by Ally Blake
How could she have been so sanctimonious? Why had he allowed her to lecture him on his responsibilities as a parent?
She’d wanted to know why he hadn’t learnt to sign for Rosie—and now she knew. But she hadn’t expected how painful it would be to hear it. She knew the law was biased in favour of mothers, would probably have campaigned for just that bias, but … Nick had lost so much. That didn’t seem fair.
They headed back towards the house. Rosie’s short sleep seemed to have given her all the refreshment of a full eight hours. She scampered ahead, occasionally turning round to smile at them and check they were within sight.
Lydia glanced across at Nick and wondered what kind of relationship she could hope to have with him. Her tentative smile faltered. One kiss and she was imagining all kinds of possibilities.
Illogical.
Wasn’t it?
Except it wasn’t—and she knew it. She glanced down at her feet and watched the way her nails shone through the grass. There was something in his dark eyes that told her he would contact her when he was in London. They’d have dinner …
What then?
How much of a difference did it make if your boyfriend had a child? From what she’d observed from friends, they didn’t usually introduce their children to their girlfriends until the relationship had reached the stage of a duplicate set of toiletries and at least one drawer in the bedroom. But they’d begun the wrong way up. She already knew she loved Rosie.
Love. Had she really thought that? Did she love Rosie? Lydia cast a surreptitious glance up at Nick. And what about Rosie’s father? How did she feel about him? Just thinking about the possibility of loving him, being in love with him, turned her insides to marshmallow.
And it scared her. Love shouldn’t feel like that, should it? Lydia frowned. What was she frightened of? And then she knew. Love meant sacrifice. Putting another person before you and trusting they were looking out for you.
She didn’t do that. Ever. And Nick needed that. Listening to him talk about losing Rosie had made her realise that.
‘How much longer will you be meeting up with Wendy?’
‘We’re practically finished,’ Lydia answered, watching Rosie run down a bank, arms spread wide. ‘I’ll be here again on Thursday.’
‘Thursday?’
She looked across at him and nodded. ‘I’ve got a couple of articles to deliver for next week and a launch party to go to for Caitlin Kelsey’s Beyond Redemption.’
Any moment he was going to ask her to dinner. She could feel it in the air. It was as real as the smell of summer carried on the gentle breeze. He’d arrange to meet in London. They’d have dinner and afterwards …
Her imagination was full of images. In an ideal world she’d simply have said ‘yes’. She wanted nothing more than to know what he looked like in the morning, to wake with his arms wrapped around her. She wanted to surprise the laughter that transformed his face.
But Nick wasn’t looking for the ‘see you when we’re in the same city’ kind of relationship she favoured. He was too responsible to bring a steady stream of girlfriends through Rosie’s life. He needed the sort of woman who would fit into country living and be a fantastic stepmother to Rosie.
If she could wave a magic wand and change her personality she’d do it. If she could be the kind of woman who got emotional satisfaction from a lemon-fresh toilet and a freshly baked tray of cupcakes …
If …
As he turned to look at her she heard her own small intake of breath as she took in the expression in his eyes. It was timeless. Unmistakable. She wasn’t ready for this. Didn’t know what she thought yet.
But even as the panic ripped through her she felt time slow down around her. Slowly, deliberately, his eyes moved to her lips and she knew he was going to kiss her.
For the second time.
Her breath seemed to catch in her throat. She wanted to feel his lips on hers. Coaxing a response. Making her forget that this wasn’t a good idea. That she wasn’t the woman …
The small distance between them vanished. Dear God. His mouth was warm and persuasive on hers. She could taste the wine and the strength that was entirely him.
For one brief moment she tried to be sensible. She pulled away and murmured, ‘Rosie. We …’
His hands moved to cradle her face, his eyes seeming to read her soul. ‘Knows the way home.’
Nick moved slowly, deliberately. He gave her every opportunity to pull away, decide this wasn’t what she wanted, but Lydia found she couldn’t resist any more.
Her hands pushed the backpack off his shoulders and she heard it hit the grass. She heard her own soft moan of pleasure as his mouth trailed up the side of her neck, the small whimper that begged for more.
‘Nick.’ His name on a breath.
Her mind refused to co-operate. She couldn’t formulate the words, didn’t really know what she wanted to say. He nipped softly at her earlobe and her head fell back, a mute invitation which she couldn’t stop and didn’t want to.
There was only the sensation of him and a slow warmth spreading through her body. His tongue flicked between her parted lips, coaxing a need in her she hadn’t known she was capable of feeling.
His hands moved over her body and pulled her in closer … and then closer. Lydia could feel his arousal hard against her stomach and the soft answering ache settling low in her abdomen.
She wasn’t strong enough to walk away from this. She wanted him. As perhaps she’d never wanted anything. She wanted him to push the straps of her sundress down, wanted to be naked before him. She wanted him full and moving within her …
She’d never felt like this. So completely abandoned, so …
‘We’d better go inside,’ Nick murmured, his breath ragged. His lips moved against her neck.
‘Yes.’ More groan than anything else.
And deep down Lydia knew she was saying ‘yes’ to more than walking inside Fenton Hall.
Lydia stretched languorously, her body warm and sated. She felt completely … new, as though this were the start of something wonderful. Unexpected, but completely wonderful. She rolled over on to one side and looked at Nick’s sleeping face.
She’d wanted to know what he looked like in the morning. And he looked wonderful. The early morning sunlight worked its way through the partly opened curtain and shimmered against his bare shoulders. Lydia reached out and stroked along his collar-bone and down the smooth skin of his back. It was irresistible. He was irresistible.
Nick’s eyes opened, his voice low and gravelly. ‘Good morning.’
This ought to feel embarrassing, some part of her brain registered. She’d never … well, she had, but she’d never spent the night with a man she wasn’t in a long-term, seriously thought about relationship with. But Nick …
Nick had been so sudden. Cataclysmic. Absolutely nothing she’d ever felt about him had been neutral, not since the first time she’d seen him.
That seemed a lifetime ago now. Standing on the roof of his godmother’s cottage, with him so angry and disapproving below. They’d moved such a long way towards each other.
She let her fingers splay out on his back, loving the warmth of his skin. ‘Morning.’ Her voice sounded breathless.
Then he smiled, that slow unexpected smile that had always made her melt. ‘I can’t believe you’re here.’ He rolled over and imprisoned her beneath him. His hands pushed back her hair.
‘I can’t believe I’m here either. I don’t—’
Nick bent his head and kissed the spot on her neck he’d discovered last night sent her wild and she let her hands curl into his thick hair.
‘Don’t what?’ Lydia heard the teasing laughter in his voice. ‘Are you sorry?’
That was an easier question to answer. ‘No.’ Not sorry at all. Her whole body was singing with remembered pleasure. Her limbs felt heavy and it was purgatory to think of moving.
He kissed her, a slow drugging kiss that made it even harder to say,
‘But I do need to go home, Nick.’
In an ideal world they would have a lazy breakfast, the opportunity to make love some more, have lunch …
His eyes gleamed with passion. Nick bent his head and kissed her again. She loved the way he kissed her. She loved being with him. She loved …
Being loved. He’d not said the words, but that was how he made her feel. When he touched her she felt worshipped. His arms wrapped around her and she felt completely protected from all life’s traumas. She’d never be sorry.
‘Stay.’
That one word sent a spiral of desire coursing through her body. There was nothing she’d like more than to stay. She lifted a finger and traced it along his now roughened jaw-line. ‘What’s the point in our creeping around the house last night if I’m still here when Rosie wakes up this morning?’
Nick grunted and rolled off her. He laid back, one arm bent behind his head, his eyes glinting sinfully and his body completely relaxed. ‘I hate it that you’re right.’
Lydia gave a low husky laugh and flung back the bedclothes. She picked up her sundress and looked around for her bra. ‘Where …’ she began before she noticed that Nick was openly watching her. ‘Stop it!’
His smile stretched as Lydia held her dress up in front of her. It was too late for modesty, way too late. And strange, that after everything they’d shared, she should still feel shy.
‘Rosie is your daughter,’ she said with mock severity. ‘It’s five o’clock and time I was gone. What time does she wake up?’
Reluctantly Nick pushed back the covers. ‘Six.’ He bent down and picked up his jeans and flung them across the bed.
Lydia stood like some nervous virgin, envying how at ease he was with his body. So much for the British inhibition she’d thought an integral part of him. Total confidence. A man completely at ease within his own skin.
He flung a silk dressing gown around his lean body. ‘When will I see you again?’ he asked, taking her face between his hands and kissing her gently. It was the kind of kiss that gave comfort, made her feel incredibly special. He pulled back and looked into her eyes. ‘Make it soon.’
Lydia felt her shyness recede. She reached out and touched his face, his stubble rough against her hand. ‘Come to London.’
CHAPTER TEN
LYDIA knew it was work the minute she looked at her mobile. The call hadn’t been entirely unexpected. There’d been rumours that she might be given this particular opportunity because of her interest in politics and human rights. The recent journalistic award hadn’t done her any harm either.
Brussels.
She was going to Brussels.
But the way she felt about it was entirely unexpected. She kept hearing Nick’s words—’time away from Rosie is time wasted’. She hadn’t really understood what he’d meant, but she did now. Time away from Nick felt like time wasted.
Lydia lifted her hands to her burning cheeks. She didn’t want to go. For the first time in nearly ten years she didn’t want to go. Seven nights and five days of Nick spread over three weeks and she didn’t want to go.
It should have been everything she’d ever wanted. The chance to report on real issues that would affect Europe for the next decade and beyond. But a year …
Minimum. A year was a long time.
Lydia pulled a chair up against her wardrobe and stood on it to lift down her suitcase. She could still see Nick. She was being ridiculous. True enough long-distance relationships rarely worked, but that would be his choice. She could fly back to see him every few weeks. Perhaps he’d even find the time to come over and see her.
And Rosie. She’d be an excellent role model for Rosie. It would be good for her to grow up seeing women achieving things, being their own person.
Brussels. The European Parliament.
This was everything she’d ever wanted. She was going to be at the centre of things. It was what she’d been working for.
So why did she want to cry?
Lydia slowly opened her wardrobe and started laying out the clothes she’d need to take. A pair of well-cut black trousers, two brown. Two sharply cut jackets and a simple cream evening dress. She placed them in a pile on the bed.
It was just the thought of going. Once she was on the plane she’d be fine. Excited.
Of course she’d be excited. It was a completely fantastic opportunity. She was going to be at the hub of Europe, getting to talk to the people who were making the decisions.
Lydia put the first few things in her suitcase. This was what she’d wanted. Always. From the age of eighteen she’d wanted the excitement of change. She’d wanted the kind of career that meant a phone call could see her flying to a disaster area in Scotland and then the Olympics next. She wanted adventure. Variety.
She wanted the respect of other journalists. She still wanted to change the world, be a force for good and the champion of the underdog.
Always. It was her lifelong goal. It was why she’d left Izzy crying in Auntie Margaret’s small back bedroom and caught the coach to Cambridge all those years ago. It was why she’d pushed herself to get a first—because anything else wasn’t going to be good enough to justify what she’d done to her sister.
Lydia sat down on the edge of her bed. So what had changed? If she didn’t pursue her goal now it meant she’d let Izzy down for nothing.
The temperature outside was soaring, but inside she felt so cold. She felt as if she was being ripped in half, as though she was being forcibly torn away from what was really important.
How she was feeling made no sense. She’d always avoided emotional ties. Had never put down roots. She’d made sure she had no responsibilities, no children and no relationships she couldn’t leave. It was different for her male colleagues. For them it was possible to truly ‘have it all’, but she’d accepted long ago that men rarely followed their partners around the world.
It was a simple choice. And she’d made it. At eighteen. She’d always known what she wanted. She’d never needed to put together a five-year plan—she had a mission statement.
It was who she was.
She was a career journalist, one hundred per cent committed to what she was doing. So why did she feel so … broken. No, not broken, more sick inside. Deep down, heart-wrenchingly sick.
Lydia pulled her Anastasia Wilson jacket from the wardrobe. Her hand hesitated as she put it in her suitcase, her fingers resting on the soft leather. She’d not asked Nick about why his marriage had failed. It hadn’t seemed … appropriate to talk about his ex-wife and he hadn’t volunteered the information.
It was another of those unwritten twenty-first century rules—never talk about past relationships. If they were over, then they were in the past and best forgotten.
How ridiculous. The ending of a marriage had to be something that shaped you, coloured the way you thought about your future. She hadn’t wanted a post mortem on it, but it would have been useful to have known why. Perhaps Nick had found it difficult to be with a woman who couldn’t put him first?
And Rosie, that inner voice whispered, she didn’t need another career woman in her life. She needed a different kind of role model. She needed someone who would be there for her, loving her.
Lydia put in the last of her things and zipped her case shut. She couldn’t be that person. Nick had to have known that.
By tonight she would be on the plane to Brussels. She would be fully focused on the opportunities and challenges ahead of her. It would be fine.
She glanced round her bedroom. One suitcase was probably everything she’d need for now. She could come back and collect anything else she wanted when she’d arranged an apartment.
There was just time to see Nick. She lifted her case and carried it out to the lift. It would be better to see him face to face. Explain. Say goodbye to Rosie. Then she could drive to Wendy’s cottage and spend an hour or so with her before driving on to the airport. She’d have to leave the car in the long-stay car park for the time being, but all tha
t could be sorted out later.
Her mind started to turn over the thousands of ways she could tell Nick she was moving to Brussels, but the journey to Fenton Hall wasn’t quite long enough to fix on the perfect one. Confronted with him she made a mess of it.
His face, usually so inscrutable, showed surprise. ‘You’re leaving tonight?’
She nodded. ‘Late afternoon. So I’m going to have to take a rain check on dinner.’
‘Of course.’
Nick tried to look as though he was excited for her. She was obviously buzzing with it, loving the opportunity she’d been given—and he could see it was a good one. Lydia would enjoy being in Brussels and she was just the kind of journalist who needed to be there. She was passionate about what she did—and that was great.
It just didn’t feel great.
And he’d only himself to blame. He’d known that what he’d found with her could only be temporary. That sooner or later she’d be off, chasing another story, searching out another wrong that needed to be righted.
He loved that about her. There was precious little he didn’t love about her.
‘I’ll be back in a couple of weeks. Obviously I’ll need to get my things,’ Lydia said brightly. ‘But there’s no point dragging everything out at this stage.’
‘What time is your plane?’ He forced himself to ask the question. He was doing well.
‘Four.’
He made rapid calculations. How long it took to drive to the airport, how long before she had to be there before she boarded her flight. How long before she left him.
‘I’m packed and ready to go. I promised Wendy I’d stop by her cottage today. She’s got some letters she wants me to have.’
Lydia was going now. Nick felt as if he needed to shout, hit something, walk for miles …
Instead he smiled. ‘You need to get going.’
She nodded. ‘I just stopped by to tell you I’m off and … to say I’ll phone.’ She smiled.
Nick felt as if his heart had been ripped out and stamped on. He loved her—and he was going to have to let her go because that was what she wanted. And he was going to let her go without guilt.