By Anne Mather
For 2 lengthy years, intrepid reporter Matthew Quinn used to be held captive by way of insurgent forces. His dramatic break out made headlines. yet Matt is bodily scarred, and believes that a few components of him won't ever get well . . . Matt is not ready for Felicity Taylor whilst she sweeps into his lifestyles. The sexual chemistry among them is quick and heady. even though Matt holds again, realizing that he can by no means exhibit the secrets and techniques that hang-out him . . .
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They might given him a host and brought away his identify. Taken his freedom, his domestic, his kinfolk. every thing that made existence worthy lifing. yet they could not take his desire. .. and she or he got here to him taking a look like an angel with hair the colour of silver moonlight and eyes the colour of a turbulent sea. She tenderly taken care of his wounds whereas he lay in darkness, giving him the desire to move on.
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I knew I’d heard it recently. That’s the name of that man—that journalist—who spent about eighteen months as a prisoner of the rebels in Abuqara. You remember, don’t you? They did a documentary about it on television recently. He escaped. Yes, that’s right, he escaped. ’ Fliss swallowed with difficulty. Her breath suddenly seemed constricted somewhere down in her throat. ‘I—don’t remember,’ she said faintly. But she did. Now that her father had reminded her of it, she remembered the documentary very well.
I know Mrs—Miss Taylor,’ remarked Matt, knowing it would annoy her. But dammit, she was annoying him right now. ‘And you don’t know what I want, Diane. What you’re talking about is what you want. ’ she exclaimed fiercely. ‘You’ll soon get bored doing nothing. ’ Matt shrugged. ’ Diane’s exclamation was impatient. ‘All right, what about me? Have you thought about me at all? I can’t live here. ’ Matt bent his head, rubbing palms that were suddenly slick with sweat over the knees of his pants. ’ Matt knew he was being harsh but he really didn’t have a choice.
Who on earth was he? ‘I—I’m sorry,’ she began, deciding an apology was in order. ‘If my daughter’s been troubling you—’ ‘She hasn’t,’ he said, his voice low and a little hoarse, and Fliss saw the way Amy’s shoulders hunched in the way she had when her mother embarrassed her. ’ She grimaced, casting an impatient look in Fliss’s direction. ’ Fliss reserved judgement on that one. In her opinion Amy was still young enough to warrant the anxiety she had felt at her disappearance. ‘I’ve been looking for you,’ she said, deciding any chastisement could wait until later.