The Aristocrat and the Single Mom

by Michelle Douglas

  He nodded heavily. ‘The businesses are tied to the estate. We’ve opened up the house to the public and we’re turning the main wing into a convention centre. Apparently we’re going to be quite popular with the wedding market. Old houses with established gardens are apparently all the rage.’

  ‘And you’re honour bound to pay off this loan.’

  ‘Yes.’ He’d promised the bank manager and the people who depended on the estate for their livelihoods that he’d see it through.

  Amazingly, she smiled at him then. ‘And you’re not the kind of man who’d break his word.’

  He hoped not.

  ‘I admire that.’ She glanced down into her glass of untouched wine and her smile disappeared. ‘Can you give me your word that…that—’ she gestured to the spot where they’d kissed ‘—won’t happen again?’

  It hit him then that he couldn’t.

  ‘Because, Simon, I don’t think I can,’ she blurted out. ‘I lose all sense of reason when I’m around you.’ She took one sip of her wine, then set the glass on the table. ‘I don’t want to, but my hormones keep taking over.’

  She had his full sympathy.

  ‘Which is why I’m going to take myself off to bed right now.’

  She pushed her chair back and moved towards the house. Simon forced himself to remain where he was. ‘Goodnight, Kate.’

  Her, ‘Goodnight, Simon,’ drifted back to him on the warm night air.

  When he was sure she was gone, he reached across and captured her glass in his fingers, placed his lips to the same spot hers had been and tried to drag some scent of her from the glass. It didn’t work. All he could smell was the soft, woody scent of an aged Chardonnay.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ‘WHERE'S Simon?’

  Kate’s heart squeezed at the anticipation lighting her young son’s face. ‘Still in bed, chook.’

  If he were anything like her, Simon would have spent most of the night tossing and turning, tangled in longing and plagued by what-ifs. If he’d fallen asleep in the wee small hours, she and Jesse would do their best not to disturb him.

  ‘What a sleepyhead!’

  ‘Just like you when you’re on holiday,’ she teased, setting a cereal bowl and spoon in front of him.

  And if Simon weren’t asleep it’d mean he was avoiding her. She shook herself and tried to do cheerful and chipper. ‘If you want to walk to school with Nick and his mum, you’d better get a move on, mister.’ Flora was on another health kick. Walking the kids to and from school formed part of her new exercise regime.

  Kate sipped her coffee, staring out of the kitchen window at another perfect day. She resented the sun for shining so brightly, the sky for refusing admittance to grey clouds and the bay for appearing so darn calm and unruffled. If Simon weren’t asleep…

  It’d mean he’d stay holed up in his room until she left for work.

  Which was a good thing, she tried to tell herself, because the effects of last night’s kiss lingered too vividly in her mind. She hadn’t got over it yet and her body clamoured for a replay. She needed more time to get her traitorous flesh—her traitorous mind—back under control. Last night she’d been ready to give him everything. He didn’t want everything. Not from her, at least. And he liked her too much to pretend otherwise. Seeing him this morning would not help.

  It didn’t stop her from wanting to see him.

  ‘Mum?’

  Something in Jesse’s tone told her it wasn’t the first time he’d called her. She spun from the window. ‘Sorry, chook, I was a million miles away.’

  He held up his bowl. ‘I’ve finished.’

  His blue eyes were filled with concern and Kate berated herself for worrying him. ‘Woo hoo!’ she cheered, and didn’t care if Simon was asleep or not, if he heard or not. He didn’t deserve sleep. He deserved to be as frustrated and tied up in knots as she was. She pasted on a big grin, kissed the top of her son’s head and whisked away his bowl. ‘Well done, champ. Now go and get dressed.’

  Jesse’s face cleared and with a whoop he raced off to his bedroom.

  By the time Jesse left for school the perfect day outside had simply become even more perfect. She scowled at it. It wasn’t like she wanted a spectacular thunderstorm. Grey would do. Her shoulders drooped, her mouth drooped, even her eyes drooped.

  Then she heard the door to Simon’s room open and she snapped to attention—all droopiness gone, all resentment at the perfect weather forgotten.

  How could she look him in the face?

  How could she not?

  One thing became abundantly clear—putting it off would only make it worse. She forced her legs to carry her to the arched doorway that led down the hall to his room. She stopped one pace short, pulled in a breath, rehearsed asking him if he wanted coffee, then forced herself forward again…

  And practically collided with him. ‘Oh, Simon! I thought I heard you.’

  Tanned hands reached out to steady her, his fingers curling into the flesh of her upper arms—the bare flesh—and she couldn’t move away. She gazed up at him with the same helplessness as she had last night. The fire he’d lit inside her burst back into being.

  It was Simon who took the step back, who let his hands drop. Just like he had last night. Even though the hunger in his face matched hers.

  She swallowed. ‘Coffee?’

  She closed her eyes, mortified at the huskiness of her voice. Coffee? It had sounded more like an offer to go to bed. She kinked open one eye to find him shaking his head. Then he motioned down the hallway to the front door.

  She blinked. And, although she hadn’t thought it possible to feel any worse today, when she saw Simon’s suitcase sitting neat and upright at the end of the hallway, she knew she’d been wrong.

  ‘You’re leaving?’ The sight of the suitcase annihilated any trace of huskiness from her voice.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But Felice…’

  ‘I’ve booked into the Bayside Hotel.’

  It was just down the road. ‘It’s good,’ she found herself saying.

  He took her hand. ‘I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your hospitality.’

  She couldn’t say anything. He squeezed her hand. Then he turned and headed for the front door.

  ‘No!’ She raced down the hall, set her hand against the door and pushed it shut. ‘Surely this isn’t necessary?’

  He couldn’t leave. She didn’t want him to leave.

  He had to leave for England in another week.

  ‘Kate.’ He touched her face, drew her eyes to his. ‘You asked me last night if I could promise not to kiss you again. I can’t.’

  She did her very, very best to stop the blood from chugging through her veins with unadulterated excitement.

  ‘This thing between us is stronger than my sense of right and wrong. You have given me so much.’

  She wanted to melt under the warmth of his eyes. If only he’d let her give him more.

  ‘You’re kind and generous and more caring than any person I’ve ever met. If I stay in your house, if I kiss you one more time, I will hurt you. I don’t want that. You don’t deserve that. You deserve better than wham, bam, thank you, ma’am.’

  Yes, she did.

  And he had to return to England.

  If he gave in to this attraction, the protective side of his nature would see it as evidence of another failure.

  She removed her hand from the door.

  She couldn’t speak. She could only nod.

  He leant down, brushing his lips across her forehead, and left. His scent lingered. She stood in the doorway long after his car had disappeared to breathe him in.

  As if in a dream, she turned and walked back down the hallway and into the guest room—Simon’s room. She eased herself down onto the bed. A shudder racked her body as she buried her face in the covers. Her throat burned. Her eyes burned.

  She didn’t know how long she lay there, but finally she forced herself upright and out of the ro
om. She returned to the kitchen, seized her handbag and let herself out of the back door. She set off towards the marina. She had a business to run.

  Simon filled his lungs with salt-drenched air, then took in the lengthening shadows, the utter stillness that had descended over Dutchman’s Bay. Not even the leaves on the flame trees moved and he knew he could grow as addicted as Kate to these late summer afternoons. His heart dipped. Not that it would do him any good. Once he’d sorted things out with Felice he would have to return to England. Leave Kate and her beautiful summer evenings behind.

  His hotel sat just above the beach. From his room he had a view of the bay, but not of Kate’s house—her beautiful, ramshackle, comfortable house. So he sat on the beach where he could see it.

  He leant back on his hands, the sand beneath them warm, but the warmth couldn’t penetrate the chill that surrounded his heart. It didn’t matter which way he looked at it—he didn’t want to leave Kate.

  He ground his teeth together, curled his hands into the sand. He would leave, though. Kate deserved a better man than him.

  A child’s shout broke the stillness.

  Jesse?

  He turned to find Jesse racing along the beach towards him, three other kids in tow. Nick was one of them. In the park, Flora sat on a bench with a couple of other women. She raised her hand. He waved back.

  Then he caught the cricket ball Jesse tossed at him before it slammed into his nose. ‘Wotcha doing down here, Simon?’

  ‘Soaking up some rays. What are you doing down here?’

  ‘Waiting for Mum.’

  Simon wondered if that was what he was doing too. He knew she walked home this way. He couldn’t get thoughts of her out of his head. Those thoughts wouldn’t do him any good, though. He jerked his head to the hotel behind them. ‘I’ve just moved in there.’

  ‘Why?’ Jesse’s face screwed up for a moment and his eyes narrowed. ‘Have you had a fight with Mum?’

  ‘No!’ He tried to moderate his tone. ‘Nothing like that. Can you imagine anyone fighting with your mum?’

  ‘Nah, except Uncle Danny sometimes and they’re not real fights but tiffs.’

  Simon grinned. He could hear Kate in just about every word of that sentence.

  ‘Besides,’ Jesse added, ‘fights between brothers and sisters don’t count.’

  Out of the mouths of babes…Simon hoped Jesse was right.

  ‘Do you and Auntie Felice fight?’

  Felice was an honorary aunt, was she? It made Simon grin. ‘You bet. And your auntie Felice will need her old room back soon, which is why I’ve moved out.’

  ‘Oh. Okay.’

  And apparently that was all the explanation necessary. Jesse turned to his companions. ‘This is Simon who I told you about. The one who plays cricket.’

  ‘Well…he might know,’ one of Jesse’s companions said.

  ‘Know what?’ Simon couldn’t help asking.

  Jesse heaved an exaggerated sigh. ‘How to make the cricket ball spin that way instead of that way.’

  Simon rolled his eyes and wondered how many kids the world over had been seduced by the glamour of famous spin bowlers. ‘I prefer fast bowling,’ he muttered.

  ‘Us too,’ Jesse said glumly. ‘But Nick’s mum said we had to play nicely…gently.’

  Simon bit back a grin. He weighed the ball in his hands then leapt to his feet. ‘Look, you need to hold the ball like this.’ He demonstrated. ‘But it takes a lot of practice,’ he warned as they all gathered around. ‘Here—’ he handed the ball to Jesse ‘—you try.’

  Kate heard Jesse in the park well before she could see him. It made her step lighten a little. She and Jesse were doing just fine. They didn’t need some English lord type coming in to make everything right and good. Everything was already right and good.

  And if she told herself that often enough, eventually it would become fact.

  The problem was, it had been fact before Simon had come back-flipping into her world and made her feel like a princess.

  She pushed that thought away and focused instead on her child’s laughter. Jesse—the one uncomplicated blessing in her life. She rounded the final bend in the path and her eyes landed on Jesse first.

  Simon second.

  It took a while before she noticed the other children, the park bench of mothers. The shadows were long, the air warm and tinged orange and blue and…

  Simon? Her gaze swung back. Simon was playing cricket. With Jesse. On the beach.

  ‘Hey, Mum!’

  Jesse waved but he didn’t race away from his game to throw his arms around her waist and hug her. The other children stopped the game long enough to wave at her too. She waved back. Simon just stared. She knew exactly how clear the grey of those eyes would be. She wanted to race across and throw herself into his arms.

  Um…Jesse, children, other mothers…not a good time to throw herself at anyone.

  Finally he nodded.

  Kate couldn’t manage even that much. She staggered over to the park bench and collapsed beside Flora.

  ‘Big day, love?’ Flora tutted in sympathy.

  Kate nodded. ‘You could say that.’

  The next afternoon, Kate found herself confronted with a similar scene. Simon in the park. Again. Playing cricket with Jesse and Nick. And it suddenly occurred to her that a dangerous precedent was threatening to form. What the hell did Simon think he was doing?

  She passed a hand across her eyes. Thank heavens it was Friday. Paul would collect Jesse in approximately two hours and Jesse would be away at his dad’s for the entire weekend. That would nip this crazy situation in the bud.

  She waved to Jesse and Nick. She tried to nod at Simon.

  Oh, good Lord. He was wearing those Hawaiian print board shorts she’d insisted he buy on that first day. She remembered the digging of feet into sand, the feeding of seagulls and the walking on hands.

  She remembered the pressure of his lips on hers—the wonderful exhilaration and freedom of it.

  She couldn’t nod. Instead she took a seat beside Flora.

  ‘Heavens, love, you look done in. What you need is a holiday.’

  She remembered saying those exact same words to Simon.

  ‘Perhaps when Danny gets back,’ the other woman said kindly.

  ‘Perhaps.’ She did her best to raise a smile. When Danny got back Simon would leave. What use would a holiday be to her then?

  When Kate rounded the last bend in the path the following Monday and took in the scene—Simon, Jesse and Nick playing cricket yet again—she knew she would have to do something to bring this afternoon ritual to an end.

  How many hearts did Simon mean to break?

  ‘Garbage,’ she ground out under her breath. Simon hadn’t broken her heart. No sirree. She slumped onto the bench beside Flora and glowered at Simon, at the bay, at the sky. Her heart was intact, thank you very much, and that was how Jesse’s would remain too.

  ‘You’re muttering, love.’

  Kate crashed back with a bump. ‘Was I?’ Good Lord, how embarrassing. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Still…it’s an improvement.’

  Kate stared at Flora, feeling vaguely appalled. ‘Over what?’

  ‘Over all that dog-tired depression.’

  ‘I haven’t been depressed!’ She hadn’t. No way!

  Flora stared at her, then glanced at Simon and lifted an eyebrow. Kate bit back a groan and waited for some pithy observation—something along the lines of, You wouldn’t be the first girl to tie yourself in knots over a man.

  And not just any man but a tourist too. The locals took a pretty dim view when it came to tourists. The tourists were fine to have fun with, but you didn’t pin your hopes on them. A body didn’t get much sympathy if a tourist broke their heart, not around here.

  Because a girl should know better.

  But that kiss…

  That rotten, wonderful, fly in the face of everything she ever thought she knew kiss.

  Flora didn’t mak
e any kind of pithy observation. She simply said, ‘I promised the boys they could make chocolate crackles this afternoon.’

  ‘You’re brave. It’ll take you a week to clean your kitchen.’ Then she drew back to gaze at Flora. ‘Didn’t I say you needed to incorporate chocolate into that new-fangled diet of yours?’ Flora must be getting antsy if she was prepared to let the boys loose in her kitchen.

  By ‘boys’ Kate took her to mean Jesse and Nick, not Simon. Nobody could describe Simon as a boy. Not with those strong abs and powerful thighs. She shook herself, reminding herself about not muttering.

  ‘Hence the chocolate crackles,’ Flora confessed. ‘And one chocolate crackle seems a whole lot less fatal to my diet than an entire packet of biscuits.’

  ‘True, and you can freeze chocolate crackles, you know?’ For emergencies. Kate wondered if she had any chocolate in the house.

  Flora rubbed her hands together. ‘I know.’

  The glee in her eyes made Kate laugh. Then she noticed how intently Jesse watched Simon as Simon demonstrated some complicated bowling action, as Simon took the young boy’s arm to correct his technique and demonstrate what he meant, and her laughter dried up. Hero-worship oozed from each and every one of her son’s pores.

  ‘I’ll take the boys home.’ Flora patted Kate’s hand. ‘And I think you should sit here and soak up the…’ her eyes rested on Simon ‘…view.’

  Kate straightened from her slouch. It’d give her a chance to tackle Simon about Jesse. ‘I’d like that,’ she said carefully. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Flora rose. ‘I’m on a chocolate crackle crusade.’

  With that, she called the boys and disappeared. Suddenly the park was quiet again. Too quiet. Simon hesitated, then moved towards her. Kate leapt off the bench. Sitting with Simon seemed somehow way too cosy. He was leaving in another week. Probably less.

  She wasn’t getting cosy with Simon. Not again.

  ‘Hello, Kate.’

  ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ Until the words shot out of her, she hadn’t realised the throb and burn of the anger coursing through her.