Читать книгу Modern Romance February Books 5-8 - Jane Porter, Annie West - Страница 15

STEPPING OUT OF the shower, Aristo reached for a towel and rubbed it briefly over his lean, muscular body. He smoothed his damp hair against his skull and, still naked, stepped into his dressing room. Stopping in front of the shelves, he let his dark eyes scan their colour-coded contents momentarily, before picking out a pair of dark blue swim shorts and a lighter blue T-shirt.

He sighed. If only the rest of his life could be as organised and straightforward.

Sliding his watch over his knuckles, he glanced down at the time and frowned. It was early—far too early for anyone else on the island to be awake. But although it was the first day of his holiday his body still insisted on acting as though it was just another day at the office.

Actually, not all of his body, he thought grimly.

Twelve hours on a plane with Teddie had left him aching with a sexual frustration that made not just sleep but relaxing almost impossible.

He grimaced. Only, in comparison to what was going on inside his head, the discomfort in his groin seemed completely inconsequential.

His heart began to beat unsteadily.

Had he really told Teddie all that stuff about his father? He could hardly believe it.

He’d spent most of his adolescence and adult life suppressing that hurt and disappointment, building barriers between himself and the world, and especially between himself and his wife. Ordinarily he found it easy to deter personal questions. But yesterday Teddie had refused to take no for an answer. Instead she had waited, and listened, and coaxed the truth out of him.

Not the whole truth, of course—he would never be ready to share that with anyone—just the reason why he was so determined to remarry her.

It had been hard enough to reveal even that much, for it had been the first time he’d ever really tried to untangle the mess of emotions he felt for his father. The first time he’d spoken out loud about Apostolos’s indifference and almost total absence from his life.

It had been a rare loss of self-control—one that he still couldn’t fully explain. But Teddie had been, and was still, the only person who could get under his skin and make him see fifty shades of red. She alone had overridden all his carefully placed defences, and it wasn’t the first time it had happened. Despite her being the wrong woman in the wrong place at the wrong time, he’d not only led her to his bedroom but up the aisle.

His mind took him back to the moment when he’d first become aware of the existence of Teddie Taylor at the opening of his first major project—the Rocky Creek Ranch. It had been a vision nearly two years in the making: a luxury resort offering all-American activities on a three-thousand-acre mountain playground.

He’d wanted his mother, Helena, to be there, but inevitably—and despite his reminding her frequently about the date—there had been a clash. His half-brother, Oliver, had been playing in some polo match, so his mother had missed what had been up until then the most important moment in his career.

He’d almost not gone to the opening. But as usual business had overridden emotion and he’d bitten down on his disappointment and joined the specially selected guests to watch the evening’s cabaret.

He wasn’t entirely sure when Teddie had stopped being just the entertainment. He’d barely registered the other acts and, although he’d thought her beautiful, she was not his usual type. Only, at some point, as she had effortlessly shuffled and cut the cards in front of her captive audience, he’d been unable to look away—and, despite believing himself indifferent to magic, he’d found himself falling under her spell.

Catching a glimpse of green eyes the colour of unripe olives, he’d willed her to look at him, and just as though he’d waved a magic wand she picked him out from the crowd. Even now he could still remember the jolt of electricity as their hands had touched, but at the end of the performance she’d turned away to mingle with the other guests.

Only, of course that hadn’t really been the end of her performance.

She’d been waiting for him in the bar.

With the watch she’d removed from his wrist.

Seven weeks later they had been married, and six months after that they’d been divorced.

Angry and hurt, he’d cast her as the villain, believing that she’d seen him as a warm-up act—a means to gain access to the kind of society where there would be rich pickings for a beautiful, smart and sexy woman like Teddie Taylor.

Now, with hindsight, he could see that it had been easy to persuade himself that those were the cold, hard facts, for there had been a deeper anger there. An anger with himself. Anger because he’d allowed himself to be drawn to a woman like her after all he’d been through and seen.

He frowned. Four years ago it had all seemed so simple. He’d thought he understood Teddie completely.

Now, though, it was clear that he’d never really understood her at all. Worse, his previous assessment of her seemed to bear no relation to the woman who had been so worried about him on the plane. Or to the woman who had financially supported herself and their child on her own.

A light breeze ruffled the white muslin curtains and he turned towards the window, his eyes lingering on the calm blue sea that stretched out to the horizon in every direction. Had the single-mindedness that had always been his greatest strength actually been a weakness? Had he put two and two together and made minus four?

Frowning again, he stepped towards the window, pondering how that could be the case.

Although he’d condemned her as shallow and grasping when they’d split up, he couldn’t ignore the facts, and the truth was that Teddie had neither challenged the modest settlement she’d received at the time of their divorce—a settlement which had obviously not included raising George—or pursued him for more money.

In fact she had successfully supported both herself and their son without him, and reluctantly, he found himself contemplating the astonishing possibility that he might actually have misjudged Teddie. That maybe he’d cut and pasted his parents’ mismatched and unhappy relationship onto his own marriage, making the facts fit the theory.

But what were the facts about his ex-wife? What did he really know about Teddie?

He breathed out slowly and started walking towards the door. Judging by that conversation on the plane, not as much as he’d thought he did. Or as much as he should.

Teddie had been his wife. He might not remember his vows word for word—there had been too much adrenaline in his blood, and a sense of standing on the edge of a cliff—but surely her husband should have been the person who knew her best.

Thinking about her baffling remarks on the plane, he felt his shoulders tense.

Yesterday she’d as good as admitted that she wanted him—why, then, had she held back? And what had she meant by telling him that she couldn’t have everything she wanted?

He felt his heartbeat slow.

In principle, this holiday was supposed to be all about getting to know his son, but clearly he needed to get to know his ex-wife as well. In fact it wasn’t just a need—he wanted to get to know Teddie, to get close to her.

His legs stopped moving, and something exploded inside his chest like a firecracker as he realised that he wasn’t just talking about her body. No, what really fascinated him about his beautiful, infuriating, mysterious ex-wife was her mind.

His heartbeat doubled, a flare of excitement catching him off-guard.

Last time they hadn’t got to know each other as people. It hadn’t been that kind of relationship, or even any relationship really—just desire, raw and intoxicating as moonshine.

Marriage had been the furthest thought from his mind. Even now he didn’t understand why he’d done it. Watching his father be taken for a fool should have been warning enough to steer clear of matrimony, but Teddie had slipped past his defences.

And now she was the mother of his child, and the logical and necessary consequence of that fact was that they should remarry, for it was his job to take care of his child and the mother of his child.

Only, this time it would be different—more like a business deal. There would be no messy emotions or expectations. He would set the boundaries, and there would be no overstepping them, and then he would have it all—a global business empire, a beautiful wife and a son.

All he needed to do now was convince Teddie to give him a second chance.

He blew out a breath. Judging by her continued resistance to even the possibility of renewing their relationship, that was going to be something of a challenge—particularly as he didn’t know where or how to start.

But so what if he didn’t have all the answers? What he did know for certain was that as of now he was going to do whatever it took to find out what made Teddie Taylor tick.

And, feeling calmer than he had in days, he started walking towards the door again.

* * *

‘Wait a minute, George.’ Turning her son gently to face her, Teddie rubbed sunscreen into the soft skin of his arms, marvelling as she did every morning that she’d had anything to do with producing this beautiful little human.

His small face was turned up towards hers, the dark eyes watching her trustingly, and she felt her heart contract not only with love but at the knowledge that she had never felt as her son did. He had been raised to feel secure in a world where he was loved and protected. Whereas she had known nothing but a life spent in flux, with parents who had been absent either in body or mind.

She thought about herself at the same age. Of her mother, drifting through the house in a haze of painkillers, barely registering her small daughter. And then she thought of herself a few years later, at school, when her constant fear had been that her mother’s fixed smile and narcotised stare would be obvious to others.

It had felt like a dead weight inside her chest, a burden without respite—for of course her father had been away, his wife and daughter no match for whatever get-rich-quick scheme he had been chasing.

‘Mommy, are we going in the pool now?’

‘We are.’ She smiled down at her son’s excited face. He had been talking about nothing else since he’d woken up. ‘Just let me find your hat.’

He frowned. ‘I don’t want to wear it.’

‘I know,’ she said calmly. ‘But it’s hot outside and you need to protect your head. I’m going to be wearing my hat.’ She pointed to the oversized straw hat she’d seen and then impulse-bought in a shop on her way home from work.

George stared up at her. ‘Does Aristo have a hat too?’

Her smile stiffened. ‘I don’t know. He might do.’

Looking down into her son’s dark eyes—eyes that so resembled his father’s—Teddie felt her stomach flip over, as it did every single time George mentioned Aristo’s name.

But it was a small price to pay for being permitted into paradise, she thought, closing the tube of sunscreen as she glanced at the view from her window. The island was beautiful. Although just an hour by motorboat from the mainland, it felt otherworldly, mythical.

It was a wisp of land with bleached sandy beaches and coves, and luminous turquoise water so clear you could see every ripple on the seabed. The villa itself looked like something you might read about in one of those glossy lifestyle magazines, dazzling white beneath the fierce sunlight. There were views everywhere of the sky and sea, and occasional glimpses of the elliptically-shaped pool—blue on blue on blue. And if all that wasn’t enough, there was a garden filled with fruit trees and the drowsy hum of bees.

It was untouched and timeless, and in another life she could have imagined switching off and losing herself in its raw, unpolished beauty and sage-scented air.

But, despite the sun-drenched peace of her surroundings, and her own composed appearance, she felt anything but calm.

She’d woken early from a dream—something familiar but imprecise—and it had taken her a wild moment to remember where she was. Lying back against the pressed white linen pillowcase, she had steadied her breathing. Her restless mind, though, had proved harder to soothe.

Ever since she’d walked out of Aristo’s office she’d been trying to come to terms with everything that had happened and how she was feeling about it.

Or, more specifically, how she was feeling about the man who had just barged back into her life—for, as much as she’d have liked to pretend otherwise, it wasn’t this heavenly island that was dominating her thoughts but her ex-husband.

Perhaps, though, that was progress of a sort. For at least now she could admit, even if only to herself, that Aristo had always been in the background of her life.

Of course she’d wanted to forget him. She’d tried hard to make it appear as though he’d never existed. And outwardly she’d succeeded. She had a job and friends and an apartment, and they were all separate from her life with Aristo. But she could see now that her unresolved feelings for him had continued to influence the way she lived. Why else had she kept every other man except Elliot at a distance? Even the sweet single dads she met at nursery.

Her fingers tightened around the sunscreen.

Not that it would have made any difference if she’d welcomed them with open arms. What man was ever going to be able to match Aristotle Leonidas? He had shaped her life and he was an impossible act to follow on so many levels—not just in terms of his wealth or even his astonishing beauty. There was an elusive quality to him that fascinated her. He was like a mirage that shimmered in the distance, hazy and tantalising, always just out of reach, slipping between her fingers like smoke.

Her heart began to beat faster.

Except yesterday, when out of nowhere he’d suddenly unbent, opening up to her about his childhood in a way that she would never have imagined possible. It had been a brief glimpse into what had made him the man he was, but also a fairly damning reflection on their marriage—for how could she have known so little about the man who had been her lover and her husband?

It wasn’t all her fault, though, she thought defensively. Aristo had been as reluctant to discuss his past as she had, and a part of her couldn’t help but wonder if it wouldn’t have been a lot easier if they’d had that conversation four years ago,

Instead, though, he had stonewalled her, and she’d run away.

And if she hadn’t been marooned on an island on the other side of the world that was what she should be doing now—beating a dignified but hasty retreat from his unsettling, dangerously tempting presence.

Picking up George’s hat, she shivered at the memory of how close she’d come to giving in to that temptation. She was just so vulnerable where Aristo was concerned… Only, it went deeper than that. Her need to exonerate and turn a blind eye was rooted in a childhood spent craving and competing for her father’s attention.

It had been the pattern of her early life: Wyatt’s intermittent absences followed by his inevitable reappearance. No matter how unhappy and angry she’d been, every time he’d come back she’d let herself believe his promises, allowed herself to care. And every time he had left she had felt more worthless than the time before.

And that was why she wasn’t going to fall into the same pattern with Aristo.

No matter how sexy or charming he was, one shared confidence couldn’t change the facts. It was too little, too late. They didn’t trust each other, and that was why their marriage had failed—why she couldn’t give in to the sexual pull between them now.

Making love with Aristo again would undoubtedly be unforgettable, but she knew from experience that the people she cared about found it exceptionally easy to forget her.

That episode in the plane had hinted at what would happen if she gave in, how quickly everything would start to unravel…

She breathed out slowly. Was that true, or was she overreacting? After all, what was really so wrong about two people who had once shared a unique and powerful chemistry getting together again? Plenty of people did it: Elliot for one.

Only, this was different. There was George to consider, so there would be no way out…nowhere to run.

Her mouth was suddenly dry and she felt a rushing panic, like a stone dropping into the darkness. And besides, this wasn’t some game of spin the bottle—and Aristo wasn’t some old flame she could casually reignite.

He was a forest fire.

One touch was all it had taken to awaken her body from hibernation. One more touch and she would be lost. And next time she felt like giving in to the heat of his body and the strength of his shoulders she needed to remember that.

Outside on the terrace, George instantly tugged his hand free and scampered towards Aristo. She followed him reluctantly, suddenly conscious of the fact that both she and Aristo were semi-naked, and wishing that she’d packed a one-piece as well as her bikinis.

George was gazing up at his father. ‘I want you to take me swimming.’

Aristo laughed. ‘So let’s go swimming.’ He hesitated. ‘Is that all right?’ Glancing over, he stared at her questioningly, and she almost burst out laughing, for his expression so closely mirrored their small son’s.

Nodding, she turned towards George. ‘Yes, but you have to do what Aristo tells you.’

She felt it on her skin before she saw it: the slow upturn of his mouth, the teasing glitter in his dark eyes.

‘Does that go for you too?’ he asked softly.

Her heartbeat faltered. Somewhere beyond her suddenly blurred vision she heard the faint splash of waves as a pulse of excitement began beating beneath her skin. For a sharp, dizzying second they stared at each other, and then, glancing pointedly back at George, she smiled.

‘I’m going to read my book, darling. I’ll be just over here, okay?’

Ignoring the amusement in Aristo’s eyes, she quickly sat down on one of the loungers that had been arranged temptingly around the pool. Unwrapping her sarong, she stretched out her legs and glanced over to where Aristo had been sitting. Instantly her mood shifted. A mass of documents were spread out over the table and beside them, open in the sunshine, was his laptop.

Seriously? Had he really brought work with him?

Her eyes narrowed. But when had Aristo ever put work anywhere but first on his agenda? She thought back to the long, empty evenings she’d spent alone in their beautiful cavernous apartment, feeling that same sense of failure and fear that she was not enough to deserve anyone’s unswerving attention.

Fleetingly she considered saying something—but it was only the first day of their holiday, so maybe she should give him the benefit of the doubt. After all, he had walked away from his office at a moment’s notice, and that would have meant unpicking a full diary of meetings and appointments.

Out of the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of hard, primed muscle, and instantly a heat that had nothing to do with the Mediterranean sun spread slowly over her skin.

Picking up her book, she opened it at random, irritated that, even when faced with evidence of his continuing obsession with work, her body still seemed stubbornly and irrationally determined to ignore the bad in favour of the good.

There was a loud splash, and automatically her eyes darted over to where the ‘good’ was unapologetically on display. In the shallow end of the pool Aristo was raising George out of the water on his shoulders, droplets of water trickling down the muscles of his arms and chest, and in the dazzling golden light he looked shockingly beautiful.

She gritted her teeth. Why couldn’t he own a ski lodge? Some snowbound chalet where quilted jackets and chunky jumpers were practically mandatory? she thought, her heart thumping as Aristo stood up and began to walk out of the water, the wet fabric of his shorts clinging to the blatantly masculine outline of his body.

Fully clothed and in a crowded hotel he had been hard to ignore, but half naked on a private island he was almost impossible to resist.

As though reading her mind, Aristo chose that particular moment to look over at her, and she felt a cool tingle run down her spine as his dark eyes drifted over her face, homing in on her mouth in a way that emptied the breath from her lungs.

She wanted to look away, but forced herself to meet his eyes—and then immediately wished she hadn’t as his piercing gaze dropped to the pulse beating agitatedly at the base of her throat, then lower still to the curve of her breasts beneath the peach-coloured bikini.

‘Look at me, Mommy! Look!’ George waved his hands excitedly.

‘Don’t worry, George,’ Aristo said softly, his dark eyes gleaming. ‘Mommy’s looking.’

Her skin was prickling as, still carrying their giggling son, he walked slowly towards her. Depositing George onto his feet, he dropped down lightly onto the lounger beside her, his cool, damp body sending a jolt over her skin like sheet lightning.

‘Here.’ Grabbing a towel, she unceremoniously pushed it into his hands. ‘Why don’t you dry off?’

‘I thought you might like to take a dip with me.’

His voice was cool and controlled, but the taunting expression in his eyes made her breath catch in her throat.

‘Or are you scared of getting out of your depth?’

Their gazes locked and she wondered how it was possible that one little sentence could make her feel her so naked and exposed.

She tried to think of something smart to say, but she was struggling to control her voice. ‘No, of course I’m not scared.’ She glared at him.

His eyes hadn’t left her face. ‘Did you hear that, George?’ He glanced slyly over at his son. ‘Mommy’s going to come swimming with us.’

‘I didn’t say that—’ But as George began jumping up and down, she gave up. She held up her hands. ‘Okay, okay—I’ll go swimming. But later.’

Her face grew warm as she felt his dark eyes slowly inspect her, his narrowed gaze rolling over each of her ribs like a car over speed bumps.

‘That colour really suits you,’ he said softly.

Leaning forward, he tipped her book upwards to glance at the cover and she felt his thigh press against hers. Her mouth suddenly dry, she stared across at him.

‘Thank you.’ She felt her lips move, heard her voice, but none of it felt real. Nothing felt real, in fact, except the hard length of his leg.

‘Mommy? Please may I have a juice?’

Turning towards her son, she nodded. ‘Of course, darling.’

‘I’ll take him.’ Aristo stood up, and she clenched her muscles against the sudden, almost brutal feeling of loss as she watched her son trotting happily beside her ex-husband towards the villa.

* * *

Later, she joined them in the pool, and then she dozed in the sunshine while Aristo taught George to do a kneeling dive.

It felt strange, watching the two of them. In fact she felt the tiniest bit jealous of her son’s fascination with Aristo, for up until now it had always been just the two of them. Mainly, though, she was stunned but happy at how quickly and effortlessly they had bonded, and at the fact that Aristo seemed as enchanted by George as she was.

A knot began to form in her stomach. It had caught her off-guard, Aristo being so gentle and patient with his son. Growing up, that had been all she’d ever wanted from her own father—to be more than the fleeting focus of his wandering attention. And the blossoming relationship between Aristo and George was not merely a reminder of what she’d missed out on growing up, it also confirmed what she’d already subconsciously accepted—that there was no going back. They were going to have to tell George the truth.

Gazing down at the open but unread page of her book, Teddie felt a flicker of panic. Not about her son’s likely reaction to the news, but about what would happen when they left the island and returned to normal life.

Aristo might appear to be fully focused on George right now, but this was the honeymoon period, and she knew how swiftly and devastatingly things could change. Back in New York, her son would no longer be the only item on Aristo’s agenda. He was going to have to compete for his father’s time against the allure and challenge of work.

The tension in her chest wound tighter and tighter and she gripped the edges of the book, remembering how glorious it had been to feel the warmth of his gaze. And how cold it had felt when she’d been pushed into the shadows.

But it was too late to worry about that now. George wasn’t going to stay as a three-year-old for ever, and sooner or later he was going to want to know who his father was. And—as she’d already discovered—there was never a right time to tell the truth.

‘I thought we might eat together later tonight. Just the two of us.’

Aristo’s voice cut into her thoughts and her chin jerked up. They were lazing by the pool beneath a gleaming white canvas canopy. His gaze was steady, his voice measured.

‘We need to talk,’ he said quietly. ‘And, much as I love having our son around, it’ll be easier to do that when he’s not there.’

She knew her face had stilled. Her heart had stilled too, at the thought of spending an evening alone with him. But, ignoring the panicky drumming of her heart, she nodded. ‘I agree.’

And then, before her face could betray her, she lowered the brim of her hat and leaned back against the sun lounger.

* * *

Three hours later, the heat of the day was starting to drop and a faint breeze was riffling the glassy surface of the pool.

Glancing down at her cup of coffee, Teddie felt her spine tense. The meal would soon be over, but she still hadn’t managed to say even one word of what was whirling inside her head.

Looking up, she felt her heart drop forward like a rollercoaster. Aristo was watching her, his gaze so calm and knowing that she felt as if she’d been caught with her hand in his jacket. Except he wasn’t wearing a jacket.

Just a washed-out black Henley and a pair of cream linen trousers.

‘You’re quiet,’ he said softly.

‘Am I?’ She felt her cheeks flush, hearing the nervousness in her voice.

‘Yes, unnervingly so.’ His eyes looked directly into hers and she suddenly wished that it was whisky, not coffee that she was drinking.

She frowned. ‘I’m just thinking…’

‘Whoa! I wasn’t getting at you. I don’t want to fight.’

He held up his napkin and waved it in a gesture of surrender, but she barely noticed; she was too busy following the lazy curve of his smile.

Her own smile was instant, instinctive, unstoppable. ‘I’m not looking for a fight either…’ She hesitated. ‘I was just thinking about us, and George, and…’

He sat watching her, waiting, and she looked away, fearful of what she would see in his eyes.

‘And… Well, I think we should tell him tomorrow that you’re his father.’

There was a stretch of silence.

Aristo studied her face.

Caught between the flickering nightlights and the darkness she looked tense, wary, apprehensive and he could sense the effort her words had taken.

Of course, logically, now he and George had met, it was inevitable that they should tell him the truth, and it was what he wanted—or at least a part of what he wanted. But, as much as he wanted to acknowledge his son as his own, these last few days had taught him that the decision needed to come from Teddie.

And now it had.

He exhaled slowly, relief vying with satisfaction. It wasn’t quite the hand of friendship, but it was a start.

His eyes wandered idly over the simple yellow dress she was wearing, lingering on the upward curve of her breasts. And anyway, he wanted Teddie to be a whole lot more than just a friend.

‘Are you sure?’ He spoke carefully. ‘We can wait. I can wait.’

He was rapidly becoming an expert in waiting. Shifting against the ache in his groin, he gritted his teeth and glanced away to the white line of slow-moving surf down on the beach.

Teddie felt her heart jump against her ribs. Incredibly, Aristo was giving her a choice, but to her surprise she realised that now was the right time.

‘I’m sure.’

And once they did then there really would be no going back.

She felt a spasm of panic, needle-sharp, like a blade beneath her ribs. Was she doing the right thing? Or had she just doomed her son to the same fate that she’d endured? A childhood marked with uncertainty and self-doubt, with a father who would cloak his absences beneath the virtuous task of supporting his family.

‘He needs to know.’ Hearing the words out loud, she felt tears coming. Quickly she bolstered her panic. ‘But I need to know that you understand what this means.’

He frowned. ‘If I didn’t I wouldn’t be here.’

Pushing back her chair, she stood up unsteadily. ‘So this is all about you, is it?’

‘That’s not what I’m saying.’

He was standing now too.

‘That’s what it sounded like.’

She heard him inhale and her anger shifted to guilt. It wasn’t fair to twist his words when she wasn’t being honest about her own feelings.

‘I just mean that being a father is a lifetime commitment.’

His face hardened. ‘I’d like to say that’s not something I’m going to forget but, given my own childhood, I can’t. All I can say is that I am going to be there for George—for you.’

Teddie fought the beating of her heart. He was saying all the right things and she wanted to believe him—only believing him set off in her a whole new spiral of half-thought-out fears and uncertainties.

‘Good.’ She was trying hard to let nothing show in her eyes but he was staring at her impatiently.

‘Is it? Because it doesn’t sound like it to me.’

He moved swiftly round the table, stopping in front of her. The paleness of her face made her eyes seem incredibly green, and he ran his hand over his face, needing action to counteract the ache in his chest, unsure of his footing in this uncharted territory.

‘Teddie…’ He softened his voice.

She lifted one hand to her throat and raised the other in front of her, as though warding him off. It was a gesture of such conflicting vulnerability and defiance that he was suddenly struggling to breathe.

‘I’m not just saying what I think you want to hear.’

‘I know.’ She gave him a small, sad smile. ‘And I want you to be there for George. It’s just it’s only ever been me and him. I know you’re his father, but I’ve never had to share him before and it feels like a big deal.’

Aristo stared down at her. The fact that Teddie loved her son so fiercely made something wrench apart inside his chest and, taking a step forward, he pulled her gently towards him.

‘I’m not going to take him away from you, Teddie,’ he said softly. ‘I couldn’t even if I wanted to. You’re his mother. But I want to be the best father I can be. The best man I can be.’

He felt some of the tension ease out of her spine and shoulders, and then, leaning forward unsteadily, she rested her head against his chest.

Listening to the solid beat of his heart, Teddie felt her body start to soften, adrenalin dissolving in her blood, his clean masculine scent filling her chest.

The air around them was suddenly heavy and charged. She felt weightless, lost in the moment and in him, so that without thinking she curled her arms around his body, her fingers following the contours of the muscles of his back. And then she was pushing up his T-shirt and touching smooth, warm skin.

His hand was sliding rhythmically through her hair, tipping her head back, and his mouth was brushing over her cheeks and lips like the softest feathers, teasing her so that she could hear her own breathing inside her head, like the waves rushing inside a seashell.

She took a breath, her hands splaying out, wanting more of his skin, his heat, his smooth, hard muscle. Her heart was pounding, the longing inside of her combusting as she felt the fingers of his other hand travel lightly over her bare back. And then her stomach clenched as he parted her lips and kissed her open-mouthed, his tongue so warm and soft and teasing that she felt the lick of heat slide through her like a flame.

Her head was swimming.

She wanted more—more of his mouth, his touch, his skin—so much more of him. Reaching up, she clasped his face, kissing him back, pulling him closer, lifting her hips and oscillating against him, trying, needing to relieve the ache radiating from her pelvis.

Heat was spilling over her skin and, arching upwards, she felt his breath stumble, and then he was sliding a hand through her hair, holding her captive as he kissed her more deeply, his warm breath filling her mouth so that she was melting from the inside out.

Her fingers were scrabbling against his skin… She moaned…

There was a second of agonising pulsing stillness, and then slowly she felt him pull away.

His eyes were dark with passion. For a moment he didn’t speak, and she knew as he breathed out roughly that he was looking for the right words, looking for any words because he was as stunned as she.

‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.’

She stared up at him, an ache like thirst spreading outwards. ‘Me neither.’

‘So I suppose we should just forget it ever happened.’

He made it sound like a statement, but she knew it was a question from the dark and unblinking intensity of his gaze. Suddenly she could barely breathe.

Should they? Would it really be so very bad to press her foot down on the accelerator pedal and run the red light just once?

She could feel something inside her shifting and softening, and the urge to reach out was so intense and pure that she almost cried out. But her need for him couldn’t be trusted on so many levels—not least the fact that no man had come close to filling the emptiness that she’d been ignoring for four years.

‘I think that would be for the best,’ she said quickly, lifting her gaze, her green eyes meeting his. ‘Just be a father to him.’

His steady, knowing gaze made her heartbeat falter and she glanced away, up to a near perfect moon, glowing pearlescent in the darkening sky.

‘Thank you for a lovely evening, but I should probably go and check on George.’

And, taking a fast, hard breath, she sidestepped past him and walked on shaking legs towards the villa.

In the darkness of her son’s room she leaned against the wall, seeking solace in its cool surface.

She shouldn’t have agreed with him.

She should have told him that he was wrong.

Then remembering his open laptop, she tensed. They might have called a ceasefire, but she still didn’t trust him.

And it wasn’t just Aristo she didn’t trust. She didn’t trust herself either.

Four years ago she’d let her libido overrule not just her common sense but every instinct she’d had, and it had been a disaster. Nothing had changed except this time she knew the score.

Aristo might be the only man who had made her body sing, but she knew now that if she allowed herself to be intimate with him then she ran the risk of getting hurt—and she’d worked so hard to un-love him.

So that left friendship. Not the sort of easy affection and solidarity that she shared with Elliot, but the polite formality of former lovers now sidestepping around each other’s lives and new partners.

Her heart lurched as visions of Aristo with a new wife flooded her head and she felt suddenly sick. It had been hard enough getting over him last time. Far worse though was the thought of having to witness him sharing his life with someone else.