More Than A Gift. Josie Metcalfe

      

      Dmitri was so soundly asleep that he barely stirred when she slid out of his embrace

      With the highs and lows of emotion he’d gone through in one evening, it was hardly surprising that he was exhausted, she thought, as she hurried into her clothes.

      Unable to bear the thought of leaving without some sort of farewell, she grabbed an empty envelope from the wastepaper basket beside his desk to pen a brief note.

      Her heart was so full of all the things she wanted to say that knowing where to begin was hard. In the end, all she could do was stick to the two most important points.

      “I love you. I’ll miss you,” she wrote, unhappy to discover that she’d already started crying when a tear splashed onto the words.

      She didn’t dare look back at him as she tried to prop the note somewhere he would find it as soon as he woke. Then there was no more time to lose….

      Dear Reader,

      Lauren, in the first book of this duet, More Than Caring, has grown self-sufficient because she has no family to rely on. Laurel, by comparison, is being smothered by a family who seems to criticize her every move. Small wonder that she keeps her thoughts and feelings to herself.

      Sometimes it’s as if her much-loved nursing career is the only thing that maintains her sanity, and as for her growing relationship with Dmitri…

      Then her life takes a sinister turn, and with more than her own survival at stake, she has to leave him without ever telling him how much she cares.

      Suddenly she is on her own again in a race against time, trying to decide which is more important—her unknown twin or the man she loves.

      I hope you enjoy unraveling her secrets.

      Josie

      More than a Gift

      Josie Metcalfe

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      CONTENTS

       COVER

      Dear Reader

       TITLE PAGE

      CHAPTER ONE

      CHAPTER TWO

      CHAPTER THREE

      CHAPTER FOUR

      CHAPTER FIVE

      CHAPTER SIX

       CHAPTER SEVEN

       CHAPTER EIGHT

       CHAPTER NINE

       CHAPTER TEN

       COPYRIGHT

       CHAPTER ONE

      ‘I DID it,’ Laurel breathed jubilantly, finally allowing her tense shoulders to slump with relief. ‘I got away again.’

      It felt as if she’d been driving for hours with her eyes glued to the rear-view mirror, her dread increasing with every big black car that appeared behind her.

      Desperate to get as far away as possible, she’d pushed on until darkness had begun to fall and even then had barely dared to stop long enough to visit the Ladies’ room. Perhaps it had been the failing light or the worsening weather or maybe her ploy of hiding her car among the enormous trucks that had put whoever was tailing her off the scent. She’d probably never know, but she was grateful for any piece of good luck that gave her the chance to get to the end of this journey.

      After more than a year of searching she’d finally felt that she was on the right track, but she wouldn’t really know until she reached Edenthwaite.

      ‘Not that I know whether I’m even going in the right direction,’ she muttered with a scowl, peering out through the windscreen at the worsening visibility.

      The narrow road she was following suddenly twisted into another series of bends and she tightened her grip on the steering-wheel.

      It would have been far easier and faster if she’d been able to stay on the motorway for another half-hour or so, especially with the first spits of rain misting the windows, but she hadn’t dared. To have come so close to the hospital where Lauren worked only to be stopped before she could meet her…well, it didn’t bear thinking about. It would mean that everything she’d suffered through her miserable childhood had been a waste of time, especially now that she knew why her father…

      ‘No! He’s not my father!’ she spat angrily, still incensed by the pretence she’d unwittingly been living all her life.

      All those years of wondering why she was so unlovable that he’d barely spared her a word unless it had been to criticise and demean. All those years of trying so hard to turn herself into the daughter he wanted her to be, a daughter he would approve of.

      Even now, a year after the revelation, she could hardly credit the simple series of events that had finally exposed the deception.

      It had been sheer fluke that she’d seen the letter addressed to her before it had been taken through to his study with the rest of the mail. She had no doubt, now, that the contents would have been destroyed if he had seen them first. Then she would never have discovered that she’d been adopted, or that there was another—

      ‘Damn!’ she exclaimed, her rambling thoughts brought to an abrupt end as the back end of the car slewed without warning, the wheels spinning frantically for several seconds before they regained traction.

      Careful to keep her foot well away from both brake and accelerator, she allowed the car to slow naturally, her hands shaking as she tentatively straightened the wheels. Surely the temperature hadn’t dropped enough, yet, for black ice to have started to form on the road.

      She risked a quick glance at her watch and did some mental calculations, immeasurably relieved when she realised that she must be little more than five or so miles from Edenthwaite now.

      Tentatively, she pressed on the accelerator again, reassured by the tyres’ renewed grip on the road. She should arrive safely long before the weather became a real problem, even if it was dark by the time she reached her destination.

      She’d only travelled another mile when the dark car swung around the bend in front of her, travelling far too fast for the road conditions. Almost in slow motion, Laurel saw the moment when the driver lost control, his headlights veering towards the unforgiving stone wall at the side of the road. The tyres squealed and she held her breath as he tried to steer the heavy vehicle out of the skid. For just a second she thought he’d been successful, only to realise that he was now heading straight towards her.

      Reflexively, she twisted the wheel, her only thought to avoid the impending crash.

      Suddenly everything was happening too fast for her to register each individual event. She had an impression of hands frantically turning the steering-wheel in the other car, eyes and mouth open in matching horror, her own car striking the limestone wall a glancing blow as the black car screeched its way along her paintwork.

      Then the black car disappeared from her sight as her car began to spin. It seemed as if she was whirling around for ever, going faster and faster as she travelled down the slope of the