Private Lives

by Carole Mortimer

  ‘No. I meant—’

  ‘I know what you meant, Jenny,’ he drawled, standing up too, pulling Fin up beside him, his arm about her waist as he held her to his side. ‘But after ten years of living on my own I’m not sure I— I never want to hurt Fin,’ he added desperately. ‘But, as much as I love her and want to be with her, I need to make this film too, need to put the past behind me, once and for all. Maybe when I get back—’

  ‘No,’ Fin told him firmly. ‘I’m coming with you,’ she repeated determinedly.

  ‘But—’

  ‘McKenzie women, Jake,’ David reminded ruefully, squeezing the other man’s shoulder reassuringly. ‘My advice to you is just to give in gracefully; it’s much easier on the self-esteem; you’re going to lose anyway!’

  ‘Well?’ Fin turned to him challengingly once her mother and David had driven away in their car.

  ‘Fin, you don’t understand—’

  ‘No, it’s you who doesn’t understand,’ she cut in firmly. ‘I love you. I want to be with you. Through the bad times as well as the good. Most of all, I want to be there for you in America.’

  His gaze was dark as he looked down at the youthful beauty of her face. ‘And what about when they realise you’re Paul Halliwell’s daughter?’

  ‘They wouldn’t have to—not if we were married before we went,’ she added almost questioningly, wondering if she was pushing him too far; but she loved this man, wanted to be his wife. ‘If we were married, my name would be Dalton,’ she pointed out practically. ‘Not Halliwell or McKenzie.’

  Jake frowned down at her for several seconds, and then the sternness of his features began to relax, finally laughing softly as his arms tightened about her. ‘I have a feeling, no matter what your name is, that you’re always going to be a McKenzie woman!’

  It was going to be all right, she could tell that it was, and she gave herself up to the joy of being kissed by the man she loved and who loved her in return. That was the best part: Jake loved her.

  ‘I thought,’ Jake kissed her lingeringly on the lips, ‘that you were going to be trouble,’ he kissed her again, ‘as soon as I woke up that first morning,’ and again, ‘and you told me you were one of the “little people”!’ He kissed her again.

  Fin laughed huskily when he raised his head to look down at her. ‘I knew you were going to be trouble the moment I saw your beautiful naked body and my pulse began to go wild!’

  He looked surprised. ‘When did you—? So that’s how you knew to pass me my denims before I got out of bed that morning!’ he realised ruefully. ‘I knew you were going to be trouble when I started talking to you about things I hadn’t told anyone else.’ He shook his head. ‘I never talked about Angela, to anyone, and yet suddenly I did it that day with you. And then I confided in you about the screenplay too.’ He frowned. ‘I should have realised then that I love you, Fin McKenzie.’

  ‘Er—about the Fin part of my name.’ She looked up at him almost shyly. ‘It’s time I told you something no one else here is aware of.’ She felt her cheeks grow warm as he looked down at her curiously. ‘My actual name is Elfin,’ she admitted with a grimace.

  As Jake looked down at her now it was obvious that he was having difficulty in controlling his laughter. And then finally he couldn’t control it any more, letting out a husky chuckle. ‘Elfin! My God, no wonder you bristled every time I called you elf or pixie! How on earth did you end up with a name like that?’

  ‘My father thought it would be something unique,’ she grimaced.

  ‘Oh, it’s definitely that,’ Jake agreed, trying to keep a straight face—and failing, grinning openly now.

  She shrugged. ‘My mother liked the name Fin, and so my father got his way.’

  Jake’s arms tightened about her. ‘Elfin, hm?’ he teased. ‘I have the ultimate weapon now if my McKenzie woman gets too uppity.’

  She smiled up at him ruefully. ‘I wouldn’t count on it!’

  ‘Neither would I,’ he accepted indulgently. ‘Are you in the mood for a rehearsal?’ He quirked dark brows.

  Fin frowned. ‘But we don’t have rehearsals on a Saturday.’ Although she was pleased that he intended carrying on with the play, by the sound of it.

  He curved her body into his, making her aware of his need. ‘I didn’t mean that sort of a rehearsal …!’

  Her expression softened as his meaning became clear. ‘There was never any need for a rehearsal between us, Jake; it was always the real thing.’

  He sobered. ‘I do love you, Fin. Very much, as it happens. And I’ll do everything I can to make you happy.’

  ‘I know you will.’ She touched his face with gentle fingers. ‘But it’s a two-way thing. We’ll be happy together.’

  * * *

  ‘Look at Daniel,’ Fin said indulgently, looking over at the small boy as he peered over the side of the cot that stood in the corner of the large sitting-room.

  The three other adults in the room looked at the small child too, Jenny and David like the proud parents they were, Jake anxiously at first until he realised that the year-old Daniel was only curious about the three-week-old baby girl who was his niece. And Jake and Fin’s daughter.

  What a difference the last eighteen months had made to all their lives. Jake had made his film, a resounding success that had kept them in America for almost a year, although they had both made the trip back when Fin’s brother Daniel was born, a healthy full-term baby weighing in at seven pounds nine ounces.

  Fin’s and Jake’s joy had been complete when they had learnt a few months later that they were going to have a baby of their own. Tiny and blonde, like her grandmother, baby Emma was adored from the moment she came into the world with a lusty cry.

  Their daughter had been born in England, where Jake was now working on another film, and the three of them lived in a Tudor-style house not far from David and Jenny.

  Jake’s arm came about Fin’s waist now as they looked down at their baby daughter. ‘Have I told you today that I love you, Mrs Dalton?’ He spoke close to her ear so that only she could hear.

  ‘Oh, yes.’ She glowed up at him. ‘But I don’t mind in the least if you tell me again!’

  And he did. Over and over again.

  As Fin had predicted, they were happy together.

  * * * * *

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  USA TODAY bestselling author

  CAROLE MORTIMER,

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  Sharon’s Kendrick’s latest book,

  SECRETS OF A BILLIONAIRE’S MISTRESS

  One Night With Consequences

  When one night…leads to pregnancy!

  Waitress Darcy Denton isn’t Renzo Sabatini’s type. But unworldly Darcy becomes addicted to their passionate nights. And then she discovers she’s pregnant! Darcy dare not tell Renzo. But it’s only a matter of months before he claims what’s his…

  Read on to get a glimpse of

  SECRETS OF A BILLIONAIRE’S MISTRESS

  CHAPTER ONE

  RENZO SABATINI WAS unbuttoning his shirt when the doorbell rang. He felt the beat of expectation. The familiar tug of heat to his groin. He was half tempted to pull the shirt from his shoulders so Darcy could slide her fingers over his skin, closely followed by those inventive lips of hers. The soft lick of her tongue could help him forget what lay ahead. He thought about Tuscany and the closing of a chapter. About the way some memories could still be raw even when so many years had passed and maybe that was why he never really stopped to think about them.

  But why concentrate on
darkness when Darcy was all sunshine and light? And why rush at sex when they had the whole night ahead—a smorgasbord of sensuality which he could enjoy at his leisure with his latest and most unexpected lover? A woman who demanded nothing other than that he satisfy her—something which was easy since he had only to touch her pale skin to grow so hard that it hurt. His mouth dried. Four months in and he was as bewitched by her as he had been from the start.

  In many ways he was astonished it had continued this long when their two worlds were so different. She was not his usual type of woman and he was very definitely not her type of man. He was into clean lines and minimalism, while Darcy was all voluptuous curves and lingerie which could barely contain her abundant flesh. His mouth curved into a hard smile. In reality it should never have lasted beyond one night but her tight body had been difficult to walk away from. It still was.

  The doorbell rang again and the glance he shot at his wristwatch was touched with irritation. Was she daring to be impatient when she wasn’t supposed to be here for another half-hour? Surely she knew the rules by now…that she was expected to fit around his schedule, rather than the other way round?

  Barefooted, he walked through the spacious rooms of his Belgravia apartment, pulling open the front door to see Darcy Denton standing there—small of stature and impossible to ignore—her magnificent curls misted with rain and tugged back into a ponytail so that only the bright red colour was on show. She wore a light raincoat, tightly belted to emphasise her tiny waist, but underneath she was still in her waitress’s uniform because she lived on the other side of London, an area Renzo had never visited—and he was perfectly content for it to stay that way. They’d established very quickly that if she went home after her shift to change, it wasted several hours—even if he sent his car to collect her. And Renzo was a busy man with an architectural practice which spanned several continents. His time was too precious to waste, which was why she always came straight from work with her overnight bag—though that was a largely unnecessary detail since she was rarely anything other than naked when she was with him.

  He stared down into her green eyes, which glittered like emeralds in porcelain-pale skin and, as always, his blood began to fizz with expectation and lust. ‘You’re early,’ he observed softly. ‘Did you time your visit especially because you knew I’d be undressing?’

  Darcy answered him with a tight smile as he opened the door to let her in. She was cold and she was wet and it had been the most awful day. A customer had spilt tea over her uniform. Then a child had been sick. She’d looked out of the window at the end of her shift to discover that the rain had started and someone must have taken her umbrella. And Renzo Sabatini was standing there in the warmth of his palatial apartment, looking glowing and delectable—making the assumption that she had nothing better to do than to time her visits just so she would find him half naked. Could she ever have met a man more arrogant?

  Yet she’d known what she was letting herself in for when she’d started this crazy affair. When she’d fought a silent battle against everything she’d known to be wrong. Because powerful men who dallied with waitresses only wanted one thing, didn’t they?

  She’d lost that particular battle and ended up in Renzo’s king-size bed—but nobody could say that her eyes hadn’t been open at the time. Well, some of the time at least—the rest of the time they’d fluttered to a quivering close as he had thrust deeply inside her until she was sobbing with pleasure. After resisting him as hard as she could, she’d decided to resist no more. Or maybe the truth was that she hadn’t been able to stop herself from falling into his arms. He’d kissed her and that had been it. She hadn’t known that a kiss could make you feel that way. She hadn’t realised that desire could make you feel as if you were floating. Or flying. She’d surrendered her virginity to him and, after his shocked reaction to discovering he was her first lover, he had introduced her to more pleasure than she’d thought possible, though in a life spectacularly short on the pleasure front that wouldn’t have been difficult, would it?

  For a while things had been fine. More than fine. She spent the night with him whenever he was in the country and had a space in his diary—and sometimes she spent the following day there, too. He cooked her eggs and played her music she’d never heard before—dreamy stuff featuring lots of violins—while he pored over the fabulously intricate drawings which would one day be transformed into the glittering and iconic skyscrapers for which he was famous.

  But lately something had started to niggle away inside her. Was it her conscience? Her sense that her already precarious self-worth was being eroded by him hiding her away in his palatial apartment, like a guilty secret? She wasn’t sure. All she knew was that she’d started to analyse what she’d become and hadn’t liked the answer she’d come up with.

  She was a wealthy man’s plaything. A woman who dropped her panties whenever he clicked those elegant olive fingers.

  But she was here now and it was stupid to let her reservations spoil the evening ahead, so she changed her tight smile into a bright smile as she dumped her overnight bag on the floor and tugged the elastic band from her hair. Shaking her damp curls free, she couldn’t deny the satisfaction it gave her to see the way Renzo’s eyes had darkened in response—although her physical appeal to him had never been in any question. He couldn’t seem to get enough of her and she suspected she knew why. Because she was different. Working class, for a start. She hadn’t been to college—in fact, she’d missed out on more schooling than she should have done and nearly everything she knew had been self-taught. She was curvy and redheaded, when usually he went for slender brunettes—that was if all the photos in the newspapers were to be believed. They were certainly mismatched on just about every level, except when it came to bed.

  Because the sex was amazing—it always had been—but it couldn’t continue like this, taking her on an aimless path which was leading nowhere. Darcy knew what she had to do. She knew you could only fool yourself for so long before reality started hurting and forced you to change. She’d noticed Renzo was starting to take her for granted and knew that, if it continued, all the magic they’d shared would just wither away. And she didn’t want that, because memories were powerful things. The bad ones were like heavy burdens you had to carry around with you and she was determined to have some good ones to lighten the load. So when was she going to grab the courage to walk away from him, before Renzo did the walking and left her feeling broken and crushed?

  ‘I’m early because I sent your driver away and took the Tube instead,’ she explained, brushing excess raindrops from her forest of red curls.

  ‘You sent the driver away?’ He frowned as he slid the damp raincoat from her shoulders. ‘Why on earth would you do that?’

  Darcy sighed, wondering what it must be like to be Renzo Sabatini and live in an enclosed and protected world, where chauffeur-driven cars and private jets shielded you from rain and snow and the worries of most normal folk. Where people did your shopping and picked up your clothes where you’d left them on the bedroom floor the night before. A world where you didn’t have to speak to anyone unless you really wanted to, because there was always some minion who would do the speaking for you.

  ‘Because the traffic is a nightmare at this time of day and often we’re forced to sit in a queue, moving at a snail’s pace.’ She took the coat from him and gave it a little shake before hanging it in the cupboard. ‘Public transport happens to have a lot going for it during the rush hour. Now, rather than debating my poor time-keeping can I please have a cup of tea? I’m f-f-freezing.’

  But he didn’t make any move towards the kitchen as most people might have done after such a wobbly request. He took her in his arms and kissed her instead. His lips were hard as they pressed against hers and his fingers caressed her bottom through her uniform dress as he brought her up close to his body. Close enough for her to feel the hardness of his erection and the warmth of his bare chest as he deepened the kiss. Darcy’s eyelid
s fluttered to a close as one hard thigh pushed insistently against hers and she could feel her own parting in automatic response. And suddenly her coldness was forgotten and tea was the last thing on her mind. Her questions and insecurities dissolved as he deepened the kiss and all she was aware of was the building heat as her chilled fingers crept up to splay themselves over his bare and hair-roughened torso.

  ‘Hell, Renzo,’ she breathed.

  ‘Is it really hell?’ he murmured.

  ‘No, it’s…’ she brushed her lips over his ‘…heaven, if you must know.’

  ‘That’s what I thought. Are you trying to warm your hands on my chest?’

  ‘Trying. I don’t think I’m having very much luck. You do many things very well, but acting as a human hot-water bottle isn’t one of them.’

  ‘No. You could be right. My skills definitely lie in other directions. Perhaps I could demonstrate some of them to you right now.’ He moved his hand from her bottom and curled his fingers round hers as he guided her hand towards his groin. ‘In which case I think you’d better join me in the shower, don’t you?’

  She couldn’t have said no even if she’d wanted to. One touch from Renzo was like lighting the touchpaper. Two seconds in his arms and she went up in flames.

  In the bathroom, he unzipped her drab beige uniform, soft words of Italian falling from his lips as her breasts were revealed to him. Disproportionately big breasts which had always been the bane of her life, because she’d spent her life with men’s attention being constantly homed in on them. She’d often thought longingly of a breast reduction—except who could afford an operation like that on the money she earned waiting tables? So she’d made do with wearing restrictive bras, until Renzo had taught her to love her body and told her that her breasts were the most magnificent thing he’d ever seen. To enjoy being suckled or having his teeth tease the sensitive flesh until she was crying out with pleasure. He’d started to buy lingerie for her, too—the only thing she’d ever allowed him to buy for her and only because he’d insisted. He couldn’t understand why she wouldn’t let him spend money on her, but her reasons were raw and painful and she had no intention of letting him in on her secret.