Tarzan yell, haul you over my shoulder and carry you back to my tent.’

The image made her smile. At the same time, it excited her. Luke MacKenzie was a man who could make her lose control. If she let him.

Rowena stood up and held out her hand. ‘Let’s be civilised about this.’

‘I don’t feel very civilised.’ But he stood up, took her hand, and walked with her back to his tent. Neither of them felt the need to speak.

She crawled into the low tent. He followed seconds later. And then she lost track of everything. She had no idea who’d taken off whose clothes, when or how it happened; she was just aware of a flurry of need, of kisses and endearments, caresses. She thought she might be hyperventilating, and Luke was definitely shuddering with need.

‘N-now,’ she gasped.

He jammed his mouth over hers and entered her. But it wasn’t like it had been when she’d been eighteen, making love with students her own age. Luke was in his thirties, he was all man, and he knew exactly what he was doing. Rowena wasn’t prepared for how good this felt, the surge of power in his body as he thrust into her. All she could do was wrap her legs round his waist and cling to him for dear life. She tipped her head back, exhaling sharply, and he kissed his way down her throat, finding sensitive spots she hadn’t even known existed.

And then she was falling, shattering into little pieces—and flying at the same time. She murmured his name, rubbed herself against him like a cat; and then he went very still, very focused, and she heard him sigh her name against her ear.

‘Thank you,’ he said softly.

‘Mmm.’ She didn’t think she quite had the power of speech yet.

‘You’re going to get frostbite. Hang on.’ Somehow she found herself inside his sleeping bag. And he was pulling his clothes on.

‘Where are you…?’ she mumbled.

‘That’s a single sleeping bag. It’s too small for both of us. And I haven’t finished yet. Give me two minutes.’ She heard him blow a kiss at her and he disappeared out of the tent.

How could he be so coherent when she most definitely wasn’t? By the time she’d asked herself just what made him think she was staying in his tent all night, and started to work up some healthy outrage, he’d returned.

With her sleeping bag and a torch.

‘You can say no,’ he said, clearly reading the expression on her face, ‘but I’d like you to have the choice. You can go back to your own tent, no strings. Or you can stay with me—if we zip our bags together, we’ll have more room. And more warmth.’

Warmth. She couldn’t help smiling. ‘We’re on the edge of an ice field.’

‘It’s about four hours’ walk away, but that’s near enough.’ He spread his hands. ‘Are you staying or going?’

The sensible thing would be to go. But she hadn’t finished either. She wanted to explore him. Tangle her fingers in that glorious hair. ‘Staying.’

A slow, brilliant smile spread over his face. ‘I’m glad.’ His voice dropped to a sultry whisper. ‘And, even better, I get to unwrap you.’

‘One condition,’ she interrupted.

‘Name it.’

‘You strip for me after that.’

‘Deal.’ And, as before, he sealed it with a kiss—a kiss that started out as a light, friendly tribute and suddenly tipped into something much, much hotter. She heard a hiss, and then he was crouching in front of her. ‘Mmm. The first thing I noticed about you was your eyes.’ He gave her a mischievous look. ‘I’ll be thinking about some other parts of you now.’

She felt herself blush, and he grinned. ‘Don’t be shy. You’re beautiful, Rowena. And the only reason I’m covering you up is because you’re going to get cold otherwise.’ Deftly, he zipped the two bags together.

‘Your turn,’ she said softly.

‘Um. Can we take a rain check?’

‘Welching on the deal?’

‘No. But I’ve got a torch on. And anybody outside who looks over at my tent is going to see exactly what’s happening inside.’

If her face had felt hot before, now it was a couple of thousand degrees warmer. Hell. She hadn’t even thought about that. ‘And without the torch?’ Please, don’t let anyone have realised what they’d been doing. And they’d both been quiet…hadn’t they?

‘Without the torch, they’ll see nothing.’

Relief surged through her. She reached over and switched off the light. ‘I wanted to see you.’

‘Tomorrow,’ he promised. She heard the rustling of his clothes, and then he crawled into the sleeping bag beside her.

This time, they savoured each other. Stroked every bit of skin, learned where each other liked being touched, where the sensitive spots were. Luke discovered an erogenous zone Rowena hadn’t even known existed, in the curve of her elbow. And she got to tangle her fingers in his hair.

‘Beautiful hair,’ she said. Soft and silky. And it smelt good, too. ‘I bet you got into trouble at hospital for this.’

‘No. It was shorter eighteen months ago.’

Eighteen months and four days. The memory snapped into her mind. Was that the day his partner had died? And he hadn’t cut his hair since. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring back bad memories for you.’

‘Hey.’ He rubbed his cheek against hers. ‘No pasa nada.’

‘El Mariachi,’ she said, half to herself.

He chuckled. ‘I’m no musician.’

‘Musician?’

‘It’s the translation,’ he said helpfully. ‘But I’ll take that as a compliment.’

She nuzzled his skin, liking his scent. ‘It was one,’ she said softly. The actor was her fantasy man, but Luke MacKenzie was real. And he was here. Holding her.

‘Hmm. I like you, Rowena Thompson.’

‘I like you, too.’

‘Show me how much.’

She grinned, and did so.

The next morning, Rowena opened one eye. Either she’d had a peculiarly vivid dream, or there really was a warm body moulded round hers. An arm clamped round her waist, warm breath against her cheek…

And this wasn’t her tent.

She remembered her night with Luke and her mouth went dry.

‘You’re awake, then?’ The arm round her waist pulled her back against him. ‘Good morning.’

She couldn’t remember feeling shy like this before. ‘Good morning.’ She could barely get the words out.

His lips nuzzled the back of her neck. ‘Mmm. You feel nice.’

‘Um, what time is it?’

‘Early. No one else is up yet.’

So she could sneak back into her own tent with nobody the wiser.

As if he guessed what she was thinking, he let her go. ‘Regrets?’

She couldn’t answer that one. Not truthfully. He’d been a skilful lover, and she couldn’t ever remember being that sated before. She just didn’t want people gossiping about them.

He turned her to face him. ‘We can pretend it didn’t happen.’

She couldn’t read his expression. She pushed down against her feelings of rejection. What they’d done last night had been completely out of character—for both of them, if he was telling the truth. And she could understand why they’d done it. They’d both been lonely, mourning, desperate to reaffirm life. It was hardly surprising that they’d ended up as they had. ‘We could.’

‘Or…’ He stroked her cheek. ‘It felt good, having you in my arms. We could take comfort in each other again, make it a two-night stand.’

‘There’s nearly a week left.’ The words were out before she could stop them.

‘Nearly a week.’ He traced the outline of her mouth with his forefinger. ‘And then the trek will be over.’

She knew what he was asking. What then? ‘And then we go back to our normal lives.’ Well, she’d go back to normal. Back to the emergency department at the Queen Elizabeth hospital in Manchester. He’d still be out here in the Patagonian winter.

‘We say goodbye at the airport. Never meet again.’

‘Like Rick and Ilse.’

He grinned, adopting a Bogart drawl. ‘We’ll always have Pehoé.’

She couldn’t help grinning back. Ah, hell. He even thought the same way she did. She could fight this, or she could sink into the comfort of his body. Let him fill the emptiness in these dark, lonely nights. ‘A week,’ she said softly.

‘Deal.’ He lowered his mouth to hers. ‘And we’ll seal it with a kiss.’

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.