A Father At Last

by Julie Mac

  “Still want to go home?” A smile teased his lips.

  She groaned and grabbed a handful of his shirt to pull his face down to hers.

  She kissed him with a passion pent‐up for far too long, and he answered in kind.

  Kissing Ben was as natural as breathing, she thought, exploring freely with her tongue, revelling in the tastes and sensations she’d given up for lost so long ago.

  He was still propped on one elbow; his other hand ran up the length of her jeaned leg, skimmed over her bottom, traversed her stomach and came to rest on her ribcage.

  Through the thick cotton fabric of her T‐shirt, he caressed her flesh, his fingers moving with a lover’s confidence, and sending her heart into overdrive.

  Julie Mac

  Fleetingly, Kelly thought of the blue silk top she’d taken off in favour of the T‐shirt. If she’d worn that, his fingers on the soft, lustrous fabric would have felt like skin on skin. For a moment she wished—fervently—that she’d worn it instead of the clunky corporate T‐shirt.

  And that she’d left her hair down, and her makeup in version one mode.

  At that moment, she wanted, more than anything in the world, to look beautiful for Ben—to be hot in his eyes. She wanted to please him, because right now, he sure as heck was pleasing her, not just with his hands but with his mouth too, which was currently running a string of little kisses from the corner of her lips, across her jaw, down the delicate skin of her throat, and back up to whisper against the super‐sensitive skin below her ear.

  She couldn’t contain her whimper of pleasure, then his magic mouth was back on hers, teasing, tempting and more sensuous than the finest of silk fabrics.

  When his hand moved up to rest on the downward slope of her breast, reality crashed in. Lying here on the beach, with the sand warm on her back under the picnic rug, with the sea singing its endless lullaby in the dark, and Ben kissing her, was bliss—

  supercharged bliss—but it had to stop.

  She was a grown woman, with responsibilities. She twisted her head to dislodge his wicked mouth, and clamped her hand on top of his, intending to pull it from her breast.

  “Stop, Ben!” Her voice sounded oddly ragged. “We can’t do this.”

  She tugged at his hand, but it stayed put, and she felt his fingers running over the thick fabric of her T‐shirt to explore the lacy texture of her bra beneath. Before she knew what was happening, he’d shucked his hand out from under hers to pull up her T‐shirt, exposing the lacy, ribbon‐trimmed confection of a bra.

  “So you did dress up for me!”

  His lips curved in a knowing smile as his eyes made an unashamedly appreciative traverse of the twin black and pink peaks and the gully in between.

  Kelly wished her breathing hadn’t accelerated quite so fast, making the objects of his interest heave up and down. As he lowered his mouth to the smooth slope of skin above the pretty ribboned upper contour, she brought her hand up to tug at her T‐shirt, and cursed herself for not replacing her one and only fancy bra with a plain, utilitarian, everyday model when she’d changed.

  “No!” Yes! What was it about Ben Carter that had her telling little white lies every five minutes? “Of course not. I wear bras like this all the time.”

  “Really?” His cocked eyebrow told her he knew damn well she’d worn the fancy bra with him in mind.

  “Yes, really. And we have to stop this.” She dragged the T‐shirt all the way down, registering the fact he made no effort to stop her. “We’re on a beach, for heaven’s sake. In a public place. Someone might see us!”

  “Apart from the fact that it’s now dark, there’s only one other couple on the beach, and they’re way down the other end.” He moved his body so he was lying on his back beside A Father at Last

  her, propped on his elbows. “I’ve been checking.”

  “Thank goodness for that!”

  Or maybe not. If there were people around he wouldn’t be doing these things to scramble her brain and make her act so…irresponsibly. Like a teenage girl. She had to get away from him, now, before she did something really stupid. Like ask him to come home with her. She hoped he didn’t hear the sharp intake of breath that thought provoked.

  Think about something else. A picture of the young widow and her kids popped into her head.

  “Did you get that young mother’s phone number, Ben? I could give her a call tomorrow and see how the baby’s getting on.”

  He shook his head and smiled lazily at her. “Still the head prefect, mm‐mm? Still looking out for everyone else?”

  “No. Just concerned.” And then another picture filled her mind, unwelcome as a cold house in winter, and she couldn’t stop the words tumbling from her mouth.

  “You had a funny look on your face, Ben, when she talked about the P‐lab burning.

  Did you know about that case? Did you know people involved?”

  He sat up, and she pushed herself up, too.

  “Maybe I did.” He wasn’t laughing.

  Her heart plummeted. She nodded slowly. “So you’re admitting you move in criminal circles?”

  He stood in one smooth move, then extended a hand down to her. She took his hand and let him pull her up so they stood facing each other. His dark brows were drawn together, and any trace of a smile was gone.

  “Why do you always want to think the worst of me, Kelly?”

  “I don’t.” But she knew that wasn’t true.

  “Maybe I’m a good guy in disguise.”

  “My eyes tell me a different story.”

  “You see what you want to see.” He took both her hands in his. “And if you thought I was one of the good guys, Kelly, would we be here tonight, doing this?” He leaned in and kissed her slowly and so thoroughly, she thought her insides would melt.

  At last he pulled back, saying, “I don’t think so.”

  His eyes were steady on hers. For ten seconds, twenty maybe, he said nothing, then,

  “I think you’d rather I was Ben the bad boy, unattainable, untouchable, because then you have an excuse not to get involved. You can kiss and cuddle. Hell, you can even make love to me and walk away, without so much as a goodbye, like you did when we were twenty‐one.”

  Julie Mac

  He was speaking softly. “But if I was one of the good guys, I think you’d run a mile because then there’d be no reason not to get involved. And getting involved—committing—means risking having a man leave you high and dry.”

  She shook her head slowly, from side to side. “No, you’re wrong, Ben. Totally wrong.” But she felt a weakness, deep inside, like a dam wall about to burst.

  “Am I wrong? You’re twenty‐seven years old, with a child, but you’ve never committed to a man. You look at me and see a criminal, but you don’t mind me kissing you.

  If I had a normal law‐abiding job—if I was a fireman…a policeman maybe…would you want me? Would you be letting me kiss you?”

  She thought of the young widow and her two babies. She knew he was right.

  “I’d respect you, of course I would, if you were a policeman or a fireman. But—” she looked away, focussing on the nearest street lamp “—those jobs are dangerous, and yes, you’re right, I couldn’t be with you because I’d be afraid of losing you.”

  Losing you? This was crazy. Standing so close to him, breathing his scent, feeling the lingering heat of his lips on hers, was making her say the weirdest things.

  She willed her eyes to find his again. “I’d be afraid…I’d be scared Dylan would suffer the same pain I knew as a child. It would be my childhood all over again.” She couldn’t believe she’d said those words out loud.

  “Life’s scary, Kel,” he said. “Life’s one big risk. And we can hide and hedge all we like, but that’s not living, is it?”

  They stood in silence for a long moment. His words reverberated around her head; hurtful, stinging, but true.

  “How about if I was a landscape gardener?” he asked presently, and
she thought she heard the hint of laughter on his voice. “Would that be a safe enough occupation?”

  She said nothing.

  “Too risky, sweetness? I might chop my foot with the spade when I’m planting a tree and bleed to death.”

  “That’s just plain silly,” she said, but she couldn’t help herself smiling with him.

  He stepped forward then and wrapped both arms around her, drawing her into his body in a warm hug. His words had disturbed her, but his arms were strong and hard, and instinct told her she was safe with him. She resisted the wild impulse to press her hips closer to his. But it didn’t matter, because he was unable or unwilling to resist the urge to do the same to her, pulling her up close, into the strength of his body, hips touching hips.

  He buried his head in the soft curve of her neck, and as she wrapped her arms around him and let her fingertips trace the steely ridges of muscle running on either side of his spine, she felt the warmth of his lips on her flesh, and knew she wanted more.

  Experimentally, she moved against him, in the tiniest of squirms; he groaned A Father at Last

  “Don’t”, and moved, putting space between them.

  “You feel too good,” he said raggedly, then he released her and started packing up the chilly bin and gathering up the rug, and she felt oddly bereft.

  “Come on, I’ll walk you to the car park,” he said, his voice still husky. They picked up their shoes and walked side by side, close but not touching. All the other cars had gone, bar hers, a black BMW, which she guessed was Ben’s, and the plumber’s van she noticed earlier.

  At her car, he opened the back door and put the chilly bin on the floor behind the driver’s seat. “Take it home. There’s at least half a bottle of champagne left in there—have it tomorrow night. Shame to waste it.”

  “Come home with me, Ben. Dylan’s not there.” The words were out before she was even conscious of opening her mouth. She turned to face him, and she knew the answer, saw it in his rigid stance, before he spoke.

  “I can’t, sweetheart.” He reached out to draw her close. “Not tonight, I’m sorry.”

  She was thankful it was dark so he couldn’t see the flush warming her cheeks. She’d misread the situation, obviously, and she felt a fool. She pulled back from his embrace as a sickening realisation dawned.

  “Is there someone waiting at home for you? A wife? A girlfriend? I’m sorry, I didn’t think.” And then she was angry with herself for apologising. If he was already taken, he was the one who should be apologising.

  “No wives, no girlfriends. Where’s Dylan?”

  “What?”

  “Dylan—you said he wasn’t at home. Who’s got him?”

  “He’s staying overnight with my friend Marnie, and her husband Jamie. They’re his friend Lachlan’s parents and they live next door to us.”

  He’d rejected her; it hurt and she wanted to know why. He didn’t have a partner waiting for him at home. I can’t. Not tonight. Of course! How could she be so naïve? Night time was when the players in the shady underworld he inhabited came out to do business.

  “Are they good people?” He was looking down at her, waiting for an answer.

  “Who?”

  “Keep up, Kelly. This Maisie and her fella.”

  “Her name’s Marnie, and yes, she and Jamie are very good people. And they’re great with Dylan. They’re going for a family holiday to the Gold Coast in a couple of days with their two boys, and they’re taking him with them.” She couldn’t help smiling. Dylan was going to love his first trip overseas, his first ride in an aeroplane.

  “Terrific.” Ben wasn’t smiling. “And how long are they in Australia for?”

  Julie Mac

  “Ten days. I’ll miss him like mad, but he’ll enjoy every minute of it, so I’m glad he’s going.”

  “Can you trust them to look after him properly? Will this Jamie bloke protect him from sharks? And snakes? And crocodiles, goddammit?”

  “Absolutely.” Kelly felt laughter bubbling up. She’d always loved Ben’s crazy sense of humour. “We’re talking Gold Coast holiday resort here, not the wilds of the Northern Territory. And anyway, Jamie’s great with him—like a dad really…” The laughter died on her lips.

  Ben’s face, his whole body, was granite‐still, his tension palpable. He said nothing.

  She tried to read his eyes, but in the soft wash of the street lights, they were no more than murky pools.

  Now. Tell him now. Tell him the truth. She took a long, slow breath, but before she could form the words she knew she must say, he was speaking again.

  “Would you trust his real father—his blood father—to take him away on holiday?

  Without you?” He spoke softly, but his words were strained and compressed, as if dredged from some great depth. It must have been a rhetorical question because he continued, obviously not expecting an answer.

  “Do you lie awake at night, Kelly, scared, wondering if Dylan’s father might turn up on your doorstep one day and claim custody—part time, full time, for holidays, whatever?”

  Fear hit in an icy blast, clutching her chest in its evil grip. Her heart squeezed blood, heavy as lead, too fast, too much; her lungs pumped in hard, short bursts.

  She’d lost her dad, she’d lost her mum.

  Her heart squeezed tighter.

  How could she ever bear to lose her precious baby—her beautiful boy? He’s mine!

  She wanted to cry out the words, pummel Ben with them.

  Instead, she reached back with her hands, searching for support against her car.

  “No,” she whispered raggedly, shaking her head from side to side, knowing she told a monumental lie.

  He took her hands then, pulling her into a tight embrace and gently guiding her head into the crook of his shoulder.

  “Don’t,” he whispered, close to her ear. “Don’t be afraid.”

  They stood like that for what seemed to Kelly a long time. He’d just voiced her worst nightmare, but somehow, crazy as it seemed, his whispered words of comfort and the strength of his arms, his body, wrapped around hers, were soothing, and gradually, her heart slowed and her breathing returned to normal. And as it did, the irrational flight or fight response of her body was conquered by logic. Ben wasn’t a threat, she reasoned, because Ben didn’t know he was Dylan’s father. He was talking hypothetically. Of course he was.

  A Father at Last

  She was aware then of him shifting his stance and she felt his hand trail down her face in a gentle caress.

  “Will you be okay, sweetheart, going home on your own?” he asked softly, looking down at her and seeking out her eyes.

  She nodded.

  “I’ll call you,” he said, kissing her briefly on the lips, and reaching around her to open the driver’s door. Then he bent to put on his shoes.

  She slid into the car, and pulled out her phone from under the dash. “Give me your number,” she said, “and I’ll text you so you’ve got my number too.”

  She had her phone in her hand and her fingers ready to tap in his number when she heard him say, “Goodbye, babe.”

  He shut the door on her and walked away. For ten seconds she sat, eyes wide, breathing suspended, as she listened to his retreating footsteps. Then she started her car and headed for the road without looking back.

  Julie Mac

  Chapter 4

  “There’s a call for you from a Mr Carter, Kelly.”

  Kelly froze at her desk. Mr Carter? Mr Ben Carter?

  “Kelly? Can you take the call?”

  “Ah…yes. No! Mr Carter, did you say?”

  “Mr Carter. Can you take his call? Yes or no?”

  Jess, the receptionist, in her forties, sophisticated and downright bossy, was close to losing patience with her, she could tell. She took a deep breath, and Jess must have heard it down the phone line because she said, “Come on Kelly, you can do it,” and now there was laughter in her voice. “This Mr Carter sounds like one hell of a hot gu
y. Do yourself a favour and talk to him.”

  She let out a long breath. “Okay, Jess, put him through.”

  “Kelly Atkinson.” She used her best professional voice.

  “I need to see you again, Kelly. Can you meet me tonight after work?”

  She closed her eyes. And smiled. Even after all these years, his voice sounded just the same on the phone—all close up and intimate, as if his mouth was hovering near her ear. And he did want to see her again; in typical Ben style, he’d got straight to the point.

  But did she want to see him again, risk her feelings getting the better of her—her reckless, unthinking feelings? Think of an excuse.

  “I’m…um…going to the movies with a girlfriend.”

  “Cancel. Now, are you on for tonight?”

  Kelly picked up a pen and doodled on her desk pad, thinking furiously. Dylan had been gone two days, and it was lonely at home. An evening out would be nice.

  Nice! She wrote the word in big letters on her desk pad and then scribbled it out.

  Nice wasn’t what a date with Ben Carter would be. Dangerous, yes. Exciting, yes. But not nice.

  “Say something, Kelly.” She could almost hear him drumming his fingers against his phone.

  “Wait! I’m thinking.”

  She wrote the word ‘ NO’ on her pad. Ben was bad news. He stirred impulses in her A Father at Last

  she didn’t want stirred.

  She was supposed to be telling him he had a son. All week, she’d agonised over her decision, lying awake each night for hours, reliving the fear his words had provoked, trying desperately to hang on to logic.

  She wrote ‘ NO’ again, in bigger letters this time, then she remembered her vow to herself at the beach the other night. She’d help Ben see that his way of life was all wrong. Or at least try. She owed him that much for the friendship he’d given her through those awful years when her father was arrested and then in prison. She’d try to set him on the right track.

  “Yes,” she said.

  Ben jumped on a bus, which took him out west, where he caught a cab back into Auckland’s city centre. He got the driver to drop him downtown, just a short walk through a shopping mall to the car park building where he rented a short‐term space for one of his vehicles.