Second Chances Boxed Set: 7 Sweet & Sexy Romances in 1 Book

by Tracey Alvarez

  She rocked the baby, the movement almost mesmerising. “So what went wrong?”

  His head spun—jet lag again. He couldn’t look away from the baby’s tiny hand batting at the mobile dangling above its head. “My father had a heart attack. We went to see him in hospital—me and my brothers, well, half-brothers. We told him he needed to officially hand over the company, and he finally agreed. When he came out of hospital, he held a meeting with the board, and they chose his successor.”

  Finally he tore his gaze away, back to Megan’s, his stomach churning. Her green eyes were steady, like a calm sea. “And they chose your brother,” she said.

  He nodded.

  She frowned. “Was your father part of that decision?”

  “It was under his recommendation that they did it.”

  “Why?”

  Anger rolled over him, and he sucked in a long breath, tipped back his head and let it out slowly, waiting for the wave to die down. Finally he lifted his head and shrugged. “Who knows?”

  “You didn’t ask him?”

  “No. One of the other board members rang me to tell me. I was in a restaurant with a customer. I left him there and walked out. Went home, booked the flight. The next day I got on the plane.”

  “Oh, Dion.”

  He swallowed. “I’m okay.”

  “You’re not, and you shouldn’t be. It was a shit decision, and you have a right to be angry.”

  Her sympathy was so unexpected, it choked him up. He stared at the cup as his vision blurred, breathing heavily to try and stop emotion overwhelming him.

  Megan stood. “I’ll get us another drink.” She walked over to the counter.

  He took long, slow breaths to calm himself. Up until that moment, anger had been his main emotion. Throughout the twenty-six hour journey he’d boiled with resentment and frustration, cursing his father under his breath. But suddenly the anger faded and tiredness rolled over him.

  In the carry seat, the baby knocked its teething ring onto the floor. Dion stared at it in alarm, hoping it wouldn’t start crying. It didn’t though. It sucked on its fist and studied him, even though he was sure he’d heard his sister-in-law say babies couldn’t focus more than a foot or two in front of them.

  As babies went, he thought, it wasn’t a bad looking one. It didn’t look like a boy particularly—it had fine dark hair and bright blue eyes, although Megan had dressed him in a blue vest. His legs were bare, and they were chubby with impressively sturdy knees. His toes were amazingly tiny though, like beads on the ends of his feet.

  He kicked his legs and waved his arms. The corner of Dion’s mouth curved. “You’re going to be a fly half,” he murmured. “The new Dan Carter, eh?”

  Megan came back and sat. She surveyed him, and he wondered if she’d heard his muttered words. “I ordered you another coffee,” she said. “And one of their pistachio slices with lemon icing—they’re to die for.”

  “Thanks.”

  She gave him an apologetic look. “Um, I have to feed Harry. Do you…um…do you mind if I do it here? If you’d rather not, I’ll go back to the car.”

  He frowned. Breastfeeding was another alien concept to him, but he didn’t feel he could object. “Of course I don’t mind.”

  He watched as she unclipped the baby and lifted him out of the seat. “He seems happy enough,” he observed. “How do you know he’s hungry? I thought babies cried when they wanted feeding.”

  “It’s been nearly four hours since his last feed.” She positioned the baby on her lap. “And I get…” She gestured at her breasts, searched for the words and didn’t find them. Her cheeks went pink. “They fill up.”

  “Oh.” That was a novel concept. Strangely, it didn’t disturb him as much as he’d thought it might.

  She wore a loose, soft, dark green vest nearly the same shade as her eyes. She hugged the baby close to her, fiddled briefly beneath the vest and then lifted it. He got a brief glimpse of pale skin and pink nipple before the baby closed his mouth over it.

  She sat back, the baby in the circle of her arms. He would never have known she was feeding if he hadn’t watched her do it.

  “Does it hurt?” he asked, curious in spite of himself.

  She gave a shy smile. “Well, sometimes the let-down reflex is very slightly painful—that’s right at the beginning, when the milk first starts flowing. But generally no. It’s nice.”

  She certainly looked contented. He watched the baby knead her breast with his hand, his tiny eyelids drooping.

  “Why did you call him Harry?” he asked.

  She gave him an impish look. “It’s short for Hariel. It means ‘angel’.”

  “Typical chick thing to do. I thought you were going to say you’d named him after Henry the Fifth or something.”

  They both laughed.

  “Do you hate it?” she asked softly.

  He shrugged. “No. Harry’s a very English name. Friendly but not girly.”

  “I’m glad.”

  The waitress came up with his coffee and another glass of orange juice for Megan. He sipped the latte, enjoying the hot, strong espresso with the foamed milk. He’d forgotten the beauty of New Zealand coffee.

  He looked out of the window again. The sun had nearly reached its zenith, much higher in the sky than it ever got in England. The heat and the strange, bright sunlight gave everything a sense of unreality. He wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d woken up and found he’d been lying at home in his apartment in Islington, dreaming. He felt similar to how he had in Prague, stripped from the normality of his everyday life. Was that due to Megan’s presence?

  “What are you going to do?” Her words made him turn his head to look at her.

  “I don’t know.” He really didn’t, either. “I’ve got a few weeks here to think about it. And now there’s another factor to take into account.”

  She met his gaze, guilt swimming deep in her eyes.

  He frowned. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  She lifted her chin. “You made it quite clear in Prague that you broke up with Lauren because she pushed you too far and pressed you to have a baby.”

  He’d forgotten he’d told her that. “Yes.”

  She shrugged. “You were flying so high. I thought a surprise pregnancy was the last thing you’d want. I thought you’d be angry with me and reject me…and I didn’t want that.” She bit her lip.

  He didn’t know what to say to that. He would have been angry. He had been angry, briefly. Now he just felt puzzled and hurt. “Were you ever going to tell me?”

  “I…I don’t know. I haven’t thought much about it—I’ve been so tired and busy with Harry. Maybe when things settled down a little.”

  “Were you trying to punish me?”

  Her brow furrowed. “No. Of course not. Why, what had you done?”

  “Well I knocked you up, for starters.”

  Her lips curved. “True.” She sighed. “It was an accident. It wasn’t anybody’s fault. I didn’t tell you because you’d made it clear you weren’t ready for a family. Either that, or you may have found another girlfriend by now, fallen in love. Maybe even talked about settling down. I didn’t want to march in with a baby and ruin that for you. The right girl will capture your heart one day, Dion, and you’ll realise that you want a family with her. Everyone settles down eventually. And I don’t want to stand in your way—you deserve happiness, same as everyone else.”

  It was a long speech, and he didn’t know what to say when she’d finished. Could she really be so noble? It was difficult to believe she didn’t have a personal motive behind not telling him—that she’d done it out of her best interest for him. And yet her eyes were clear, her face open and honest.

  “There isn’t anyone else,” he said, wondering why he wanted to tell her.

  “Okay.” Her face remained impassive, and he couldn’t tell whether the words had pleased her.

  “Actually…” He looked out of the window. “I haven’t been with anyon
e since Prague.” He waited a moment before looking back at her.

  A frown flitted across her brow. “Really?”

  “No.” It was almost the truth. He’d gone out on a date with a girl one night to the cinema, but he’d spent the entire evening thinking about Megan, and ultimately he hadn’t asked to see the girl again. He’d stayed celibate, much to the amusement of his friends. His life had been filled with work. For what good it had done him.

  The frown disappeared and a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “Neither have I.”

  Relief washed over him. She hadn’t met somebody else. Why did that matter to him so much? “I still wish you’d told me,” he said, surprised to hear his voice hoarse. “I could have done something…”

  “Been there at the birth?” She giggled. “I think the midwives had enough to deal with without having to worry about the father passing out.”

  He smiled at that—he was rather squeamish. Still, he should have been there. He should have supported her through it, even if they weren’t together.

  “How was the birth?” He asked it awkwardly, knowing very little about the process other than what he’d seen in the movies—blood everywhere, women screaming, calling their partners every name under the sun. Maybe it was better he hadn’t been there.

  “Painful.” She pulled a face. “But quick, for a first child. No complications. Mum stayed with me. Dad waited outside.”

  He played with his coffee cup. “Sean said you’ve told them I’m the father.”

  “Yes.”

  “What did they say?”

  “Surprisingly unsurprised.” She grinned. “Mum laughed. Dad didn’t say much. He’s mellowed over the years. After you left, I…” She cleared her throat. “I missed you a lot. It took me a long time to get over you. I don’t think he realised how much I liked you, you know? He thought you’d made a move on me and I was just a kid making doe eyes at the hot teenager. He didn’t realise I…” Her voice trailed off.

  She lowered her eyes and concentrated on detaching Harry from the breast and turning him around to the other one. Dion watched as she hooked up one cup of her bra and lowered the other. The baby latched on easily, and she settled back before finally raising her eyes to Dion’s again. Her cheeks had reddened slightly.

  What had she been about to say?

  I loved you?

  Chapter Fifteen

  Christmas Past

  The room had cooled in the night, but the thick duvet was heavy and warm, and Megan felt toasty and content with Dion curled around her, his chest to her back, his arm tight around her waist.

  It had been an amazing night. True to his word, he hadn’t let her sleep longer than an hour at a stretch before waking her with kisses and proceeding to show her the delights of yet another lovemaking session. They’d had sex every way she could think of and a few ways more, on the carpet, her sitting on the chest of drawers, even in the bath halfway through the night, the water slopping over the sides.

  Sometimes he took her hard and fast, sometimes slow and languorous. It had been a blissful, wonderful lesson in love that she couldn’t believe had happened all in one night. It was as if she’d grown up—as if she finally understood the real purpose of lovemaking.

  But now the sun had begun to rise, spilling its light through the gap in the curtains, and soon Dion would have to go.

  She bit her lip. She was not going to cry. Every time he’d kissed her and slid inside her, she’d told herself it was only for the one night. And she’d made the most of it, thoroughly enjoying being with him at last. She was grateful for the fact that he’d shown her what sex should really be like. And yet now he’d leave, and she’d have to get on with her life knowing what she’d be missing.

  There are plenty more fish in the sea, she told herself fiercely—Dion wasn’t the only great lover in the world. But deep down she knew his bedroom skills weren’t what had made this so special. She loved him. She’d loved him since she was fifteen—maybe even before then, and she’d loved him all these years, even though they’d been apart.

  Realistically she knew it must be in her head—she’d clung to a childish crush that had no foundation in real love. And she wasn’t particularly a romanticist—she’d never been given to flowery declarations of fate and meant-to-be. And yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that meeting Dion in Prague had been fate. As if when they’d parted, they’d remained joined by an invisible thread that had eventually drawn them back together again. A gut feeling told her they were meant to be together.

  But it wasn’t going to happen.

  She knew he’d enjoyed himself. But she didn’t know what he’d say if she declared her feelings for him. Yes, she could say she loved him, that she’d be prepared to move to England for him and would happily spend the rest of her life with him. But she remembered the look on his face when he’d spoken about Lauren—impatience, mixed with irritation. He didn’t want a fawning woman hanging onto his coattails trying to tie him down with talk of babies and marriage. He wanted what she’d given him—fun and sex, light hearted and with no strings attached. She’d known that when she went to bed with him. She couldn’t change it now.

  He was stirring behind her, and he kissed her ear before he rolled over and padded toward the bathroom.

  She sat up, keeping the duvet around her, and moved to the edge of the bed. Depression settled over her, but she knew she had to hide it when he came out. She wanted him to have good memories of this night, and she didn’t want it to end on a bad note.

  Outside, the snow had started falling again. It had stopped for a while, but now the tiny white flakes descended slowly past the window in the early light, settling thickly on the sill. What a strange day it had been. As if Santa had spirited them away to a wonderland somewhere, removed from the problems and realities of life.

  Behind her the door shut and Dion’s feet sounded on the carpet. Emotion welled inside her in spite of her wish to keep it in, and she had to bite her lip to stop herself from crying.

  The bed dipped, and then he put his hands on her shoulders. Gently but firmly he pulled her backward until she lay across the bed clutching the duvet to her as the cold air wafted across her.

  “Hey,” he said, upside down above her.

  “Hey.” She forced her sadness away and smiled. “Good morning.”

  “It’s an excellent morning.” He kissed her, an upside-down Spiderman kiss, his nose brushing her chin as his lips played across hers. “And it’s still early.”

  “You have to get ready for your meeting,” she scolded.

  “Not yet.” He kissed her again. “I hoped you might have time for one more…” He thought about how to phrase it.

  “Shag?”

  He laughed. “How romantic. I was going to say ‘dalliance.’”

  “That would fit if we lived in the eighteen fifties.”

  “It fits now.” He kissed her eyelids. “I’ve enjoyed dallying with you.”

  “Dilly-dallying,” she murmured as his hands crept beneath the duvet to her breasts.

  “All the way.” He swept his tongue into her mouth and she moaned as he cupped her breasts and ran his thumbs across her nipples. He lifted his head and pushed back the duvet. “I love your nipples.”

  “Why thank you. They love you too.”

  “They’re a beautiful colour—like a sunset, all dusky rose.”

  “Jeez, Dion. Are you going to write me a poem?”

  “Maybe.” He rubbed his nose against hers. “And they’re so soft, like they’re made of velvet. Until I do this.” He leaned over her, took one in his mouth and sucked.

  “Ah…” She clutched his chest and scored it lightly with her nails.

  “And this,” he continued, and moved his mouth over to the other nipple to suck it before lifting his head triumphantly. “There. All tight now.”

  He kissed between her breasts, then down her ribcage. She only realised where he was going when he moved forward on the bed and lifted the
duvet over his head.

  “Dion!”

  He chuckled and kissed down her pubic hair before burying his mouth in her, and she gasped out loud. Well, two can play at that game. His erection stood only inches from her lips, looking rather eager to join in, so she grasped it and stroked him a few times before guiding him forward.

  She licked the drops that had formed on the head, teased the opening with her tongue, then opened her mouth and took him inside. He groaned but didn’t stop, and she widened her thighs as he supported himself on one hand and used the other to part her lips and slide his fingers inside her.

  It was the most erotic thing they’d done, and she stretched out like a flower opening up to him, like she had no secrets, and he knew everything there was to know about her. She ran her hands up the back of his toned thighs, admired his tight buttocks, then brought her hands forward to play with him, to cup his balls and stroke him as she took him deeper inside her mouth.

  She knew she was getting to him when his hips started to move, and she tipped back her head and let him set the pace. Her orgasm hovered, but she wanted him to come with her. He gave small movements at first, obviously worried about going too far, but when she held his hips and took him deep inside her mouth to show him how far he could go, he groaned and deepened his thrusts.

  His fingers and tongue coaxed her to a climax, and she tightened her hands on his hips as the waves of the orgasm began deep inside her. He kept his mouth buried in her, sucking hard as his thrusts quickened, and then his body stiffened and the first spurts of his warm, silky fluid slid down her throat. She swallowed, her own body pulsing with pleasure, and all she knew was that she loved him, and the thought of him doing this to any other woman, and of any other woman doing this for him, made her want to cry.