Best Friend...Future Wife. Claire Baxter

when faced with such a smile.

      His warm grey eyes twinkled as he raised them to her face. ‘You must be thirsty,’ he said.

      Suppressing the urge to fling herself at him, she shrugged. ‘Stress relief,’ she said, regretting the words the moment they left her lips. Even more so when he frowned.

      ‘A hard day at work,’ she said quickly.

      His frown deepened. ‘Don’t you like your job?’

      ‘Yes, of course I do. You don’t need me to tell you work can be stressful, no matter how much you enjoy it.’

      He should know if anyone did. For ten years as a foreign correspondent, he’d travelled the world’s hot spots, mainly in Asia, covering stories of conflict and disaster. He’d pioneered solo-journalism, working completely alone, travelling and reporting without a crew, carrying a backpack of portable digital technology to shoot, write, edit and transmit multimedia reports. He hadn’t chased headlines or taken part in pack journalism, but had specialised in pursuing stories that were not getting mainstream news coverage and putting a human face to them.

      Della lifted the glass and gulped a mouthful of margarita. Too much. When she’d managed to swallow it, she said, ‘Well, anyway, what about you? How are you?’

      ‘Fine.’ He watched her for a moment. ‘So where’s my kiss? My hug? I’ve had them from everyone else. I haven’t been around for a while, in case you haven’t noticed.’

      ‘Oh. Yes.’ Leaning forward, she gave him an awkward, one-armed hug while she held the glass well out of the way.

      He hugged her back, tighter than necessary. She could feel the heat of his body through his shirt, and a heat of a different kind rushed through her own body. It reminded her what it was like to be—to feel—attracted to a man. Then he kissed her on the cheek. She pulled away in a hurry.

      His grin gave her the impression he knew why. But he couldn’t. There’d never been anything physical between them. Never. Not even the suggestion of an attraction. He couldn’t possibly know.

      She let her gaze slide over his face. His nose still had the slight kink in the middle from the time Lyn had dared him to skateboard down a handrail. Lyn had blamed herself when he’d landed face-first on the concrete steps. She should have known better than to issue a challenge to Luke. He’d never backed away from a challenge. Not then. Not later.

      He intercepted her gaze and held it. ‘You look great, Shrimp. Not a day older than when I first left.’

      She couldn’t say the same for him. The dangerous and outdoor life he’d led had added plenty of lines around his eyes. Lines that creased deeply when he smiled. But that wasn’t a bad thing. Age had added character to a face she would once have called perfect.

      She gave a tiny snort. ‘Don’t they have opticians where you’ve been living?’

      He ignored her question. ‘I like what you’ve done with your hair. Short suits you. It’s sophisticated.’

      ‘For a shrimp?’

      ‘It wasn’t short last time I came over, was it?’

      ‘No, I only had it cut recently.’ Not that he’d have noticed on that trip three years ago, she thought. He’d had eyes for no one but his new wife. She doubted her own presence had even registered with him.

      He hadn’t shaved in a while, probably on account of the long flight. On him, the look wasn’t so much scruffy as sexy. Her nerve endings twitched again. Her reaction to Luke contrasted sharply with the antipathy she’d felt for the men she’d dated over the last few years. She’d almost had to force herself to take a physical interest, and had begun to think she wasn’t capable of it. This was a bad time to find out she was.

      Suddenly feeling overdressed in her business suit next to Luke’s torn jeans and battered denim jacket, her eyes widened. ‘Is that the same jacket you had when we were kids?’

      He nodded. ‘I wondered if you’d recognise it.’

      ‘Your job must pay poorly if you can’t afford some decent clothes.’ Since he’d given up the journalism and taken up running an orphanage, she guessed he’d taken a big drop in salary. But he would never be poor. His grandfather had left a trust fund that would see him through.

      He shrugged. ‘I won’t part with this jacket. It has sentimental value.’

      She gave him a sceptical look, and he laughed. ‘Plus, it’s comfortable.’

      ‘And comfort clearly ranks highly in your world. Why else would you hike through the mountains of Afghanistan—?’

      ‘Now Luke, you’re not teasing Della, are you?’

      Della turned towards Dawn as she joined them on the deck.

      ‘We had enough of these games when you were kids,’ Dawn said.

      ‘Actually, I’ve complimented her new hairstyle.’ He slid an arm around his mother’s waist and hugged her to his side. ‘But she doesn’t believe she looks gorgeous.’

      Dawn beamed up at him. ‘I don’t blame her, considering how you used to torment her. But it is lovely, isn’t it?’ She turned back to study Della. ‘I think it makes her look like Audrey Hepburn.’

      ‘As if.’ Della laughed. ‘You’re deluded, Dawn. And you, Luke, are the last person I’d believe.’

      She was proud of herself. She sounded cool, calm and collected. No one would guess she felt the complete opposite. No one would know she’d spent more than half her life comparing every man who’d come near her with this one, rejecting every one of them because they fell short of her ideal.

      ‘I thought you were bringing Yvonne with you,’ Dawn said to Luke. ‘You haven’t left her back in India, have you?’

      Luke’s gaze slid away for a moment. When he looked back, his expression was blank.

      ‘Yes, she’s still there as far as I know. I’ll explain when we’re all together.’

      Curiosity sparked in Dawn’s eyes. ‘Well, let’s eat,’ she said. ‘Come through to the dining room.’

      As they took their places around the large oak dining-table, Della wished she really did belong to this family. This was what she’d always wanted for her own children—a home filled with warmth and laughter.

      She looked down, spreading the linen napkin across her lap and fighting the sting in her eyes.

      No chance of that now.

      CHAPTER TWO

      ‘ARE you really home to stay?’ Poppy said through a mouthful of salad.

      Luke looked at his little sister. He found it hard to believe that she’d grown up so much since he’d last seen her. ‘How many times do I have to say it?’ he said with feigned exasperation.

      ‘Yeah, I know, but really?’ Poppy said. ‘Won’t you be bored?’

      Luke shrugged. ‘Don’t think so.’

      ‘But there are no wars around here. Nothing bad ever happens in Adelaide.’

      ‘Thank God for it,’ Dawn said. ‘We are very lucky to live in one of the safest cities on earth. I should think Luke’s had quite enough of war and poverty and the like. If he has the sense he was born with, he’ll want to stay well away from all of that.’

      He smiled at his mother. She’d never missed an opportunity to tell him he was crazy for choosing to make his home where he had. But she’d never criticised him either. Though she couldn’t understand his choices, she’d always respected his right to make them.

      Both his parents had. His gaze drifted to his father. His salt-and-pepper hair was now almost all salt. He hoped he hadn’t caused him too much worry over the