Demanding His Secret Son

by Louise Fuller

  Looking up, she felt her heart drop forward like a rollercoaster. Aristo was watching her, his gaze so calm and knowing that she felt as if she’d been caught with her hand in his jacket. Except he wasn’t wearing a jacket.

  Just a washed-out black Henley and a pair of cream linen trousers.

  ‘You’re quiet,’ he said softly.

  ‘Am I?’ She felt her cheeks flush, hearing the nervousness in her voice.

  ‘Yes, unnervingly so.’ His eyes looked directly into hers and she suddenly wished that it was whisky, not coffee that she was drinking.

  She frowned. ‘I’m just thinking...’

  ‘Whoa! I wasn’t getting at you. I don’t want to fight.’

  He held up his napkin and waved it in a gesture of surrender, but she barely noticed; she was too busy following the lazy curve of his smile.

  Her own smile was instant, instinctive, unstoppable. ‘I’m not looking for a fight either...’ She hesitated. ‘I was just thinking about us, and George, and...’

  He sat watching her, waiting, and she looked away, fearful of what she would see in his eyes.

  ‘And... Well, I think we should tell him tomorrow that you’re his father.’

  There was a stretch of silence.

  Aristo studied her face.

  Caught between the flickering nightlights and the darkness she looked tense, wary, apprehensive and he could sense the effort her words had taken.

  Of course, logically, now he and George had met, it was inevitable that they should tell him the truth, and it was what he wanted—or at least a part of what he wanted. But, as much as he wanted to acknowledge his son as his own, these last few days had taught him that the decision needed to come from Teddie.

  And now it had.

  He exhaled slowly, relief vying with satisfaction. It wasn’t quite the hand of friendship, but it was a start.

  His eyes wandered idly over the simple yellow dress she was wearing, lingering on the upward curve of her breasts. And anyway, he wanted Teddie to be a whole lot more than just a friend.

  ‘Are you sure?’ He spoke carefully. ‘We can wait. I can wait.’

  He was rapidly becoming an expert in waiting. Shifting against the ache in his groin, he gritted his teeth and glanced away to the white line of slow-moving surf down on the beach.

  Teddie felt her heart jump against her ribs. Incredibly, Aristo was giving her a choice, but to her surprise she realised that now was the right time.

  ‘I’m sure.’

  And once they did then there really would be no going back.

  She felt a spasm of panic, needle-sharp, like a blade beneath her ribs. Was she doing the right thing? Or had she just doomed her son to the same fate that she’d endured? A childhood marked with uncertainty and self-doubt, with a father who would cloak his absences beneath the virtuous task of supporting his family.

  ‘He needs to know.’ Hearing the words out loud, she felt tears coming. Quickly she bolstered her panic. ‘But I need to know that you understand what this means.’

  He frowned. ‘If I didn’t I wouldn’t be here.’

  Pushing back her chair, she stood up unsteadily. ‘So this is all about you, is it?’

  ‘That’s not what I’m saying.’

  He was standing now too.

  ‘That’s what it sounded like.’

  She heard him inhale and her anger shifted to guilt. It wasn’t fair to twist his words when she wasn’t being honest about her own feelings.

  ‘I just mean that being a father is a lifetime commitment.’

  His face hardened. ‘I’d like to say that’s not something I’m going to forget but, given my own childhood, I can’t. All I can say is that I am going to be there for George—for you.’

  Teddie fought the beating of her heart. He was saying all the right things and she wanted to believe him—only believing him set off in her a whole new spiral of half-thought-out fears and uncertainties.

  ‘Good.’ She was trying hard to let nothing show in her eyes but he was staring at her impatiently.

  ‘Is it? Because it doesn’t sound like it to me.’

  He moved swiftly round the table, stopping in front of her. The paleness of her face made her eyes seem incredibly green, and he ran his hand over his face, needing action to counteract the ache in his chest, unsure of his footing in this uncharted territory.

  ‘Teddie...’ He softened his voice.

  She lifted one hand to her throat and raised the other in front of her, as though warding him off. It was a gesture of such conflicting vulnerability and defiance that he was suddenly struggling to breathe.

  ‘I’m not just saying what I think you want to hear.’

  ‘I know.’ She gave him a small, sad smile. ‘And I want you to be there for George. It’s just it’s only ever been me and him. I know you’re his father, but I’ve never had to share him before and it feels like a big deal.’

  Aristo stared down at her. The fact that Teddie loved her son so fiercely made something wrench apart inside his chest and, taking a step forward, he pulled her gently towards him.

  ‘I’m not going to take him away from you, Teddie,’ he said softly. ‘I couldn’t even if I wanted to. You’re his mother. But I want to be the best father I can be. The best man I can be.’

  He felt some of the tension ease out of her spine and shoulders, and then, leaning forward unsteadily, she rested her head against his chest.

  Listening to the solid beat of his heart, Teddie felt her body start to soften, adrenalin dissolving in her blood, his clean masculine scent filling her chest.

  The air around them was suddenly heavy and charged. She felt weightless, lost in the moment and in him, so that without thinking she curled her arms around his body, her fingers following the contours of the muscles of his back. And then she was pushing up his T-shirt and touching smooth, warm skin.

  His hand was sliding rhythmically through her hair, tipping her head back, and his mouth was brushing over her cheeks and lips like the softest feathers, teasing her so that she could hear her own breathing inside her head, like the waves rushing inside a seashell.

  She took a breath, her hands splaying out, wanting more of his skin, his heat, his smooth, hard muscle. Her heart was pounding, the longing inside of her combusting as she felt the fingers of his other hand travel lightly over her bare back. And then her stomach clenched as he parted her lips and kissed her open-mouthed, his tongue so warm and soft and teasing that she felt the lick of heat slide through her like a flame.

  Her head was swimming.

  She wanted more—more of his mouth, his touch, his skin—so much more of him. Reaching up, she clasped his face, kissing him back, pulling him closer, lifting her hips and oscillating against him, trying, needing to relieve the ache radiating from her pelvis.

  Heat was spilling over her skin and, arching upwards, she felt his breath stumble, and then he was sliding a hand through her hair, holding her captive as he kissed her more deeply, his warm breath filling her mouth so that she was melting from the inside out.

  Her fingers were scrabbling against his skin... She moaned...

  There was a second of agonising pulsing stillness, and then slowly she felt him pull away.

  His eyes were dark with passion. For a moment he didn’t speak, and she knew as he breathed out roughly that he was looking for the right words, looking for any words because he was as stunned as she.

  ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.’

  She stared up at him, an ache like thirst spreading outwards. ‘Me neither.’

  ‘So I suppose we should just forget it ever happened.’

  He made it sound like a statement, but she knew it was a question from the dark and unblinking intensity of his gaze. Suddenly she could barely breathe.

  Should they? Would it really be so ver
y bad to press her foot down on the accelerator pedal and run the red light just once?

  She could feel something inside her shifting and softening, and the urge to reach out was so intense and pure that she almost cried out. But her need for him couldn’t be trusted on so many levels—not least the fact that no man had come close to filling the emptiness that she’d been ignoring for four years.

  ‘I think that would be for the best,’ she said quickly, lifting her gaze, her green eyes meeting his. ‘Just be a father to him.’

  His steady, knowing gaze made her heartbeat falter and she glanced away, up to a near perfect moon, glowing pearlescent in the darkening sky.

  ‘Thank you for a lovely evening, but I should probably go and check on George.’

  And, taking a fast, hard breath, she sidestepped past him and walked on shaking legs towards the villa.

  In the darkness of her son’s room she leaned against the wall, seeking solace in its cool surface.

  She shouldn’t have agreed with him.

  She should have told him that he was wrong.

  Then remembering his open laptop, she tensed. They might have called a ceasefire, but she still didn’t trust him.

  And it wasn’t just Aristo she didn’t trust. She didn’t trust herself either.

  Four years ago she’d let her libido overrule not just her common sense but every instinct she’d had, and it had been a disaster. Nothing had changed except this time she knew the score.

  Aristo might be the only man who had made her body sing, but she knew now that if she allowed herself to be intimate with him then she ran the risk of getting hurt—and she’d worked so hard to un-love him.

  So that left friendship. Not the sort of easy affection and solidarity that she shared with Elliot, but the polite formality of former lovers now sidestepping around each other’s lives and new partners.

  Her heart lurched as visions of Aristo with a new wife flooded her head and she felt suddenly sick. It had been hard enough getting over him last time. Far worse though was the thought of having to witness him sharing his life with someone else.

  CHAPTER SIX

  IT WAS THE most perfect peach Teddie had ever seen. Perfectly plump, sunset-coloured, it was half concealed by a cluster of pale green leaves, like a shy swimmer hiding behind a towel on the beach.

  She’d spotted it yesterday evening, when she and George had joined the housekeeper, Melina, as she’d wandered around the garden, choosing ingredients for the evening meal. In the end they had collected fat, dark-skinned figs to go with the salty feta and thyme-scented honey that had followed a dessert of delicious homemade strawberry ice-cream—George’s favourite.

  She let out a quiver of breath, remembering her son’s reaction as she’d told him that Aristo was his father. Watching his face shift from confusion to shy understanding, she’d felt her heart twist—as it was twisting now at the memory, although not with regret. And she knew George had no regrets either, for he was happily ‘helping’ Melina crack eggs for the strapatsada they were having for breakfast.

  Standing on tiptoe, she stretched out her arm, her fingers almost touching the peach’s skin. If only she was just a little bit taller...

  She breathed in sharply as a hand stole past her and gently pulled the peach free.

  ‘Hey!’ Turning, she stared up at Aristo in outrage. ‘That’s mine.’

  He looked her straight in the eye and kept on looking. ‘Not according to the evidence.’

  Her fingers twitched. She was tempted to make a grab for it, but already his proximity was sending her senses haywire and she didn’t want to risk reaching out to touch the wrong soft, golden flesh...

  She swallowed. Her desire for him chewed at her constantly, and already her insides felt so soft and warm it was as if she was melting.

  Watching the play of emotions cross her face, Aristo felt his body tense. He could sense the conflict in her and it was driving him crazy. For once they’d had only to be alone and they would be reaching for one another—his hand circling her waist, her fingers sliding over his shoulders...

  His blood seemed to slow and thicken and his limbs felt suddenly light as he stared at her profile, at the dark arch of her eyebrow above the straight line of her nose and the full curving mouth. There was a sprinkle of freckles across her cheeks and he wanted to reach out and touch each and every one.

  Instead, though, he glanced down at the peach, turning it over in his hand, his thumb tracing the cleft in the downy flesh. ‘What will you give me for it?’ he asked softly, his mouth curving upwards.

  Teddie swallowed. This was Aristo at his most dangerous. That combination of tantalising smile and teasing dark, dark eyes. And, even though she knew she shouldn’t, she held his gaze and said lightly, ‘How about I don’t push you into that lavender bush if you hand it over?’

  Laughing, he held out the peach. ‘And I was going to offer to share it with you.’

  His fingers brushed against hers as she took the peach and she felt a tremor down her spine like a charge of electricity. ‘So let’s share it,’ she said casually. ‘There’s a knife in that basket.’

  ‘Are you sure it won’t spoil your appetite?’

  A suspended silence seemed to saturate the air around them and, staring past him, she said quickly, ‘The basket’s on the bench.’

  She watched as carefully he halved the peach, then pitted and sliced it, his profile a pure gold line against the intense blue sky. The creamy golden flesh was still warm from the sun and heavy with juice, and as she bit into it the intense sweetness ricocheted around her mouth.

  ‘Wow! They don’t taste like that in New York.’

  Folding the knife, he dropped it back into the basket. ‘No, they don’t. But then everything tastes better here.’

  She frowned at the edge that had entered his voice. ‘You make that sound like a bad thing.’

  A light breeze stirred between them and the air felt suddenly over-warm, the sunlight suddenly over-bright.

  He shrugged. ‘It’s not a bad thing—just a consequence of living in a fantasy. When you go back to civilisation, reality doesn’t quite match up.’

  Her heart was pounding against her chest. He was referring to the peach, but he might easily have been talking about their marriage—for wasn’t that what had happened? They had married on impulse, without really knowing anything about one another—certainly not enough to make till-death-do-us-part vows. And even before the honeymoon had been over it had become clear to both of them that what they’d shared in all those hotel rooms across America was too fragile to survive real life.

  And yet here they both were in this idyllic sun-drenched garden sharing a peach.

  She felt a flutter of hope. Okay, this wasn’t real life, but they weren’t newly weds either and Aristo wanted to make this work. They both did. And that was the difference between now and then. Four years ago they hadn’t wanted the same things, but that had been before George.

  Remembering how at breakfast Aristo had answered their son’s questions about his motorboat patiently, giving him his full attention, she released a pent-up breath.

  ‘I think you’re looking at it the wrong way,’ she said slowly. ‘I mean, peaches in New York might not taste like the peaches here—but what about the cheesecake? You can’t tell me that they have cheesecake here like they do at Eileen’s.’

  He frowned. ‘I wouldn’t know. I’ve never eaten there. Actually, I’ve never had cheesecake.’

  ‘Really?’ Teddie stared at him in disbelief. ‘Well, that’s not right. As soon as we get back to New York we’re going out to have to fix that.’

  Aristo laughed. ‘We are?’

  He seemed pleased.

  ‘They do all kinds of flavours. When I was pregnant I had these terrible cravings for baked cheesecake and it just kind of carried on. Now it’s a regular th
ing. Last Saturday in the month. You could come too.’

  ‘It’s a date,’ he said softly.

  Her heart was suddenly beating too fast. ‘I didn’t mean just the two of us,’ she said quickly.

  Was that how it had sounded? Or was he just accepting her invitation?

  Aristo held her gaze, but the anticipation that had been flickering through his veins had abruptly dissolved. His shoulders tensed. After the moment of intimacy the swift rejection was unsettling, but it was the confirmation he needed that he couldn’t be casual with her in the way he’d been with other women in his life.

  She had been his wife, and he was determined that she would be again. Only, he wasn’t going to get emotionally played.

  He turned and looked at her, his expression unreadable. ‘Of course not. Are you supposed to be picking something for Melina?’

  Reaching down, he picked up the basket and she nodded, grateful for a shift in conversation.

  ‘Yes, I was—lemons and thyme.’

  For a moment she thought he was going to offer to help her. Instead, though, he held the basket out to her. ‘Then I’ll leave you to it.’

  And before she had a chance to respond he had turned and was walking back towards the villa.

  * * *

  ‘Hurry up, Mommy.’

  For the second time in so many minutes Teddie felt George’s hand tug at the edge of her shorts.

  ‘I’m trying, sweetie. Just let me check this one last pocket.’

  Fumbling in the side of her suitcase, she smiled distractedly down at her son, who was sitting on the floor of her dressing room.

  Her hat was great when she was sitting on the sun lounger, but it was difficult to wear in the pool and she was trying to find the hairbands that she’d packed—or at least thought she’d packed—so that she could put her hair up to protect her head.

  ‘Mommy, come on!’

  ‘Darling, the pool will still be there—’ she said soothingly,

  But, shaking his head, George interrupted her. ‘I don’t want to go to the pool. I want to see the pirate boat.’