‘Okay, that’s the first complex we’re going to work on. Your I’m not good enough for Jackson J Stevens because of my hair and my boobs and my lousy dress sense and blah blah blah complex. Because the baby’s here, no matter what. That means that Jack is going to be in your life. No matter what. And Evie – the people who know you love you. Even if you are a pregnant slut.’
Chloe arrived at that opportune moment, but had no comfort to offer except the fact that Rowan – who insisted she’d just been doing her job – hadn’t expected the girlfriend to be me or she might not have pushed so hard.
I felt an hysterical laugh build in my chest. ‘Why would she think it was me? Jackson J Stevens? And me? It’s ridiculous.’
Drew smacked his hand on the coffee table. ‘Didn’t we just decide to retire that complex? And for the love of God, can you give the “Jackson J Stevens” crap a rest? You use that name the way he uses “Evangeline” – as some ridiculous self-preservation mechanism and a fat lot of good it’s done either of you. I’m over it, and now that you have my niece or nephew onboard, so are you. Got it? It’s Jack, not Jackson J Stevens. And Jack was not the one who betrayed you, if you’ll remember. Sam Worth did. And Lachlan Davison did. The two men you wanted so badly, because they were so much better than everyone else and –’
‘What?’ Chloe screeched. ‘Back up. You’re pregnant, Evie? Holy shit! When were you going to get around to telling me?’
I winced. ‘As soon as I told Jack.’
Chloe’s mouth dropped open – it was like a cartoon, I swear, only not funny. ‘Jack doesn’t know?’
Drew got to his feet. ‘Okay, so now I know, and Chloe knows. Jack – the goddamn father– does not know, and you don’t want to call him. Something wrong with that picture, Evie?’
Another wince.
Drew threw up his hands. ‘Oh for God’s sake. Chloe, get the vodka out of the freezer, will you? I need a drink if I’m going to be forced to sit on the sidelines with drooping pom-poms watching my best friend ruin my brother’s life.’
Despite the angry words, he sat beside me again, reached for my hand. ‘You are going to see him when he gets here, right?’
‘Yes,’ I said, all teary and pathetic. ‘I’m scared, but … yes.’
Drew hugged me. ‘I really do love you, Evie, even when I want to strangle you. The thought of you and my brother being together is a joyful one for me, but whatever happens, I’ll still be here for you.’
Chloe was back with the vodka. ‘Before you speak to him, Evie, there’s something you should know,’ she said cautiously, sitting on my other side. ‘Rowan said I should tell you. Some photos came through of Jack and a British actress. That’s who she thought the girlfriend was.’
I smiled, a little sadly. ‘He’s only seeing other women because I asked him to.’
Drew’s wild-eye made an appearance. ‘Never have I been so happy to be gay.’
I arrived home to a gaggle of photographers.
Chloe had told me not to cover my face as cameras flashed, so I didn’t, but I ignored the hurled questions as I walked to my door and hurried inside. Jack would see those photos. Jack would hate those photos. Jack had every reason to hate me. I hadn’t called him, had only sent him one atrociously cold email, and he had no idea what he was flying back to face: impending fatherhood and a woman who was so pathetic, she shouldn’t be allowed out in public.
My messages – at home and on the mobile I finally turned back on – were all about the news. My mother. My sister – from Ethiopia if you can believe it, taking a break from curing someone’s disease, no doubt! Media requesting interviews. Lachlan, apologising profusely. Jack. Jack. Jack. And Jack. Each time a simple request to speak to me, the calm delivery masking a darker, more urgent emotion.
It was cowardly, but I just couldn’t bring myself to call Jack. I was in the middle of what Chloe called the eye of the media storm – the first twenty-four hours – and I couldn’t take the extra pressure I knew Jack would exert.
The next morning – same media gauntlet as I hurried to my car.
For once, I hadn’t picked up the papers – but they were waiting for me on my desk, which told me that at least one of my colleagues knew the story.
With shaking hands, I turned pages, scanned stories. Thankfully it had been past deadline for most of them, but one newspaper had managed to pull together a photo spread. My eyes were drawn to two side-by-side photos – one of Jack, taken in Morocco, standing with a ravishingly pretty woman (no doubt the British actress); the other a decidedly unglamorous shot of me post-Sam, looking wan and bedraggled. The caption: From this to this?
And then Chloe called me to warn me that Sam Worth was being interviewed on a radio chat show. About me. That absolute bastard.
Well, it was a tipping point, at least. Because in one hot moment of fury, my cup not only runneth over – it broke. Shattered.
And I knew.
There was nothing wrong with my job – it was a damned sight better than writing a snide, snivelling, secret column about a naïve girl just out of uni. There was nothing wrong with me– with the possible exception of my hair and my boobs, which Jackson J Stevens loved anyway, and who wouldn’t prefer Jack to Sam? There was absolutely no reason for me to be running and dodging and hiding because of what one, self-serving, profile-desperate tosser, who was only masquerading as a crusader, had done to me.
Well, no more. I was throwing out that crappy, broken cup. I was getting a new one, and the likes of Sam Worth would not be filling it up.
Evie Parker was going to fill her own damned cup, with a new brew, and – unlike my coffee – it was going to taste wonderful!
The sudden buzz outside my house told me Jack had arrived.
My insides started rioting – equal parts eagerness to see him, and fear over what he would say about the baby.
Drew would have told him the baby news. He was picking Jack up from the airport and had warned me the game would be up the moment he was face-to-face with his brother. But, giving me a taste of my own medicine, Drew had been dodging my phone calls, so I had no idea what to expect.
I checked my clothes – black pants and a cream-coloured blouse, chosen because they were innocuous enough not to cause comment – and watched through a crack in the curtain as Jack called out a cheery, ‘Morning all,’ to the assembled media.
‘Good to be home?’ someone asked.
Jack gave them a dazzling display of excellent teeth. Seriously, they needed their own insurance policy, those teeth. ‘Very, very good,’ he answered.
Cameras clicked. Questions were tossed. Jack kept smiling, laughing, answering, bantering, as he edged inside the gate.
And then: ‘And how’s Evie?’
There was a smile in his voice as he said, ‘Well, it’s not exactly the way we’d planned to come out, but hey, it’s all good.’ He laughed, waved goodbye, said thank you.
I opened the door before he had a chance to ring the doorbell.
Relief swept over Jack’s face for a moment, but then he quickly schooled his features into a look of pure confidence – for the cameras, I guessed – and reached for me. Swivelling so the cameras caught the right angle, he kissed me. And I didn’t need the wolf whistles to tell me the kiss was worthy of all seven continents, because it felt like he was pouring everything he had into it.
He raised his head, looking down at me with the strangest combination of wariness and anger and happiness, then backed me inside, and kicked the door closed with his heel.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
‘Hello, Jack,’ I said.
Jack didn’t respond. Just stared at me.
It had been a week since he’d left. A week since we’d seen each other, spoken to each other. My last memory of his voice was hearing it screaming down the line at Drew. And nothing had happened between that call and his arrival today to make him see me in a kindly light.
I was unnerved by his continuing silence, which is why I started babbl
ing like an idiot. ‘I was about to make myself some apple tea. Do you want something to drink? Or eat, maybe? Oh, actually I don’t have any foo–’
I stopped as the contents of my stomach lurched suddenly. Should have known better than to mention food. I slapped a hand over my mouth and made a bolt for the stairs. It was either that or throw up on Jack’s expensive-looking shoes.
When I emerged from the bathroom, Jack had one foot on the third step from the bottom, looking like he was about to race up several steps at a time.
‘Stay there, I’m coming down,’ I said.
The minute I reached him, he drew me into his arms. Heaven.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked.
‘Yes, yes, fine. It passes quickly.’
He gestured to the mug on the coffee table. ‘I made your tea for you. Will that help?’
‘Yes, thank you.’
He led me over to the couch, hovered while I sat, perched beside me as I took a couple of shallow breaths, making sure my stomach had settled.
He drew me gently against his side, his arm sliding around my shoulders, and I sighed. It felt so … so right. I looked up into his eyes. They were beautifully, deeply green. Concerned, and tender, and loving. And all my misgivings, all my fears and insecurities, started to fade.
‘I know I should have called you,’ I said. One hand went to my still-flat stomach. ‘It was just such a shock. Finding out. I was scared. I was always going to tell you, it was just a matter of … of …’
He was frowning, looking confused.
‘Of … when,’ I finished lamely as it dawned: Jack didn’t know. I pulled away from him so I could face him. ‘Did Drew pick you up from the airport?’
‘No. I had a driver. Why?’
‘Did he call you? Drew?’
Still confused. ‘Drew?’
‘So he didn’t tell you about –’ Nope, I couldn’t get the word out.
‘About …?’
It felt like I had a football stuck in my throat, choking me.
Jack had been looking at my face but now his eyes dropped. Stopped, transfixed, when they reached the hand I had positioned low on my belly.
‘I was going to call you but I didn’t know what to say, what to …’ My voice trailed off as transfixed became something else. Something glorious.
His hand was moving tentatively, sliding over mine, resting over the baby. ‘My God. We’re having a baby. And that’s why you didn’t call? That’s the only reason?’
‘Yes. It felt like it changed everything, and things were moving so fast, and I was … scared.’
‘I thought – I thought –’ He closed his eyes for a moment. Smiled as he opened them. One hand still over the baby, the other now cupping my cheek. ‘Evie, I love you.’
‘That was never the issue.’
‘If it’s the media thing you’re worried about, there are options,’ he said.
I shook my head. ‘No, there aren’t, Jack.’
He took my hands. ‘You’ve had calls, right, from the media?’ he asked.
Snort. Duh!
‘Well, did you talk to them?’ he asked. ‘No.’
‘And you don’t have to. See? Simple!’
Not simple. ‘When will it stop?’ I asked.
‘That depends on what other stories come up. A juicy celebrity divorce will take the pressure off. A royal romance. Movie star drug bust.’
‘Oh, easy then!’
‘If you kept up to date with the entertainment news, you’d know these things are not all that unlikely.’
‘So a prince snorting cocaine with his porn star fiancée and a movie star whose ex-wife is secretly filming it – something like that?’ I asked, and Jack laughed.
‘Doesn’t have to be quite that drastic,’ he said. ‘But in any case, all you and I need to do is be boringly devoted to each other and everyone will lose interest in us. So, Evie – no more decoys. I’m not doing that any more.’
Gently, so gently, Jack lifted me onto his lap, cocooning me with his body as though he would protect me from the world.
I rubbed my head against his shoulder. ‘It feels like a runaway train.’
‘Not for long. Trust me, Evie.’
I looked up at him, into his steady, serious eyes. ‘I do trust you. But what can we do? Practically, I mean?’
I must have been frowning because he smoothed a finger over my eyebrows. ‘We can accept it. I don’t mean hold a media conference and give interviews. But don’t try too hard to hide from it.’
‘I haven’t been hiding. And you’ve just kissed me in full view –’
‘Not full view!’
‘In full view of God knows how many photographers.’ I rested my head on his shoulder again, and started doodling invisible patterns on his chest, focusing on my finger so I didn’t have to see his reaction to my next question. ‘Have you seen the awful photos of me they’ve been using?’
‘I’ve seen them. So what?’
‘I’ll never be any good on the red carpet, you know. Looking the part, acting the part.’
‘Do you think I give a rat’s arse?’ Jack laughed. ‘If you give a rat’s arse, fine – that’s why stylists were invented, for rats-arse-loving people. But I’m not asking you to look any way, act any way. I’m the actor – not you.’ He sucked in a sudden breath. ‘Evie, if you keep touching me like that, I’m going to explode.’
My fingers, which had progressed to circling his nipple through his T-shirt, stilled. ‘Sorry, I’ll stop.’
‘I didn’t say I wanted you to stop.’
His mouth captured mine then, and my thoughts splintered.
‘Ah, Evie, I’ve missed you,’ Jack breathed against my lips. ‘I was going insane wondering what was wrong. Don’t do that to me again. If you’re scared, just tell me and I’ll help you. I’ll do anything.’
Jack shifted me so that I was straddling him. His hands gripped my bottom, pulling me forward so that he could kiss me harder. He pulled back with a shuddering breath, rubbed his lips along my mouth, over my cheek, to below my ear. ‘I want to make love to you,’ he whispered.
I smiled, eyes closed. ‘That’s good.’
‘Now. Here.’
‘That’s good,’ I said again. And then my eyes blinked open as I realised what that would mean. ‘No. There are photographers outside.’
‘Outside being the operative word. Out.’ He started unbuttoning my blouse, but only got halfway before I stopped him.
He looked questioningly into my eyes, then lower. His eyes widened.
I tried to close my blouse. ‘They’re too big – it’s terrible.’
‘Oh no they’re not. They’re …’ Stop, swallow. ‘Beautiful.’
‘Nothing fits!’
‘So we’ll buy new clothes.’ He gently cupped my breasts. ‘Some nice, tight clothes so that I can see these every time I look at you. Because they’re perfect. And I’m the luckiest man on the planet because I get to touch them.’ He massaged my breasts slowly, carefully. ‘Does it hurt? I don’t want to hurt you.’
My back arched and Jack groaned as I pushed my breasts further forward, into his palms. I just couldn’t help myself; it was such a luscious relief to have his hands on me. ‘No, doesn’t hurt,’ I panted.
Jack finished the unbuttoning quickly. Slid the blouse over my shoulders, down my arms, and off. He dipped his head and took a tender, swollen nipple in his mouth, through my bra.
I moaned and strained against him, wanting him closer.
Impossible. Wonderful. Dizzying. And suddenly hands were everywhere. Mine, his. In a tangle of limbs, we pulled at each other’s clothes until we were naked. Jack started to position me over him, angling my body to take him.
‘God, I want to be inside you,’ he said, voice rough with passion. He held my hips, probing gently, carefully, at the entrance to my body. ‘But will it hurt you?’ he asked.
‘No, not hurting. Lovely.’
He pushed slowly into me, then held still.
‘Okay?’ he asked, and I had to admire his control, because he looked as though he would die from the strain.
‘Yes, yes. You can go further. Deeper. Please. I’ve missed you. Missed this.’
He slid further inside, groaning with the effort of holding back. Impatient, I put my hands on his hips, pulling him closer, urging him deeper. I took him further, and further until he was buried all the way inside me. Then he stopped, held my hips still, just staying there, his forehead resting on mine. ‘I love you, Evie,’ he whispered.
I was whimpering, trying to make him move inside me, but he held on, waiting, stretching the moment.
‘Jack,’ I whimpered, ‘let me, let me.’
And he let go of my hips, moving his hands between us, down, fingers reaching into my folds to circle my swollen clitoris with firm, sure fingers, making me moan with desire and frustration. I slid upwards off him, and his fingers followed me, and then down, pushing as close as I could get, so that he was deep, deep, and still his fingers never left that pulsing knot of nerves. I undulated against him. Gorgeous, delicious – him inside me, fingers sliding against me, hot and slippery.
‘I love you, love you,’ Jack groaned.
I slapped my mouth on his, shoved my tongue roughly inside.
‘Come with me,’ he breathed against my mouth, clever fingers moving, touching, sliding. ‘Come.’
A handful of seconds later I was shuddering, crying out.
A heartbeat, galloping against mine, a groan, my name, and I felt the spill of him.
When I had the strength to raise my head from Jack’s chest, he was looking at me.
I knew what he wanted me to say. He’d flown all the way from Morocco for me. He loved me. He wanted me. Wanted the baby. All I had to do was accept what was between us. Not run away.
My heart, which had only just settled back into its usual rhythm, started pounding again. ‘Jack,’ I managed. And then my voice stuck in my throat.
Jack smoothed a hand over my hair, so gently. The hand moved to my cheek, fingers stroking. ‘You’re not going to break my heart are you, Evie? Don’t. Please, don’t.’
Wanting Mr Wrong Page 15