By Request Collection 1. Jackie Braun

certainly …’

      Bronte fell silent as a pang of regret swept over her. She missed her parents and wished she’d had the opportunity to tell them how much she loved them, and what a happy childhood they’d given her, before they left. She’d call them the first chance she got and make sure they knew. She had taken so much for granted, Bronte realised now this chance to see life through Heath’s eyes reminded her that he had enjoyed none of her benefits, and yet had always looked to the future with optimism and confidence, while she had been restless and dissatisfied when she had so much. ‘Your turn,’ she said, prompting him. ‘What else do you remember?’ She grimaced as soon as the words left her mouth, thinking about Heath’s difficult youth. ‘Sorry—I didn’t mean—’

      ‘Hey—get over it. I have,’ Heath said. ‘Fun?’ He thought about it for a moment. ‘Sorting out this place.’ He glanced around. ‘It was a dump when I bought it. It was the only way I could afford something in central London—’

      And then he started to tell her about the city he had grown to love with its galleries and museums, and the ancient buildings he loved to visit that had whetted his appetite for preservation and restoration. ‘I enjoy the concerts too.’

      ‘You like music?’

      ‘Jazz, rock, classics—of course I like music. What?’ he demanded when Bronte seemed surprised. ‘Do you think I spend all my time working out and eating nails for breakfast?’

      ‘Don’t you?’

      He laughed.

      ‘And what about Hebers Ghyll, Heath? What good things do you remember about your visits?’

      ‘Your mother’s cooking,’ he said immediately. ‘Hot meals—Uncle Harry teaching me chess.’ He fell silent.

      ‘I’m sure Uncle Harry enjoyed those visits as much as you did.’

      ‘We had a—’ Heath pulled a face ‘—let’s just call it a pretty explosive relationship, but chess was our meeting ground. The game was all about tactics, Uncle Harry said. He told me that whatever happened to me in my life, I would always need to use tactics—so I’d better get my head around them whether I liked chess or not.’

      ‘That sounds like Uncle Harry,’ Bronte said, smiling as she remembered. ‘And did you?’

      ‘Did I what?’

      Heath was gazing at her lips. ‘Did you like the game?’ she said, wiping them surreptitiously in case some of their breakfast spinach was still hanging around.

      ‘I like the game,’ Heath said, transferring his level gaze to her eyes.

      What were they talking about now? Tingles ran down her spine.

      ‘Would you like me to complete the guided tour?’ Heath suggested, stretching his powerful limbs as if the inactivity was starting to get to him.

      ‘I’d like that very much,’ she said.

       CHAPTER FOURTEEN

      THEY left the kitchen and walked deeper into the house, crossing wonderful rugs in shades of marmalade, clotted cream and russet that softened the marble hall and gave the space an inviting glow. Heath had created something wonderful and she guessed he must have dreamed of living in a house like this when he was a boy. Heath had not only fulfilled those dreams, but had done so with his own hands, which must have been doubly rewarding for him. There was a wood-panelled library where a worn leather chesterfield sat on a faded Persian rug and a log fire blazed in the hearth, as well as a high-tech studio where Heath could work. ‘And below us in the basement I’ve got a cinema room, a home gym, and an indoor swimming pool,’ he explained.

      ‘Of course you have,’ she teased him, but this was all seriously fabulous, even for such an upscale area of the city.

      ‘Upstairs?’ he suggested.

      ‘Why not?’ With this new understanding between them, why should there be any no-go areas?

      They were easy together. They were going to have a good working relationship, Bronte thought as she followed Heath up the stairs. They’d had their explosion, their resolution, and now they were starting afresh.

      Heath was so athletic she had to run to keep up with him, though he barely seemed to exert himself as he sprinted up the beautifully restored central staircase. ‘The bathroom,’ he said, opening one of the doors with a flourish.

      She was still admiring the light-drenched landing. ‘You are kidding me?’ She stood on the threshold of the bathroom, staring in. ‘This is fantastic, Heath.’ The bathroom was clad in black marble and brightened with mirrors. There was a huge, walk-in drench shower, with a spa bath big enough to swim in. ‘And I bet the floor is heated.’ She kicked off her shoes. ‘It is.’

      ‘You don’t exactly go down to the lake to freshen up.’

      ‘Maybe not—but I know where to look when I need a refit.’

      ‘It will cost you.’

      She tore her gaze away when it held and locked with Heath’s. Heath was at his most feral and the dreamweaver was back, and wouldn’t take no for an answer, so when she should have left the room and allowed Heath to continue on with his tour she leaned back against the door, trapping them both on the bathroom side.

      ‘Stop it,’ Heath warned in an undertone, but then his lips tugged in a teasing smile. ‘Don’t you have a train to catch?’

      ‘Yes,’ she admitted. What was she thinking? She pulled away from the door, and Heath, ever the gentleman, leaned across to open it for her. Their bodies brushed. Electricity fired. This wasn’t meant to happen—

      ‘No,’ he said, as if responding to her. ‘No, Bronte,’ he said more firmly.

      Her eyes searched his.

      ‘I’m no good for you,’ he said.

      She closed her eyes and inhaled sharply. ‘And I’m stuck in the past? Stop it—stop it now, Heath.’ Some primal instinct made her lift her arm and put her hand across his mouth. ‘I don’t want to hear that ever again,’ she said.

      Heath’s eyes were laughing as his tongue went on the attack—tickling, and licking—

      ‘Stop it,’ she warned him, whipping her hand away.

      ‘You stop it,’ Heath said, laughing.

      She exclaimed as he dragged her into his arms. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she demanded as he swept her off her feet and headed for the drench shower. ‘No!’ she screamed when Heath’s intention became clear.

      ‘I need to cool you down,’ he said. ‘And if words won’t do it—’

      She watched him turn the shower to the coldest setting and screamed again, but it was pointless fighting Heath. And now he was under the water with her, holding her in place with embarrassing ease. ‘Have you had enough yet?’ he said, holding her in front of him.

      They were both soaked through. ‘What do you think?’ She couldn’t even pretend to be angry. Flicking her hair out of her eyes, she started laughing, and once she’d started she couldn’t stop. Then Heath was holding her, and they were both laughing.

      ‘Do you know what I think?’ he said as she gasped for breath. Without waiting for her answer, he turned the shower off and, yanking her close, he kissed her—and this time there was no brushing, or teasing, or delay. They were hungry for each other and Heath kissed her in a way she had never been kissed before—in a way no one would ever kiss her again. He made her feel powerful and sexy and safe and more at risk than she had ever been in her life.

      Life was a risk.

      Love was a risk.

      Was