A Father Beyond Compare

by Alison Roberts

  Simon blinked, which apparently activated the off-switch for the charm. And the smile.

  'I beg your pardon?'

  'I said that I was raising your son.' It was easy to find the words she needed now. 'We weren't all that careful, if you remember, Simon, during our little fling.'

  Simon's jaw visible slackened. 'Was that all it was for you, Emma? A fling?'

  Of course it hadn't been but Emma wasn't about to admit it. She raised her chin. 'Funnily enough, I had been on my way to tell you I was pregnant the day I met your wife.'

  'And you kept the baby?' The underlying astonishment in his words created a whole new emotion for Emma.

  Relief.

  Thank goodness she hadn't found Simon that day. How much pressure would she have been subjected to to terminate an unplanned and unwelcome pregnancy? She might have been in love enough to allow herself to be persuaded that it would be in everybody's best interests to make it go away.

  Her precious son might never have existed.

  Emma simply stared at Simon by way of a response and he had the grace to flush uncomfortably.

  'Of course you did,' he muttered. 'Good for you.'

  'I should apologise for not informing you at the time,' Emma said calmly. 'I realise I was withholding knowledge that you had a moral right to have.' It seemed a good time to give Simon a taste of his own medicine and shrug off the importance of her actions. 'To be honest, I didn't think you deserved the truth when you'd been less than honest with me.'

  'So why tell me now?' Simon shut his eyes and seemed to be concentrating on drawing in some fresh oxygen. 'I've got a family already, Emma. My youngest is only eleven.' He scratched the back of his head. 'Do you need money? Is that why you've come now?'

  'I'm not here to ask you for money, Simon.'

  'So why are you here?'

  'I felt guilty that you had a child you didn't know about. That Mickey had a father he was never going to meet.'

  'Mickey?'

  'Michael. Michael James White. He'll be five in November.'

  Simon frowned. Maybe mental calculations were not a favoured occupation. 'And you're sure he's mine?'

  That did it. Emma straightened and turned away.

  'Wait!' Simon laid a hand on her arm. 'I'm sorry. That was a crass thing to suggest.'

  Emma could feel the pressure from his hand. The last time Simon had touched her it would have sparked instant desire.

  The way Tom's touch could now.

  Simon's hand felt like a dead weight. The touch of a stranger. Emma yanked her arm free.

  'We need to talk about this.' Simon pushed a wrist clear of his pinstriped suit jacket and looked at his watch. 'Right now, though, I'm getting seriously late for the first appointment at my private clinic.'

  'Don't let me hold you up,' Emma said dryly.

  'How long are you here for?'

  'I don't know,' Emma responded. "That rather depends.'

  'On what?'

  'On whether you have any interest in getting to know your son, I suppose.'

  Simon took a step back. He held up a hand. 'Hang on, here, Emma. I need some time to think about this.'

  'Oh?'

  'Of course I do. Be reasonable. You've had more than five years to get used to this. I've had all of five minutes.' His breath came out in an incredulous huff. 'I'm in the middle of a rather messy divorce. There's issues relating to the children. I really can't afford to have any more flies appearing in the ointment. This isn't particularly good timing, I'm afraid.'

  Emma actually laughed but there was no amusement in the sound. 'It wasn't particularly good timing for me when I had our baby, Simon. I coped.'

  'I'll cope, too,' Simon snapped. 'But I need time and I need your assurance that this matter will remain strictly between us.' His tone softened. 'I just need a little time, Emma. I need to talk to my solicitor. There's a lot riding on the outcome of the court case my ex-wife is insisting on. Whether or not I can take the job I've been offered in the States depends on it. If it goes my way, I'll be in a much better position to do whatever I need to do to help you and.. .and the boy.'

  The implied help was financial. Emma's gaze flicked from Simon's expensively tailored suit and Rolex watch to the sleek, latest-model BMW his remote had unlocked. Simon had a privileged life where money was no object. Was that something that Mickey deserved to have available? The best kind of therapy and aids and education for a child with his disadvantages did not always come cheaply.

  And what if something happened to her? Mickey's grandparents were the only family he had and they weren't getting any younger. A stepfather, however willing, could never be expected to take on the kind of responsibility a blood relative would be morally obliged to. Did Emma have the right to forgo that kind of backup on Mickey's behalf?

  'Maybe we could meet in town, say, next week?' Simon was taking her silence as acquiescence. 'I know, I could take you out to dinner. Somewhere nice.'

  It always had to be somewhere 'nice' for Simon. He wouldn't be content to eat in a kitchen with a large dog and a sometimes noisy small boy.

  Simon's tone softened to a silky drawl. 'I'd like that, Emma. I think you might enjoy that as well.'

  His touch may not have sparked a physical reaction but that particular tone of voice stirred something not unpleasant in Emma. Simon still found her attractive. He still wanted her.

  The reaction was so fleeting she knew it was simply a memory but it implied that something could be rekindled if she wanted it to be.

  Did she want that?

  Should she want it? For Mickey's sake?

  'Just us, Emma,' Simon whispered. 'Somewhere a bit more private.'

  'Just us.' 'Somewhere private.' Where had Emma heard those particular phrases spoken in the very same seductive tone? A very persuasive tone.

  This was the man who had just shrugged off the emotional repercussions Emma had suffered from being so easily persuaded once before. And this time Emma wasn't tempted. Not one little bit. The worry that pushing Simon away could be detrimental to Mickey had to be ignored for the moment. In any case, 'just us' seemed to resonate with a new significance. Mickey was a complication Simon didn't want to address. Was her child simply going to be shrugged off as well?

  'No,' Emma said firmly.' I don't think that would be a good idea, Simon.'

  'Oh?' Simon didn't like being rejected. Steel was showing beneath the silk again. 'Fair enough. I'll get in touch with you when I'm ready to talk about this, then.' He picked up his briefcase. 'Just remember that this stays private.'

  'And if it doesn't?' Emma was curious to see what Simon might reveal if pushed a little. She didn't bargain for the flash of fury in his eyes.

  'I'll make sure you regret it,' he promised.

  The threat was clear. Emma shouldn't allow it to frighten her but a chill ran down her spine despite her resolve. What could Simon do? It wouldn't matter if he ruined her job prospects by having a quiet word with fellow consultants. Emma could always go home.

  But that would mean leaving Christchurch.

  Leaving Tom.

  And what if he could start some kind of custody battle over Mickey, just to punish her?

  The risk was there, however slight. Simon must have seen a flash of fear in Emma's face because he nodded as he turned to leave.

  And Emma just stood there, watching until the black BMW picked up speed as it left the car park.

  The driver of that car wasn't the man of any fantasy. Emma was no longer in love with Simon Flinders, that was for sure.

  She didn't even like him!

  Something was wrong.

  Tom could sense that the moment he walked in the door that evening.

  He was late. A job that had taken his team upcountry to a logging accident in a remote forest had been prolonged and difficult. And unsuccessful. The unfortunate man who'd been in the way of a tree coming down in the wrong direction had suffered crush injuries beyond anything Tom and Josh had been able to deal with. />
  The aftermath of the tragedy could have been enough to explain why Tom had taken his time to get away from work. The informal debrief of talking it through with colleagues while they cleaned and . replaced gear was usually the best way to deal with jobs like that. It wasn't the entire explanation, however. Tom had been spending noticeably more time at work in the last few days when there had been no difficult jobs.

  He might not want to admit it, even to himself, but Tom was dreading the day he arrived home to learn that Emma had had her meeting with Mickey's father. That the surgeon was overjoyed to find her back in his life and that Emma and Mickey were going to be whisked away to make a family that would completely exclude him.

  It looked as though today was the day.

  Emma wouldn't look at him. She was totally focused on Mickey, who had just finished his dinner and was being herded towards the bathroom when Tom arrived home.

  'There's dinner in the oven for you,' Emma called over her shoulder. 'I'm just going to get Mickey into bed.'

  Perfectly normal words. A normal routine. But there was something flat in Emma's tone and a slump to her shoulders that was so uncharacteristic that Tom guessed she was very upset about something.

  It was possible that Emma had also had a bad day at work. Awful things could happen in emergency departments. A child could have died, perhaps. Emma could just have pushed herself too hard and was feeling tired and sore.

  But the knot that formed in Tom's stomach and killed any appetite he might have had for the delicious food Emma had prepared could only be there because he knew, instinctively, that whatever was upsetting Emma was going to have a very personal effect on himself.

  It had something to do with Simon Flinders.

  Bathing Mickey, getting him into bed and reading him the obligatory story took more than an hour. An hour in which Tom tried to eat but then abandoned his dinner. Tried to watch the news on television and gave up because it held no interest. By the time Emma came into the living room and closed the hallway door behind her, Tom was just sitting on the couch, nursing a can of beer and letting his anxiety have free rein.

  Emma looked up as she closed the door and Tom was struck by how pale she looked.

  Pale...and sad. Almost fragile. The need to protect and comfort this woman was overpowering. It conquered any selfish need for comfort himself.

  'Come and sit down,' Tom invited. 'You look done in.'

  'I'm OK.' But Emma obediently crossed the room and sat down. Not on the single armchair she usually favoured in the evenings but on the couch beside Tom. 'Mickey's sound asleep,' she said.

  'Is he all right?'

  'He's fine. He had a great day at the centre. He's got a new best friend, apparently, called Timmy. They had a huge water fight and needed a complete change of clothes this afternoon.'

  Tom listened to the forced brightness in Emma's tone. She was attempting to cover up whatever was really filling her mind. While he admired her courage, he wasn't going to let her deal with it on her own.

  'Would you like a cup of coffee?' Emma asked. 'You don't seem to be drinking that beer.'

  'No, I'm not. But I don't really want a coffee either, thanks:' Tom put the can down. 'I want you to tell me what's wrong, Em.'

  Her face stilled. 'What makes you think something's wrong?'

  She might have pulled off some kind of denial if she hadn't looked up. Tom just held her with his gaze, communicating his conviction that she was upset. Hopefully the message of his desire to understand and help would get through as clearly.

  It seemed to. Emma's eyes filled with tears. She blinked furiously but a single fat drop escaped and, without thinking, Tom reached out and brushed it from her cheek with his thumb.

  And then he was holding Emma in his arms, just the way he had dreamed of doing. His fantasies hadn't included her shaking with silent sobs but that was OK. Tom was happy to hold her. To stroke her back and wait for as long as it took for a chance to listen.

  It didn't take long. Emma pulled herself together and sat up, escaping the circle of Tom's arms.

  'Sorry.'

  'Don't be.' Tom waited a few more seconds while Emma wiped her face with her hands and sniffed away the last of her tears. 'What's wrong?' he queried again gently. 'Has this got something to do with Simon?'

  Emma nodded miserably.

  'You saw him?'

  Another slow nod. 'I bumped into him in the car park.'

  'And?' Tom's heart skipped a beat. Emma wouldn't be looking this miserable if the meeting had gone well. Part of him wanted to punch the creep for upsetting her like this but another part couldn't help a mix of relief and even hope making an appearance.

  'And he was horrible,' Emma said.

  'He wasn't pleased to see you?'

  'Oh, he was pleased enough at first—after he got over the surprise factor. But then I told him about Mickey.' Emma sighed deeply. 'It was stupid. Of course it must have been a shock. I wasn't exactly diplomatic either. He.. .he actually had the nerve to sound surprised that I'd gone through with the pregnancy. And then to ask if I was sure Mickey was his.' She gave an incredulous snort. 'OK, I was twenty-two when I met Simon but I was still a virgin. He knew that.'

  Tom had to suppress a flash of pure fury. He could understand Simon being attracted to Emma only too well, but for an older, married man to take advantage of a young, inexperienced girl like that was unforgivable.

  Any unease regarding Emma's morality in keeping Mickey's birth hidden from his father evaporated. Simon had used her and broken her heart. Maybe Emma had been right to take the path she had chosen. Simon hadn't deserved to know he had a cute son like Mickey.

  'He thinks I've come after him for financial support or something. He's in the middle of sorting out a messy divorce and he doesn't want the complication that Mickey and I represent. He made it very clear that he expected me to keep this private. He said I'd regret it if I didn't. Maybe he would make sure I lost my job.'

  'He couldn't do that.'

  'I imagine he could make life a bit difficult if he wanted to. What if he decided he wanted some kind of access or custody agreement?'

  'We'd make sure he didn't succeed.'

  'Simon could afford the best legal advice. People like that usually get what they want.' Emma closed her eyes. 'It's not as if I have any intention of telling anybody, anyway. I don't want anyone knowing that Simon is Mickey's father. I'm not even sure I want Mickey to know any more. He's.. .he's not the man I remembered.'

  'It was a long time ago,' Tom pointed out. 'You were very young and you didn't know him for very long.'

  'No.' It was a sad word. Was Emma letting go of something cherished? Realising that any love she'd had for Simon had been misplaced?

  Tom knew he should give her some space to deal with whatever emotion she was experiencing but as the seconds ticked by it became unbearable to wait.

  'Is there anything I could do to help?' he asked softly.

  'You've helped heaps, Tom. Just being able to talk to you was just what I needed. Thank you.'

  'No need to thank me,' Tom said. 'I'll always be here if you need me, Em.' He looked into Emma's face and had to fight with himself not to gather her into his arms again. How low would that be, to take advantage of her when she was upset and probably feeling lost? She must have harboured hopes of things working out with Simon to have come this far, and that dream had just been shattered. If Tom held her now, he might not be able to stop himself kissing her and that would make him no better than Simon.

  'You're a great friend, Tom.' Emma's smile was watery but at least it appeared. Her gaze clung to him and to Tom's horror, he saw tears forming once more. Her voice was no more than a whisper. 'Could.. .could I have another hug, please?'

  Wordlessly, Tom pulled her close. As if he could refuse such a request! He had no idea of how long they stayed like that. Tom basked in the sensation of holding Emma, of being able to comfort and protect her. Of almost drowning in the scent of her hair and skin a
nd the warmth from her body.

  And when she turned her face up and reached to touch his cheek, the invitation was totally irresistible. Tom bent his head and touched her lips with his own.

  Just a brief, soft kiss. The sort of kiss a friend would bestow in time of great need.

  It was the hardest thing Tom had ever done to lift his head and break that kiss before it became something unacceptable, but he managed to do it. Just.

  And then he made the mistake of opening his eyes to see Emma staring at him, her dark eyes wide and vulnerable. He felt her hand tighten beneath his shoulder.

  'I need more than a friend right now, Tom,' Emma said softly. 'Take me to bed. Please?'

  Tom groaned. 'I can't do that, Emma.'

  'Why not?'

  'You're upset right now. I'd be taking advantage of you. It would complicate things for both of us.'

  'Maybe it would make things clearer.' Tom could see the muscles in Emma's throat move as she swallowed. He wanted to press his lips to that spot on her neck where her heartbeat also showed. 'I don't just want to go to bed with you because I've had a bad day, Tom.' Emma ran the tip of a very pink tongue over her lips. 'I... want you.'

  That declaration undid Tom completely. Or perhaps it was the sight of that tongue tip and the desire that darkened Emma's eyes until they appeared totally black.

  Whatever.

  When Tom kissed Emma again there was no hope of holding anything back. He knew that would be the case even as he was lowering his head towards her face, but what did it matter? Emma wanted this as much as he did. Her hand was on the back of his head, urging him forward.

  Her lips were parted and when Tom felt the touch of her tongue against his, he was utterly lost. He had to run on instinct from then on and it seemed to serve him just fine, judging by the small sounds of pleasure that came from Emma.

  A short time later, Tom got up from the couch with Emma still in his arms. He carried her into his bedroom and quietly nudged the door closed behind him with his foot.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Any pain that might have been expected in the aftermath of a broken dream faded remarkably swiftly.