“That would sum it up.”

“And as if I have time for that kind of crap.”

“Who has?”

“Her parents, hopefully, now that she’s back under their roof, have all the time in the world for her shenanigans. I pity my sister sometimes, but she was the same at that age so I guess what goes around comes around.” He paused. “I wonder what Roxy will tell her boyfriend. Marc, his name is. She called him most days while she was here, spewed a load of shit about what she was learning and how bright her future was going to be because of the London Experience.” He made brackets in the air around the last two words. “I can’t imagine she’ll confess to all the times she spent the night out goodness only knows where. I just got late badly spelt texts telling me not to worry and she’d see me the next day. What was I supposed to do?”

“Nothing you could do. And it’s not likely she’ll tell this Marc guy anything because what she was learning was how much snakebite and black she could drink, how many vodkas she could guzzle until she fell over and how many English guys’ numbers she could collect.”

“It did seem that way.” James frowned at the memories. “But not my problem anymore. As if I didn’t have enough to begin with.”

“Yep, one female problem is more than enough at any one time.”

James glanced at Grant. “I don’t have any now.”

“Sure you do?”

“What? Who?”

“Megan, this Megan woman who’s gotten under your skin.” Grant shook his head. “She is so your problem.”

“No she isn’t. I’ll never see her again.”

“Somehow, mate, I think you’re wrong there.”

Chapter Seven

Megan

“Damn shoe,” Megan muttered as she stepped into her office. She glared at the single gold embossed bridal shoe that sat on the top shelf. Yet again it had been the star of an unpleasant dream, no, the star of a nightmare more like…

Fleeing down the aisle had been like wading through treacle, she’d got nowhere fast. Then the glittery heel had caught in a single deep hole and refused to budge. No matter what she’d done—wriggled her foot, pulled her ankle, dragged her nails on the red carpet—she hadn’t been able to free herself and get out of the church.

The huge stone walls had closed in on her. The bells had screamed overhead then…then Dylan had walked towards her. His eyes black, as if set only in a skull, and his lips peeled back in a sickening, malicious grin that bared his teeth.

She’d woken again with her heart thudding and her pulse blasting in her ears. The vest top she’d slept in had stuck to her back and her cleavage had been damp with nervous sweat.