The Tycoon's Instant Family

by Caroline Anderson

  What if she disappointed him? What if it was only the anticipation that was keeping him interested? The lift doors slid open, and he marched her along the pavement, into the lift at his apartment block and then back into his arms.

  His chest was heaving, and she didn’t think her legs would hold her up for many more seconds, but then the lift door opened and they were in his apartment, the harsh white light of the full moon slashing through the darkness and touching everything with an eerie silver.

  And then, quite unexpectedly, he let her go and went over to the doors, opening them and going out onto the deck, his hands gripping the rail as he stared down into the oily black water of the Thames.

  She followed him, laying a trembling hand against his shoulder. His knuckles were white, and she could feel the tension coming off him in waves. ‘Nick?’

  ‘Are you sure about this?’ he said, turning abruptly to her and spearing her with his dark, wild eyes. ‘Because I can stop now, but once I touch you again—’

  ‘I’m sure.’

  For a moment he didn’t move, but then the air left him in a rush and he reached for her, easing her into his arms with surprising restraint. ‘Thank God,’ he whispered, and his mouth found hers and she lost all rational thought. Lost everything except the need to be close to him, to touch him, to feel him…

  ‘Are you OK?’

  She turned her head towards him and smiled with the last flicker of her energy.

  ‘Wonderful,’ she murmured. ‘You?’

  ‘Amazing.’ He shifted, reaching for her and easing her closer. ‘You’re amazing.’

  No. She wasn’t amazing. She was amazed. Amazed by his strength, his stamina, the sheer masculine power of his body, the tenderness of his touch, the warmth of his caresses. She’d never felt so special, so important, so cared for.

  So cherished.

  She wriggled even closer, so that their bodies touched from head to toe, and with a contented sigh she fell asleep.

  She was woken later by a phone ringing, and opened her eyes. Nick was sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to her, and she rolled towards him and listened, wondering who was calling him at this time of the night.

  ‘I’ll try and get up there as soon as I can. Keep me in touch—and good luck. Hope it goes OK. Love you.’

  He put the phone down and turned back to her with a smile. ‘Sorry. That was Lucie, my sister. She’s gone into labour. Mum’s just going to drop her at the hospital, but she can’t stay with her because of the boys.’

  ‘And you want to go and take over from her, so she can be with Lucie?’

  ‘No. I want to stay here with you, and make love to you again, but I have to live with myself,’ he said with a wry grin, and she laughed softly and reached out a hand to touch him.

  ‘You’re such a good man,’ she said, suddenly serious, and his smile died, his jaw working.

  ‘No, I’m not,’ he said quietly. ‘If I was a good man I’d be looking forward to helping out, not doing it out of duty and wishing she’d had the sense to be careful and not have yet another unplanned pregnancy, another child she hasn’t got the ability to provide for.’ His hand trailed over her body, his fingers curling possessively over one breast, cupping it lovingly. ‘So beautiful,’ he murmured. ‘I want to make love to you—want to hold you, and feel you, and listen to the frantic little noises that you make when you’re getting closer…’

  His mouth brushed hers, clung, and then she was in his arms again, their bodies striving, forging together as he drove her over the brink again, and with a ragged groan he stiffened, arching against her, his breath sobbing against her lips as he said her name over and over again.

  He collapsed against her, rolling to the side and taking her with him, stroking her back slowly, up and down, as his heartbeat slowed. ‘I wasn’t going to do that,’ he said with an untidy sigh, and she laughed softly and pressed a tender kiss to his rough, stubbled chin.

  ‘Don’t worry, I won’t tell,’ she teased. ‘Go and shower and shave. I’ll make you some coffee and pack my things. You can give me a lift to the station in Ipswich and I’ll pick up my car. You virtually pass it.’

  ‘Good idea. Give me five minutes.’

  He disappeared into the bathroom, and she slipped on his robe, pulled clean clothes out of her bag, repacked all her other things and put the bag by the door, then made them coffee and took hers out onto the deck to watch the sun rise.

  It was only five, just four hours since they’d left the party, and they couldn’t have slept more than three at the outside, probably less than that. By rights she should have felt hellish, but she didn’t. She felt wonderful, vital and alive.

  ‘You’re a star,’ he murmured behind her, and she turned to find him dressed only in jeans with the button undone, his coffee cupped in his hand and his eyes gentle. She wanted—desperately wanted—to go back into his arms, but that trail of dark hair arrowing down past that open button was threatening to undermine her self-control, so she just smiled.

  ‘I know,’ she said cheerfully, ‘I’m fantastic. I’m just going to have a quick shower and get dressed, and I’ll be with you. Why don’t you eat something? I’ve put you in a slice of toast.’

  And she went past him, somehow managing not to throw herself into his arms, and by the time she’d raced through the shower and pulled on her clothes, she was more or less back in control.

  And at seven-thirty she was back home, and by ten he’d phoned to tell her that Lucie had had a girl and both of them were fine.

  ‘So how are you?’ she asked, and he gave a ragged laugh.

  ‘Oh, I’m alive—just! The boys are a bit of a handful, but they’re OK really. They just need a little direction, and frankly Lucie lets them get away with murder, so it’s a bit of a struggle, but we’ve coped. Thanks for making me eat, by the way, because I really don’t think I would have got round to it! Lucie’s coming out this afternoon, apparently, and so I’m going to hang around here for the day, and then I might drop by and see you later if you’re in.’

  ‘Ring my mobile. I’m sure I won’t be far. It’ll be lovely to see you.’

  But he didn’t ring, not until much later, because Lucie’s little girl developed a breathing problem and had to stay in, so she stayed with her and Nick took his mother and the boys to visit her, and it wasn’t until the boys were finally in bed that he could get away to join her.

  They went out for a drink to a pub on the seafront, and sat outside on a surprisingly warm evening for early May, and he told her all about the baby and what he and the boys had done that day.

  ‘It sounds exhausting,’ she said with a laugh, and he nodded, his answering grin a little crooked.

  ‘It is. I could have done with more than two and a half hours’ sleep. Still, she’s OK now and they’re hoping to come home in a day or two.’

  ‘So what are you doing? Are you staying up here?’

  ‘No. I’ve got meetings all day tomorrow, and Tuesday’s a nightmare. I’m supposed to be going to Dublin. Mum can cope; the boys will be in school during the day so it’s only the morning and evening, and she’s pretty fit. She’s only fifty-seven and she’s well used to them.’

  ‘Unlike you.’

  ‘Unlike me,’ he said with another crooked grin.

  ‘So are you heading back to London now, or do you want to stay the night, or are you going to your mother’s?’

  He shook his head. ‘Can’t go to my mother’s, she hasn’t got room, and I really ought to get back ready for tomorrow. I start at six with a breakfast meeting.’

  ‘Good grief! Well, I’d better not hold you up.’

  ‘I wish you would. There’s nothing I’d like more than to stay with you, but I can’t get up at three-thirty and head back to London; I’m too darned tired. I need to get some decent sleep—and if I’m with you, I won’t sleep, and if I’m in the room next to you, I won’t sleep either, so I’m pretty much out of options!’

  His smile was full o
f regret, and with a reluctant sigh he walked her back to the car and dropped her home, kissing her lingeringly.

  ‘I’ll see you in the week. I’ll be up again to see them, and I’ll come over. Maybe I’ll stay then.’

  ‘I’ll look forward to it,’ she said, but it never happened.

  He didn’t ring the next day, or the next, and on Wednesday when she gave in and called his phone, it was switched off. Her texts bounced, his home phone went straight to the answerphone, and when in desperation she phoned the office, she was told by someone whose voice she didn’t recognise that Nick wasn’t there and Tory was away from the office. No, she couldn’t tell her where he was. No, she had no idea when he’d be back. Would she like to leave a message?

  ‘Yes—it’s Georgie Cauldwell, the architect for the Yoxburgh development. Can you ask him to call me as soon as you get hold of him, please?’

  ‘Sure. I’ll pass it on.’

  And the line went dead.

  So where was he, and where was Tory? Had she been wrong about Tory and Simon?

  No. That was ridiculous. If ever a couple were falling in love, it was those two. She’d seen them together, seen the same look in Tory’s eyes when she looked at Simon as she’d seen in her own reflection the morning after Nick had made love to her.

  So if not with Tory, then where was he, and why hadn’t he contacted her?

  She tried him again later, then at midnight when she couldn’t sleep, and again the following day.

  Again, he wasn’t there. It was a different receptionist this time, another voice she didn’t recognise. Sorry, she had no idea when he’d be back. No, they couldn’t get hold of him.

  Damn. She’d been right all along. He wasn’t really interested in her except for the novelty value, the thrill of the chase, and now he’d slept with her, the novelty had obviously worn off and he had better things to do.

  She contemplated looking up his mother’s number in the telephone directory—even got as far as taking the book off the shelf by the phone, but then she put it back, disgusted with herself for being so needy and pathetic. On Sunday afternoon, after another failed attempt, she went into the sitting room and dropped into the chair opposite her father with a sigh.

  ‘Still can’t get him?’

  She shook her head, suddenly, perversely, on the verge of tears. ‘I don’t know where he is.’

  ‘Have you tried the hospital? His sister’s baby might be ill.’

  Stupidly she hadn’t even thought of it. She did it now, though, and was told that nobody by the name of Lucie Barron was in the hospital. ‘We haven’t got anyone with that name here,’ the in-patient receptionist told her.

  ‘She had a baby last Sunday morning,’ Georgie told her, and was promptly transferred to Maternity.

  ‘No, no one by that name at all recently,’ she was told, and that was the end of that.

  ‘She must have been married or had a different name for some reason,’ Georgie told her father, going back into the sitting room and plopping into the chair again.

  ‘He’ll contact you. Something must have come up—you know how busy he is. Maybe he and Tory have had to fly to New York or Japan or something.’

  ‘Probably,’ she told herself, but she didn’t believe it.

  And then the following day she ran into a problem with the specification for the tower rooms in the house, and so she tried again.

  ‘I’m sorry, I can’t get him today. I’ll pass your message on,’ yet another receptionist said, and cut her off again.

  Damn!

  Well, if he was going to be that petty about it, she’d have to write to him and demand answers, because she wasn’t going to be stonewalled by yet another would-be developer who wouldn’t answer her questions!

  She drafted a letter, tore it up and tried again, and then finally sent him an email asking him to contact her about the tower.

  No begging, pleading or grovelling. No nasty remarks, no acid-drops or smart comments. She even managed to stop herself from signing off with, ‘love, Georgie’.

  And then the following morning, nine days after she’d last seen him, she was up in the tower when an unfamiliar estate car pulled up outside the site office. She peered at it, rubbed the dust off the window with her sleeve and blinked.

  ‘Nick?’

  No. She was seeing things.

  No, she wasn’t. She ran down the stairs and forced herself to walk to the car. He had the back door open and was talking to someone, and as she drew nearer he straightened up and turned towards her.

  He was wearing a suit—a black suit, with a white shirt and a black tie. Good grief, talk about over-dressed. He looks as if he’s going to a funeral, she thought, and then she saw his face.

  ‘Nick? Nick, whatever’s happened?’ Her voice was little more than a whisper, and for a moment he couldn’t speak, just swallowed, his throat working furiously.

  Then he lifted his tortured eyes to hers.

  ‘There was an accident, on the way home from the hospital. Mum’s injured, and Lucie—’ He broke off, a muscle in his jaw jumping, then said, ‘Lucie…’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  HE COULDN’T finish the sentence. He didn’t need to. His clothes said it all. She looked into the back of the car and met two pairs of wary, frightened eyes, and her heart contracted.

  And there between them was a rear-facing baby seat, the only visible evidence of its occupant a tiny, waving fist.

  Her hand came up to cover her mouth, to hold back the cry of denial, but there was no denying it. It was in his eyes, the grief, the despair, the utter disbelief.

  ‘Oh, Nick—why didn’t you ring me?’

  ‘I tried. I couldn’t finish dialling your number. I didn’t know what to say.’

  ‘You could have sent me a text. I would have come to you, helped you. You didn’t have to do this alone.’

  ‘I didn’t. I’ve got Tory, but I need a favour, Georgie. I need you to help me. I’d got the funeral covered but they hate the nanny and she’s walked out. Can you—? I’m sorry, but I can’t have them there. They’re too young, and my mother—’

  ‘It’s all right,’ she said, moving to hug him, but he backed away, his hands rammed in his pockets.

  ‘Don’t touch me, Georgie. Don’t be nice to me, for God’s sake. I’m hanging by a thread.’

  Her hands fell to her sides and she nodded, biting her lip to hold back the words that would push him over the edge.

  ‘So,’ she said after a moment, then cleared her throat and tried again. ‘What do you want me to do?’

  ‘Can I follow you home and leave the kids there with you? It shouldn’t be too long—four hours or so? Shut the site down if you have to; I’ll pay their wages. I wouldn’t do this to you if I could avoid it, but Mum’s just distraught and I have to collect her from the hospital and take her to the funeral, then take her back. I can’t subject the kids to that and I don’t know who else to turn to.’

  ‘No, of course you can’t. It’s fine. Give me ten seconds to programme Andy, and I’ll be with you.’

  She turned on her heel and ran over to the coach house where Andy was working, filled him in and then ran to her car, flashing her lights at Nick as she started it up and pulled out in front of him. He fell in behind her, trailed her to her house and there he got the children out while she hurried in and warned her father, then went back out to help him with the little ones.

  ‘Kids, this is Georgie,’ he said, the baby in her carrier in one hand, his other hand rested on the small, tousled head of the younger boy. ‘She’s going to look after you today. Georgie, this is Dickon, and his big brother, Harry, and the baby’s called Maya.’ Harry stood a fraction apart, isolated in his loss, his eyes wary, and Georgie could have wept.

  Oh, good grief, she thought, they’re so young—too young to have lost their mother. Especially the baby. She’ll never know her—never have any memories—

  Stop! She sucked in a deep breath and smiled at them. ‘Hello,
boys. Come on inside and meet my father, and we’ll see if we can find you something to eat and drink, OK?’

  ‘Have you got biscuits?’ Dickon asked, but Harry turned to Nick, his eyes fathoms deep.

  ‘I want to stay with you. I won’t be a nuisance.’

  Nick’s face contorted for a moment, and he reached out, drawing Harry against his side and hugging him briefly. ‘Sorry, Harry. No can do. I have to go and fetch Grandma and take her to the funeral and then take her back, but you could look after Dickon and Maya for me while I’m gone—give Georgie a hand.’

  She saw the boy withdraw into himself as he nodded and detached himself reluctantly from his uncle’s side.

  Nick handed her the baby in her reclining seat, then reached into the car for a bulging bag, his eyes bleak. ‘This should see her through. It’s got nappies and formula and bottles and a couple of changes of clothes and a blanket and probably the kitchen sink as well. I don’t know. I expect I’ve forgotten something vital, but I hope not. If I have, just buy whatever you need and I’ll sort it out with you later. And here’s the buggy, in case you want to go for a walk. The seat clips into it. If you get stuck—’

  ‘We’ll be fine,’ she told him, staring down at the tiny sleeping baby and wondering how fate could possibly be so cruel. She sucked in a deep breath and turned, to find her father in the doorway, his kindly face creased with concern.

  ‘Hello, boys,’ he said gently. ‘Come on inside and we’ll see if we can find those biscuits. Georgie can bring the baby. Nick.’

  Just the one word, but conveying a world of concern and support, and Nick nodded acknowledgement and stared hard at the ground for a moment. The boys trailed in, Harry looking over his shoulder, and Nick gave him the ghost of a wink in support and turned back to Georgie. ‘Um—I ought to be getting off. Don’t want to be late.’

  ‘No. You go, we’ll cope. We’ll see you whenever.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Not necessary. Go on.’