by Неизвестный
often?”
“No…but then the women I know don’t threaten to slap me, either.” His not-so-subtle emphasis of the
word women caused color to flame in her face.
She balled the handkerchief in a fist, and he flinched as she raised it to his mouth.
“Stand still.” Her voice was tight. “Better I wipe my lipstick off your mouth.”
The curves of his mouth felt full and sensual under the fabric.
“There, I’m done.”
Connor stared down at the red stain on the white cloth and his lips twisted. “You should have left your
mark on my mouth.”
He raised his head and Victoria felt the force of his reckless attraction hit her like a surge of current.
“Why would I want to do that?” She injected scorn into her voice.
He shrugged carelessly. “It would have given all the gossips something to talk about other than my
scurrilous split from Dana.”
“I don’t want to be linked to you.” Victoria was appalled at the idea. “So we’re going to go back to the
table and smile like crazy—for Suzy and Michael’s sake. But after today I intend to take great pains to
keep as far away from you as possible.”
“That won’t be necessary. You’re hardly my type…” he paused, then added tauntingly “…Elizabeth.”
Victoria spun away and stalked inside and quite spoilt the moment by failing to remind him that her
name was Victoria.
Three
August, present day, two years later
L ate on Monday afternoon, Connor walked out of the morgue in the small Northland town where the
bodies had been taken and gulped in a lungful of crisp, fresh air. Michael. The face he’d known so well
in life had been unrecognizable in death. And all the dazzling laughter had left Suzy forever. Connor
craved the deep, cleansing peace of tears.
But grown men didn’t cry.
Nor did he have time to grieve. Picking up his pace, he jogged across the car park to where the Maserati
waited.
But once inside, he sat motionless, staring blindly through the windshield.
He should call Victoria. The thought came from nowhere. He sighed. What the hell was the purpose?
Except to upset her further.
Pulling out of the car park, he headed for the highway. Not far from the exit to the town he saw again the
sickening skid marks, and the white symbols the police had painted on the tarmac.
Driven by a nameless, senseless urge Connor pulled over and got out.
The grass verge was peppered with glass, and he stepped over the deep furrows Michael’s tires had
gouged out of the turf. A light country breeze blew across his face and cars whizzed past. There was
none of the sense that Michael’s spirit still lingered—as Connor realized he’d hoped for when he’d
pulled over.
It’s not fair. They should be here! Victoria’s words rang in his ears.
Balling his fists against his eyes, he faced the fact that he would never again see the slight smile that
changed Michael’s expression from intellectual to human. He would never again play squash against
that killer competitive drive that few people knew Michael possessed.
A tidal wave of sorrow swept over him, and a moment later the aftershock of loneliness set in,
paralyzing him.
Even after the fiasco with his ex-girlfriend and his business partner, he’d been able to act. He hadn’t
even missed Dana—he’d kept himself too busy. Working like a fiend to get the Phoenix Corporation up.
Going to the gym. Squash and beers with Michael. Dating a string of women who entertained but didn’t
enthrall. While all the time Michael watched him with that quiet smile and offered advice that Connor
hadn’t taken.
And now he’d never see Michael again.
Even fighting with Victoria had to be better than this miserable emptiness. Then he remembered her face
as he’d last seen it yesterday. Devastated by the loss of Suzy. Again the compulsion to call Victoria
nagged him.
Michael…
Hell.
He dropped his balled fists to his side, blinked rapidly and swallowed, furious at the hot tightness in his
chest. Never was a long time. And right now it stretched before him endlessly.
He wasn’t accustomed to being powerless.
The only things left for him to do for Michael were so final—so futile. Arranging the funeral. Carrying
the coffin. Executing his will. Ensuring that Dylan was protected.
A car swept by in a rush of air, the driver hooting, jerking him out of his trance of grief.
Dylan.
Connor raked both his hands through his wind-ruffled hair. Michael had loved Dylan; he loved Dylan,
too.
No doubt about it, Dylan was special. Never had a baby been more loved. And that’s the way it had
always been meant to be.
When, shortly after his wedding, Michael had confessed to Connor that he was sterile as a result of
contracting mumps as a boy, Connor had agreed to donate sperm to allow the Masons a chance at a
baby. It hadn’t been a hard decision for him to make. Anyone who knew Suzy and Michael could see
that they were made to be parents. Perfect parents. Yet they’d worried about how their baby might one
day react if he discovered Conner was his biological father.
Michael and Suzy had wanted the truth about his biological father to stay forever secret—and Connor
had acquiesced to their request. The baby had always been intended to be theirs. Not his.
But now Michael and Suzy were dead.
Connor flinched at the finality of the word. But he would not break his vow to the Masons. At least not
until Dylan was old enough to understand why he’d been created from his father’s friend’s seed.
The foggy lethargy that had clung to him for most of the day started to lift. Connor strode back to the
Maserati.
At last he had something to do. Something worthwhile. He had a duty—one he would not fail in. He
would bring Dylan up to remember the fine man that Michael had been. And someday, when Dylan was
older, he would explain how much his parents had loved him—and wanted him. That would be the time
to tell Dylan—and the world—the truth.
Victoria reached for the shrilling phone and Dylan’s eyes, which had been growing heavier, popped
open. He again started to suck greedily on the bottle she’d been feeding him.
Juggling the handset and the bottle, she waited for him to settle again in the crook of her arm before
saying, “Hello?”
“I’ll be there in under an hour.”
Her heart started to knock against her ribs. “Who is this speaking, please?”
“Don’t play games, Victoria,” growled Connor. “It’s been a hell of a day.”
Victoria fell silent. Her day had been pretty awful, too. First thing this morning she’d called Bridget
Edge, the managing partner at work, to let her know she wouldn’t be in, that she was taking
compassionate leave because her best friend had died.
There had been a short silence. Then, after uttering perfunctory condolences, Bridget had asked when
she would be back at work.
Victoria had known in that moment it wouldn’t be wise to say anything about Dylan. Yet.
Bridget would never understand. She wasn’t married and had no children. How could Victoria have
confessed that Dylan needed her right now? Or that she needed Dylan more than anything in the world?
Bridget would’ve thought
she’d lost her marbles. Finally Victoria said she would be back as soon as the
funeral had been held.
Suzy had placed Dylan in a day care center a month ago. So far he’d only been going for half a day as
Suzy eased herself back into teaching part-time. But if Dylan returned, it would save her from needing to
make other arrangements—and keep his routine normal. Tomorrow she’d call the supervisor, let her
know to expect Dylan back.
Tomorrow—when she’d gotten a handle on her grief and could talk without her throat tightening up.
Oh, Suzy!
She certainly didn’t feel like facing Connor in less than an hour. Her emotions were too raw, her heart
too sore. “I’ve just gotten Dylan to sleep and I’m about to take a bath. Perhaps we can talk tomorrow?”
“I thought you might want a copy of Michael and Suzy’s will.”
“Michael and Suzy’s will?” Good grief, she hadn’t even given a thought to a will. Most unlike her. Her
gaze dropped to Dylan, whose mouth was now just twitching on the teat. Emotion overwhelmed her in a
hot, poignant wave. The baby had kept her mercifully busy most of the day. He’d been querulous,
almost as if he knew….
Except that wasn’t possible.
Connor was speaking again. She forced herself to concentrate.
“Yes, a joint will. I’ve just dropped the original at my solicitor’s so they can start winding up the estate.”
“I could’ve done that. It’s not going to be a complicated estate.”
“You’re too busy. Besides I’m the executor.”
Hurt blasted her. She’d been the executor of Suzy’s will before Suzy had gotten married.
Dylan grunted uneasily.
Cuddling the baby closer, she rocked him in a slow rhythm. “I didn’t know Suzy and Michael had a joint
will.”
She’d nagged Suzy a couple of times to update her will when she was pregnant, but after Dylan was
born, Victoria had forgotten all about it in the hectic pace of everyday work. That would have been
around the time she’d taken over two new, big accounts on top of her already crippling workload. She’d
finally built the practice she’d always wanted, but not without sacrifice.
“My solicitor updated it for them about a year ago.” Connor’s voice was clipped. “There’s not a great
deal in the estate.”
“They both worked for state schools. They had expenses.…” Victoria broke off, then added lamely,
“And debts.” She’d promised never to reveal her part in Dylan’s conception. It certainly wasn’t for her
to reveal the staggering costs involved—she’d contributed a large sum despite Suzy and Michael’s
resistance.
“Not surprising,” Connor concurred, “given they had a mortgage, too. But Michael took out life
insurance to cover that.”
Victoria knew Connor had spent hours helping Michael renovate the Masons’s home. He’d even
organized grants from a historic trust for assistance.
A sense of guilt filled her. Connor had clearly sorted out Michael’s money matters, whereas she, an
accountant, had failed to protect Dylan and Suzy’s interests, leaving it to her new husband to look after
her. And would his life insurance cover the IVF debts?
I’ll make it up to you, Dylan.
She stroked the baby’s soft head. He would want for nothing that was in her power to give him.
She’d contributed to Dylan’s coming into the world, given Michael and Suzy the precious eggs they’d
needed.
Dylan was a part of her.
“Are you still there?” The impatience in Connor’s voice jerked her back.
“Yes. I was just thinking.” The baby had just fallen asleep with the suddenness that still took Victoria by
surprise. “Once the estate’s been wound up I can invest the proceeds for Dylan.”
There was a deafening silence.
Then Connor said, “I’ve always looked after Michael’s business affairs.”
And she’d always helped Suzy. Except when she’d become too busy. Discomfort filled Victoria.
This was not a time for a power struggle. She had to do her best to accommodate Connor; already he’d
done a better job of looking after Suzy—and Dylan—when she’d been remiss.
But it will never happen again, she silently promised the baby in her arms. She was nothing like her
parents. She would never neglect Dylan.
“Connor, as executor of the estate, of course you’d need to approve the investments. I’m sure we’ll be
able to work together in Dylan’s best interests.” She might not like him but they were both grown adults.
“I’m sure we will.” Connor didn’t sound nearly as convinced. “As Dylan’s—” he broke off “—guardian
you can bet your bottom dollar I will be very interested.”
Her heart stopped. “Guardian?” she croaked. Her mind raced. Had Michael decided to appoint Connor
North the baby’s guardian? “You are Dylan’s guardian?” Oh, Suzy, how could you let this happen?
Connor’s voice, terse and cool, came over the line. “That’s what I want to talk to you about. I’ll be there
in half an hour.”
By the time Connor arrived, Victoria had laid Dylan down in his traveling cot, showered and changed
into a simple long-sleeved dress, and had just poured herself a cup of tea.
Rushing across the living room to open the front door before Connor could ring the doorbell, she pressed
her finger to her lips and motioned him into the kitchen. “I just got him to sleep.”
In the kitchen, Victoria honed in on the subject that had been eating at her since their telephone
conversation. “I’d like to see the will.” She did her best to keep the hostility out of her voice, to keep it
level and professional.
Connor drew a leather document holder from under his arm and eyed the counter, which was covered
with dirty dishes.
Embarrassment spread through Victoria. But then he hadn’t been looking after a baby all day.
A surreptitious glance revealed lines of tiredness etched deep into his face, though they failed to mute
the impact of his hard, handsome features.
Only the loosened tie and undone top button of his white shirt hinted at the turmoil he must be going
through.
The will could wait—whatever it held would not change now. And Connor looked like a train wreck.
“Would you like a cup of coffee?”
“God, I don’t know if I need more stimulants,” Connor muttered, leaning against the counter.
She gestured to the crowded countertop. “I’ve just made tea for myself. Would you like a cup?”
She took his grunt as assent, poured him a cup of tea from the little white teapot and topped the brew up
with boiling water.
He glared into the cup she passed him. “What the hell is this?”
“Chamomile tea,” she said sweetly. “Lots of antioxidants. Good for you in times of stress.”
“I doubt it will help.” His startlingly pale eyes clashed with hers but the opacity in them caused
Victoria’s heart to bump and her throat to contract with painful emotion. She wanted to offer him the
same comfort she craved—an embrace that went beyond words—but she knew he wouldn’t accept it.
Not from her.
And to be truthful she didn’t care much for him, either. But she felt empathy for him—in the same way
she felt pity for herself. She’d lost the person she’d been most deeply bonded to in the world. And, hard
as it was to imagine Rock-Man bonded to
anyone, Michael had been fond of him. Judging by the
emptiness in Connor’s eyes, somewhere in that cold heart he’d been fond of Michael, too.
The sadness—the futility of it all—made her want to weep.
But she couldn’t let herself forget that he was Dylan’s guardian now. Please God, he hadn’t been granted
custody, too.
Connor wasn’t the right person to bring up Dylan—he was too hard. Yet, given the animosity between
them, it would be no easy task convincing him she was the right person. But failure to do so was not an
option.
Because even though she hadn’t carried him in her womb, Dylan had been conceived from her egg—he
was her baby.
“Come and sit out here.” Picking up the two cups and saucers she led him to the small deck that opened
off the living room, edged with planter boxes filled with primulas and purple pansies.
Without a word, Connor followed.
Once seated, he placed the leather document holder on the white wrought-iron table where she often ate
breakfast, and zipped it open.
Unable to restrain herself, Victoria snatched up the will, scanning the headings as she flicked through
the pages. And found the clause that spelled out guardianship and custody.
Four
F ury bubbled up inside Victoria. She threw the papers down on the table and her chair scraped back
against the deck. “You told me you were Dylan’s guardian,” she accused.
“Coguardian.” Connor shrugged. “And we share custody, too. We need to discuss it.”
The coldhearted bastard had nearly given her heart failure. She’d thought she’d have to beg to be
allowed a say in Dylan’s upbringing. All her unspoken reservations about her ability to be the kind of
mother that Dylan needed came crashing in on her.
A gust of chilly wind cut through the fabric of her dress. She shivered. Crossing her arms, she rubbed
her hands absently up and down her body. She couldn’t allow her insecurities to take hold. She had to
believe in herself. Because she was the only parent Dylan had.
Joint custody and coguardianship. How on earth was that going to work? Damn, what had Suzy been
