Partners by Contract by Kim Lawrence

protectively around herself.
    ‘I know the landlord. I can put in a good word for you...but actually I don’t want a cup of coffee.’
    ‘I think we’ve covered what you don’t want. Do you think you’ll get around to what you do want any time soon?’ She was hard put not to scream at him to get on with it.
    There was a lengthy pause during which Phoebe realised that, despite his languid attitude, Connor might not be as relaxed as he appeared. A faint nerve jumped spasmodically in his lean cheek and the bunched muscles of his neck and powerful shoulders didn’t give the impression of relaxation. In fact, the mega-tension his rigid body was radiating wouldn’t have been out of place in someone contemplating jumping into space off a tall building—therewas the same reckless expression, in his vivid blue eyes she imagined such a person might have.
    ‘Have you got anything planned for today?’
    Anticlimax.
    Phoebe got the impression he’d changed his mind about what he’d been about to say at the last moment.
    ‘Sleep.’
    ‘You can do that later,’ he announced in a high-handed manner. For a man on crutches he seemed to generate an almost indecent amount of energy and vitality, she reflected sourly. ‘I want to give you your birthday present first.’
    ‘I don’t want—’ she began stiffly.
    ‘You’ll want this one,’ he countered smoothly, pushing aside her rejection with an arrogant confidence that set her teeth on edge. ‘I’ve been waiting to give it to you for four years.’
    Phoebe’s curiosity was piqued despite her better judgement. She thought about the first birthday gift he’d given her and a sparkle of merriment appeared in her eyes.
    ‘It’s not a parachute jump this time is it?’
    ‘You remembered. I’m touched.’
    ‘I think the fact I ended up with a fractured tib and fib has something to do with that.’ Phoebe, her expression wry, brushed her bare toes against the now healthily knitted bones of her lower leg, recalling how, with exams looming, a short stay in hospital to stabilise the fractures in her leg had been the last thing she’d needed. Connor had taken his responsibility for her predicament seriously. He’d brought in her books and notes and had helped her study—she’d passed with flying colours.
    His rueful grin conceded this point. ‘You didn’t listen to a thing the instructor said about landing, did you?’
    ‘That could have something to do with the fact I wasvirtually gibbering with fear at the time,’ she retorted indignantly. ‘I ask you, what sort of person gives someone with vertigo a parachute jump for a present?’
    ‘A creative, thoughtful person?’
    Phoebe gave a scornful snort. Did creative and thoughtful men make creative and thoughtful lovers? The maverick thought popped into her head from nowhere. Copying the breathing exercises she’d taught to antenatal classes in her time, she surreptitiously exhaled long and hard and tugged fretfully at the neck of her top, creating a cool draught to cool her hot skin.
    ‘But seriously, Phoebe.’ As if in response to his own plea for less levity, the amused glitter faded from Connor’s eyes as they rested on her face. ‘We had a good day, didn’t we? Before you broke your leg, that is.’
    Phoebe nodded, and swallowed past the emotional constriction that ached in her throat. They’d had a lot of good days. In fact, she hadn’t realised how good they’d been until they were gone.
    ‘We did, yes,’ she admitted gruffly.
    Abruptly she tilted her head back and blinked several times at the ceiling while massaging the back of her neck, before framing a breezy reply.
    ‘I didn’t think you’d want to give me a present after yesterday.’
    ‘Oh, that. I’ve forgiven you.’
    Phoebe’s mouth opened but, alerted by the gleam in his eyes, she just stopped short of rising to the bait. ‘I don’t see what the urgency is if it’s waited this long.’
    ‘Humour me.’
    ‘Do I have a