Best Friend to Wife and Mother?

by Caroline Anderson

Her stomach grumbled. ‘Sorry. Smells good.’

  ‘Twenty minutes,’ he said, and while he stirred and added a glug of this and a drop of that, he pressed thin slices of ciabatta onto a griddle and stirred something else in another little pan that he piled onto the crispy bread.

  ‘Here, try this,’ he said, sliding a plate across to her. ‘Tell me what you think. I’ve used their oil and olives.’

  ‘Gorgeous,’ she mumbled, and had to say it again because he didn’t understand her first attempt.

  ‘Didn’t your mother ever tell you it’s rude to speak with your mouth full?’ he said, laughing at her, and she poked her tongue out at him.

  ‘Is this all for me?’ she asked, and he leant over and snatched the plate back.

  ‘No, it’s not!’

  ‘Pity,’ she said, watching as his almost perfect white teeth bit through a slice of the delicious bruschetta topped with some gorgeous sundried tomato and olive concoction topped with anchovies. She didn’t know what she wanted more, the bruschetta or the man.

  She stifled a laugh and picked up the camera again. If she had the bruschetta, she’d eat it this once and that would be the end of it. If she had the man, she could have the bruschetta any time she asked for it. And not just the bruschetta—

  Heat shot through her, stealing her breath and leaving her gasping.

  There was a squeak from Ella over the baby monitor, and she shot back her chair and got to her feet. ‘I’ll go, you’re busy,’ she said, and left the kitchen hastily, glad of an excuse to get away from him while she reassembled her jumbled thoughts.

  Closing the door of their apartment softly behind her, she leant back against it with a quiet sigh.

  Whatever the change in direction of her feelings, and probably his, it was perfectly obvious that Leo wasn’t in the slightest bit interested in a relationship with her other than the one they already had, a friend helping him out by looking after his daughter. That was all she was here for, and she had to remember it and keep her overactive imagination under control before it got them both into a whole heap of trouble and embarrassment.

  Or her, at least, because for all the banter Leo wouldn’t even talk to her any longer about anything personal, far less take advantage of her shaky emotional state. Which, she was beginning to realise, was more to do with Leo than it was with Nick and the abandoned wedding.

  She pushed away from the door and crept over to the bedroom, but all was quiet. Ella was lying on her front with her bottom stuck up in the air, and she was fast asleep.

  And Leo would know this, because the monitor had gone silent. She closed her eyes briefly, sucked in a deep breath and made herself go back to the kitchen. Nothing had changed, nothing was any different, and it wouldn’t be if she kept a lid on it. Yes, she loved him, but just in the way she always had. Nothing more, nothing less, and certainly not like that—

  Liar!

  ‘Gosh, that smells lovely,’ she said brightly, walking back into the kitchen and ignoring the nagging voice that had far too much to say for itself. ‘Really yummy.’

  ‘Is she okay?’

  ‘Yes, she’s fine. Fast asleep.’ She picked up her glass and peered at the dribble in the bottom. ‘Any more Prosecco in the fridge?’

  He glanced over his shoulder. ‘There should be, unless you’ve already drunk it all. You can top me up while you’re at it. I’ve been working hard.’

  She arched a brow at him and chuckled. ‘Don’t give me that. You could make that risotto in your sleep.’

  His lips twitched, drawing her attention to their soft, ripe fullness, and she had an overwhelming urge to get up and walk over to him and kiss them.

  No! What was she thinking about?

  She did get up, and she did walk over to him, but only so she could top up their glasses. Then she retreated back to the table, sat herself down and concentrated on the power of mind over matter. Or head over heart, more likely. The last thing she needed was to allow herself to fantasise about being in love with Leo. Not that she was even thinking about love. Nothing so ethereal. Just at the moment, she was quite preoccupied enough with thinking about kissing him senseless.

  She stifled a groan of frustration and impatience at herself, chewed her way thoughtfully through another slice of the delicious bruschetta and tried not to down the wine so fast that she fell off her chair. Getting drunk would not be an asset to the situation!

  In the nick of time a wide, flat bowl appeared in front of her, heaped with risotto drizzled with green-gold oil and scattered with torn basil leaves, and Leo leant across her and shaved some slender curls of a wonderful hard pecorino cheese over it. She sniffed appreciatively, and got a touch of Leo in the fragrant mix.

  ‘Wow, that smells amazing,’ she said, bending down to hide the sudden flush of colour that swept her cheeks. ‘Utterly gorgeous.’

  * * *

  Leo, sitting down opposite her in front of his own plate, couldn’t agree more. She was. Utterly gorgeous, and he’d never really noticed it before the last few days. When it had happened, he couldn’t work out, but it had, and he was finding it quite difficult to ignore—especially since the incident with her bikini top earlier in the week.

  He frowned, picked up his fork and plunged it into the steaming pile of creamy rice and tried to blank the image of the pale swell of her breast out of his mind, but the delicate rose pink of her nipple, puckered with the cold, was seared on his retina, and he could still feel the soft jut of it on the back of his hand when he’d brushed against her yesterday, taking Ella from her.

  Spending time with her was awakening something that had been dormant for months—years, maybe. Something hungry and a little wild and beyond his control that was flaring to life between them. Maybe he didn’t need to ignore it. Maybe he needed to talk to her about it?

  But not now, if ever. She was a friend, a good friend, helping him out when he was in a bad place and so was she. The last thing either of them needed was him muddying the waters at this point in their lives, but his body had gone stone deaf to the pleading from his mind.

  ‘So what do you think of it?’ he asked, watching her demolish the risotto. ‘I like the pea and mint with the bacon, and I think their oil and cheese really lend something interesting.’

  ‘Mmm. Not going to argue,’ she said, scraping the bowl. ‘Is there any more?’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  WELL, HE’D MANAGED to keep the conversation on track, he thought with relief as the door closed behind her.

  They’d finished their meal, and then he’d told her he needed more time to play with the flavours so she’d gone to do some more work with the photos, which didn’t surprise him because every time he’d looked up for the past few days she’d had that wretched camera in her hands.

  But at least she was taking his request seriously, he thought as he worked. She must have recorded every last breath he’d taken, but he wasn’t going to complain because the results that he’d seen so far were far better than anything he’d ever managed.

  He fiddled around in the kitchen for another hour or two before it dawned on him that he was just keeping out of the way until he was sure she was asleep. Then he cleared up the kitchen, which meant there was nothing else for him to do tonight apart from test every type of wine they produced.

  Which would be a waste, he thought morosely, staring at the opened bottle on the table in front of him. It was far too good to use as anaesthetic, and the last thing he needed was a hangover in the morning. He folded his arms on the table, dropped his head down and growled with frustration.

  He should have been tired—not tired as in just finished a nineteen-hour shift in one of his restaurants, but tired enough to sleep, at least. Instead, he felt restless. Edgy.

  He glanced at the baby monitor. She’d left it behind when she’d gone, and he�
�d heard her go in to check Ella, heard the gentle murmur of her voice when Ella had cried out once, but now there was nothing. He could let himself back in there, pick up his shorts and a towel and have a swim without disturbing them. That was what he needed. A long, hard swim, to burn off that excess restless energy. And maybe then he’d be able to sleep.

  * * *

  Something had woken her. She wasn’t sure what, but she realised she was hot and thirsty. Maybe it had just been that?

  But her bedroom door was still wide open. She’d left it open so she’d hear Ella, as Leo had the baby monitor in the kitchen, but she would have expected him to close it, or at least pull it to.

  She lay for a while and listened, but there was nothing, no creaks or snores, not a sound even from Ella. She slid her legs over the edge of the bed and picked up her phone, checking the time. Twelve thirty-four. He must be back, she just hadn’t heard him.

  She tiptoed out into the hall and peered into Ella’s room, but his bed was undisturbed, and there were no lights on anywhere except the dim glow of Ella’s nightlight and the slanting moonlight through the French windows. The baby was sleeping peacefully, bottom in the air as usual, one little arm flung out to the side, and otherwise the apartment was deserted.

  Surely he wasn’t still cooking?

  Tugging on her robe, Amy walked barefoot across the moonlit courtyard to the kitchen and found it empty, the room in darkness. She switched the light on and looked around.

  It was spotlessly clean, everything cleared away, the fridge humming quietly in the background. And the doors to the terrace were open.

  She stood in the open doorway and listened. There. A rhythmic splash, barely a whisper, but continuous.

  He was swimming.

  And suddenly there was nothing in the world she wanted more than a swim. She went back to her room and realised the more modest black costume was still wet, so she put the bikini on, grabbed her towel and the baby monitor, and crossed the terrace.

  She could see him now in the moonlight, every stroke leaving a sparkling trail of ripples on the surface, and she picked her way carefully down the steps, dropped her towel on a sun lounger and slipped silently into the water.

  It was cool, the air around sweetly scented with jasmine, and she let her breath out on a quiet sigh of pleasure. There was something magical about it, about swimming in the moonlight with Leo, the soft water lapping gently around her, the drift of jasmine in the air. Beautiful.

  Romantic.

  That was what Lydia had said to her. ‘It’s just gorgeous to sink under that water in the evening when the kids are in bed and the stars are glittering overhead. So romantic...you and Leo should try it.’

  Her heart hitched a little in her throat. It wasn’t meant to be romantic. She’d just wanted to join him for a swim, but suddenly it didn’t feel like that, with the moonlight and the silence. She was playing with fire, crossing a boundary into dangerous territory, and she had to go. Once he’d turned and was swimming away from her, she’d make her escape and he need never know she’d been there.

  Except, of course, he didn’t turn.

  The best-laid plans and all that, she thought as he slowed his pace and coasted in right beside her, standing up as he reached the end, sluicing water off his face and hair and knuckling the water out of his eyes.

  The water streamed off his shoulders, turning to ribbons of silver in the moonlight, and she wanted to reach out and touch them.

  Touch him.

  No! Why hadn’t she stayed inside, left him alone, kept out of his way, instead of surrendering to this magnetic attraction that had sprung out of nowhere in the last few days and taken her completely by surprise?

  She must have moved or taken a breath, done something, because he turned his head towards her, his eyes black in the moonlight, a frown creasing his brow.

  ‘Amy?’

  ‘Hi,’ she said awkwardly, the word a little breathless and utterly inadequate somehow in these odd circumstances.

  His head tilted slightly. ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘Nothing. Ella’s fine, she’s fast asleep. I came to find you,’ she explained, hoping it sounded more plausible than it felt at that moment. ‘It was late, and I woke up and wondered where you were, but then I realised you were swimming and I thought it seemed like a good idea. You know, as it’s a hot night...’

  She floundered to a halt, trying to bluff it out when all she wanted to do was run away. Or throw herself into his arms. Neither exactly brilliant options. Oh, why on earth had she been so stupid?

  Leo let out a quiet sigh and sank back into the water, stretching his arms out to grasp the edges of the pool as he faced her from his position in the corner.

  What sneaky twist of fate had made her wake and come down here to torment him? His fault, most likely, going in there to pick up his shorts and towel. Damn. Well, thank God he’d got the shorts on and hadn’t decided to skinny-dip. At least this way he could hide his reaction.

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you. I just didn’t feel tired enough to sleep, and I was hot and sticky, and the thought of the water just tempted me.’

  That, and the fact that he hadn’t trusted himself to go back into their apartment until he was too tired to act on the physical ache that had lingered long after she’d left the kitchen. And he’d just about done it, and now here she was to undo it all over again.

  ‘It’s the middle of the night, Leo,’ she said, her voice troubled. ‘You must be exhausted.’

  Apparently not. Not nearly exhausted enough if his body’s reaction was anything to go by. ‘And you’re not? Why are you here, Amy?’ he asked, a trifle desperately. It was a rhetorical question, since she’d already told him, but she answered it anyway and perhaps a bit more truthfully.

  ‘I was concerned about you. You just seemed—I don’t know. Not you. Sometimes it’s fine and then all of a sudden there’s this great gulf that opens up between us and it’s as if I don’t know you at all.’

  She gave a soft, disbelieving laugh. ‘And I don’t know why. All the time I feel as if I’m walking on eggshells with you, as if anything I say can upset you, and you just won’t talk to me. It’s like you’re avoiding me or something and I don’t know why.’

  Because I want you. Because it’s inappropriate, messy, and I’m not going there—

  ‘I’m not,’ he lied. ‘I do talk to you. I’ve been talking to you all day.’

  ‘Not about anything that matters. And that’s not like you. You’ve always told me what’s wrong, and now you won’t. So what is it? Is it me? And if so, why? What have I done to hurt or upset you, Leo? Just tell me.’

  He sighed softly. ‘You haven’t done anything, Amy. It’s nothing to do with you.’

  ‘So why won’t you talk to me? You always used to; you said it helped you sort through things, cleared your mind. I only want to help you...’

  Her hand reached out and rested on his arm, her cool fingers burning him with a river of fire that scorched through his veins and threatened all his hard-won control. His eyes closed, shutting out the image of her fingers pale on his skin. ‘You can’t help me, Amy. You’re just adding another complication.’

  She whisked her hand away, her voice puzzled. ‘I’m a complication?’

  ‘That wasn’t what I meant—’

  ‘So what did you mean? What’s going on, Leo? What’s changed? Because it’s not just me, is it?’

  He let his breath out, a long, silent exhalation, and dragged a hand through his hair.

  ‘No. No, Amy, it’s not just you, and I don’t know where it’s come from or why, but I can’t let it happen. I won’t let it. You’re emotionally fragile at the moment, and I’m a complete mess, but we’re both adults, we’ve got needs, and what we’re feeling is just a knee-jerk response. We feel safe w
ith each other, we can trust each other, but it isn’t safe, not for either of us.’

  He gentled his voice, not sure how to handle this situation and desperate not to make it any worse. ‘I’m sorry it’s all gone wrong for you, and I know it should have been your honeymoon, but I’m not the guy you need to choose for your rebound affair, Amy, so don’t humiliate either of us by asking me, please.’

  Rebound affair? For a moment she was so shocked she could hardly reply. ‘I don’t want—’

  ‘No? So why are you really here now, then?’ He shook his head, his harsh sigh slicing through the air. ‘I’m not doing this, Amy. There’s no way I’m adding you to the list of things in my life that I’m ashamed of.’

  Pain ripped through her, making her gasp. He was ashamed of her?

  Like he’d been ashamed of Lisa?

  He turned and vaulted lightly out of the pool, the water streaming off him in ribbons as he picked up his towel and the baby monitor and walked away towards the steps, leaving her standing there, her lips pressed tightly together, her eyes stinging with tears as she watched him walk away.

  They scalded her cheeks, searing their way down, and she closed her eyes, turning away from him and holding her breath until the heavy silence told her he’d gone. Then she folded her arms on the side of the pool, rested her head on them and sobbed her heart out.

  * * *

  It was a good hour—no, scratch that, a lousy hour—before he heard her enter the apartment.

  He’d towelled himself roughly dry and pulled on his boxers and a T-shirt, then gone out onto the terrace, sitting on the bench against the wall and staring out over the moonlit landscape while he drank the wine he’d picked up on the way over. Not a wise move, but he didn’t care any more. He was over being wise. It didn’t seem to be working, not for either of them.

  The valley was flooded with a cold, eerie light, and he felt oddly chilled. Not that it was cold, it was just that the moon drained all colour from the surroundings and turned it into a mass of stark white, interspersed with menacing black shadows.