Valentine Vendetta

‘Or make her want me so bad that she can’t forget me,’ said Sam softly.

There was a long pause. ‘Hell, Sam, what did she do to you?’

‘She took from me something very precious, something that I didn’t think existed any more,’ said Sam grimly as he remembered the mushy way he’d felt when he danced with her. Feelings he had never imagined he would have for a woman again. ‘And then destroyed it as surely as if she’d smashed it underneath the heel of her boot!’

‘If you’re thinking about revenge, I’m telling you again not to bother. There are more civilised ways to resolve things,’ advised Cormack, in the tone of a man who knew what he was talking about. ‘And trying to get your own back always misfires on you.’

‘That’s just what Fran Fisher is about to find out!’ said Sam grimly.

‘Sam?’ Cormack chided. ‘You’re talking in riddles now! What are you planning to do?’

‘She thinks I’m such a bastard!’ Sam growled. ‘Well, I’ll give her something to really get her teeth into!’ He shuddered involuntarily as he realised that the threat could feel exquisitely sensual.

‘How?’

‘I’m going to spend a night having sex with her!’ Sam vowed. ‘The most wonderful sex she’ll ever have experienced in her life!’ he added, knowing instinctively that it would be mutual.

‘And then?’

There was a long pause before Sam spoke. ‘And then…nothing. Just something to remember me by.’

Cormack sounded worried now. ‘Listen, why don’t you forget all that, and come out here for a holiday? Take your mind off things. We’d love to see you—Triss, especially. And Conor wouldn’t object to being spoiled rotten, I’m sure!’

‘Maybe I will,’ said Sam, looking at the calendar with a gleam of anticipation in his dark-blue eyes. ‘But not until after my mother’s birthday.’

CHAPTER SEVEN

FRAN spent the next couple of days trying to contact Rosi

e and getting precisely nowhere. She wanted to know which story was true. Had Rosie’s four colleagues made Sam’s life a misery? Or vice versa? Except that she had a strong gut feeling which story would hold up.

But the message on Rosie’s answerphone said she was out of town, and even her mother couldn’t help.

‘I’m sorry, Frances, dear,’ she said down the phone. ‘But she’s gone off on holiday without telling me exactly where she’s going. Most inconsiderate of her, especially when you think of everything that’s happened in the last couple of weeks!’

‘Yes,’ said Fran glumly.

‘But she seems to be much happier in herself, thank goodness. And she seems to be over that wretched man, Sam, at long last!’

Fran glowered at her reflection in the mirror. ‘Er, yes. I expect she is. She didn’t happen to mention who she was going on holiday with?’

‘Well, that is the interesting part! Did you see the first article that was printed in the newspaper, the one all about her and Sam?’

‘I certainly did!’ said Fran vehemently.

‘I didn’t really approve of the language she used I must say, but she did look lovely lying on the sofa in that dress, didn’t she, dear?’

Fran winced. How blinding mother-love could be sometimes! ‘Mmmm!’ she said encouragingly.

‘Well, apparently the piece inspired a huge mailbag, and now the newspaper has flown her off to some secret destination, promising to find her a man as gorgeous as Sam Lockhart, only one who treats her properly this time. This I would like to see! I do hope she behaves herself, Fran,’ she added worriedly. ‘She’s been drinking far more than is good for her just lately—and I actually thought that he looked terribly nice, this Sam Lockhart. Well, as much as I could make out from the snatched photograph I saw! He appears to have been scowling at the photographer. I can see exactly why she fell for him.’

‘Er, yes.’ Fran wondered whether that had been before or after he had threatened to land the photographer with a punch, as had been gleefully reported. Sam Lockhart was in terrible danger of becoming a minor celebrity, she thought with a sinking feeling of guilt.

‘So when are you coming over to England next, dear?’

‘I’m—’ Oh, it would be much too complicated to tell Rosie’s mother that she was calling from Eversford Station, having flown in from Dublin that morning. And even longer to explain why she was waiting for Sam to pick her up and take her to his house to start planning his mother’s seventieth birthday party! ‘I’m in a bit of a rush now! Can you tell Rosie that I’ll call again, and that I need to speak to her! She can get me anytime on my mobile!’

She cut the connection just in time to see a mud-splattered four-wheel drive nosing its way into the station forecourt. No need to ask who was driving that! Fran felt the automatic clenching of her heart as she saw the rugged profile of the man behind the wheel. The dark hair which kissed the collar of the leather jacket.