The Aristocrat and the Single Mom

by Michelle Douglas

  Desire fire-balled low down in his stomach. Immediately. Without giving him time to draw breath. He stopped and feasted his eyes on her and decided breathing didn’t matter. It’d kick in again when it needed to.

  She was lovely. Utterly lovely. Blonde-haired and blue-eyed, lithe and strong. But it was more than how she looked. It was her essence, something innate to her, that drew him—the light in her eyes, the abandon with which she threw chips and turned cartwheels. He’d never seen the like in his life. Nobody had ever made him laugh so quickly and easily. Nobody had made him feel so accepted for who he was rather than what he was. Nobody had ever made him feel so alive.

  Staying in her house, taking her out to dinner, was probably folly.

  Of course it was folly.

  Kate chose that moment to turn and when she saw him her whole face lit up. It made him feel ten feet tall. It made him want to sweep her up in his arms and kiss her again.

  He didn’t. He said, ‘Did you have a good meeting with your accountant?’ instead.

  Boring. Predictable. Felice would take him to task over his lack of imagination.

  ‘Yes, thank you.’ Kate didn’t take him to task for boringness or predictability. She smiled as if she appreciated his interest.

  They stared at one another for a long moment. Simon’s mouth went dry with longing. Then Kate shook her head with a laugh, took his arm and led him back the way he’d come. ‘Now I’m guessing you have a hire car somewhere nearby?’

  ‘It’s just down the road a little way. Where’s your car?’ He tried to pull his mind back to practicalities, tried to steel himself against the light touch of her hand tucked into the crook of his arm. It fitted there so snugly he couldn’t resist pulling it in against his side more securely.

  ‘My car is stowed safely in the garage at home.’ She smiled up at him and her eyes danced. ‘I walk to work.’

  ‘Good.’ It meant he didn’t have to let go of her just yet. It meant he didn’t have to lose sight of her for even a few minutes.

  ‘Ooh, very nice,’ she said when he led her to the Mercedes E class he’d hired.

  He opened the passenger door with a flourish. ‘Your chariot, my lady.’

  He watched her settle back against the seat and run her hands appreciatively over the leather. Mind-boggling images scorched themselves on his brain. Images of her hands running over his body like that. Images of her naked against the pale creamy leather and—

  ‘Ooh, sat nav! Jesse is going to love this car.’

  Her words snapped him back. ‘Jesse?’

  She glanced up and her smile widened. ‘Jesse. My son.’

  He closed the door. Quick and sharp. Without realising he’d meant to.

  She had a child!

  He stumbled around the back of the car, his movements jerky and uncoordinated as if his body didn’t belong to him any more, as if gravity had taken a tighter hold on him and was trying to pull him right down through the earth.

  He paused, resting his hands on his knees. A child? This lovely woman, with her wide smile and her blonde ponytail that bounced as she walked, had a child? A son?

  No! He wanted to shout the denial to the sky. He’d misheard. He had to have misheard.

  He forced himself upright, forced his legs forward until he stood by the driver’s door, then he forced himself inside the car. He prayed his face did not betray him. ‘You said you have a son?’

  ‘That’s right. He’s seven and, like all boys, loves gadgets.’ She rolled her eyes and gestured to the satellite navigation device. ‘Didn’t Felice tell you about him?’

  ‘No.’

  She turned in her seat to face him more fully. The spot between her eyes, just above her nose, crinkled. ‘Simon, what exactly did Felice tell you?’

  Next to nothing, or so it would seem. ‘Her notes were…brief,’ he admitted. Talking about Felice suddenly seemed a whole lot safer than discussing the fact that Kate had a child.

  ‘Simon?’

  He turned and met her gaze.

  ‘When did you arrive in Australia?’

  ‘This morning.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘This morning, but…Wow! You must be shattered.’

  That just about summed it up.

  ‘Well, chop-chop.’ She clapped her hands. ‘The sooner we’re home, the sooner you can have a shower and start feeling like a normal human being again.’

  Her enthusiasm—her essence—wrapped around him and he found himself smiling back at her. He couldn’t help it. The woman was a witch. She was irresistible.

  She had a child. His smile disappeared.

  ‘And wait until you see the view from my back garden,’ she said as he started the car. ‘It’s to die for. Turn right up here at the roundabout.’

  He followed her directions.

  ‘I promise it will pep you up like nothing else. A shower, then a beer in the back garden—how does that sound?’

  ‘Pretty good.’ It did.

  Except—where did her kid fit into that scenario? He tried to tell himself it didn’t matter, but he knew he was lying.

  ‘Left and then a quick right,’ she said when they reached a T-junction. ‘And…here it is. Home.’

  She pointed to the right. Ramshackle was the first word that came to Simon’s mind. He swung the Mercedes into the drive and pulled it to a halt beneath a carport attached to the double garage. Only Kate’s house wasn’t rundown ramshackle—it was more sprawling ramshackle. It was white weatherboard and its shape didn’t conform to any style of architecture Simon had ever heard about.

  Two architect-designed double-storey, cement-rendered monstrosities sat at either side—one in shades of apricot and pink, the other in blues and greys. They should’ve dwarfed Kate’s house, but they didn’t. Their windows were firmly closed to maintain air-conditioned perfection. Kate’s house wasn’t shut up. In fact, all the windows Simon could see were open, revealing sheer white curtains that stirred on the slightest movement of the air. In a breeze those curtains would probably flutter right out of the windows to fly like flags.

  Kate grinned at him as if she could read his thoughts. The dolphin charm she wore on a silver chain around her neck glittered in the afternoon sunlight. ‘It was just a tiny two-bedroom weekender with a sleep-out veranda when my father bought it. He added to it over the years.’

  ‘It’s created an…interesting effect.’

  The dolphin charm suited her perfectly—graceful, strong, with just a hint of mischief. He wanted to reach out and touch the spot where it nestled in the creamy hollow of her throat.

  ‘C’mon, I’ll show you something that will really blow your mind.’

  She blew his mind. And, suddenly, he didn’t want her to. She had a child. He didn’t want his skin tightening up whenever she smiled at him. He didn’t want to notice how she walked with fluid grace as if the air were water.

  And he had no business imagining what she’d look like naked. No business at all.

  He grabbed her arm before she reached the front door. ‘Are you married? Is there a…a father for this child of yours?’

  She stared at him for a moment. Finally, she smiled. It threw him. ‘Of course this child of mine has a father. It wasn’t an immaculate conception, Simon. But no, I’m not married. I’m single.’

  That spot between her eyes crinkled up again. ‘Do you really think I would’ve kissed you if I was involved with someone else? Agreed to go out on a date with you? I’m aware your social circles are probably far more sophisticated than mine, but I don’t appreciate what you’re suggesting.’

  She glanced down at the hand that encircled her arm and he hastily released her. ‘No, of course not.’

  She rubbed her arm at the spot where his fingers had curved around her flesh and he wondered just how tightly he’d held her. Shame hit him. ‘I’m sorry.’ She had been nothing but kind to him today. She didn’t deserve this. ‘I just…’

  ‘Panicked?’

  He thought about that, the
n nodded. ‘Yes.’

  She smiled at him again. ‘Crazy.’

  The whole day had been crazy. Thoughts of him and this woman together the craziest of all. But they did have a fortnight. And, if she was willing…After all, the child had to go to bed at some time, didn’t he?

  Something about that thought seemed off kilter. He dragged a hand down his face. He’d think about it tomorrow, after he’d had a decent night’s sleep. At the moment, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to form a sensible thought to save himself.

  Kate led him through the house via a crooked, higgledy-piggledy hallway to a double glass sliding door at the back. She pulled it open and stepped outside. ‘There.’ She flung her arms wide. ‘What do you think?’

  Simon forced his gaze from the tempting curves and delights of her body, from the ravishing vision of having those arms wrapped around him, and forced his eyes to the view she indicated.

  He blinked and sucked in a breath. When he let it out again a sense of calm—totally at odds with the storm raging through him moments before—descended over him.

  ‘Amazing, isn’t it?’ she whispered.

  ‘Utterly.’ He found himself speaking quietly too, not wanting to break the stillness, the sense of tranquillity. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so at peace.

  ‘When she first saw this view, it was one of only two times I ever saw Felice at a loss for words.’

  He could understand that. Spread out before them, calm and smooth, touched with orange and gold as the sun started to set, was a bay as wide as he’d ever seen. The view was unimpeded all the way out to the sea horizon. Below them was a strip of green—a park lined with gums and flame trees—and, beyond that, away to the right, a strip of white beach.

  ‘What was the second?’

  ‘The second what?’

  She didn’t turn to meet his gaze, but continued to gobble up the view, to guzzle it as if it renewed her somehow, topped up the reserves the day had depleted. Simon suddenly wished he’d left the question unasked, that he’d left her to enjoy her view in peace.

  ‘Second what?’ she repeated, glancing at him.

  ‘The second time you saw Felice at a loss for words?’

  Her eyes became gentle at some memory, but she shook her head. ‘That isn’t a story for today. I’ll leave Felice to tell it.’

  ‘Mum!’

  Simon swung around to find a sandy-haired boy racing towards them from the garden next door. When he glanced back at Kate, a smile lit her face with so much joy it stole his breath.

  The child flung his arms around her waist. ‘I got a six! I got a six!’

  ‘Woo hoo!’

  Simon blinked as he watched them do a victory dance. At least that was what he figured the tangle of limbs and jumping in the air was meant to indicate.

  ‘And I clean bowled two of them!’

  They performed more victory dancing. Over Jesse’s head Kate grinned at him, completely oblivious to his consternation—for which he was grateful.

  ‘Jesse is cricket mad,’ she explained.

  Then she waved to someone who stood on the deck of the house next door. ‘Thanks, Flora. I hope he wasn’t any trouble.’

  ‘None at all. He and Nick keep each other occupied.’

  Good Lord—there was another child? He could tell at a glance that this one wasn’t Kate’s, though.

  With a wave, Flora and the child disappeared back inside their house.

  ‘Flora minds Jesse for me most afternoons. Just for an hour or so until I get home.’ She cuddled her son close. ‘And this, of course, is Jesse.’

  An ache thumped to life in Simon’s chest and was echoed behind his eyes. Why did mothers always expect a person to find their children adorable?

  ‘Jesse, this is Felice’s brother…’

  She glanced up at him expectantly. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, not sure what she expected from him. Most of his friends kept their children firmly hidden. Which suited him just fine.

  ‘Would you prefer Simon or Mr Morton-Blake?’ she started slowly, as if he were a child too. Her eyes suddenly danced mischief. ‘Or Lord—’

  ‘Simon will be fine,’ he cut in quickly.

  He stared at Jesse. Jesse stared back at him. Then, because he didn’t know what else to do, and Kate quite clearly expected something from him, he shot out his hand towards the child. ‘I’m pleased to meet you.’

  Jesse’s eyes widened. He pressed into his mother’s side, but when she nudged him he reached out to shake Simon’s hand.

  Simon gripped the child’s hand briefly. Then let it go. Fast. Children were so small and vulnerable, so noisy and destructive. And he didn’t want anything to do with this one.

  ‘I…um…would it be all right if I took that shower now?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Kate beamed at him. It made the ache in his chest and behind his eyes thump harder.

  ‘I’ll show you your room.’

  ‘You have your own bathroom,’ Jesse said, trailing into the house after them.

  Simon glanced back at him uneasily, then rolled his shoulders. ‘Excellent,’ he managed. At least he wouldn’t run into this pint-sized pocket of energy in that particular room of the house.

  Kate opened one of the doors off the higgledy-piggledy hallway. ‘Here it is.’ She stood aside to let him enter, then pointed. ‘En suite is through that door there.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘We’ll be back down that way in the kitchen or family room—’ she hitched her head in the direction they’d come ‘—when you’re finished.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Oh, and I’d better grab you a towel.’

  She disappeared back down the hallway. Jesse followed her and Simon heard him ask, ‘Is he really Felice’s brother?’

  ‘He sure is.’

  ‘Cool!’

  It was Jesse who reappeared clutching a fluffy white bath towel. ‘Here you go.’ He handed it to Simon shyly.

  Simon took it. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Do you play cricket?’

  Simon didn’t know what to say so he opted for the truth. ‘Yes.’ Then, because he didn’t know what else to do, he closed the door in the child’s face.

  The shower made him feel cleaner, but not back to normal. He turned the heat up as far as he could stand it before finishing with a blast of cold. For penance. Only he couldn’t remember what he was paying penance for. He dragged the towel over his hair and scrubbed until his scalp tingled. A good night’s sleep—that was all he needed. He’d feel right again tomorrow.

  He found Kate—and Jesse—in the open-plan kitchen and family room, just as she’d promised. He remembered another promise. Something about a beer in her back garden. He caught sight of her perky ponytail and anticipation inched through him.

  ‘Good shower?’ She glanced up from slicing salad vegetables.

  ‘The best,’ he said because the sight of her had his gut clenching with the desire to make her smile.

  ‘Simon plays cricket,’ Jesse announced to nobody in particular as far as Simon could tell.

  Kate set her knife down and sized Simon up with her glorious baby-blues. ‘Ah…but can he play it well? That’s the question. Can he play better than Felice?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’ Jesse nodded. ‘I bet he plays for England. You do, don’t ya, Simon?’

  Kate folded her arms, her lips twitching. ‘England, huh? C’mon, Simon,’ fess up now. Don’t be shy. Do you play for crown and country?’

  ‘Um…no.’ He shoved his hands in his pockets.

  Jesse squinted up at him. ‘Who do you play for then?’

  Jesse’s gaze had been glued to Simon’s face since Simon had entered the room, although he had done his level best to ignore it.

  ‘This is third degree time,’ Kate said kindly, scooping up freshly sliced lettuce and cucumber into a salad bowl before dragging a bag of tomatoes towards her chopping board.

  He didn’t
want to be third degreed.

  ‘Ooh, Jesse,’ she suddenly crooned, taking her knife up again, ‘you should see Simon’s car. It’s gorgeous. Sat nav and everything.’

  ‘Wow!’ Jesse gazed at Simon hopefully.

  No way. Cars weren’t toys and kids were destructive. They didn’t watch where they were going. They broke things—like satellite navigation devices. With his luck, the boy would knock the car out of gear or something. Slam his thumb in the car door.

  No way.

  He kept his mouth firmly shut and his feet firmly planted. He would not offer to show him the car. Kate sent him a puzzled glance. He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. ‘Didn’t you say something about a beer in your back garden?’

  Her frown cleared. With a low laugh, she pointed. ‘Beers are in the fridge. Help yourself. I’m going to be tied up in here for another half an hour. I’ll join you when I’m finished.’

  ‘I’ll wait.’ Sitting out there on his own…or, worse still, with the child…held little appeal.

  The smile she sent him seared him from the toes up and made him glad he’d offered to wait. She had a luscious mouth, lips full and soft. When he’d kissed her she’d tasted of sunshine and lemonade—the homemade variety, not the fizzy stuff.

  He wanted to kiss her again.

  And again. And again.

  He wanted to kiss her and not stop.

  ‘Simon!’

  He came back to earth with a crash when he realised those full lips were directing words at him. ‘Sorry?’

  She swallowed. He took in the high colour on her cheekbones and couldn’t hold back a grin. He remembered the way she’d wound her arms around his neck and kissed him back. He wanted to grab her around the waist and whirl her around in a victory dance of their own. He didn’t, but his grin widened. ‘I was miles away.’

  Her mock glare told him she knew exactly where he’d been. Then she glanced at Jesse. Simon shuffled from one foot to the other and bit his tongue to stop him from asking when Jesse went to bed.

  ‘I was saying,’ she started with exaggerated care, ‘that you play cricket…’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘And Jesse plays cricket…’