The Aristocrat and the Single Mom

by Michelle Douglas

  Mrs Kennedy stared merrily out at the view, oblivious to her husband’s distress. Strain deepened the creases around Mr Kennedy’s mouth and he turned a sickly shade of grey. She caught his gaze and pointed to the lined paper bags she kept on a shelf beneath the controls. He shook his head.

  ‘We’ll be back at the marina in under ten minutes,’ she assured him. ‘The breeze in your face might help.’ She pointed towards the back of the boat to several spare seats. ‘Some people swear by it.’ Up here at the front, near the wheel and controls, Kate and the passengers closest were protected from the weather by a bank of Perspex windows.

  He nodded and rose, and the last of the colour left his face. With a groan, he clutched his chest and pitched forward.

  Kate abandoned the wheel to catch him and lower him to the deck as gently as she could—which wasn’t very as he had to weigh at least two hundred pounds. Mrs Kennedy scrambled down beside Kate and started screaming her husband’s name and shaking him. Kate grabbed the mouthpiece to the PA. ‘Archie, I need you up here right now.’ Then she dropped it, knocked the boat into neutral and turned back to Mr Kennedy.

  A heart attack! He was having a heart attack!

  Kate went cold all over. Her limbs and fingers grew heavy. No, no. She couldn’t freeze. She forced herself to move. ‘Keep back, please,’ she ordered the concerned passengers who crowded around. ‘Back to your seats.’ She tried to inject authority into her voice and failed miserably. ‘We need to give him air.’

  Archie appeared, took in the situation and leapt straight to the wheel, pushing the boat back into motion. ‘I’ll call the ambulance.’

  She nodded to let him know she’d heard. She checked Mr Kennedy’s pulse. It was weak, but it was there. And he was still breathing. ‘Please, everyone, back to your seats.’ She almost sobbed the words as she felt the situation start to slip from her control.

  Then, magically, Simon was there. And, with an ease she’d have applauded if she had the time, he had people back in their seats, giving her the room to roll Mr Kennedy into the recovery position.

  Mrs Kennedy clawed at Kate’s arm. ‘What’s wrong with him? Is he going to be all right? What are you doing?’ With each question her voice rose.

  And then Simon was there again, drawing Mrs Kennedy back onto the bench and holding her, soothing her, and it gave Kate enough time to brief the emergency service team on the phone about Mr Kennedy’s symptoms. The information would be passed on to the paramedics who’d be waiting on the pier. She closed her eyes and prayed Mr Kennedy would hold on till then. She had a first aid certificate—every two years she attended a refresher course—but she’d never been called upon to use it. She’d hoped she never would be.

  ‘Kate?’

  Her eyes flew open. She couldn’t hide her strain, her fear, from Simon’s clear grey gaze. And at the moment she didn’t care.

  ‘Would it be okay if Joan held Rodney’s hand?’ he asked gently.

  Mrs Kennedy—Joan—stared at Kate, her eyes full of fear but she was otherwise outwardly composed. How Simon had pulled off such a miracle in so short a time Kate had no idea, but she wanted to hug him.

  She nodded mutely and shuffled down so Mrs Kennedy could take her place at Mr Kennedy’s head and hold his hand. ‘Can he hear me?’ Mrs Kennedy touched Kate’s arm, her eyes so full of pleading Kate knew she had to oust all worst case scenarios from her mind.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she admitted. ‘But the one time I fainted, I couldn’t move a muscle, I couldn’t open my eyes, but I could hear everything that went on around me.’

  Simon said, ‘Why don’t you tell him that everything is going to be just fine. That there’s an ambulance on standby at the pier and that you’re going to be beside him every step of the way.’

  Mrs Kennedy set about doing exactly that, scolding her husband gently, wiping the hair back from his forehead and reassuring him. Kate wanted to hug Simon again. Over Mrs Kennedy’s head, she met his gaze. For some reason, having him here made her panic recede.

  ‘Kate? Is there anything else you need me to do? I do have a certificate in first aid.’

  Her panic receded further. She mouthed ‘heart attack’, so he knew what they were dealing with. He nodded and she had a feeling he’d heard every word she’d spoken to the emergency personnel.

  ‘Kate—’ Archie’s voice was terse ‘—we’re nearly there and I’m going in fast.’

  ‘Will you be okay here?’ she asked Simon.

  ‘Yes.’

  His quiet confidence gave her the boost she needed. She leapt up to seize the dangling mouthpiece for the PA. ‘Okay, folks, we’ve had a slight first aid emergency up here on the top deck. We’ll be docking in a few moments with more speed than grace, I fear. I ask everyone to be seated and prepare for a bit of a bump. Please remain in your seats until the paramedics have boarded and then disembarked again with our casualty. Your co-operation in this will be greatly appreciated.’

  Kate and Simon oversaw Mr and Mrs Kennedy to the ambulance. Before she leapt into the ambulance with her husband, Mrs Kennedy clasped Kate’s face in her hands and kissed her cheek. ‘Thank you. You moved so fast and knew precisely what to do. I can’t thank you enough.’ Then she disappeared.

  Kate gulped in a breath before turning back to Simon. ‘I want to thank you too. What you did…’

  He shrugged. ‘It was nothing more than crowd control.’

  ‘It made all the difference.’ As she said the words, she knew they were true. She and Simon had worked as a team. Efficient. Effective. She told herself it didn’t change anything.

  ‘You were the one who made the difference, Kate. You did everything you could, and you did it by the book.’

  She had a feeling she wouldn’t have managed that if he hadn’t been there. His strength had bolstered her flagging confidence, had diminished her panic.

  ‘But I’m glad I could help.’ Then he turned and leapt back on board The Merry Dolphin.

  After a moment’s hesitation, Kate followed.

  Tour Four. Kate’s headache thumped into full-bodied life. She and Simon worked side by side behind the bar and some sixth sense she never knew she had tracked his every movement. He was all she could smell. They didn’t talk much. Despite their jaw-grinding awareness of each other, that awful sense of awkwardness had gone. Kate had a feeling that might be the worst sign of all.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  KATE sensed the precise moment Simon entered the kitchen. She did her best to keep her back and shoulders relaxed. Her stomach tightened and clenched, but she figured he wouldn’t notice that beneath the oversized T-shirt she wore.

  ‘Coffee?’ She tried to keep her voice if not bright then at least level. ‘Or a beer?’

  He’d earned both. He’d insisted on joining her on The Merry Dolphin again today. Like her, he’d worked a half day. Had said he wanted to pay his way in return for her hospitality.

  Today he’d relaxed into it. Today he’d stopped shadowing her every move. Today he’d chatted and joked with the passengers as if born to the job.

  Today she hadn’t known which way was up.

  He’d still avoided the children, though.

  ‘A beer would be great. I’ll get it,’ he said when she made a move towards the fridge. ‘You don’t need to wait on me.’

  She managed to feign a deep interest in her feet as he walked across the room. She couldn’t prevent her eyes from flicking towards him once he was safely past her, though. Then he bent down to peer into the refrigerator’s depths and…

  Omigosh! She fanned her face. Nice butt.

  ‘You want one?’

  The lift of his lips, the cheek crease, told her he’d caught her ogling. Her throat closed over—previous experience told her the floor would not open up and swallow her. She shook her head and pointed to the coffee machine, which had just gurgled into life. Then did her best not to notice his fresh-from-the-shower crispness, the way damp darkened hair somehow highlighted the golden glow
his skin had taken on after only two days in the sun. It was impossible, of course—Simon oozed health and vitality. She kept her eyes on the ceiling as he sauntered back across the room to lean one hip against the kitchen table.

  The cool, clean scent of him invigorated her.

  He hadn’t glowered at the children today.

  She stiffened from her slouch and did her best to shove that wayward thought right out of her head. Hope did not belong in any equation involving her and Simon. If she were honest, it never had. Even before the kid thing. He was here for two weeks. What on earth had she thought would happen between them in only two weeks?

  She shook herself. ‘I just got off the phone from Mrs Kennedy. Mr Kennedy is going to be just fine. They’re treating his turn—as Mrs Kennedy calls it—as a warning.’

  ‘She must be relieved.’

  ‘Absolutely.’ It was nearly impossible not to look at him, but she managed it. Just. ‘She asked me to thank you again.’

  ‘Not necessary.’

  ‘That’s what I said.’

  Silence filled the spaces between them.

  ‘Kate?’

  He snapped open the top of his beer. She jumped. ‘Hmm?’

  ‘I didn’t cancel our dinner date for this evening.’

  It took a moment to drag her gaze from a mouth that uttered words in the kind of accent she’d love to sigh and stretch out under. Her pulse kicked up a notch when the import of his words sank through the hormone-befuddled haze that was currently her brain. She cast a deliberately casual glance at the clock on the kitchen wall—just after six.

  ‘There’s still time. You’re welcome to use the phone in the hall.’

  ‘Which gives you roughly an hour and a half to get ready,’ he continued as if she hadn’t spoken.

  He took a swig of his beer, head tilted back, long tanned column of throat on display. Kate pushed away from the bench, seized the milk from the fridge and ordered herself not to look at him. ‘I told you to cancel. I—’

  ‘You want me to give up my one chance to eat at Fletchers?’

  She sloshed milk all over the bench top. She abandoned the carton to spin and face him. ‘Fletchers? You made a dinner reservation at Fletchers?’ No, she couldn’t have heard right. At this time of year, Fletchers was booked out months in advance.

  ‘That’s right, Fletchers. And now you’re telling me you want me to cancel?’

  She hadn’t misheard. Fletchers!

  Was he crazy? One didn’t cancel a table at Fletchers.

  She forced her body back against the bench, fought for common sense. Fought against the betraying thread of excitement that trickled through her whenever she glanced at him. All she got for her trouble was the cold stickiness against her back as spilt milk seeped into the cotton of her T-shirt.

  ‘Ugh!’ She reached back and pulled wet cotton off her skin but when Simon’s eyes rested for the briefest moment on her front she let it drop with a squawk. Cold milk was exactly what she needed. She folded her arms over her chest. ‘Yes.’ She gave one hard nod. ‘That’s exactly what I’m saying. Cancel Fletchers.’

  ‘You want me to miss out on eating there?’ He glared at her as if she were mad. He had a point.

  ‘Go alone.’

  He raised an eyebrow, his lip curling slightly.

  Fine. ‘Take Felice when she gets back.’

  ‘You think Fletchers will give me the time of day if I cancel now?’

  Not a chance. She couldn’t help herself. ‘How on earth did you manage to get a table when you’d only been in Nelson’s Bay for what…a matter of hours?’

  ‘It wasn’t easy.’

  She snorted. ‘From what I’ve heard, it’s damn near impossible.’

  ‘But when they found out I was the seventh Lord of Holm…’

  Her jaw dropped. ‘You’re joking?’

  ‘Nope.’

  He grinned that low grin. The sexy one that brought cheek creases into serious play. The wet patch on her back turned warm and sticky. So did her insides.

  ‘Outrageous, isn’t it?’

  ‘Totally.’ Then she realised he meant Fletchers and how they’d pandered to his title. ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘And you seriously want me to cancel?’

  Regret pitched through her, ousting the warmth, the trickling excitement. ‘If you don’t want to eat on your own, then yes. You and me, Simon, it isn’t going to work. Going on a date is ridiculous.’

  He shifted his weight to face her more fully, that cute butt of his resting on the pine surface of her kitchen table.

  ‘Okay, so I agree it’s not going to work.’

  And she’d known she wouldn’t get an argument about that. So why was it so hard to keep the corners of her mouth from drooping?

  ‘It is pointless, you and me going on a date,’ he continued. ‘But when did you last eat out at Fletchers?’

  Danny’s twenty-first birthday.

  ‘All I’m asking is that we go as friends, just for a nice meal. Which means it isn’t really a date at all.’

  Friends—her and Simon? ‘Does that mean you’ll let me pay for my half of the meal?’

  ‘No.’ He said the word gently, the grey of his eyes clear and kind, but resolute. ‘This is a thank you for all of your hospitality.’

  Behind her the coffee machine spluttered. Without turning, she reached behind and switched it off. She’d given up all thoughts of a caffeine kick. With Simon in the house she didn’t need any more kicks. ‘You’ve spent the last day and a half working aboard The Merry Dolphin. I suspect you won’t let me pay you for it. I think that’s thanks enough.’

  ‘And I suspect that if you’d needed another crew member you’d have hired one. I was free to jump off whenever I wanted. I was having fun.’ He paused. ‘But if you won’t let me thank you for allowing me the use of your guest room, then I think that’s an indication you might prefer it if I arranged alternative accommodation.’

  ‘No!’ The word shot out of her before she could stop it. He was Felice’s brother. Danny’s brother-in-law. It was only right that he stay here. She remembered how much he’d helped her with the Kennedys yesterday. ‘Friends?’ She tested the word.

  His gaze never left hers. ‘Can you be friends with a man who isn’t into children, but who’ll promise from hereon to treat Jesse with the same consideration as he treats you?’

  ‘Yes.’ That was easy. She didn’t even have to think about it. Some people didn’t want children. She didn’t have a problem with that. Different strokes and whatnot. Some people shouldn’t have children and perhaps Simon was one of them. Problem was, she could never become involved with someone like that.

  ‘So you’ll come to Fletchers with me?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He smiled again—cheek creases and all—and she couldn’t help smiling back. Their eyes locked, he kept smiling and she kept smiling. Oh, good Lord. Distraction. She needed a distraction.

  ‘What time did you make the reservation?’

  ‘Seven-thirty.’

  ‘What?’ She jerked to attention with a yelp.

  ‘Is that a problem?’

  She did her best impression of a haughty socialite. ‘I’ll have you know that most women need at least three hours of primping and preening before stepping into the hallowed foyer of Fletchers.’

  He took a sip of his beer before looking her up and down. Kate’s blood did a silly little jig in her veins. The fingers that gripped his beer were long and lean. He had nice hands and a great grin. And eyes to die for—smoky, smouldering eyes outlined in dark, dark lashes and they were looking at her as if those long, lean fingers of his and those firm, tilted-at-the-corner lips would prefer to be holding her, touching her, than they would that can of beer. Which was a crazy thought because they were just friends. Nothing more.

  He set the can down on the table. ‘You could go as you are and still be the most stunning woman in the room.’

  For a moment Kate could’ve sworn the actual a
ir between them sizzled with heat shimmer. She blinked and it subsided. ‘Now you’re just being extravagant,’ she said, trying to throw off the compliment, but her voice wobbled. She pointed towards the door. ‘I’ll…um…go and get ready.’ And she fled.

  An hour later, Kate stepped into the living room but whatever she’d meant to say got lost somewhere between brain and mouth when her eyes landed on Simon.

  She swallowed. She reminded herself that dribbling down her front was a seriously bad look. He wore a black dinner jacket and bow-tie, which contrasted crisply with a fresh white dress shirt, and he looked debonair and sophisticated and to-die-for. Hero material for some movie set. But it was the way he stared at her that had her words melting on her tongue. She had a feeling his smoky gaze could spark a fire that could consume them both. She must have been crazy to agree to this.

  He cleared his throat and motioned to her. ‘I can’t believe, even given three hours of primping and preening, that you could look better than you do now.’ A smile curved his lips; appreciation lit his eyes. ‘Kate, you are beautiful.’

  The simple sincerity of his compliment had the heat blossoming in her cheeks and pleasure tumbling through her. ‘Thank you. You don’t look too shabby yourself.’ Maniacal laughter rang through her head at the understatement.

  She wore her favourite dress—a silver sheath the quicksilver colour of the bay at midnight on a full moon. It shimmered as she moved and was fitted to the knee, where it then flared out to swirl around her calves. She’d teamed it with a pair of high-heeled silver sandals, a beaded wrap and a tiny clutch. He kept staring and the heat kept building inside her.

  ‘Should we walk?’ She pasted on a smile. Fletchers was on the boardwalk above the marina.

  Simon glanced down at her shoes and one corner of his mouth lifted. ‘They look more like dancing shoes, Kate. Not walking shoes.’