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She frowned as she watched the mist roll off Dinas Emrys and the clouds darken.
‘Are you sure?’ she asked. She hadn’t wanted to read any of the stories, because it would just make coping with the massive hole in her heart even harder.
But why hadn’t he issued a press release announcing their breakup a week ago?
She’d been clear in her note. That she wasn’t pregnant and he didn’t have to feel bound by the promises he’d made to protect her, because she could protect herself.
But it had been over a week… And how could she return to Androvia until the whole story had been given a chance to settle? Which couldn’t happen until the story broke in the first place. What on earth was he waiting for?
‘Yes, of course I’m sure. I’ve been doorstepped by paparazzi for the last seven days, darling, asking where you are and where he is and why you’re not together,’ her mother added, the rueful, patient note making guilt snake into Mel’s stomach.
Where Rene was? What the…?
‘I’m so sorry, Mum…’ she began, then jumped and almost dropped the phone at loud rapping on the front door of the cottage. Who on earth could that be?
‘Listen Mum, I’ll ring you back. I think someone must be lost.’ It wasn’t the first time in the past week that a stranded hiker had needed directions.
‘Call Her Majesty first, before you call me back,’ Elise instructed, her no-nonsense tone reminding Mel of how her mother had spoken to that fragile child instead of the woman she was now. ‘She’s your friend as well as your employer, Mel, and she wants to know what the hell is going on. As do I.’
‘Right,’ she said, then managed to say her goodbyes before her mum went into lecture mode, which she totally deserved but wasn’t sure she was strong enough to deal with yet.
Wow, Mel. Pathetic much?
She walked through the cottage kitchen to the front door, the banging getting louder and more insistent. Whoever this hiker was, they were pretty entitled.
But then she spotted a mud-splattered Jeep parked in the front yard. Not a hiker. Was that the forest ranger’s vehicle? Maybe there was a wildfire, although it seemed unlikely, given the persistent rain.
Pulling the old-fashioned dead bolt, she wrenched the heavy oak door open. ‘Hold onto your…’
Then heat flushed through her whole body and her heart stopped dead, before careering into her throat to cut off her air supply.
‘Rene?’ she whispered, so shocked to see him standing in a field in Wales, wearing jeans, boots and a sheepskin jacket and checked shirt, the collar turned up against the cold, his dark hair glittering with raindrops, she wondered if she was hallucinating.
Her fingers lost their grip on the door. He slapped his palm against the wood to shove the door open and stepped into the cramped hallway. He slammed the door shut behind him with a loud bang.
‘Correct,’ he said, his voice low with what she could already see darkening his eyes.
Fury.
‘W-what are you d-doing here?’ she stuttered, although the quiver in her voice was nothing compared to the trembling starting to make her body shake as she retreated down the hallway.
Why was it so good to see him again, even though he looked so angry with her?
‘You little coward… You ran out on me.’ He grasped her upper arm and marched her through into the kitchen.
‘Let go of me!’ she said, trying to tug her arm free. A losing battle as it turned out, because his fingers only tightened on her arm like a manacle—and sent sensation shooting through her body right beside the shivers of shock and yearning.
He yanked her around to face him, then cupped her head to pull her towards him, forcing her to inhale a lungful of that stunning scent of cedarwood and man.
His forehead dropped to hers, and suddenly she could feel the shivers racking his body as well as hers.
‘Dammit, you little fool,’ he murmured, caressing her neck, the words choked out on ragged pants. ‘I didn’t know where the hell you’d gone, Melody.’ The snap of anger was replaced by something else—something hollow and broken and scared… ‘I’ve been searching for you like a madman. Don’t youeverdo that to me again, or I swear you will not be able to sit down for a week.’
She wanted to be indignant at the dictatorial tone, to cover the aching pain in her heart at seeing him again, at feeling his body pressed against hers, inhaling his scent, his sadness. But she knew his threat was an empty one because she could hear the fear and panic in his voice, feel it in the fury of his kiss when he captured her mouth with his.
She should tell him no, should push him away, should stand her ground, but instead her lips opened instinctively to let him in.
He claimed her, branded her with the furious kiss, devouring her breathy sobs, thrusting his tongue inside to reach all the empty recesses of her heart, her soul.