Guilty Secret

by Josie Metcalfe

  She dithered a moment longer before she peeled the clammy garment over her head and stepped out of her tracksuit bottoms, then quickly towelled the worst of the water off her body. She paused again as her hand hovered over the towelling dressing-gown hanging on the back of the bathroom door. Was it a sensible idea to wear so little in the presence of an absolute stranger?

  She gave a snort of derision and shrugged her way into it. According to Martin, she could dance in front of the man stark naked and it couldn’t entice him, not since childbirth had ruined whatever charms she’d had.

  ‘Here,’ she said as she came back into the kitchen and found Nick reading the various missives posted on the giant pink pig that was their family message-board. She found it immeasurably touching that he’d found an old newspaper to catch the rivulets of water still draining out of his clothes. What was more, he was standing on it in his bare feet, his socks and shoes left abandoned on the mat inside the door.

  ‘I’ve left a clean towel on the side of the bath,’ she continued briskly, determined not to look at the way his saturated clothing was clinging to broad shoulders and long lean legs, or the strange intimacy of his naked feet. ‘If you’d like to put this on, I could throw your things in the tumble-dryer.’

  ‘What’s this?’ He took the bundle of fabric from her and shook it out to reveal the black and gold opulence of an embroidered silk dressing-gown in all its glory. ‘Wow! Are you sure you want me to wear this? Won’t your husband object?’

  For a moment all she was aware of was the smooth tones of his voice, somewhere between the depths of a baritone and the richness of a tenor, then his question registered.

  ‘What he doesn’t know, he can’t object to,’ she said, her voice sharpened by her recent exchange of words with the rat in question, then realised she needed to explain. ‘I bought it for him for Christmas over seven years ago, but before I could even wrap it, he told me he’d found the woman of his dreams and wanted a divorce.’

  ‘And in the circumstances, you decided he didn’t deserve to get a present from you that year,’ he added with a pleasing touch of irony.

  ‘In the circumstances, no,’ she agreed, surprised to feel a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. ‘I thought it was far too good to throw away on a rat.’

  ‘In which case, I thank you for the implied compliment and would be delighted to make use of it—the tumble-dryer, too, if you wouldn’t mind. Being new to the area, I haven’t got my laundry system sorted out yet. I haven’t done any unpacking either, so if the worst comes to the worst, I might have to wear these things to work tomorrow.’

  Frankie gave him directions to the bathroom then listened to him padding up the stairs while she took out mugs and milk.

  To keep her mind off the disturbing fact that there was a handsome stranger stripping his clothes off in her bathroom she found her thoughts returning to that last conversation with Martin.

  He’d looked so cool and controlled in his expensive suit while she’d felt positively frazzled at the end of a frantically busy day. There was also the fact that she absolutely hated the weekends that her daughters spent away from her, weekends that had become far more regular of late.

  Usually, Martin waited in the car while Laura and Katie raced around the house to pack the last few things they needed for a weekend with their father. This time, he’d startled her by stepping into the house and making his way unerringly towards the lounge with the air of a visiting dignitary.

  Of course, he made certain she saw his raised eyebrows when he saw the state of the room. There was never enough time in the morning to tidy round so there were cushions piled up in untidy heaps where the girls had made themselves comfortable to watch television the previous night. There was also her empty coffee-mug on the corner of the table beside a disorderly pile of journals and the next pile of bills waiting for payment.

  Frankie had just realised that the pair of shoes she’d been hunting for that morning had been kicked under the edge of her favourite chair when he’d dropped his bombshell.

  She was still staring at the smiling photo of her two precious daughters pinned on the pink pig where she could see them every day when an unmistakably male voice interrupted her nightmare.

  ‘Shall I dump these in the dryer?’

  She blinked and glanced down as a lean hand took the jar of coffee out of her white-knuckled grasp and deposited it on the work surface then took the furiously hissing kettle off the hob.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he asked, gentle concern clear in his expression.

  ‘Fine,’ she choked with a gesture towards the dryer.

  ‘Put the dark things in separately in case the colour runs.’

  Nick hesitated a moment before complying silently, his eyes far too intent, far too analytical.

  She whirled away to reach for the coffee-jar again and completely missed it, knocking it to the floor with a crash.

  ‘Damn!’ She looked down at her bare feet, covered with shards of glass and coffee granules. ‘Oh, damn, damn, damn, can this weekend get any worse?’ she wailed, her voice rising uncontrollably towards a shriek before she burst into tears.

  ‘Hey! Hey!’ he crooned gently as he lifted her up as if she were no bigger than nine-year-old Katie and deposited her on the work surface. ‘It’s only ajar of coffee. Have you cut yourself?’

  Frankie was sobbing helplessly as she watched him through her tears. Somehow it only made things worse that a complete stranger should be bending over her feet to brush them off and check that the glass hadn’t cut her.

  When was the last time anyone had cared about her, about her welfare, about her happiness? She spent all her days and all her energy caring about her children and her patients so that there was nothing left for herself. And here he was, young, handsome, solvent—if his gorgeous car was any indication—and showing her more consideration than anyone had in years.

  And all she could do was humiliate herself by sobbing her heart out.

  ‘Shh!’ he soothed, suddenly scooping her up into his arms again to cradle her against his silk-clad chest. ‘It can’t be that bad.’

  ‘Y-yes, it c-can!’ she gasped, fighting for breath as she buried her wet face on his shoulder. ‘He’s g-going to take them away. He’s g-going to take my b-babies.’

  ‘All right, then, sweetheart. Let it out,’ he said in a gentle sing-song as he held her even more tightly and began to rock her. ‘Let it all out.’ And his voice was as soothing as the hand he used to stroke her hair.

  She was vaguely aware that he was now sitting on the settee and that she was cradled on his lap like a little child, but overwhelming all that was the utter relief at being able to let go of all the tension that had been building up inside her for all these years.

  Ever since Martin had left she’d been subconsciously dreading this happening. It hadn’t been a problem all while he’d been going from one gorgeous young woman to the next, even younger, even more gorgeous one. The fears had escalated when he’d finally married one of them, knowing that he wasn’t the sort of man to want to go through the nappies-and-sleepless-nights stage all over again.

  Finally the tears began to slow and she had to take stock of where she was. On the man’s lap, for heaven’s sake. He was a complete stranger and she was wrapped around him, sobbing her heart out on his shoulder.

  ‘You only came to deliver some w-wallpaper,’ she hiccuped, desperate for a tissue. ‘And you got s-soaked.’

  ‘Twice,’ he pointed out huskily, close enough to her ear to stir the damp strands against her temple. ‘Once with fresh water and once with salty.’

  The hint of laughter she could hear in his voice briefly lifted the corners of her mouth in response but she didn’t want to lift her head. It was far too comfortable where it was. Anyway, she needed a hankie and had no idea where—

  ‘Here.’ Nick nudged the fingers curled tightly in the silky fabric of his borrowed dressing-gown. She opened her hand and he pressed a handful of t
issues into it. ‘Mop up first, and then you can tell me what that was all about.’

  His matter-of-factness about her red nose and tear-swollen eyes steadied her where open sympathy would have had her cringing in embarrassment.

  Tm sorry,’ she muttered. ‘You didn’t need this on top of everything else. I’ll just…’

  When she would have scrambled inelegantly off his lap he stopped her by the simple expedient of tightening his arms around her.

  ‘Stay,’ he whispered, the sound temptation personified to someone who felt as lonely as Frankie did. The only person to whom she’d been able to unburden herself in the last few years had been Sam, but now that she was married to Daniel…

  ‘Tell me,’ he urged, gently thumbing away a stray tear. ‘I take it you were talking about your husband?’

  ‘Ex-husband,’ she reminded him swiftly. ‘As of seven years ago.’

  ‘And after seven years he’s suddenly decided that he wants custody?’

  ‘Well, he’s married again, hasn’t he?’ she explained, cringing when she heard the bitterness in her voice. She wouldn’t want him to misunderstand. ‘Not that I begrudge him. He had to grow up some time, I suppose.’

  ‘So, can’t his new wife have children? Is that why he’s trying for custody?’

  She shrugged. ‘Don’t know.’ There was an audible tremor to her indrawn breath. ‘There have been a string of women since the divorce…well, before then, except I didn’t know about them. Anyway, when I heard he was getting married I was so certain that his new wife wasn’t going to be interested in children, and I knew he wouldn’t want to go through the puppy-training years. He couldn’t wait to get away from them the first time round.’

  Tears started to well up in her eyes again and she bit her lip to try to subdue them.

  ‘Then, yesterday evening, when he came to collect them for the weekend, he said it was just a courtesy thing, but he was informing me that now he was married, he could provide a better home for Laura and Katie than me, so he would be applying for the custody arrangements to be reversed.’ Pain tightened a vicious hand around her heart, making it difficult to speak for a moment. ‘It would mean that they would go to live with him. That I would only get to see them for alternate weekends and holidays.’

  In spite of her efforts the tears began to fall again, a trickle at first but a flood was imminent.

  ‘What do your daughters think about it?’

  His question forced her to concentrate, delaying the inevitable a little while longer.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she admitted in a strangled whisper. ‘They had already left the house to get in the car when he told me what he was going to do, and by the time I recovered from the shock he was already climbing in with them. I suppose he’s told them by now.’

  ‘You mean, he didn’t even have the courtesy of giving you the chance to be there, in case they were upset and needed their mother?’ He gave a snort of derision. ‘If that’s the way he treats his family, what’s he like with his patients?’

  ‘Patients?’ Frankie was lost for a moment. ‘Martin doesn’t have patients, he has clients. He’s a lawyer.’

  He groaned and shook his head. That’s called jumping to conclusions, isn’t it? I automatically presumed that he was Dr Long, and it’s you.’

  ‘With me wielding the hose, it didn’t really give us a chance for formal introductions. I’m Frances Long, mostly known to her friends as Frankie.’

  Irrespective of the fact that she was still cradled on his silk-clad lap, she held out her hand to him.

  ‘Frankie?’ He chuckled as he wrapped long fingers warmly around hers. ‘I don’t believe it.’

  ‘Why not? It’s unusual, but it’s not that funny.’

  His blue eyes were sparkling down at her and the expression in them was doing strange things to her insides and setting all her nerve-endings humming.

  ‘It’s only funny if you remember the song,’ he explained, reaching up almost absently to smooth a gentle finger over her cheek. ‘Because some of my friends used to call me Johnny.’

  ‘Frankie and Johnny.’ She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help joining in when he started to sing the opening line.

  Their voices faded away on the last word of the first line, their eyes suddenly caught with an unbreakable intensity as the sound of it wrapped itself around them.

  Lovers…

  All of a sudden Frankie realised that this moment had been coming ever since she’d met him. There had been a strange sort of inevitability about it from the moment she’d seen him standing in her garden, soaking wet, and hadn’t been able to take her eyes off him.

  She’d been the old-fashioned sort of woman who hadn’t looked at another man since she’d first gone out with her husband-to-be. The divorce seemed to have completely blunted her appreciation for the male half of the human race until just a short while ago.

  For the first time in years she’d met a man and she hadn’t been able to control her reaction to him.

  The fact that they were alone in her empty house didn’t help her sanity, neither did the knowledge that they were both all too aware that she was cradled on his lap and that each of them was wearing just a single garment. She could see it in the flare of blue heat in his eyes that seemed to sear her right to her poor bruised heart.

  Her breath caught in her throat when she realised that her nipples were tightening again, this time in response to the predatory look that was darkening his gaze and the tension that was wrapping around them.

  ‘Frankie,’ he breathed, his voice sounding almost rusty in the silent room. ‘If you don’t want me to kiss you…’

  Not want him to kiss her? Suddenly that was all she could think about. The sensation of his mouth touching hers, the taste…

  ‘Frankie!’ he groaned, and she realised that she’d just run the tip of her tongue over her own lips. ‘Yes or no?’

  She should say no, for the sake of her peace of mind, but she’d been so lonely for so long, so isolated, even in a crowd. So concerned with taking care of everyone else and taking nothing for herself.

  If she said yes…

  Just the thought of that mouth settling over hers, forming an intimate connection that needed no words to let them communicate their deepest needs…After seven long years of numb isolation, she only had to look at the man and every nerve in her body craved a deeper contact.

  He must have been able to see her answer in her eyes because his head was already swooping down to meet hers as she whispered, ‘Yes.’

  CHAPTER TWO

  SHE should have said no.

  That was the last sane thought Frankie had before every notion she’d ever had about kisses disappeared.

  This was like nothing she’d ever known. Not just a meeting of mouths but within seconds a sharing of souls.

  More.

  The only thought in her head was that she wanted more…needed more of this man and his kisses. Then, all too soon, she knew they needed more than kisses.

  Mouths opened, tongues tangled and explored, hearts raced. Hands stroked then delved and stroked again, clothing all too easily discarded to leave them flesh against flesh.

  There was no time for self-consciousness over a body no longer in the first fresh flush of youth, no need for it when he was just as avid, just as greedy to explore, to hold, to give, to take.

  The explosion came frighteningly fast, erupting with a brilliant light behind her eyes which only intensified when she felt the answering throb of his release deep inside her.

  And even that wasn’t enough, neither was their second shared climax under the shower. Only the third, achingly slow and tender when they finally made it as far as her bed, was enough to make her collapse into slumber.

  It was dark when Frankie woke surrounded by tangled sheets and it took her a moment to separate dreams from reality.

  ‘Oh, my…’ she breathed silently, hardly daring to peer over her shoulder at the other side of the bed.

&nbs
p; When she saw it was empty she flopped over onto her back, not sure whether she was more relieved or disappointed that he had gone.

  It was one thing to be caught up in an unpremeditated sexual explosion, but it would have been quite another to wake up beside the man and have to make polite conversation while they extricated themselves from the embarrassment of The Morning After.

  She groaned aloud. What on earth had possessed her? She’d never done anything like that before, not even with Martin in the first heady days of their marriage, and once the girls had arrived…

  She snorted in derision.

  After the children had arrived, what sex they’d had had always been limited to an almost silent encounter after the light had been turned out for the night. If it hadn’t been so sad she might have found some humour in the fact that it had almost exactly followed the line of the old joke about the deterioration in a marriage—tri-weekly, then try weekly, then try weakly. For them, it had all too rapidly dwindled from a Friday-night routine into something that had been almost a perfunctory bodily function.

  Absolutely nothing like the searing experience of last night.

  Her cheeks heated when she remembered the sounds she had made…they had made…at the height of passion. Just thinking about it tightened those intimate muscles deep inside and made her breath hitch in her throat as she felt desire stir again.

  What was it about the man that had made her feel more like a woman than she ever had before, stretch marks and all?

  She gave a growl of exasperation and scrambled out of the wreck of her bed, knowing that she wasn’t going to be able to sleep any more even though it was still pitch dark outside.

  An hour later she was still fighting to keep the images inside her head from taking over. She’d stripped the bed and remade it with fresh sheets, refusing to allow herself to bury her face in his pillow to see if she could find a lingering trace of his presence. She’d set the washing-machine going and had even sat down to a proper breakfast, but none of it had worked.