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‘Can we see him?’ Steve questioned.

‘For a moment,’ the man agreed.

‘What happened?’ Brad questioned, opening his eyes to discover Steve standing beside the bed. ‘They won’t tell me anything in here. The last thing I remember is drinking a cup of coffee on the yacht and then feeling so dizzy I had to lie down.’

‘That coffee contained quite a wallop,’ said Steve, then added with a grin, ‘It’s good to see you back in the world of the living.’

‘Wallop?’ Brad muttered, his expression one of confusion.

‘You were drugged,’ Sara clarified softly. As he shifted his gaze until she fell into his line of vision, she could see how hard he was struggling to remain conscious. Her jaw hardened as she had to fight to keep herself from reaching out and touching him.

Frowning, he shifted his gaze back to Steve. ‘Drugged? Why?’ he demanded.

‘Monica turned out to be a little unbalanced. She was planning to deep-six you to save the family estate,’ Steve explained. ‘She was also the woman who called you the night of the accident and drove the truck that pulled out in front of you. She’d even rigged the railing on the balcony the night of the ball. She’d planned to lure you out there and somehow manoeuvre you into leaning against the thing.’

‘That was a pretty risky way to stage an accident,’ Brad muttered. ‘In fact both of them were.’

‘That’s what made her so difficult to spot. She was willing to take risks you wouldn’t expect a murderess to take,’ Steve frowned.

‘How did you know I was in trouble?’ Brad questioned, furrowing his brow in an effort to remain alert.

‘Sara had a premonition.’ Steve glanced at his sister with a playful gleam in his eye. ‘I’ll bet you never guessed she was psychic on top of all her other abilities.’

‘Nothing about Sara would surprise me,’ Brad murmured, losing his battle to remain awake and drifting back into unconsciousness.

Swallowing hard, Sara caught Steve’s arm. ‘I think we should be leaving,’ she said, pulling him out of the room. Brad’s words had stung, reminding her of what a fool she had been where he was concerned. She could not face him again.

‘Why don’t you throw a few things into your suitcases and finish packing tomorrow?’ Steve suggested as he drove her back to Brad’s house a few minutes later. ‘You look tired.’

‘I’m fine,’ she refused his suggestion. ‘They’ll be keeping Brad in the hospital tonight and part of tomorrow and I want to use this opportunity to pack and move out.’

‘Mom’s arriving soon. You’re not going to change your mind and decide to stay around to nurse him for a few more days, are you?’ he questioned.

‘No, I’m not going to remain to nurse him,’ she assured him tightly.

‘Get some rest before you start packing,’ he advised as he dropped her off.

‘I will,’ she promised.

Alone inside the house, she wandered from room to room as if saying goodbye to a much loved, long occupied dwelling. There was too much pain for tears. Fighting to retain control of her emotions, she directed her body’s nervous energies into packing. It was an unorganised muddle as she threw things into boxes and suitcases, but at the end of two hours she had successfully moved all her personal things out of the bedroom and bath.

Cramming the last box into her car, she realised that she was too tired to trust herself to drive to Steve’s. Besides, being perfectly honest, she had to admit that she wanted this one last night in this house. Too tense to lie down she climbed the stairs to her studio.

The clay bust stood on its stand in the centre of the room. Unwrapping it, she ran her fingers over the roughly defined features. A shudder shook her, but she refused to allow herself the luxury of tears. Brad was going to live; that was all that was important.

Somehow she had to free herself from the bond she felt towards him. Maybe distance was the answer. She would go to Paris. All painters should go to Paris at least once during their lifetime, she reasoned philosophically. With the money in her savings account and the cheque from the gallery for the work Marc had purchased, she had enough to live on for quite a while. She might even find a job teaching English. That had been her second major in college.

A small voice within her warned that distance would do no good, but still she was determined to try. She couldn’t remain in Charleston. Even if she managed not to run into Brad, Steve would be a constant reminder of him.

She noticed a lone painting leaning against one wall. Without question, she knew it was the one Brad had set aside for himself the day Margarete had come by to pick up the pieces for the gallery.

Carrying it into his workroom, she placed it on his drawing board. 'It’s a gift,’ she told the emptiness around her. ‘Something to remember me by.’ Then in muted tones she added, ‘I only wish there were gifts to forget people by!’ She lingered in the room only momentarily. Brad’s presence was much too strong in there. Without closing her eyes, she could almost see him standing at the window or sitting at his drawing board.

Back in her studio, she stared at the clay head. There was no reason to cover it. She knew now that she could never finish it.

Exhaustion overwhelmed her and curling up on the couch, she fell into a fitful sleep.

It was dark when she awoke. Turning on to her back, she saw the moon and stars shining through the skylight. ‘A night for lovers,’ she murmured in her grogginess, then hated herself for the thought.

The remembered plan to go to Paris returned and her expression hardened. She knew the voice inside was right ... distance would do no good. But she had to try something, anything, to break the tenacious hold Brad had over her.

Thinking back, she realised that it had begun when Steve had first shown her the photograph of the green-eyed man. Staring at the face peering out at her from the piece of celluloid, she had found herself recalling every scrap of conversation she had ever heard regarding Brad Garwood. At the time she had convinced herself that her interest was purely an artistic fascination with his features.

Pressing her hand over her mouth, she fought the urge to shout out that the fates were cruel. How could she be so emotionally linked to a man who found her presence an irritation? Life was so unfair!

The sound of footsteps on the stairs brought her abruptly into a sitting position, and glancing at the luminous dial on her watch, she saw that it was a little after eleven. A spasm of fear shook her. It wasn’t a fear of the man approaching. She had no doubt as to his identity and knew that he would not harm her. It was a fear of herself and how she would face him.

His form blocked the doorway as he came to a halt and stared into the moonlit room. Sara sensed more than saw the rigidness which came over him when he realised that he was not alone. There was a click and the room was suddenly flooded with light.

‘Sara,’ Brad growled her name. ‘Your room downstairs was empty. I assumed you’d be at Steve’s house.’

‘I was too tired to drive,’ she said tightly. ‘Didn’t you see my car?’

‘I didn’t come in through the back. I came by taxi and the driver let me out in front,’ he replied stiffly.

‘I’m sorry if I surprised you,’ she apologised, licking her lips nervously under his scrutiny. ‘I didn’t expect you to come home tonight.’

‘I checked myself out of the hospital.’

He hadn't moved from the doorway and the tension in the room was increasing steadily. ‘Do you think that was a good idea?’ she questioned, running a hand through her dishevelled hair.

‘I’ve slept off the drug.’ He seemed to be studying her, as if searching for something.

Awkwardly, she rose. ‘I should be going now.’ She meant her voice to sound calm, but the tone was terse and his expression darkened. ‘I'll finish picking up my things tomorrow while you’re out signing the papers on Cyprus Point.’

‘I won’t be signing those papers,’ he said curtly. ‘I’ve talked to David Fallon. Considering the circumstances, he’s agreed to let me out of the agreement with no penalties.’

‘I’m sorry about Monica,’ she managed to get the words out in a level voice, still not certain that Brad had not been in love with the woman.

‘Me, too. I thought she was a friend. I knew she was upset about her father selling the family estate, but I thought I could convince her that I would care for the place as much as she did.’

‘And that was why you were seeing her?’ The question came out before Sara realised what words were forming and a flush reddened her cheeks.

Some of the tautness left his stance. ‘Yes. That... and to keep an eye on you. I didn’t want you going out with Fallon. When I couldn’t stop you, I arranged to be around in case you needed help.’ His mouth formed a hard line as his gaze fell on her eye. ‘Obviously my caution was well founded.’

‘Marc saved your life ... our lives,’ she said, feeling that she had to defend the man after what he had done.

‘Does that mean he’s now your hero?’ Brad demanded acidly.

‘No, I was only trying to be fair,’ she sighed, swallowing the hard lump in her throat. ‘Please, I don’t want us to part in anger.’

‘No,’ he agreed, his manner softening.

‘Now, I really must be going.’ She started resolutely towards the door, but still he did not move.

‘I’m still a bit foggy about what happened, but I seem to recall Steve saying something about you having a premonition.’

‘It was just one of those nuances of fate,’ she muttered. ‘Tell me,’ he persisted, ‘did you have one of your premonitions the night of the ball?’

‘No ... yes ... sort of. I didn’t know what it was. I only knew that I felt compelled to go,’ she confessed tightly.

‘I take it, then, that you don’t have these kind of things often.’

‘No, not often.’

He was watching her closely while continuing to block her exit. ‘It must be distracting to have total strangers disrupting your life.’

‘Normally I only have reactions to members of my family. You’re the first... stranger.’ Glancing away from the intense green of his eyes, she added, ‘And now I really must be going.’

‘I want to thank you properly for the part you played in saving my life. I’ll come by to take you to breakfast tomorrow and we’ll discuss it,’ he said, moving aside to let her pass. ‘What time will you be ready?’

‘A simple “thank you” will suffice,’ she fought back the tears. ‘I’ll be much too busy tomorrow to see you.’

‘But I insist.’ His voice held no compromise.

Swinging around to face him, her chin came up defiantly. ‘I don’t want your gratitude—I haven’t got time for it. I’ve decided to go to Paris. All artists should go to Paris.’ She tried to force a lightness into this last sentence, but it fell flat. Angry at herself, she resumed her flight.

‘Damn it, Sara! You’re not going anywhere.’ Brad caught her by the arm. ‘At least not until I’ve had a chance to talk to you.’

‘Please!’ She felt her control slipping and knew she could not stand up against one of his brotherly routines or, even worse, a pledge of friendship brought on out of gratitude.

‘I’m not going to lose you, Sara. Not without a fight,’ he growled.

There was a desperation in his voice that caused her to look up into his face. ‘I don’t understand,’ she stammered.

‘I promised your brother that as long as you were under my roof I would not make any advances towards you, and although it’s been nearly impossible at times, I’ve tried to keep that promise. But now
...’

‘You promised Steve what?’ she interjected.

‘He had a right to ask—he’s your brother. And at the time, I was so angry with you, I felt certain I would have no trouble keeping my word.’ His voice softened as his hands came up to cup her face. ‘I was such a fool.’

‘Fool?’ The word came out barely above a whisper. ‘The night of the ball when I held you in my arms, I’d never been so aware of a woman. And later, even with the impression your landlady had given me, I couldn’t force you out of my mind. You continued to haunt me until I wanted you so badly I was willing to pay any price to have you.’

‘I remember,’ she murmured, as his hands left her face to circle behind her, drawing her to him to add emphasis to his words.

'I've never believed in love at first sight,’ he continued, tightening his hold as if he was afraid she might attempt to slip away. 'I've always thought that two people had to take time to know one another before a long-lasting bond could be established. I refused to consider the possibility that I was already in love with you even after you entered this house and it suddenly felt like a home. Then there was that first morning when you came out of your room with your hair all mussed and your eyes still foggy from sleep ...’

‘You growled at me,’ she accused, ‘and made me feel like an Ugly Duckling.’

‘Only because you looked so inviting I could barely stop myself from taking you in my arms and wishing you a very improper good morning. ’ He kissed the bridge of her nose. ‘And I was locked into that promise I’d made to Steve. You have to believe that I never wanted to be rid of you. I only wanted you out of my home so that I could court you.’

‘To be certain that what you felt was really love and not just lust?’ she questioned, fear glistening in her eyes.

‘No.’ He looked hard into her face, to allow her to read the depth of his emotions. ‘I love you. I don’t need any time to be certain of that. I feel as if you’re a part of me that’s been missing all these years.’ Feathering kisses over her face, he captured her lips for a kiss that spoke of an unquenchable hunger. Straining against him, she let her body tell him of her own need of him.

Deserting her mouth, he nibbled along the cord of her neck, causing goosebumps to rise on her sensitised skin. When she responded with a low moan of pleasure he asked huskily, ‘Can I assume that if I were to ask you to marry me, you wouldn’t tell me this time that I’m being ridiculous?’

A glimmer of the pain he had experienced at her earlier refusal flashed in his eyes, startling her by its intensity. ‘That’s a reasonable assumption,’ she replied, kissing the hollow of his neck.

‘Woman, I wonder if you have any idea what you do to me,’ he laughed. It was a low rumbling sound that sent chills down her spine.