So Now You're Back

by Heidi Rice

  She’d mentioned the sleeping arrangements and told him, as nonchalantly as possible, that she had assumed she’d have her own private, individual cabin.

  He’d laughed and said, ‘The cover won’t work if we don’t bunk together. So I’m afraid you’re stuck with me. Don’t worry, I’ll do my best to keep my hands off you.’ Clearly thinking he was being amusing and ironic.

  So she’d been forced to drop the subject.

  But she still wasn’t comfortable with the situation. At all. Spending two weeks waking up to Luke in her kitchen was bad enough, but she definitely didn’t want any more pornographic visions of the man screwing with her me time.

  ‘Actually, there is a slight problem with the accommodation,’ she began, launching into the strategy she’d hit on to distance herself from Luke, without technically reneging on their agreement. ‘For me at least.’

  Monroe’s smile stretched across his ruddy face, revealing a hint of startlingly white teeth for a man in his sixties. ‘I’m real sorry to hear that, Halle. Let me know what it is and we’ll get it fixed.’

  ‘I’m afraid I need a cabin with Wi-Fi and phone coverage. So I can keep in touch with my children. And I’ve got work commitments. Luke’s obviously comfortable where he is. But if I could move, that would be great.’

  The jovial smile crinkled at the edges, as if Monroe was having trouble processing the information. ‘Well, now. That would be possible if we had Wi-Fi and phone coverage at the resort. But we don’t. We don’t want our clients distracted during their time here.’

  ‘But … That’s … Really?’

  Who the hell stays at this resort? The Flintstones?

  ‘You see, Halle, you’re here to mend your relationship with Luke.’ He linked his fingers together on the desk, the condescension almost as aggravating as the faux sympathy in those shrewd grey eyes. ‘We’ve got a schedule of activities for y’all that will get you rebuilding that all-important trust between you. But your downtime between activities is your quality time, when you’re gonna be reconnecting in the comfort and intimacy of your cabin.’ His eyes became rheumy, as if he were having a religious experience. ‘And that’s the unique bedrock of the experience we offer here. So there’s no cable, no TV, no internet and no cell phones. Now, you’re more than welcome to come over to the lobby area to call your children.’ He settled into his chair, his considerable bulk spilling over the arms like Jabba the Hutt. ‘But we ask our clients to put aside their work commitments while they’re here. So they can concentrate on the much more important work of repairing their marriages. And I’m sure you wouldn’t want to get distracted from that.’

  Actually, I really would.

  ‘But I’m not married to Luke,’ she protested. If the truth didn’t work with Luke’s cover story, tough.

  And she never actually had been married to him, but she decided not to mention that and get drawn into a lengthy debate about why she had decided to use Luke’s last name. Because she had the sneaking suspicion Grandpa Walton here would be less than receptive to the argument that the Best name had become an important part of her brand.

  ‘We’re not even a couple. So we don’t actually have a relationship to repair, now do we?’ she finished.

  He placed his hands on the desk with an audible thump. ‘I know that, honey,’ he said, smothering her objections with another huge helping of condescension. ‘Luke here has apprised me of your situation. And while he may not be your husband any more, he surely is the father of your child.’

  ‘He’s only the father of one of my children,’ Halle cut in, getting desperate.

  ‘That’s as may be,’ Monroe continued, the tone still gratingly patriarchal. ‘But Luke has told me all about how your daughter, Elizabeth, is struggling to find her place in the world during her difficult teenage years, and how she needs both her parents working together to help her do that.’

  Halle shot Luke a stunned glare, irritation morphing into horrified shock.

  What had he said to this patronising twat about Lizzie? Was he planning to use their daughter to sell his article?

  Luke glared back, sending her a what-the-hell-are-you-playing-at look.

  ‘Isn’t that right, Luke?’ Monroe interrupted their glare-off.

  ‘Yes, Jake, it is,’ Luke agreed, slathering butter as he went like a greased slug. ‘Lizzie needs us to work together now. Which is why Halle and I are both here.’ The muscles in his jaw clenched as he shot her another cautionary glare. ‘And I’m sure it’s going to make a terrific human interest story when we’re through.’

  ‘I sure hope so,’ Monroe agreed, dismissing Halle as he booted up his computer and printed out a ream of papers.

  His voice droned on detailing all the ‘Xtreme Trust-Building’ exercises that had been arranged for them over the next two weeks while Luke jotted down notes in his reporter’s notebook. Halle couldn’t hear a word of it over the angry buzzing of a thousand killer bees in her skull.

  She’d come all the way to Tennessee to stop Luke writing a book that would expose her and her children to the glare of publicity. And she’d got him to agree not to name her in his article. But what if, by protecting herself, she’d exposed Lizzie instead?

  She wanted to whack Luke over the head with a large, blunt object. A six-inch vibrator would have done the job nicely. Unfortunately, hers was back in London sitting in her bedroom drawer, gathering dust.

  ‘What the hell was that about?’ Luke slammed the cabin door, happy to see Halle stiffen before she swung to face him. ‘We had an agreement. And you don’t get to circumvent it by blabbing to Monroe.’

  He’d held on to his temper while she sulked through Monroe’s outline. He’d even let her waltz off as soon as they’d left the guy’s office, but now they were back in the safety of the cabin, well away from prying eyes, he was getting a few things straight. No way was he letting her stay in another cabin. He didn’t care if she needed Wi-Fi. She wasn’t in charge any more.

  She stormed forward, her face furious. Well, at least he’d got past the epic sulk.

  ‘How dare you think you can use Lizzie in your article, you unscrupulous hack. Well, I’m telling you now it’s not going to happen. Because I will sue your bloody socks off if you try.’

  ‘What?’ The single word barrelled out on a shocked gasp. Her accusation had come from so far out of left field he hadn’t been able to brace before it had smacked into him. ‘Exactly how much of an arsehole do you think I am? I’m her father, dammit, her welfare and well-being are just as important to me as they are to you.’ If not more so, he thought, trying to repel the sharp slither of guilt stabbing under his breastbone.

  Maybe that hadn’t always been the case. Maybe he had been crippled by doubt once, reacting out of fear and self-loathing to Halle’s pregnancy and the prospect of fatherhood. But he’d made peace with himself about that years ago.

  She’d made him sign a secrecy clause, made him agree not to tell Lizzie where they were. The stipulation had rankled when her solicitor had sprung it on him a week ago. He didn’t like being put in a situation that might force him to lie to his daughter if she asked.

  But he was livid about it now. Did she seriously believe he would use his daughter to sell a damn article?

  He’d been a good dad. Maybe not a perfect dad, because he’d been learning on the job. But he’d been through hell and back to get himself straight, to heal those parts of himself that had destroyed his relationship with Halle and nearly destroyed his relationship with his child. And he’d proved himself in all the years since, proved that he loved his daughter.

  He was here now because he wanted an equal place in Lizzie’s life. And he was through being sidelined by Halle. And made to feel as if he didn’t deserve to be Lizzie’s dad because he’d run once when he was a terrified kid with issues he couldn’t control.

  He refused to be put on the defensive about that again. By someone who didn’t know the first thing about his parenting skills.

/>   He grasped her arm, tugged her forward until they were nose to nose, the fury and hurt at her accusation making his fingers shake.

  ‘The article’s going to be about Monroe, his resort and his crackpot methods,’ he sneered, determined to get at least one thing straight. ‘I agreed not to name you in it, but no way in hell would I name Lizzie, or expose her in any way. I love my daughter. I would never intentionally hurt her. And I happen to be a well-respected journalist.’ His voice rose as outraged pride came to the fore. ‘I don’t need to exploit my daughter to sell my work. My byline is more than enough. And I didn’t need a bloody confidentiality clause to keep me in line.’

  ‘OK.’ She stepped back, her pale skin livid with colour. ‘Let go of me.’ She tugged on her arm, and he released her, suddenly brutally aware of the warmth of her skin beneath his thumb.

  ‘OK? That’s all you’ve got to say?’ he asked, as stunned by her sudden capitulation as he was by the colour darkening her face now to a rich rosé.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured, stunning him even more. She was? ‘I’m tired and jet-lagged and I lost my temper. And I guess I overreacted …’ She paused, obviously struggling to find the words. ‘That’s not why I asked you to sign the confidentiality clause.’

  ‘Then why did you?’

  ‘Don’t pretend you don’t know.’ Her cheeks were shining like beacons now, setting off the gold flecks in her irises and disconcerting him. The short hairs on his nape stood to attention. Because there was something fizzing in the air that didn’t feel like fraying tempers any more. Something that felt a lot more dangerous.

  Then his gaze got stuck on the full bottom lip she’d trapped between her teeth. And the danger level increased.

  ‘I’m not pretending I don’t know. I’m telling you I don’t,’ he said, forcing his gaze away from her mouth, only to get it trapped in her eyes. Drawn in by those tempting gold shards, shining in the hazy amber. ‘Why didn’t you want me to talk to Lizzie about the article?’

  ‘I just …’ She paused. ‘I didn’t want Lizzie knowing we were coming here together and getting any ideas.’

  ‘Ideas? What ideas?’

  Her breath shuddered out and he felt the echo of her sigh. Pretty much everywhere.

  ‘She used to draw pictures, lots of pictures in her free time at primary school.’ Pictures? What pictures? ‘After Aldo was born, she stopped doing them. I guess she got distracted, wrapped up in her new baby brother. But before … Every Friday she would run out of the school gates and hand me another one.’

  ‘I still don’t know what you’re talking about.’ What did Lizzie’s artwork as a kid have to do with anything?

  ‘Didn’t she ever draw you pictures? She must have.’

  Was this some kind of test? That he was being set up to fail? But it didn’t feel like a test. For once, she sounded more dismayed than belligerent.

  ‘Of course she did. She used to draw a lot of stuff. She’s a talented artist. Always has been. I never tried to discourage that,’ he said, annoyed that he sounded defensive. But he still had no clue where she was going with this.

  Instead of giving him an answer, she walked past him into the kitchen.

  ‘Hey, you can’t just leave me hanging like that.’ He followed her into the sunny space, to find her filling the coffee pot at the sink. Her shoulders were rigid beneath the loose linen shirt she wore. ‘What’s the deal with Lizzie’s pictures?’

  She put the pot down on the countertop and turned to face him, bracing her arms behind her. ‘She always used to draw you and me and her together. As a family,’ she replied tightly. ‘She never spoke about us getting back together. But I know it took her years to accept we were never going to be a family. Because of those pictures. Now do you understand?’

  The tension in her shoulders eased as she fussed with the coffee maker.

  He felt the tension she’d released tighten across his own shoulder blades. The guilt he thought he’d overcome back with a vengeance.

  What did he say to that? When he’d never noticed, never realised Lizzie had harboured any such hopes? ‘I guess I missed that,’ he conceded. ‘Is that why you didn’t want her to know we were here together?’

  She nodded.

  He took the coffee canister out of the fridge and handed it to her. ‘You know, you could have asked me not to tell her and told me why, instead of getting your solicitor involved,’ he added, vindicated despite his guilt. Surely this was yet more proof they needed to be talking about Lizzie?

  ‘Really? You would have respected my wishes?’ She flicked her hand between the two of them, looking doubtful. ‘And kept quiet about us being here? If all I’d done was ask?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Her gaze remained steady, the scepticism still very much in evidence.

  ‘If you’d told me you were worried about how Lizzie would react to the news and you’d told me why, of course I would have respected your decision. You’re her mother. You know her best.’

  And you’ve spent a lot more time with her than I have. So thanks for that.

  He swallowed past the ball of resentment stuck in his throat and waited for her to respond. He wasn’t going to blow this by losing his temper again.

  ‘I see.’ She spooned the coffee into the espresso cup, clipped it into the contraption, then flicked the switch. Finally, she leaned against the counter and sighed. ‘Then I guess I owe you another apology. I didn’t know I could trust you to be that mature about it.’

  And the reason she didn’t know was because she had never given him the chance to prove he wasn’t the same bollocksed-up kid he’d been at twenty.

  But he didn’t plan to blow their fragile truce by pointing that out. He would be reasonable now, even if it gave him an aneurysm. ‘Hal, I could bore your arse off with how mature I am now. Especially when it comes to my daughter’s well-being.’

  Her cheeks flared pink, before she swung round to concentrate on the coffee again.

  OK, that might have sounded more mature if you hadn’t mentioned her arse.

  ‘I’m glad we got that straight,’ he said, making sure he didn’t notice how her arse looked in her sunshine-yellow shorts.

  Really should not have mentioned that arse.

  He forced his gaze back up. ‘So now, how about you explain to me why you were trying to weasel out of our deal in Monroe’s office?’

  ‘I wasn’t trying to weasel out of our deal,’ she said, but the blush bloomed across her collarbone. A sure sign of a guilty conscience.

  ‘Then why were you challenging what I’d told Monroe about us?’ Interrogation was usually a good way to get to the truth and it gave him something to concentrate on instead of the skimpiness of the vest top she wore under her loose-fitting shirt. ‘We agreed I was going to do the talking. You came close to blowing our whole cover story.’

  She crossed her arms over her chest. ‘Fine, if you must know, I’m not comfortable sharing a cabin with you.’

  ‘Tough,’ he said, determined not to let the evidence of how much she still disliked him bother him. He didn’t need her to like him. He just needed her to cooperate with him. And she’d already agreed to do that, in writing. ‘The cover story’s not going to work if you stay somewhere else. So we’re stuck with each other. But you don’t have to worry. I’ll try to refrain from cutting my toenails in the kitchen sink, or burping after every meal, and I promise to do my fair share of the chores, just like I managed to do when we shared a place in Hackney. Which if you recall was missing a lot more than just Wi-Fi.’

  Halle noted the tone—irritated and apparently clueless. She wasn’t buying it. Surely he couldn’t still be completely impervious to the undertone? The way his gaze had strayed to her mouth and then her cleavage a moment ago was a dead giveaway.

  He must have figured out by now that their mutual animosity wasn’t the only reason their sharing a cabin together could get ugly.

  Either that or he was a surprisingly crap investigative
journalist—contrary to all the boasts about his bestselling byline.

  His gaze dipped yet again, this time meandering all the way down to the front of her camisole. Her nipples tightened on cue. And the blast of heat napalmed her cheeks.

  ‘All right, if you absolutely insist, I’ll stay put.’

  If he isn’t going to break cover, then neither am I. After all, I’m not the one who has a problem with impulse-control.

  ‘I insist.’ He smiled, like a certain wolf in granny’s clothing.

  ‘Fine, then I insist we establish some ground rules,’ she added firmly.

  She’d already let jet lag and frustration get the better of her temper in Monroe’s office, causing her to hit out at Luke and accuse him of stuff that, for once, he might not actually be guilty of.

  She didn’t think he was a bad father, particularly. The truth was, she didn’t really know what kind of a father he was. On Lizzie’s initial visits to Paris, she’d quizzed her daughter about Luke to check that he was being a responsible dad. But after those first few glowing reports, she’d stopped encouraging Lizzie to talk about him, because she didn’t want to think about him or hear about him, if she didn’t have to.

  ‘What rules?’ Luke’s jaw hardened to granite. ‘Because if it includes getting any more third parties involved so you don’t have to have a conversation with me, you can forget it.’

  It was another dig at her decision to communicate through Jamie. She ignored it. She wasn’t apologising for that, even if she had underestimated how much her no-contact rule had pissed him off in recent years.

  ‘Don’t worry, no solicitor fees need apply.’ She dug a couple of mugs out of the cabinet. ‘All I’m suggesting is that we aim to stay out of each other’s way.’ She tipped the newly made espresso into one of the mugs, then set up another shot. ‘I’ve got some customer briefs I have to work on.’ Not entirely true, but she did have several books to read, preferably the ones that didn’t involve feisty copulation on kitchen counters. Moving swiftly on. ‘And I was looking forward to some genuine downtime while I’m here. But I don’t find your company particularly relaxing.’