by Trish Morey
‘You think I’d try something?’
Hardly, after the way they’d parted last night. But she didn’t trust herself not to be tempted, there in that room where they’d done so many things… How could she be in that room and see that wall and know how it felt to have her back to it and have him between her legs and driving into her? How could she calmly pretend nothing had happened? How could she not want it to happen again?
She swallowed, trying not to think of all the reasons she didn’t want to be in that room. ‘I just don’t think it would be wise.’
She heard his rushed expulsion of air. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Let’s play it your way. Culshaw’s taking Maureen out to visit friends so we should be safe to meet in the bar. I’ll buy you a coffee—is that permissible?’
She nodded into the phone, relieved at least they’d be meeting somewhere public. Sam settled back on her shoulder. ‘A coffee would be fine.’
He clicked off his phone, cursing softly. So she wouldn’t come to the room. But she had agreed to come. Of course she could have emailed the documents, but then he’d have no way of convincing her to come to the island with him. He could convince her, he had no doubt. Look at how she had all but melted in his arms last night with just one kiss! And once she was back in his bed, she’d get over whatever hang-up she had about coming with him. He was already looking forward to it.
Because while sex was easy to come by, great sex wasn’t, and last night had definitely registered right up there with the best. And while he’d been content for it to end last night the way it had—it would have ended some time anyway—the opportunity to have her in his bed for another couple of nights held considerable appeal. He could do much worse than sharing his bed with Evelyn.
He’d soon make it happen. Once she was here, he’d just have to come up with a way to get her up to his suite and convince her how much she wanted to come with him. He’d think of something.
His phone rang, a glance at the caller ID assuring him it wasn’t Evelyn calling back to change her mind about meeting him.
‘Eric,’ he said, relieved, his mind already working on a plan to get Evelyn up to his suite. ‘What can I do for you?’
But relief died a quick death as Culshaw explained how Maureen was looking to book a day in the island resort’s spa for the women and wanted to know if Evelyn might be interested. Leo knew he had to say something now, in case she refused to change her mind.
‘Look, Eric, about Evelyn, you might want to warn Maureen. It seems there’s a slight chance she might not be able to make it after all…’
‘I wish I could help, lovey,’ Mrs Willis said, when Evelyn nipped over to ask if she would mind babysitting again, this time only for an hour or so, ‘but my brother Jack’s just had an episode and I promised to go and help Nancy with him. He gets terribly confused, poor love. I was going to pop by and tell you, because I might be away for a few days.’ She stopped folding clothes for a moment, her creased brow folding along time worn lines. ‘I hate leaving you, though, with the hot water not working and no family to help out. Such a tragedy to lose your parents so young and then your granddad. They’ve all missed out on so much, watching you grow up and now Sam.’ She shook her head. ‘Such a pity.’
‘I know,’ Eve said softly, feeling a pang of sadness for her grandfather and for parents she could barely remember. ‘But don’t worry. You do too much for me as it is. We’ll be fine. I’ll call Emily down the street. She’s always on the lookout for some extra cash.’
Except when she called it was to hear Emily was already working a shift at the local supermarket. Which left Evelyn with only one option.
Not such a bad option, she reflected as she turned onto the freeway and pointed her little city commuter towards the city, wondering why it hadn’t occurred to her earlier. She hadn’t wanted to tell Leo about her child, figuring it was none of his business and that it might prejudice his opinion of her as someone able to handle his workload, but neither did she trust him not to try to change her mind by fair means or foul. And then there was the matter of not trusting her own wayward desires. Look where they’d landed her last night—right in Leo Zamos’s bed. Not to mention his spa bath…
She shivered, unable to suppress either a secret smile or the delicious shimmy at the memories of his mouth seeking her breasts as he raised her over him, of his hungry mouth at her nipples as he probed her entrance, of the long, hard length of him filling her as he pulled her down on him inch by glorious inch, a shimmy that radiated out from muscles tender and sore and clearly still far too ready to party.
Oh, no, there was no way she could trust herself with him.
And if there was one certain way to ensure that there would be no repeats of last night’s performance, it was to take her child along. Leo didn’t do family, and clearly didn’t want one. He’d made that abundantly clear and she was grateful he had. For it had put paid to that tiny creature that insisted on fluttering around inside her despite what she’d known in her head all along to be true. That his interest in her began and finished with sex. There could be no future with him. There was no future for them.
And with just one look at Sam he’d forget all about wanting to play make-believe with her. One look at Sam and he’d never want to see her again. Which suited her just fine.
It was foolproof!
Forty minutes later the doorman helped her unload both her baby stroller and a sleeping Sam startled into wakefulness from the car. She settled him, watching his eyelids flutter closed again, still sleepy from the journey, lowering the back and tucking his favourite bear by his side so he would feel secure and snooze on as long as possible. Soon enough he’d be demanding to get out and explore this new world—she just prayed he’d last until she got him out of the hotel. Not that the meeting should take longer than ten minutes when it was only documents she had to hand over. Probably less, she thought with a smile, doubting Leo would stick around long enough for coffee when he saw what else she’d brought with her.
She could hardly wait to see his face.
The subtly lit lounge wasn’t busy, only a few tables occupied this time of the day, couples sharing coffee and secrets, family groups gathered around tables enjoying afternoon tea.
She found a hotel phone, asked Reception to let Mr Zamos know she was there, and stopped a while in awe to admire, over the balcony, the amazing sweeping stairway that rose grandly from entry level and the water feature that spilled and spouted between levels of the hotel. She must commit this to memory, she thought. It was the place of fairy-tales, of princes and princesses, and not of the real world, and of ordinary people like her who had blown hot water services and frazzled appliances to replace.
She settled into a booth that offered some degree of privacy, gently rocking the stroller. Sam wasn’t buying it, jerking into wakefulness, this time taking in the unfamiliar surroundings with wide, suspicious eyes.
‘It’s okay, Sam,’ she said, reaching for the stash of food she’d brought and had tucked away in the baby bag. ‘We’re visiting, that’s all. And then I’ll take you for a walk along Southbank. You’ll like that. There’s a river and lots of music and birds. Maybe we might even spot you a fish.’
‘Fith!’ He grinned, recognising the word as she handed him his favourite board book and he reached for a sultana with the other. ‘Fith!’
He’d been waiting on the call, all the while working out a strategy that would get her out of the lounge and up into his room. At last he’d hit on the perfect plan, so simple it couldn’t fail. He’d play it cool, accept the documents she’d brought without mention of the trip away and without trying to change her mind, and see her to her car, remembering once they’d got to the lifts something he’d meant to bring down for her—it wouldn’t take a moment to collect it from his suite…
He hit the second floor with a spring in his step. Oh, he loved it when a plan came together.
He scanned the lounge for her, skipping over the groups and couples, se
arching for a single woman sitting no doubt nervously by herself. Had she been able to forget about last night’s love-making yet? He doubted it. Even though the night had ended on a sour note, those flashbacks had kept him awake thinking about it half the night. When Culshaw had mooted this idea of going away for the weekend, he’d initially been appalled. It was bad enough that the closing of the deal had been held up by last night’s dinner, without having to endure still more delays while Culshaw soothed his wife’s wounded soul with an impromptu holiday. Until he’d worked out that he could easily endure a couple of more nights like the last. Very easily.
And then he saw her sitting with her back to him in a little booth off to one side, her hair twisted high behind her head, making the most of that smooth column of neck. Just the sight of that bare patch of skin sent such a jolt of pure lust surging through him, such a heady burst of memories of her spread naked on his sheets, that it was hard to think over the pounding of the blood in his veins, other than to want to drag her to his room and prove why she needed to come with him until she begged him not to leave her behind.
In another time, maybe even in another part of this world, he would do exactly that, and nobody would stop him, nobody would think twice.
But there was more reason than the mores of the so-called civilised world that stilled his savage urges. For he knew what he might become if he let the animal inside him off the leash.
Never had he felt so close to that beast. Why now? What was it about her that gave rise to such thoughts? She was the means to an end, that was why he needed her. Nothing more. Great sex was just a bonus.
She turned her head to the side then, her lips moving as if she was talking to someone, but there was nobody there, nothing but a dark shape in the shadowed recess behind the sofa, a dark shape that had him wondering if he’d found the wrong woman the closer he got. Because it made no sense…
She looked around at the exact time his brain had finally come to terms with what his eyes were telling him, at the precise moment the cold wave of shock crashed over him, washing away his well-laid plans and leaving them a tangled and broken mess at his feet.
‘Hello, Leo,’ she said, closing the picture book she was holding in her hands. ‘I’ve brought those documents you asked for.’
She’d brought a hell of a lot more than documents! In the dark shape he’d worked out was a pram sat a baby—a child—holding onto the rail in front of him and staring wide-eyed and open-mouthed up at Leo like he was some kind of monster. It didn’t matter that the kid was probably right. He looked back at Evelyn. ‘What the hell is this?’
‘Leo, meet my son, Sam.’ She turned toward the pram. ‘Sam, this is Mr Zamos. If you’re very nice, he might let you call him Leo.’
‘No!’ Sam pushed back in his stroller and twisted his body away, clearly unimpressed as he pushed his face under his bear and began to grizzle.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, one hand reaching out to rub him on the back. ‘He’s just woken up. Don’t worry about coffee, it’s probably better I take him for a walk.’ She picked up a folder from the table and stood, holding it out for Leo. ‘Here’s all the documents you asked for and I’ve flagged where signatures are required. Let me know if there’s anything else you need. I promised Sam a walk along the river while we’re here, but we’ll be home in a couple of hours.’
He couldn’t say anything. He could barely move his hand far enough to accept the folder she proffered. All he could think of was that she had a child and she hadn’t told him. What else hadn’t she told him? ‘You said there wasn’t a Mr Carmichael.’
‘There’s isn’t.’
‘Then whose is it?’
‘His name is Sam, Leo.’
‘And his father’s name?’
‘Is none of your business.’
‘And is that what you told him when he asked you where you were all night?’
She shook her head, her eyes tinged with sadness. ‘Sam’s father doesn’t figure in this.’
His eyes darted between mother and child, noticing for the first time the child’s dark hair and eyes, the olive tinge to the skin, and he half wondered if she was bluffing and had borrowed someone else’s baby as some kind of human shield. He would have called her on it but for noticing the angle of the child’s wide mouth and the dark eyes stamped with one hundred per cent Evelyn, and that made him no happier.
Because someone else had slept with her.
He thought of her in his arms, her long-limbed body interwoven with his, he thought of her eyes when she came apart with him inside her, damn near shorting his brain. And now he thought of her coming apart in someone else’s arms…
‘You should have told me.’
‘Why?’
‘Damn it, Evelyn! You know why!’
‘Because we spent the night together?’ she hissed. Sam yowled, as if he’d been on the receiving end of that, and she leaned over, surprising Leo when she didn’t smack him, as he’d half expected, but instead delicately stroked the child’s cheek and calmed him with whispered words. Something twisted inside him, something shapeless and long buried, and he had to look away lest the shape take form and he worked out what it was. His gut roiled. What was happening to him? Why did she have this effect on him? She made him feel too much. She made him see too much.
She made him remember things he didn’t want to remember.
And none of it made sense. None of it he could understand.
‘I’m sorry you feel aggrieved,’ she said, and reluctantly he turned back to see her unclipping the child’s harness and lifting the child into her arms, where he snuggled close, sniffling against her shoulder as she rubbed his back. ‘But what part of our contract did I miss that said I should stipulate whether I should have children or what number of them I should have?’
‘Children? You mean there’s more?’
She huffed and turned away, rubbing the boy’s back, whispering sweet words, stroking away his hiccups, and the gentle sway of her hips setting her skirt to a gently seductive hula.
‘Ironic isn’t it?’ she threw at him over her shoulder. ‘Here you are, so desperate to prove to Eric Culshaw that you’re some kind of rock-solid family man, and you’re scared stiff of a tiny child.’
‘I’m not—’
She spun around. ‘You’re terrified! And you’re taking it like some kind of personal affront. But I wouldn’t worry. Sam’s a bit old for anyone to believe he was conceived last night, so there’s no reason to fear any kind of paternity claim.’
‘You wouldn’t dare!’
‘Oh, you do flatter yourself. A woman would have to be certifiably insane to want to shackle themselves to you!’
‘Clearly Sam’s father was of the same mind about you.’
He knew he’d hurt her. He recognised the precise moment when his words pierced the fighting sheen over her eyes and left them bewildered and wounded. He almost felt regret. Almost wanted to reach out and touch her cheek like she’d touched her child’s, and soothe away her pain.
Almost.
But that would mean he cared. And he couldn’t care about anyone. Not that way.
And just as quickly as it had gone down, the armour was resurrected and her eyes blazed fire at him. ‘I have a child, Mr Zamos. It’s never affected the quality of my work to date and it’s my intention that it never will, but if you can’t live with that then fine, maybe it’s time we terminated our agreement now and you found someone else to look after your needs.’
Bile, bitter and portentous, rose in the back of his throat. She was right. There was no point noticing her eyes or the sensual sway of her hips. There was no point reliving the evening they’d had last night. She couldn’t help him now and it was the now he had to be concerned with. As to the future, maybe it was better he found someone else. Maybe someone older this time. It wasn’t politically correct to ask for a date of birth, but he’d never been any kind of fan of political correctness. Especially not when it messed with his plans.
He huffed an agreement. ‘If that’s what you want.’
She stood there, the child plastered against her from shoulder to hip, his arms wound tightly around his mother’s neck, the mother so fierce he was reminded of an animal fighting to protect its litter that he’d seen on one of those television documentaries that appeared when you were flicking through the channels on long-haul flights. The comparison surprised him. Was that how all mothers were supposed to be?
‘In that case,’ she said, ‘I’ll burn everything of yours onto disk and delete it from my computer. I’ll send it to you care of the hotel. You can let them know your forwarding address.’
His hands clenched at his sides, his nails biting into his palms. ‘Fine.’
‘Goodbye, Mr Zamos.’ She held out her hand. ‘I hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for.’ Her words washed over him, making no sense as he looked down at her hand. The last time he would touch her. The last time they would meet skin to skin.
How had things gone so wrong?
He wrapped his hand around hers, her hand cool against his heated flesh, and he felt the tremor move through her, saw her eyelids flutter closed, and despite the fact she represented everything he didn’t want in this world, everything he hated and despised and had promised himself he would never have, still some strange untapped part of him mourned her loss.
Maybe that was how it started, though, with this strange want, this strange need to possess.
Maybe it was better to let her go now, he thought, while he still could. While she was still beautiful.
But still it hurt like hell.
Unable to stop himself, unable to let her go just yet, his other hand joined the first, capturing her hand, raising it to his mouth for one final kiss.
‘Goodbye Evelyn,’ he said, his voice gravel rich, tasting her on his lips, knowing he would never forget the taste of her or the one night of passion they’d shared in Melbourne.
‘Leo! Evelyn!’ came a voice from over near the bar. ‘There you are!’