His hands rested on the steering wheel, fingers open. A good sign he planned on telling the truth? ‘I told myself I’m leaving in a month.’ He said it slowly and very clearly, as if reciting something he’d said over and over. ‘It’s nobody’s business except ours. And I didn’t want to kick the rumour mill into gear and fly away unscathed.’

Ava nodded. ‘Okay. On the face of it.’ But why was he worried? She believed she had enough credit to survive one affair without damage from the gossipmongers. ‘I know you lost your wife – you told me on the plane – but is that why I’m getting mixed messages?’

He started the car and it surprised her that he still took off. They were having a big conversation – maybe too big for multitasking after a long night shift.

Ava watched his hands – confident, competent and far too sexy – as he drove out of the hospital car park and onto the road to his hotel. He had beautiful fingers, and her skin shivered with goosebumps as memories of their night together flashed through her mind, and suddenly she wished she hadn’t asked about his departed wife. She dreaded the answer, actually.

Then he said, ‘My wife died two months ago. Car accident.’

She tried not to suck her breath in too loudly. Ouch. She’d never thought he could have been so very recently bereaved. He had to be feeling guilty and chock-full of Regrets’R’Us. Should she ask him to pull over and let her out? Her stomach sank at the notion.

Before she could act on her jumbled thoughts, he went on. ‘Roslyn had been in a coma for a year after the accident.’ His voice remained level, like he was describing an unknown patient. Too level for the occasion, which hinted to her that emotions ran deep, and he wasn’t letting them out. That was fair enough, but his wife being in a coma for a year made his actions more understandable.

‘Her EEG showed flat since admission.’ He turned the car left. ‘She was cared for privately until she succumbed to a respiratory infection twelve months later – two months ago.’