‘No!’ He turned to face her, grabbing her, shaking her a little. ‘You didn’t do this, do you hear me? It just happened. If I had dislocated it, broken it, if I had died attempting to save you it would not be your fault.’

‘I know,’ she said. And she did. ‘I just wish I had something to make to better.’

They were close.

The water was cold, but Jago was not. ‘There is something,’ he said, lifting her from her feet and moving her closer so that there was nothing between them but a film of water that was rapidly heating up. ‘Your warmth, Miranda Grenville. And, now that I can see it, your smile.’

She was smiling?

Actually, washed clean, with his body this close to hers, why wouldn’t she be smiling?

‘You want another kiss-it-better kiss, Nick Alexander Jago Jackson? Is that it?’ She didn’t wait for his answer. Her mouth was level with his shoulder, inches from his poor bruised skin, but, as she leaned into it, he backed off.

Startled, she looked up. ‘Not this time,’ He said. ‘This is an equal opportunity healing ritual. I’ve been keeping count and it’s my turn.’ And, with his gaze fixed firmly on her mouth, he lowered his lips to hers.

She watched it happen in slow motion. Seeing everything. The sunlight filtering through the canopy sparkling on the drops of water clinging to his hair. A petal drifting from somewhere above them as the air stirred. Heard the beat of wings. And then she slammed her eyes shut. Saw nothing. Heard nothing. All her senses channelled into one.

Feeling.

His lips barely touched hers-no more than a promise-before moving on to the delicate skin behind her ears, her neck. His tongue traced the hollows of her collar-bone while his fingers eased across her shoulders, the nape of her neck and she discovered an unexpected erogenous zone. That bones truly could melt.

This was not a kissing-it-better kiss. Manda might not know much, but she knew that. This was a make-the-world-go-away kiss that drew from her soft purring sighs that didn’t sound like any sound she’d ever made in her entire life.

He kissed every part of her, bringing life flooding to her breasts, blowing softly into her navel as he laid her back in the water to expose more of her body to his lips. Keeping her safe with one powerful arm as he took the concept of kissing-it-better and lifted it to an entirely different plane.

Then, with her shoulders nestled into the soft moss of the bank, she drew him to her, telling him with every touch, every murmur that she wanted more and he gave her himself so completely, so selflessly, waiting and waiting for her, that afterwards she lay in his arms, tears of gratitude in her eyes. Reborn. Renewed.

‘Are you hungry?’ He asked as they lay on the grass, recovering.

‘Starving. Shall we be greedy and eat all the mints?’

‘I can do better than that.’ He got up and swam across the pool to the waterfall and then began to climb up the rocks to pick the berries that grew there.

‘Be careful,’ she called out, more nervous now than in the bowels of the temple. But she hadn’t been able to see the danger there. Hadn’t been able to see him. Or that hideous bruise.

He just smiled and turned, but she couldn’t bear to watch and she decided to get dressed.

She recoiled from her underwear and instead slipped into her trousers, then pulled her shirt over her naked skin. Unfortunately, her fingers and the buttons didn’t want to co-operate and she was still struggling with them when Nick returned.

‘Give me your hands.’

‘I just need to-’

‘I’ll see to it when we’ve eaten. Here, take them.’ He tipped a handful of berries into her hands. ‘I’ve no idea what these are, but they’re very high in sugar. The locals dry them and use them for long journeys.’

She tried one. He was right, they were sweet. ‘They’re very good,’ she said, holding them for him to help himself. ‘But then I’m so hungry that deadly nightshade would probably taste good right now.’

‘Try a little brandy with them.’

‘This is a picnic? We can finish it off with the last of the mints.’

After they’d eaten and washed their hands in the pool, they lay side by side, just letting the sun warm them, saying nothing. What was there left to say? They both knew that what had happened had been the final act in a drama that had overtaken them.

Except, of course, for the elephant in the room.

It was Nick who finally broke the silence.

‘Miranda-’

She rolled over, putting her fingers on his mouth before he could say the words. ‘You’re safe, Nick. That’s the first time for me in ten years.’

‘Ten years? A life sentence,’ he said, holding her, kissing her damp hair, her forehead, her cheek, until she had no choice but to look up at him. ‘I can’t match that kind of celibacy, but I’ve always used protection. Until today.’

‘Today was different. This is the Garden of Eden before the Fall.’

‘Maybe, but even the most basic biology lesson would confirm that unprotected sex, wherever it happens, can lead to pregnancy.’

‘No.’ It was her last secret. Telling him would be like removing the final veil. Leaving her stripped bare, exposed in a way that simple nakedness had not. ‘Not for me. The ectopic pregnancy made a bit of a mess when it ruptured, Nick. I will never have a child of my own.’

‘I’m sorry.’

That was the thing about learning to control your own feelings-you recognised the real thing when you saw it. When Jago said those two little words, he meant it. Not in a pitying way. But because he understood how much she had lost. Understood everything.

He’d saved her life, brought her from the darkness, given her back the simple joy of her body and with those two words she knew that it would be the easiest thing in the world to fall in love with him.

It was time, in other words, to slip the mask back into place. Not to hide hurt. If she never saw him again after today it would be a cause for regret, but not for pain. He had given her more than he could ever know.

He had been compassionate, kind and, in giving her his own very special version of the kiss of life, he had, quite unknowingly, lifted that dark shadow from her life. The fear that her love was not good enough.

She had trusted him and he had not let her down and now she could trust herself. Trust the love she had been yearning to give and, instead of locking it away, scared of rejection, she would use it. First she’d reassure herself that the child they’d found-Rosie-was safe and happy. Do something for the other children out there, the ones whose thin and grubby little faces hadn’t made it into print.

She would wear her mask lightly, and only to protect him from any vestige of guilt for not loving her.

She’d been aware for some time of the sound of a helicopter quartering the ground nearby and she said, ‘Time to move, I think. If you’d deal with the buttons?’

‘We could just stay here,’ Jago replied, keeping a firm hold of her hand. ‘Live on nuts and wild berries.’

‘We could,’ she agreed. ‘But I have a documentary to produce and you have a book to write. The real story about the people who lived here.’

‘It won’t be a sex and sandals bestseller.’

‘It will be the truth. You owe them that and I promise I’ll be at the head of the line when you have your first book signing.’

‘That’s an incentive,’ he said and his smile formed deep lines down his cheeks. ‘Although academic authors tend not to make it out of their own university bookshop.’

‘Maybe the rubbish book will provoke interest.’

‘Maybe it will. I might sell three more copies.’

‘Just tell me where and I’ll bring everyone I know. We’ll have a party.’

‘If I do, will you invite me to the first screening of your documentary?’

She hesitated. ‘It’s about broken families, Nick. Adoption. The search for birth families. Reunion.’

‘Stories which don’t always have a happy-ever-after ending?’ he suggested. ‘Is that why you won’t follow up the little girl in your last documentary? In case her story doesn’t have a happy ending.’

‘I…’ She swallowed. ‘Yes.’ Then, meeting grey eyes that refused to accept anything less than total honesty, ‘I’ve let her down, haven’t I?’

‘You wanted to believe she was happy. When you’re afraid that reality might not live up to your dream, it’s tempting to stay where it’s safe.’

‘With the dream.’ She looked around at the perfect vision of paradise that surrounded them. It was lovely for a few hours stolen from life, but the scent that had at first seemed so sweet was now making her drowsy. Was that what the scent of the lilies did? Drug the senses…‘Maybe I’ve always been hung up on the dream, instead of accepting reality. Yearning for the fairy tale and missing what was in front of me.’

She turned to confront this man who’d given her back her life, both literally and emotionally.

‘Isn’t that what you’ve been doing too, Nick? Sticking with the dream of your perfect family, perfect parents. Unable to see your mother and father as just two ordinary people with ordinary frailties. Just like everyone else.’

She didn’t wait for him to answer. The question was rhetorical, something for him to think about. Instead, she removed her hand from his and, making a move for her shirt buttons, said, ‘It’s time to leave, Nick.’

As she fumbled awkwardly, he reached out and stopped her. ‘I said I’d do that.’

For a moment Jago thought Miranda was going to resist this final intimacy.

But then she smiled and let her hands drop to her lap. It was a simple gesture of trust and he fastened them carefully, without touching her, knowing that this simple act represented closure. An end to what had happened between them. On an impulse he said, ‘I’ve got an idea.’

She glanced up as a shadow passed over them, a blast of noise, a shower of leaves. The helicopter, directly overhead now. Beneath the canopy they were invisible from the air, but even so it would not be long before the world crashed in on them and, as soon as the beating of the rotor faded, he said, ‘Let’s come back here. A year from today. No matter what. You bring a packet of mints. I’ll bring a bottle of local brandy and we can pick berries. Have a feast. Maybe stay all night, gather lilies to put on a bonfire, give thanks for our deliverance.’