Reaching out a hand, she ran her fingers across his cheek, desperate to smooth away any fears he might have. 'I love you, too.'

He closed his eyes and breathed out hard in relief before opening them again, looking more at peace than she'd ever seen him before. Lifting his own hand, he slid his fingers into her hair and drew her towards him, pressing his mouth to hers and kissing her long and hard.

She felt it right down to her toes.

Drawing away for a moment, he touched his forehead to hers and whispered, 'You make me so happy.'

And then, once again, there was no more talking. Just pa.s.sion and joy and excitement for their bright new future together.

EPILOGUE.

One year later THE HOUSE THEY'D chosen to buy together was just the sort of place Cara had dreamed of owning during her romantic but practical twenties. It wasn't as grand or impressive as the house in South Kensington, but it felt exactly right for the two of them. And perhaps for any future family that chose to come along.

Not that having children was on the cards right now. Max was focusing hard on maintaining the expansion of his Management Solutions business, which had been flying ever since the Irish company awarded him their contract, and Cara was happy in her new position as Executive a.s.sistant to the CEO of the company she'd joined in the City. But they'd talked about the possibility of it happening in the near future and had both agreed it was something they wanted.

Life was good. And so was their relationship.

After worrying for the first few months that, despite his a.s.surances to the contrary, Max might still be in the grip of grief and that they had some struggles ahead of them, her fears had been a.s.suaged as their partnership flourished and grew into something so strong and authentic she could barely breathe with happiness some days.

Max's anger had faded but his fierceness remained, which she now experienced as both a protective and supportive force in her life. Being a party to his sad past had taught her to count her blessings, and she did. Every single day.

Arriving home late after enjoying a quick Friday night drink with her colleagues, she let herself into their golden-bricked Victorian town house-which they'd chosen for the views of Victoria Park and its close location to the thriving bustle and buzz of Columbia Road with its weekly flower market and kitschy independent furniture shops-and stopped dead in the doorway, staring down at the floor.

It was covered in flowers, of all colours and varieties. Frowning at them in bewilderment, she realised they were arranged into the shape of a sweeping arrow pointing towards the living room.

'Max? I'm home. What's going on? It looks like spring has exploded in our hallway!'

Tiptoeing carefully over the flowers so as not to crush too many of them, she made her way towards the living room and peered nervously through the doorway, her heart skittering at the mystery of it.

What she saw inside took her breath away.

Every surface was covered in vibrantly coloured bouquets of spring flowers, displayed in all manner of receptacles: from antique vases to the measuring jug she used to make her porridge in the mornings. Even the light fitting had a large cutting of honeysuckle spiralling down from it, its sweet fragrance permeating the air. It reminded her of their first night together after Jack's wedding. Which quickly led her to memories of all the wonderful nights that had come after it, where she'd lain in Max's arms, breathing in the scent of his skin, barely able to believe how loved and cherished she felt.

And she was loved, as Max constantly reminded her, and her support and love for him had enabled him to finally say goodbye to Jemima and the past that had kept him ensnared for so long.

She'd unlocked his heart.

She was the key, he'd told her as he carried her, giggling, over the threshold into their house six months ago.

She'd finally found her home.

Their home.

He was standing next to the rose-strewn piano in the bay, looking at her with the same expression of fierce love and desire that always made her blood rush with heat.

'h.e.l.lo, beautiful, did you have a good night?' he asked, walking towards where she stood, his smile bringing a mesmerising twinkle to his eyes.

'I did, thank you.' She swept a hand around the room, unable to stop herself from blurting, 'Max, what is this?'

The reverent expression on his face made her heart leap into her throat. 'This is me asking you to marry me,' he said, dropping to one knee in front of her and taking her hand in his, smiling at her gasp of surprise.

'This time last year I thought I'd never want to be married again-that I didn't deserve to be happy-but meeting you changed all that. You saved me, Cara.' Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew a small black velvet-covered box and flipped it open to reveal a beautiful flower-shaped diamond ring.

'I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life loving you.' His eyes were alive with pa.s.sion and hope. 'So what do you say-will you marry me?'

Heart pounding and her whole body shaking with excitement, she dropped onto her knees in front of him and gazed into his face, hardly able to believe the intensity of the love she felt for him.

'Yes,' she said simply, smiling into his eyes, letting him know how much she loved him back. 'Yes. I will.'

Keep reading for an excerpt from THE HUSBAND SHE'D NEVER MEET by Barbara Hannay.

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The Husband She'd Never Met by Barbara Hannay

CHAPTER ONE.

THE SUITCASE WAS almost full. Carrie stared at it in a horrified daze. It seemed wrong that she could pack up her life so quickly and efficiently.

Three years of marriage, all her hopes and dreams, were folded and neatly layered into one silver hard-sh.e.l.l suitcase. Her hands were shaking as she smoothed a rumpled sweater, and her eyes were blurred with tears.

She had known this was going to be hard, but this final step of closing the suitcase and walking away from Max felt as impossible and terrifying as leaping off a mountain into thin air. And yet she had no choice. She had to leave Riverslea Downs. Today. Before she weakened.

Miserably, Carrie surveyed the depleted contents of her wardrobe. She'd packed haphazardly, knowing she couldn't take everything now and choosing at random a selection of city clothes, as well as a few pairs of jeans and T-shirts. It wasn't as if she really cared what she wore.

It was difficult to care about anything in the future. The only way to get through this was to stay emotionally numb.

She checked the drawers again, wondering if she should squeeze in a few more items. And then she saw it, at the back of the bottom drawer: a small parcel wrapped in white tissue paper.

Her heart stumbled, then began to race. She mustn't leave this behind.

Fighting tears, she held the thin package in her hands. It was almost weightless. For a moment she pressed it against her chest as she battled painful, heartbreaking memories. Then, drawing on the steely inner strength she'd forced herself to find in recent months, she delved into the depths of the suitcase and made a s.p.a.ce for the little white parcel at the very bottom.

There. She pressed the clothes back into place and snapped the locks on the case.

She was ready. Nothing to do now but to leave the carefully composed letter for her husband propped against the teapot on the kitchen table.

It was cruel, but it was the only way she could do this. If she tried to offer Max an explanation face to face he would see how hard this was for her and she would never convince him. She'd thought this through countless times, and from every angle, and she knew this was the fairest and cleanest way. The only way.

At the bedroom window, Carrie looked out across paddocks that were glowing and golden in the bright Outback sun. She smelled a hint of eucalyptus on the drifting breeze and heard the warbling notes of a magpie. A hot, hard lump filled her throat. She loved this place.

Go now. Don't think. Just do it.

Picking up the envelope and the suitcase, she took one last look around the lovely room she'd shared with Max for the past three years. With a deliberate lift of her chin, she squared her shoulders and walked out.

When the phone rang, Max Kincaid ignored it. He didn't want to talk, no matter how well-meaning the caller. He was nursing a pain too deep for words.

The phone pealed on, each note drilling into Max. With an angry shrug he turned his back on the piercing summons and strode through the homestead to the front veranda, which had once been a favourite haunt. From here there was a view of paddocks and bush and distant hills that he'd loved all his life.

Today Max paid the view scant attention. He was simply grateful that the phone had finally rung out.

In the silence he heard a soft whimper and looked down to see Carrie's dog, Clover, gazing up at him with sad, bewildered eyes.

'I know how exactly you feel, old girl.' Reaching down, Max gave the Labrador's head a good rub. 'I can't believe she left you, too. But I s'pose you won't fit in a city apartment.'

This thought brought a sharp slice of the pain that had tortured Max since the previous evening, when he'd arrived from the stockyards to find Carrie gone, leaving nothing but a letter.

In the letter she'd explained her reasons for leaving him, outlining her growing disenchantment with life in the bush and with her role as a cattleman's wife.

On paper, it wasn't convincing. Max might not have believed a word of it if he hadn't also been witness to his wife's increasingly jaded att.i.tude in recent months.

It still made no sense. He was blowed if he knew how a woman could appear perfectly happy for two and a half years and then change almost overnight. He had a few theories about Carrie's last trip to Sydney, but- The phone rang again, interrupting his wretched thoughts.

d.a.m.n.

Unfortunately he couldn't switch off the landline the way he could his cell phone. And now his conscience nagged. He supposed he should at least check to see who was trying to reach him. If the caller was serious, they would leave messages.

He took his time going back through the house to the kitchen, where the phone hung on the wall. There were two messages.

The most recent was from his neighbour, Doug Peterson.

'Max, pick up the d.a.m.n phone.'

Then, an earlier message.

'Max, it's Doug. I'm ringing from the Jilljinda Hospital. I'm afraid Carrie's had an accident. Can you give me a call?'

Copyright 2016 by Barbara Hannay.

ISBN-13: 9781488002915.

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