The Negotiator

by Chris Taylor

  Was it possible he’d lied about where he lived to impress her? But what about the five-thousand dollars he’d presented to her? He had to have surplus money to hand over a check like that. She snuck another peek at him as he stared out in silence at the ocean. Had she misread him? Had she gotten another man she liked totally wrong—again?

  He’d seemed so straight forward, so totally without artifice. At least, that’s what she’d thought before he moved in. What if she was wrong? What if it was all a farce? What if he’d created this well-to-do persona just to impress her? Did she appear so hung up on money that he thought he had no choice? How shallow did he think she was?

  Her frown deepened. Was she jumping to wild conclusions? After all, just because he’d been vague about where he lived didn’t necessarily mean his place didn’t exist near the beach. Did it? Could she have it wrong? Could there be some other reason why he was disinclined to talk about himself? He’d willingly shared some of the most painful secrets of his past. Why not his present?

  She sighed. She didn’t know what to think. One minute she was having hot and steamy fantasies about him and the next she’d almost convinced herself he was a deceitful egomaniac. But there was one thing she did know: Anything that seemed too good to be true usually was. And a free lunch could end up being the most expensive meal of your life…

  * * *

  A little over an hour and a half later, Jack lay sound asleep, sprawled across the back seat of Andy’s car. They were headed back to Cally’s cottage after dropping Jimmy home. She couldn’t stop her thoughts from circling around and around the ever-increasing number of questions she had about the man who sat next to her. From the corner of her eye, she saw him glance across at her.

  “You’re awfully quiet, Cally.”

  She sighed, knowing he was right, but she wasn’t ready to confront him with her suspicions. “I’m tired, that’s all.”

  “Big week?”

  “You could say that.”

  “What’s on tomorrow?”

  Her gaze rested on his strong, tanned hands that looked so sure and confident on the steering wheel. “I’ve got school from eight-thirty until three and then a couple of hours cleaning at the station. How about you?”

  “I’m on nightshift. I start at six.”

  “So you’ll be arriving at work not long before I do.” A wry smile turned up her lips.

  “I guess.”

  “At least we don’t have to fight over the shower.”

  “Not tomorrow, anyway.”

  She blushed. Despite her misgivings, images of him naked and steamy in the shower immediately crowded her mind. She had to stop thinking of him like that: like he was the most desirable man in the world; like she couldn’t wait to put her hands on him, her lips, her tongue…

  Suppressing a groan of frustration, she turned away and peered out the window. The day was nearly over and the late afternoon traffic had dwindled. Before long, Andy turned off the Pacific Highway and swung the car into her tree-lined driveway. He brought the car to a halt and she turned to him, offering him a smile.

  “Thanks for today, Andy. It was great and I know the boys enjoyed themselves, Jack especially. I appreciate all you did for him today. It’s a day he’s not going to forget.”

  His gaze moved over her face and then lingered on her lips. He was close enough to kiss her. She wondered what he would do if she leaned over and pressed her mouth against his. The thought sent a shiver of anticipation running through her.

  As if reading her mind, he moved closer and took her face in his hands. He stared at her for long moments, as if waiting for her to object, before lowering his mouth. His lips touched hers so lightly that afterwards she wasn’t even sure whether he’d actually kissed her. She pulled back slightly and looked up at him.

  His eyes were liquid chocolate, molten with desire. Of its own volition, her hand came up to rest on his cheek. It was all the invitation he needed.

  Pulling her hard against him, his lips met hers again. This time, there was no holding back. Andy kissed her with a passion that left them both breathless. The warm pressure from his mouth sent shards of desire shooting through her body. His tongue found hers and tangled in a timeless dance of parry and thrust. His hands moved from her head to fondle her breasts, covered only by the soft black bikini top.

  Her nipples hardened beneath the fabric. She strained against him, trying to get closer, groaning in frustration when the gearstick kept getting in the way. His hand stole down to caress her bare thigh and slowly eased higher. She moaned against his lips.

  He growled low in his throat and his hand moved higher. He stroked her through the cotton of her shorts. Need throbbed in her core. A moment later, he slipped his fingers under the waistband of her shorts and then her bikini bottom until his fingers tangled in her soft curls. One finger, then two slid teasingly across her wet slit.

  She groaned and flung her head sideways against the leather headrest. She was on fire, burning with need. With her eyes almost closed, she caught sight of Jack’s sleeping form.

  Reality crashed into her. She gasped and pulled back, pushing Andy’s hand away.

  “Andy, please. Stop. We can’t. What about Jack?” She dragged deep breaths into her lungs and tried to regain control.

  With his face taut from the effort, Andy visibly fought to regain control. His breath was ragged. His jaw was clenched.

  “Cally, I’m sorry. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking. I shouldn’t have… It’s just that, you’re so damned beautiful and I-I thought a kiss would be enough.” He shrugged, seemingly at a loss for words. His eyes burned with emotion.

  She looked up at him, feeling just as confused and uncertain. “I’m sorry, too,” she whispered. “I shouldn’t have led you on like that. I don’t know what got into me. I just…” She blushed and looked down at her hands. Jack stirred on the back seat, blinking sleepily. He sat up. They jumped back from each other as if they’d been burned.

  Andy opened his door and climbed out. He pulled the beach bag and their hats out of the trunk and walked around to her side to assist her from the car. Opening the rear door, she leaned in and helped her son from the car.

  “Come on honey, we’re home. Let’s go inside.”

  * * *

  Well-hidden behind the dark shadows of the overgrown bushes that crowded Cally’s driveway, Stewart Brady stared at her and the man she was making out with in the front seat of a top-of-the-line Audi. The years had been kind to her. She barely looked a day older. Her hair was now short, but it still glinted gold in the late afternoon sunlight. When she turned her face to meet the mouth of the man in the driver’s seat, her tanned skin looked almost luminous.

  The anger that had been simmering beneath the surface ever since he discovered her treachery, now threatened to boil over. He’d wanted to search for her the very instant he’d read the newspaper article more than a month ago, but the inconvenience of his criminal trial had taken precedence. There was no point in further antagonizing the law. With a bit of luck, his father would see to it that the matter disappeared, but until then, he had to pretend justice would prevail.

  It was a stroke of luck that the judge had taken ill. The trial had been adjourned for a week. In the meantime, he was free on bail. Within hours, he’d convinced his father to lend him a set of wheels and he headed south to Sydney.

  It had taken him longer than he’d thought to find her. He’d committed every word of the newspaper story to memory, including the street and suburb the article had mentioned, but the Pacific Highway ran for miles and he’d spent the better part of a day walking up and down the busy road searching for the house that looked like the one in the picture.

  It had been late in the afternoon when he finally spied the concealed driveway. He’d barely had time to take in the old-but-tidy cottage and the battered Toyota parked beside it before the swish Audi swung into the driveway. He’d darted into the bushes and took refuge there while he studied the n
ew arrivals.

  When he recognized Cally in the passenger seat, he’d nearly stepped forward and revealed himself, but a glance at the size of the man beside her had given him pause. Even from behind the steering wheel, it was obvious the man was no lightweight.

  Stewart took a swig from the hip flask he kept in his shirt pocket and relished the burn of the alcohol down his throat. The couple in the car a few feet away continued to make out. Even from his hideout, he heard the sounds of their passion.

  His cock stirred. It had been too long since he’d had a woman. Ever since he’d been slapped with the assault charge, even the sluts around Watervale had steered clear of him and it wasn’t like Tiffany had put out too often. As soon as the wedding ring slid on her finger, sex had become a scarce commodity. If it hadn’t been for his son, Luke, he’d have divorced the bitch years ago.

  He winced at the thought of his son, now rotting in the Watervale Cemetery. Life was totally fucked up. There was no doubt about it. But then, just when he thought he couldn’t take another kick to the guts, it surprised him; and that made him realize life was still worth living. He’d been beyond stunned when he’d stumbled across the discovery of Cally’s son—his son—alive and well in Sydney. It had given him the impetus he’d needed to reclaim his life. It was too bad he’d had the unfortunate run-in with the prick at the gym. Being the defendant in a well publicized criminal trial, even when released on conditional bail, had a way of restricting his movements.

  His thoughts returned to his son. Jack Savage. It was a good strong name, a name he might even have chosen himself, if he’d been given the opportunity. Of course, he’d change the boy’s surname to Brady as soon as he could. There was no way his son wasn’t going to bear his name.

  The murmur of voices coming from the Audi snagged his attention. He returned his attention to the vehicle and noticed the figure of a child in the back seat. He froze. Blood gushed through his veins, the sound almost drowning out the voices.

  A small blond head leaned toward the couple in the front seat. Stewart gasped. It was him. His son. He knew it.

  Everything inside him urged him to rush forward and claim the boy then and there, but years of knowing when to be cautious held him back. He’d arrived in Sydney unarmed.

  The driver looked like someone who could handle himself. While Stewart was confident in his ability to throw a punch, he never took on a fight he wasn’t certain he could win.

  It would be foolhardy to reveal himself too early. Cally could take fright and disappear. Who knew how long it could take to find them again if he lost the element of surprise?

  Taking a deep breath, he forced the air way down into his lungs and calmed the racing of his heart. Now wasn’t the time, but it would come. As sure as night followed day, his time would come.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Cally pulled a sheet over Jack and leaned down to press a kiss against his cheek. His eyelids fluttered, but he remained asleep. With a soft sigh, she left the bedroom, pulling the door closed behind her. Andy was sprawled on the couch.

  “How is he?” he asked.

  Heat crept over her cheeks. Memories of their kiss were still fresh, no matter how hard she tried to push them to the far recesses of her mind. She averted her gaze. Nerves jangled in her belly, but she cleared her throat and forced herself to answer.

  “He’s fine. I think he was asleep again before his head hit the pillow.”

  “Come here, Cally.” The words were uttered softly, but there was no escaping the intensity of feeling in the dark eyes that captured hers.

  Jittery as a virgin, she walked slowly toward him. Her heart hammered so loudly, she was sure he could hear it and her palms were suddenly damp with perspiration. Perching herself on the very edge of the couch, as far away from him as possible, she drew in a deep breath.

  “I’m not going to bite.” He grinned and patted the spot next to him.

  She moved about half an inch closer. Humor tugged at his lips. Their eyes meshed again and she could no longer drag hers away. She watched in fascination as the laughter faded and was replaced by hot, molten desire.

  “What are you afraid of, Cally?” he whispered, his voice husky.

  She shrugged wordlessly.

  His voice pitched lower. “Do you even know?”

  Again, she shrugged, unable to form the words.

  “Do you know what I think?”

  She tore her gaze away, not at all sure she wanted to hear what he had to say.

  “Look at me, Cally,” he commanded softly.

  Her gaze met his again and her heartbeat doubled its pace. She waited for him to speak.

  “I think you’re afraid to trust your heart. You’ve been wrong in the past and you don’t know if you can risk being wrong again. Am I right?”

  She screwed her eyes shut. “Maybe.” Her voice was a ragged whisper. All at once, her fears overwhelmed her and her breath came out in a rush. He was there in an instant, sliding across the old leather couch to take her into his arms.

  At first, the tears fell slowly, but when he pulled her into his lap and cradled her head against his chest, it was like a dam had suddenly broken. She sobbed against the soft cotton of his T-shirt. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d been held tenderly by a man. In fact, she didn’t think she’d ever been held that way.

  “Shh,” he whispered, his lips moving against her hair.

  She tried to bring a halt to them, but the shuddering sobs continued. His shirt was wet beneath her cheek and still, the tears kept falling.

  “It’s okay. Let it all out, sweetheart. I bet you haven’t cried properly since it happened.”

  She shook her head and murmured her disagreement. Her words were muffled against his shirt. Gently tilting her chin up, his gaze met hers.

  “I’m sorry? I didn’t catch that. Were you trying to tell me something?” His eyes were now soft and teasing.

  She offered him a shaky grin. Relief flooded his face. She swiped at her eyes. “I said, you’re wrong. I can’t remember how many nights I cried myself to sleep during those first few months.”

  Snuggling back against his chest, she whispered hoarsely. “I was only a teenager, pregnant and abandoned by everyone I thought loved me. I was so scared—for me and for the baby. I didn’t know what was going to happen.”

  Andy’s arms tightened about her. She drew in a shaky breath and continued. “And then Aunt Mary saved me. She must have heard me crying, night after night, but she never said anything. Instead, she came to me one evening just after dinner and told me how glad she was that I’d come to stay with her.”

  Cally turned her tear-stained face up to his. “As if it had been my choice. As if there was no scandal. As if it was perfectly normal for me to arrive on her doorstep, pregnant and unloved, and move into her life.” Her voice cracked.

  “She told me she understood how scared I was feeling and how she was there to help me in any way she could. She told me to think about my unborn baby and to try, for just a little time each day, to feed him a bit of happiness.”

  ‘Babies feel your emotions, Cally,’ she told me. ‘You don’t want your baby to be swimming in your sadness. I know it feels like you’re never going to be happy again, but you will, dear girl, trust me. And until you actually feel like smiling again, you need to force yourself to think at least one happy thought a day.’

  “She knew exactly what to say to me, Andy. She knew if I only thought about myself and the mess my life was in, I wouldn’t have made the effort to come to terms with the position I found myself in. She knew by bringing Jack into it, I’d find the strength from somewhere to drag myself out of the depths of the blackness and head toward the light, at least for a little while each day.”

  He murmured against the softness of her hair. “She loved you.”

  “Yes.” She sighed heavily. “She did.”

  * * *

  “So what happened? How did you and Jack end up in Sydney?”

&nbs
p; They were still on the couch, but Andy had maneuvered them backwards until they lay stretched out with Cally tight against his side. She breathed in his spicy, sun-kissed scent and took comfort from the reassuring feel of his heart beating solidly beneath her cheek.

  “My aunt got Alzheimer’s.”

  His arms tightened around her. “Oh, how awful. For all of you.”

  “Yes. It was. At first, we barely noticed anything different, but it’s an insidious disease. When it took a hold of her, it didn’t let go.” She shuddered.

  His voice was quiet. “She needed specialists’ care.”

  “Yes. The house was sold to cover the costs. Jack and I moved into a little apartment on the outskirts of town. It was only a bed-sit, really. A tiny bedroom, a bathroom and one room for everything else. It was cheap though, which was all that mattered.”

  “How long were you there?”

  Sadness filled her. “My aunt died about six months after she went into the nursing home. I guess it was a blessing in a lot of ways. Toward the end, most days she didn’t even know who we were.”

  “What brought you to Sydney? It’s a long way from Armidale.”

  Her smile turned wistful. “I don’t know exactly. I’d had enough of small country towns and I was looking for something different. For once in my life, I wanted to be able to walk down the street without anyone recognizing me. I might have moved to the next town, but the rumors followed me.”

  She sighed. “My father was well known amongst the university community that made up so much of the population of Armidale. Jack was eight then, but there were still plenty of pitying looks and whispers behind covered mouths as people recalled who I was—the girl who’d brought such shame to her family, the daughter of the upstanding principal of Watervale High.”

  Twisting her head, she looked up at him. “I wanted anonymity. What better place to find it than the biggest city in Australia?”

  Andy grinned down at her. “You have that right. I couldn’t even tell you the names of the people who live in my condominium block. How’s that for anonymity?”