Just One Last Night.... Amy Andrews

button. ‘Dr Perry,’ she said.

      ‘Hello, Dr Perry, this is Juanita from Brisbane City High.’

      Grace gripped the phone harder as a surge of dread rose like a monster from the deep inside her. ‘What’s she done now?’ She sighed.

      ‘Natasha hasn’t shown up today. Again. That’s the third time this week.’

      Grace shut her eyes. ‘I see.’ She knew her niece had been dropped at school. There’d been a text from Jo, the nanny, when she’d disembarked in Melbourne that morning, telling her so.

      ‘Right, thanks. I’ll deal with it.’

      Grace’s hand shook as she tried Tash’s mobile. It went to the message bank and Grace left a terse message. She rang Jo next and informed her, then texted her niece.

       Get your butt to school. Now!

      Grace wasn’t overly worried about Tash. If her niece ran true to form, she’d be at the local shopping centre.

       Hopefully not shoplifting this time.

      Grace was pretty sure Tash had learned her lesson from her brief foray into petty crime. But that boy would probably be there too. What was his name? Hayden? Jayden? Braydon? Something like that … And that was cause for concern.

      Caught up in the drama as she was and the sick feeling that had been fermenting in her gut for eighteen months, Grace startled when the door opened abruptly and two male voices intruded on her disquiet.

      ‘Thanks John, I look forward to hearing from you.’

      ‘No worries, Brent. The successful applicant will be informed by the end of next week.’

      The hairs on the back of Grace’s neck prickled and it had nothing to do with the way the two men shook hands, slapped backs and generally interacted like the outcome was a foregone conclusion.

      And everything to do with Dr Brent Cartwright.

      Her first love.

      She rose abruptly to her feet as if she’d been zapped by some sort of divine cattle prod. Shock waves buffeted her body as twenty years fell away in an instant and the memories flooded back.

      His deep, rich voice. The rumble in his laugh. The way he’d looked at her like she was the only woman on the planet. How he’d enjoyed teasing her. The way he’d told stories. His generosity. His intellect. His attention to detail.

      The heat of his mouth.

      The smell of his neck.

      The way he’d filled her more perfectly than any man ever had.

      The way he’d shaken his head, his angry words when she’d broken their brief engagement. Broken his heart.

      Broken both their hearts.

      ‘Ah, Dr Perry,’ John Wilkie greeted her from the door. ‘Edwina said you were here already. Give us a few minutes, would you?’ he requested as he backed through the door and shut it again.

      Grace nodded dumbly, her pulse tap-dancing a frantic beat at her temples, but had eyes only for an equally stunned-looking Brent.

      Brent stared. He couldn’t help it.

      Grace Perry.

       The one that got away.

      He was momentarily speechless. Twenty years and yet the memories rushed out at him. Walking hand and hand through the uni campus as the leaves had changed and they’d fallen in love. Skipping classes. Staying in bed for days in a row. Talking endlessly into the night. Eating cold leftover pizza for breakfast too many mornings to count.

      Drinking cheap cafeteria coffee as they swatted up for anatomy exams, desperately trying to catch up on the things they’d missed.

      She’d been his first love.

      He took a step towards her, reached out a hand. He felt as gauche as a schoolboy. As unsure as the eighteen-year-old man who had considered her way out of his league but had wanted her anyway.

      He finally found his voice. ‘Gracie …’

      She stiffened as his endearment yanked her back to the present. ‘It’s Grace,’ she said, taking a step back. ‘Just Grace.’

      Brent stilled as her don’t-touch-me vibe sparked other memories. The cold stab of her it’s-over speech. The hard bite of the solitaire engagement ring she’d curled into his palm. The straightness of her spine as she’d turned away from him.

      He stuffed his hands into his pockets, embarrassed by the impulse and surprised how, even after all these years, it was automatic for him to reach for her.

      But if she could be cool and collected, so could he. ‘How are you?’ he asked politely. ‘You’re interviewing for the head of emergency?’

      Grace nodded. ‘You too?’

      ‘Yes. I’ve been acting in it for the last four months.’

      His voice flowed over her like warm butterscotch sauce oozing into long-forgotten places and Grace’s heart banged like a bongo in her chest. It had no right to betray her. It should be sinking in her chest, not thumping merrily along like it wasn’t aware of the implications of Brent’s words.

       What hope in hell did she have of getting the job if there was already someone acting in it?

      She groped around for another subject. ‘Have you stayed in Melbourne all these years?’

      Brent nodded, keeping his face neutral. ‘Some of us don’t consider that a hardship, Grace.’

      It had been twenty years but the slight clench of his jaw still gave him away. She’d pissed him off. She raised her chin and forced herself to shrug.

      ‘It wasn’t meant to be a criticism.’

      Brent, oh, so familiar with that little chin lift, regarded her for a moment. She’d changed. And yet she hadn’t. Her hair was shorter. Her hips were even curvier. She wore trendy glasses instead of contacts. And fashionable clothes. Her make-up had been artfully applied.

      But her grey eyes still looked at him the same steady way they always had. The same old frankness was there. And her full lips still parted softly the way they always had, as if silently begging to be kissed.

      Her lip gloss was the same too, he noticed absently. It still glistened like dew on cobwebs and its heady vanilla essence curled delicious fingers around his gut. He didn’t have to try it to know it would still taste like honey.

       But he wanted to.

      He wondered how many years apart it would take to erase that tantalising aroma from his memory cells. The one that occasionally drifted elusively through his dreams.

      Brent stared at her mouth for what seemed an age and Grace felt heat build everywhere as she ruthlessly suppressed the nervous—or was that wanton?—urge to trace the outline of her lips with her tongue.

      But even more dangerous to her equilibrium was the storm surge of emotions welling inside her. Feelings she’d long since buried spluttered to the surface. The sense of rightness and belonging he’d always stirred inside her. The feeling of completeness when he’d held her.

      All of which she’d rejected twenty years ago.

      Maybe emotions like that were just too strong to ever truly forget?

      She shook her head, fighting to wrest back control.

       This was crazy.

       Certifiable!

       It had to stop …

      And then the door behind Brent opened abruptly and John Wilkie was smiling and calling her in, before disappearing back into the room.

      ‘Coming,’