His Emergency Fiancée (20 page)

* * *

When life was falling apart, there was only one place Ben could go. He swapped some shifts round to give him a break of four days, rang his grandmother and flew to Inverness.

‘You look terrible’ was the first thing she said to him when he’d parked his hire car outside her cottage.

‘Gran…’ For the first time since he was fourteen, Ben leaned his head on her shoulder and hid his face from the world. Letting her enfold him in her arms. He hadn’t cried since he was a child, but this felt as bad as all the times his mother had abandoned him. He literally shook with the effort of controlling himself but, even so, a single tear forced its way through his eyelid, searing his skin. This wasn’t fair to his grandmother. He was supposed to be the strong one now. He clenched his fists, willing himself to be strong, then finally lifted his head.

‘Sorry about that, Gran,’ he said, forcing a smile to his face.

‘It’s been a long time coming, love.’ She stroked his face. ‘Ready to talk about it?’

‘Yes—no—I don’t know,’ he said miserably.

‘Then let me guess. It’s Kirsty, isn’t it?’

He nodded. ‘But it’s too late, Gran.’

‘I love you,’ Morag said softly to her grandson. ‘I’m proud of you. But, for such a bright lad with so many qualifications, you can be
incredibly
thick.’

‘Thick?’ He stared at her in amazement. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You love her, don’t you?’

Ben spread his hands. ‘I don’t know what love is.’

‘Yes, you do. But you’re afraid of it.’

His chin came up. ‘I’m not afraid.’

Morag didn’t contradict him in so many words, but she took his hands and squeezed them. ‘Not everyone’s like your mother. I’m not. Kirsty’s not.
You’re
not.’

‘Aren’t I?’ he asked wryly. ‘I pushed her away, Gran.’

‘Hmm. So that’s why you call her four or five times a week to see how she’s getting on, is it?’

He flushed. ‘How do you know about that?’

‘Because she rings me once a week.’

‘She’s found someone else. Ted. Her consultant,’ he added bitterly.

Morag smiled. ‘You think so?’

‘She’s always going out with him.’

‘And the rest of the team. They’re a friendly bunch.’

‘We’re friendly at Southbay. She didn’t go out with us very often.’

‘Ben, listen to yourself. You’re jealous.’

‘As hell,’ he admitted. ‘But it’s too late.’

‘Why don’t you just go and see Kirsty, tell her what she means to you?’

‘I can’t.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because she left me, Gran. She doesn’t want me. She walked away.’

‘How do you know she doesn’t want you, Ben?’

‘I just do.’

The silence stretched out between them for a long, long while; Ben stared at the surface of the scrubbed pine table until he couldn’t even see it any more. Eventually, he lifted his head and met his grandmother’s enquiring gaze. ‘If I tell her…Supposing she rejects me, Gran?’ Just the way his mother had, always promising her love for him and always backing away. Late birthdays, late Christmases, always the afterthought. Always waiting for the proud smile of a mother meeting him in the primary school playground, the protective cuddle when he woke from a nightmare, the hugs and kisses that never came. Would it be like that with Kirsty, when she realised that he was basically unlovable? Had she realised that already and that was why she’d gone away?

‘Supposing she
doesn’t
reject you?’ Again, Morag squeezed his hands. ‘Sometimes, Ben, you have to take a risk. Right now, you’re hurting. You love her—but you’re too scared to let her love you. What’s the worst thing that could happen?’

He closed his eyes. Wasn’t it obvious? The same thing that had happened with his mother, over and over and over again. ‘She’ll leave.’

‘She already has. And you’ve survived,’ Morag pointed out. ‘What’s the best thing that could happen?’

That she’d hold him. Love him. Keep his heart safe. Wrap it in white lace and promises—promises she’d keep. Marry him. Live with him and be his love. Be the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes, the last thing he saw before he fell asleep.

Though he couldn’t bring himself to voice his hopes. Didn’t they say if you wished aloud it’d never come true?

‘Think about it,’ Morag said softly. ‘Go for a walk and think about it.’

He did. He sat down in the wood, where he’d taken Kirsty to see the bluebells all those weeks before, and he thought about it. All his no-commitment relationships—they hadn’t been real. Just glitz and glamour, fun and bright lights. Exactly the way he’d planned them, with no chance of getting hurt on either side.

The only real ‘commitment’ relationship had been with Kirsty. She’d always been there for him—like the time he’d thought he was going to fail a paper at the end of their first year and she’d made him study with her, had pretended that she’d needed help with the subject when she’d really been the one to help him. And when they’d shared a house, it had been a home. A proper home. Not just a place to stay, like the house was now. It had been home because Kirsty had been there.

All the time he’d thought his feelings for Kirsty had been platonic. Then he’d discovered there had been lust, too. And lust plus friendship equalled…

He sighed heavily. He’d left it too late. He’d pushed her away. What right did he have to ask her to take a chance on him? Look at his track record. One girlfriend after another, a bit of fun. Kirsty deserved more than that.

He wanted to give her more than that.

But how?

He didn’t know where to start. How to start.

Supposing she laughed at him? No, Kirsty wasn’t like that. If she rejected him, she’d be kind about it. But it would still be rejection. Supposing the way she felt about him had changed—supposing she’d grown tired of waiting for him to realise what was so blindingly obvious to everyone else, and she was over him? Supposing she’d met someone else—someone who’d paid her the attention she deserved?

The only way he could find out was to put his heart on the line and ask her. He couldn’t do that. But what was the alternative? Spending every empty day without her, trying to fill the seconds, the minutes, the hours, the years, and knowing that he’d thrown away the best thing that had ever happened to him. He couldn’t do that either.

What now? he asked himself.

The only thing he could think of was to start in the middle and muddle his way through. Take a chance—and trust her.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

C
OLD
, wet and decidedly grumpy. If someone had asked Ben to describe himself in five words, they’d have fitted perfectly. Why on earth couldn’t Kirsty have rented a flat with a porch so unexpected visitors could shelter from the fine London drizzle that soaked through clothes in seconds? Even more pertinently, why couldn’t she come home on time?

Probably because she was out with Ted bloody Baker, he answered himself.

Well, he was here now. And he was staying put until he’d talked to her.

He saw her before she saw him. Running down the street, sharing a huge golfing umbrella with a man. Laughing with him. The bloke even had his arm possessively round Kirsty’s shoulders—round
his
Kirsty’s shoulders!

Leave. Leave now
, a voice in his head whispered.

Stubbornly, he stayed put. He wasn’t going until he’d talked to Kirsty. They needed to sort this out once and for all.

The gate creaked open, and Kirsty walked down the red-and-black chequered path. And stopped dead at the sight of the man sitting on her doorstep. ‘Ben,’ she breathed.

‘Hello, Kirst,’ he said, unsmiling.

‘Ben—I wasn’t expecting you.’

‘I know.’

‘Ted, this is Ben Robertson—Ben, this is Ted Baker, my consultant.’

Ben looked at the surgeon. Tall, dark-haired, blue-eyed, handsome—and he looked slightly concerned. Worried that Ben was about to snatch his lady-love? Well. That choice was Kirsty’s. Ben just hoped that she made the right one. He stood up, and noted that Ted was almost exactly his own height. He held his hand out stiffly. ‘Hello.’

‘Good to meet you, Ben.’

Ben only just resisted the urge to squeeze the man’s hand as hard as he could. But Kirsty deserved better. He wasn’t going to be childish about it.

‘Kirsty’s told me a lot about you,’ Ted continued.

‘And you.’ He had to face it, Ted was all she ever talked about nowadays. He forced himself to be polite. ‘I hear you’re an expert with glue.’

‘I try,’ Ted said with a smile.

Hell. He might have known that the man would be
nice.
Kirsty wouldn’t pick a bad ’un. Apart from himself, that was.

‘You’re soaked,’ Kirsty said accusingly.

‘It’s raining,’ Ben deadpanned back.

‘If you’d told me you were coming, I’d have been here to meet you.’

‘Uh-huh.’

They stared at each other for a long, long moment.

‘I’ll, um, leave you to it,’ Ted said.

Kirsty nodded. ‘Thanks for seeing me home safely, Ted. See you tomorrow.’

‘See you. Nice to have met you, Ben,’ Ted added, and walked away.

Kirsty opened the door in silence, and Ben closed it behind him before following her up the stairs.

‘You’d better get out of those wet clothes,’ she said.

‘I don’t have any dry ones.’

‘Have a shower and wrap yourself in a towel. I’ll stick your clothes in the tumble-drier.’

Ben nodded and did as he was told.

Stupid, stupid,
stupid
, he told himself as he stripped off in her tiny bathroom and stepped into the shower. You should have phoned her first. Or walked away. Ted obviously cares for her. He saw her home safely; he’ll look after her properly. He was probably expecting to come in for coffee, a glass of wine, end up in Kirsty’s bed…

Kirsty’s bed was definitely not the right subject to think about. He turned the shower to cold until he was back under control, then dried off and wrapped the towel loosely around his waist. He padded back to the kitchen with his wet clothes in a bundle under his arm.

* * *

Kirsty’s mouth went dry as she turned round and saw Ben standing there, his skin still damp from his shower and his hair wet. He looked positively edible. She could still remember the time he’d made love to her in the shower, and the thought sent tiny needles of desire zinging through her body.

‘Do you want a coffee?’ she asked shakily.

‘If you’re making one, yes, please.’

‘OK.’ She turned her back to him; by the time she’d made two coffees and put them on the small round kitchen table she was back in control. ‘I’ll put these in the drier,’ she said, taking Ben’s soggy clothes.

He nodded his thanks and sat down at the table. Kirsty fiddled with the drier for as long as she dared and then joined him at the table.

‘So. What brings you here?’ she asked, her voice over-bright.

‘I wanted to see you.’

She frowned. ‘Ben, are you all right?’

‘Why?’

‘You look…’ Her voice faded. He looked terrible. He’d lost weight and there was a severity in his face she’d never seen before. ‘Is Morag all right?’ she asked, suddenly making the connection.

‘She’s fine. I’ve just come from Scotland, actually.’ He should have been back in Southbay, but he’d begged enough favours to give him a day or two’s grace.

‘Ben…what’s wrong?’

‘You,’ he told her.

‘Me?’

He nodded slowly. ‘It’s hard for me to say this—especially when you’re fully dressed and I’m only wearing your towel, and you could throw me out at any time, and—’

She leaned across and took his hand. ‘And you’re waffling, Benjamin Robertson.’

‘Yeah,’ he admitted ruefully. ‘Kirst…I don’t know where to start.’

‘Try the beginning.’

‘I don’t know where the beginning is.’

‘Try the middle,’ she suggested.

Exactly what he’d told himself. ‘OK.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Are you in love with Ted Baker?’

‘Ted?’
To his horror, she actually laughed.

‘What’s so funny?’

‘Ted,’ she told him, trying desperately to keep a straight face, ‘is my friend. He’s off limits.’

Ben had been her friend once. And
he’d
been off limits. Until he’d dragged her into that ridiculous engagement. He went cold. Supposing… ‘Because he’s your boss?’ he asked carefully.

‘Because he’s in a relationship. A very long-standing relationship.’

‘He’s
married
? You’re in love with a married man?’

She shook her head and her eyes crinkled at the corners with amusement. ‘Ted’s gay.’

He narrowed his eyes. ‘Does Gran know this?’

‘I might have told her—I can’t remember. Why?’

‘Doesn’t matter.’ He stared at her. ‘Are you in love with him?’

‘No, I’m not.’ She pursed her lips. ‘Ben, I’ve come home to find you sitting on my doorstep, soaked through. Don’t I deserve an explanation?’

‘I’m trying,’ he growled. ‘I just…Look, I find…relationships difficult.’ If he was going to tell her the truth, he knew it ought to be the whole truth. ‘Gran thinks it’s because of my mother,’ he admitted.

‘Your mother?’ Kirsty said softly.

She was still holding his hand. He tightened his grip. ‘Sarah,’ he clarified. ‘She didn’t do commitment either.’

‘Just because you’re her son, it doesn’t mean you’re like her,’ Kirsty pointed out.

‘Doesn’t it? Every time anyone gets close to me, I back off. I keep everyone at arm’s length. I make it clear all my relationships are no-strings, just for fun, so everyone knows where they stand right from the start and no one gets hurt. Except…’ he paused for a long while ‘…you. And then I pushed you away.’

When she’d told him she loved him. She swallowed hard. ‘Yes.’

‘Kirst, I know this is probably way too late, but…’ He sighed. ‘Oh, hell, I’m making a mess of this. Anyway, I asked you to be my fiancée because I thought you were safe—because you didn’t do relationships either.’ He stared at her. ‘I asked you why, once, and you said it was because of your career.’

She flushed. ‘It is.’

‘Really?’ He tipped his head on one side. ‘I’ve been thinking about it and there’s something that doesn’t add up. You’ve got a real thing about lies. I mean, more than just the usual sense of right and wrong. And the bullying you told Adam about—it wasn’t just Chambers, was it?’