The One Man to Heal Her. Meredith Webber

all she needed. A bit of distance between them and all the unwanted and inexplicable physical reactions in her body would eventually disappear.

      Will watched the river come to life, fishing boats motoring towards the mouth, kayakers paddling furiously past, one lone windsurfer trying desperately to stay upright in the lightest of breezes.

      He’d have breakfast then leave and, really, was there any reason he’d have to see Alex again?

      No reason at all, and it was definitely best that he didn’t—

      Though why?

      He tried to work out why the instant attraction he’d felt towards her seemed so wrong. Almost dangerous.

      How could it be?

      Because instant attraction didn’t work?

      Because she’d admitted being bad at relationships and he didn’t want to upset Charlotte by bringing a woman who might not stick with them into her life?

      Or because such a strong attraction could lead to love?

      Wasn’t that the crux of it?

      Seventeen years ago she’d been, to him, the kid who’d shifted in next door. A kid in all kinds of pain—that had been obvious.

      He realised, as the word ‘kid’ came into his thoughts again, that that was how he’d always seen her. The kid who’d minded the twins, a quiet shadow in the house next door.

      Although he’d realised just how much inner strength she’d had when her rape case had come to court, one long year after the complaint. The Armitages—either Dave or Isobel—had always gone with her when she’d had to appear right up until the day of the judgment. Dave had been down south at a conference and Isobel had asked Will to accompany her and Alex, somehow guessing the verdict wasn’t going to be the one they wanted.

      He’d been there on one side of her, Isobel on the other, and her hand had gripped his as the jury pronounced the rapist not guilty.

      He’d been so proud to have known her as she’d stood up, head high, fixed Mr Spencer with a withering look and marched out of the court.

      ‘At least,’ she’d said to her two supporters, ‘other people will be suspicious of him now and he’ll be too scared to touch another child.’

      He glanced up as the woman who’d been the ‘kid next door’ slid a tray onto the table. ‘I’d forgotten just how wonderful it was to sit out here.’

      ‘It’s fantastic,’ he agreed, taking in the too-small floral pyjamas again and wondering if it was possible to keep thinking of her in that ‘kid next door’ way.

      She passed him his plate, refilled his coffee cup, and settled beside him so they could both look out at the river.

      No, came the answer to his wondering. If anything, the pyjamas accentuated her womanliness, somehow emphasising the softness of the body inside them, straining buttons suggesting how much she’d filled out.

      ‘I think I’ve figured out that it’s Saturday,’ she said, pausing in her obvious enjoyment of breakfast. ‘Does that mean you have the day off?’

      Ordinary question—work question really. Talking of work would be good. But before he could reply she was talking again.

      ‘I was only asking, and I know it’s a cheek when you’ve done so much already, bringing my stuff and Dad’s papers from the hospital, but if you don’t have to rush off, and don’t have anything planned with your daughter, I wondered …’

      Her voice trailed off and, instead of watching the river, she was studying her bacon and eggs as if they were some rare anatomical discovery.

      ‘I’m on call, which means Charlotte is with Mum. I don’t have to rush off unless I’m paged,’ he said. ‘So out with it.’

      She looked up, her face turned to his, serious, worried, a shade embarrassed.

      ‘I know I’ve been in the house since late last night, but really only in my old bedroom and the kitchen and I kind of went to both of those automatically, if you know what I mean. It’s not that I’m scared—but—’

      An abrupt break this time, but he thought he’d caught on. He shooed Buddy away before the bird stole a second piece of bacon, and touched Alex lightly on the shoulder.

      ‘You want me to go through the house with you, just be there while you do it the first time?’

      She nodded, her embarrassment obvious now as colour rose in her cheeks.

      ‘I know it’s stupid,’ she said, straightening in her chair and taking a deep breath, ‘but it’s been so long, nearly twenty years, and walking into their bedroom, the living room, downstairs into Dad’s workshop—’

      ‘Will be traumatic enough even with company,’ Will finished for her.

      She smiled her agreement, just a wan little smile, but Will’s body responded to it as automatically as she’d gone to her bedroom the previous night. He leaned forward and kissed her, just a quick gentle kiss, on lips that tasted of bacon and coffee and something indefinable, which he had to assume was just Alex.

      ‘It’ll be okay,’ he assured her. ‘Everything will work out.’

      Heaven help me, Alex thought. She was having enough trouble coping with her return to this house, her father’s death and Will’s presence, without him kissing her. Not that it had been a kiss kiss, just a comfort kiss, but her body hadn’t seemed to recognise the difference and her nerves were twittering with excitement.

      And she’d asked him to walk through the house with her, so he wasn’t leaving any time soon!

      He was focussed on his breakfast—or possibly on keeping Buddy from eating it—so she could sneak a look at him. Maybe if she looked enough, she could work out why he was affecting her the way he was.

      Lovely profile—maybe not such a good idea, the looking—straight nose, just enough chin, and a forehead that was broad and smooth, the dark hair just a little long so a bit flopped across it in a rather endearing way.

      Endearing way? Are you out of your mind, woman?

      But her looking had fixed on the lips that had just kissed her—well, touched hers in a sympathetic-friend kind of way.

      They were pale, and delineated by an even paler line around them, not that they needed the delineation because they were very nicely made, not too full or fleshy but not mean and straight. Without doubt, the man had great lips.

      Which, of course, led to her wayward mind wondering what a real kiss from those lips would feel like.

      ‘Gone to sleep sitting up?’ Will asked, fortunately after she’d taken her eyes off his lips and was gazing sightlessly out over the river.

      ‘Just about,’ she answered, smiling at him to show how awake she was and how unaffected she’d been by his presence, and the kiss, and her perusal of his profile.

      Liar!

      ‘So, we’ll be off on our expedition?’ he asked, and she forgot her confusion over Will as all the anxiety about really seeing the house—her home?—returned.