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Just One Last Night...
Amy Andrews
Just
One Last Night…
Amy Andrews
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Table of Contents
Cover (#u39140612-ad30-5e7d-ab8c-b8a88d01a452)
Title Page (#u08226578-8161-5efc-aaba-42306262443d)
About the Author (#ua04c44aa-e9a1-5d60-994e-1913ae943e9b)
Dedication (#u783da034-c5ef-59d9-91af-6f481319a0b1)
Chapter One (#u7be92024-4cae-5b54-b838-cd21dbd6bbde)
Chapter Two (#ud89aa800-d52d-5764-b752-848f0f7e5cfc)
Chapter Three (#u2fdb7b35-ff2e-59ec-8253-79da55679d1e)
Chapter Four (#ubeda042d-8aa2-5708-a6ac-76788f40bd3e)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Author
AMY ANDREWS has always loved writing, and still can’t quite believe that she gets to do it for a living. Creating wonderful heroines and gorgeous heroes and telling their stories is an amazing way to pass the day. Sometimes they don’t always act as she’d like them to—but then neither do her kids, so she’s kind of used to it. Amy lives in the very beautiful Sam-ford Valley, with her husband and aforementioned children, along with six brown chooks and two black dogs. She loves to hear from her readers. Drop her a line at www.amyandrews.com.au
For Olwyn Deane and Lillias Jensen—
two wonderful women who have enriched
the fabric of my life since the day I was born
CHAPTER ONE
DR GRACE PERRY hated feeling unprepared. She’d happily lived her entire adult life totally prepared for all situations. She liked being prepared. Loved it, actually. It gave her power and a sense of control.
She loved control.
And order. And predictability.
Otherwise there was just chaos. And Grace hated chaos.
Unfortunately there’d been precious little order and too much chaos in the last eighteen months.
So today she planned to take back control.
All she had to do was get the job.
An interview she was feeling totally unprepared for after her early-morning flight from Brisbane and Tash’s door slamming condemnation from last night still ringing in her ears.
Grace sighed as she pushed the lift button. How could a sullen fifteen-year-old girl have defeated her—broken her—so utterly? Taken her nice, neat, ordered, controlled world and turned it totally on its ear.
Grace hated defeat.
The lift arrived and Grace put the rare moment of self-pity aside as she strode into it and pushed the button for the eighth floor.
Such negative thoughts did not bode well going into the interview of her life. And however hard it had been on her to become guardian to her niece and nephew, it had been a thousand times worse for Tash and Benji.
The doors opened at her destination and Grace took a moment to straighten the dark grey skirt that flared around her knees, balancing out the flare of very feminine hips. She did up the large buttons on her matching jacket.
You can do this, she lectured herself as her strappy pumps sank into plush carpet. You are a fantastic emergency physician with fifteen years’ experience and a respected manager.
You are outstandingly qualified.
Opposite the lifts was a large reception desk and she made her way to it.
‘Dr Grace Perry to see Dr John Wilkie,’ she said, injecting a note of calm assurance as if the interview was no more trifling than a sutured finger or a strep throat.
The starched-looking receptionist peered at her over half-moon glasses and frowned. She consulted her watch and then some paperwork. ‘You’re early.’
Grace blinked, feeling as if she’d committed some horrible transgression. ‘Yes. It’s a terrible habit of mine.’
Or it used to be anyway before chaos had taken over.
‘Sorry,’ she added, feeling the need to apologise to the un-amused woman in front of her. Then she smiled to reassure the receptionist it wouldn’t happen again and to vanquish the horrible feeling of being caught on the back foot.
The receptionist sniffed then stood. ‘Please follow me.’
Grace did as she was instructed—she didn’t dare not to—following the woman’s brisk march through a series of corridors until they reached a door and entered a lounge area.
‘Take a seat. Dr Wilkie’s conducting another interview.’ She sniffed again. ‘He may be a while.’
‘That’s fine,’ Grace murmured, sinking into the nearest lounge chair. ‘I have some work to do,’ she said, patting her bag.
The receptionist departed and Grace was left to her own devices. Self-directed as ever and rather than think about who was on the other side of the closed door opposite, making a play for her job, she hauled out her laptop, placing it on the low table in front of her. She adjusted her glasses and waited for it to power up.
Twenty minutes later she was fully engrossed in a report when her mobile rang. Distracted, Grace searched through her bag for it. Normally she’d have it attached to her waistband but she had this bloody impractical skirt on today instead of her regulation trousers with their convenient loops so she’d thrown it in her bag.
It trilled insistently as Grace pulled out the entire contents of her bag onto the table in an effort to locate it.
Where could one little phone hide, for crying out loud?
She finally located it and pushed the answer button. ‘Dr Perry,’ she said.
‘Hello, Dr Perry, this is Juanita from Brisbane City High.’
Grace gripped the phone harder as a surge of dread rose like a monster from the deep inside her. ‘What’s she done now?’ She sighed.
‘Natasha hasn’t shown up today. Again. That’s the third time this week.’
Grace shut her eyes. ‘I see.’ She knew her niece had been dropped at school. There’d been a text from Jo, the nanny, when she’d disembarked in Melbourne that morning, telling her so.
‘Right, thanks. I’ll deal with it.’
Grace’s hand shook as she tried Tash’s mobile. It went to the message bank and Grace left a terse message. She rang Jo next and informed her, then texted her niece.
Get your butt to school. Now!
Grace wasn’t overly worried about Tash. If her niece ran true to form, she’d be at the local shopping centre.
Hopefully not shoplifting this time.
Grace was pretty sure Tash had learned her lesson from her brief foray into petty crime. But that boy would probably be there too. What was his name? Hayden? Jayden? Braydon? Something like that … And that was cause for concern.
Caught up in the drama as she was and the sick feeling that had been fermenting in her gut for eighteen months, Grace startled when the door opened abruptly and two male voices intruded on her disquiet.
‘Thanks John, I look forward to hearing from you.’
‘No worries, Brent. The successful applicant will be informed by the end of next week.’
The hairs on the back of Grace’s neck prickled and it had nothing to do with the way the two men shook hands, slapped backs and generally interacted like the outcome was a foregone conclusion.
And everything to do with Dr Brent Cartwright.
Her first love.
She rose abruptly to her feet as if she’d been zapped by some sort of divine cattle prod. Shock waves buffeted her body as twenty years fell away in an instant and the memories flooded back.
His deep, rich voice. The rumble in his laugh. The way he’d looked at her like she was the only woman on the planet. How he’d enjoyed teasing her. The way he’d told stories. His generosity. His intellect. His attention to detail.
The heat of his mouth.
The smell of his neck.
The way he’d filled her more perfectly than any man ever had.
The way he’d shaken his head, his angry words when she’d broken their brief engagement. Broken his heart.
Broken both their hearts.
‘Ah, Dr Perry,’ John Wilkie greeted her from the door. ‘Edwina said you were here already. Give us a few minutes, would you?’ he requested as he backed through the door and shut it again.
Grace nodded dumbly, her pulse tap-dancing a frantic beat at her temples, but had eyes only for an equally stunned-looking Brent.
Brent stared. He couldn’t help it.
Grace Perry.
The one that got away.
He was momentarily speechless. Twenty years and yet the memories rushed out at him. Walking hand and hand through the uni campus as the leaves had changed and they’d fallen in love. Skipping classes. Staying in bed for days in a row. Talking endlessly into the night. Eating cold leftover pizza for breakfast too many mornings to count.
Drinking cheap cafeteria coffee as they swatted up for anatomy exams, desperately trying to catch up on the things they’d missed.
She’d been his first love.
He took a step towards her, reached out a hand. He felt as gauche as a schoolboy. As unsure as the eighteen-year-old man who had considered her way out of his league but had wanted her anyway.
He finally found his voice. ‘Gracie …’
She stiffened as his endearment yanked her back to the present. ‘It’s Grace,’ she said, taking a step back. ‘Just Grace.’
Brent stilled as her don’t-touch-me vibe sparked other memories. The cold stab of her it’s-over speech. The hard bite of the solitaire engagement ring she’d curled into his palm. The straightness of her spine as she’d turned away from him.
He stuffed his hands into his pockets, embarrassed by the impulse and surprised how, even after all these years, it was automatic for him to reach for her.
But if she could be cool and collected, so could he. ‘How are you?’ he asked politely. ‘You’re interviewing for the head of emergency?’
Grace nodded. ‘You too?’
‘Yes. I’ve been acting in it for the last four months.’
