‘You did it at the hospital,’ he observed, shifting to face her on the lounge, his arm resting along the top of it, the movie forgotten. ‘You do these amazing things, and then want it all swept under the rug.’
She shook her head in denial. ‘No, that’s not it.’
Her hair was just millimetres from his fingers, and he stopped trying not to touch her. He lifted his fingers to play with it, enjoying the way her hair tended to curl at the ends.
‘You saved my kids from a sinking car. You make the effort to play with them, to read to them, to keep them in a routine when I’m not here – do you not see how amazing you are?’
She turned to him, her brown eyes dark and luminous. ‘You mistake amazing for ordinary,’ she murmured. She shook her head. ‘You think I’m amazing, but seriously, anyone in my position would do the same.’
He shook his head. Ava had rarely read to the kids, and she sure as hell hadn’t sung them any lullabies, as Gertrude had told him Darcy often did. ‘No, not anyone. You.’
She smiled, but it didn’t really lift the muscles in her cheeks – it was more like a faded facsimile of a smile. No heart. ‘You don’t know me, Dom.’
‘Then tell me, Darce. Why is it that you try to seem less than you are? Why is it so hard for you to accept praise?’
‘I’m not some shy and shrinking hero, Dom. You think I’m amazing. I know I’m not.’ She plucked at a strand of cotton at the frayed hem of her shorts. ‘I know what that sounds like – it sounds like I’m looking for assurance, or for you to boost my confidence. I’m not. I know what I’m capable of. I don’t want you building me up in your mind, putting me on some pedestal I simply don’t deserve.’ She lifted her gaze to him, serious and sombre. ‘Because that’s a sure path to disappointment, I can tell you, blinding yourself to another’s faults.’
There was something in her voice, an edge to her tone that made him wonder who had blinded her, who had hurt her.
He delved his hand into the hair at the back of her neck, and she closed her eyes as she tilted her head, moving into his touch. He lightly massaged her scalp, trying to soothe the tension that gripped her.
‘We’ve all made mistakes,’ he said, his voice low. He laughed. ‘Hell, I’ve made enough of my own. But that’s life, Darce. We move on, better and wiser for the experience.’
Her eyelids fluttered, and her mouth opened as she looked at him, as though to protest.
He forestalled her, laying a light finger across her lips. ‘Sometimes we harm, Darce. Sometimes we hurt – but then we heal.’ Something flickered in her eyes, a flash of hope momentarily blinking through the dark guilt. ‘We’ve all done stuff we regret. The things that happened in the past – that’s not who we are.’ Otherwise he would always be that wounded, scared, vulnerable kid who nearly broke into a million pieces, all those years ago. ‘It’s the things we do, going forward, that define us.’
They were so close. He could see the spiky lengths of her eyelashes as they swept against the top of her cheek, could feel the sweet exhalation of her breath against his finger, could smell her light, natural fragrance, like honey and sunshine. She turned to him, her expression so sad, so guilt-ridden.
‘You don’t understand,’ she whispered as he moved his finger away to hear her words. ‘I’m not—’
He lowered his head. ‘What? Amazing?’ he murmured, kissing her slowly, trying to erase the deep emotional pain stamped on her features. For a moment her mouth opened, welcoming him, then she drew back.
‘No, I haven’t been—’ she began.
‘Fantastic?’ he whispered against her lips, stealing the words from her with another kiss, driven to make her feel something other than the self-reproach that was clearly crippling her. Whatever she was beating herself up over, she had to let it go. God, he wanted her to let go. He pulled her closer, and her hand slid up his arm to his shoulder.
She tore her lips from his, in another effort to convince him just how bad and naughty she was, he supposed.
‘No, you need to know that I’m—’
‘Awesome and way too hard on yourself,’ he told her, kissing her. He pulled back. ‘And you talk too much,’ he said, before kissing her again. He took his time, learning the territory of her mouth like a musician discovers the intricacies of a new instrument. Tongue against tongue, breaths mingling, his body hardening with arousal as she not only accepted his kiss, but took over, pushing him down onto the sofa.
Oh, yes. He pulled her over him, pressing her breasts against his chest as she lay along his length. Her nipples scorched him through her thin top, and he slid one hand around her side, wedging his thumb between them to stroke one of those pressing nubs. His cock stiffened, lengthened, and he groaned as she rolled her hips against him in a lazy, sensual motion that brought to mind twisted sheets and hot summer nights.
He pulled gently on her hair, twisting her head to get a better angle, deeper access to the heaven of her mouth. Slow, hot, carnal, he licked and bit at her lips. She shuddered above him, whimpering softly as he palmed her breast, the soft flesh filling his hand, the soft slide of cotton a tease and a frustration. Their kiss went on and on, her legs sliding to either side of his hips. God, she was hot. So sweet, so hot, he could drink her in all night.
He trailed his hand down from her tousled hair to those brief denim shorts that hugged her to perfection. He clasped her butt cheek, pulling her closer as he lifted his hips. She murmured something soft and approving as he rubbed himself against her.
His pulse thundered in his ears as his hand crept lower, sliding over the cuff of her shorts to stroke the seam between her legs.
‘Yes, oh, please, yes,’ she moaned softly against his mouth, before trailing her lips down to his neck.
He swallowed. ‘Yes,’ he breathed in total agreement. God, yes. He pulled at her top, baring the skin of her back as she rubbed her hips against his. He was going to explode if he didn’t get her naked. Now.
Her skin was smooth as his hand glided up under her voluminous top to touch the swell of her breast. He sucked in a breath. She was driving him nuts, pushing him to his limit. He stroked the seam between her legs, enjoying the sweet torture of the answering roll of her hips against his, her liquid heat soaking the denim.
‘Daddy?’
CHAPTER
15
‘Oh God!’ Darcy shrieked, recoiling. Dom sat up abruptly, unseating her. She fell off him, hitting the floor in front of the sofa with a soft thud.
Dom’s head whipped around, and Darcy looked up, peering through her dishevelled hair. Julia stood inside the living room doorway, rubbing her eyes and yawning, a fluffy white teddy bear under an arm. The girl blinked owlishly at the soft light of the lamp, before glancing around, finally locating her father.
And the desperate nympho who’d been snogging his brains out. Darcy remained in her hunched position, hurriedly yanking down her top to ensure all of her parts were adequately covered. She turned away, pretending she was looking for something as she clutched her injured arm across her chest, feeling naked and vulnerable with her nipples tenting the fabric.
Holy crapoly. She’d been hot with lust, now she was writhing in scorching embarrassment. She glanced briefly over her shoulder as Julia padded around the lounge, clutching the teddy bear to her chest.
‘What’s up, sweetie?’ Dom asked, his voice raspy as he grabbed a cushion and held it to his lap. Yeah, try hiding that hard-on. It had been impressive, melting her insides – and her inhibitions – to mush.
‘I had a bad dream.’
Dom held out his arm, and tried to hide a grimace as his daughter climbed over him to sit on the lounge, snuggling into his side. He took a deep, calming breath. ‘What was it about, sweetheart? Can you remember?’
Julia hesitated, then frowned. ‘No,’ she said, then looked up at him. ‘But it was scary, and Darcy wasn’t in her room.’
Oh, great. Now she felt really bad. Julia turned to her, then cocked her head. ‘What
are you doing?’
Darcy’s gaze dropped down to the plush carpet. ‘Um…’ She pounced on an imaginary speck. ‘Found it! Found my contact lens.’ She made a production of inserting the lens into her already-lensed eye, then turned and blinked triumphantly. ‘Yep, there we go.’ She smiled broadly at the sleepy little girl.
Dom’s eyebrows rose. ‘You wear contact lenses?’
Darcy’s smile faltered. She nodded slowly. ‘Yeah.’
Dom shrugged. ‘I never knew.’
Julia smiled. ‘I did.’
The man who had just kissed her senseless and scorched her reservations smiled gently down at his daughter. ‘You did, huh? Why don’t we get you back into bed? I’ll tuck you in.’ Julia nodded, putting her arms around her father’s neck, and he rose, lifting her into his arms. ‘Okay, cuddle-pie, say goodnight to Darcy.’
‘Goodnight, Darcy,’ the girl said in her chirpy voice.
Darcy smiled. ‘Goodnight, Julia. Sleep well.’
Dom looked at her over his daughter’s head, his gaze intent, dark with desire. ‘Will you be here when I get back?’
She knew what he was asking. Was she ready for more? Did she want to take that next step? She didn’t know. Dom made her senses come alive, made her feel like a woman – an attractive woman, at that. She hadn’t had such a strong, physical attraction to a man in, well, ever, and she wanted more than anything to give in to the need that still held her body in its tight clutch.
But could she? Should she?
He was still waiting for her answer, and Julia lifted her head to gaze back at her, also expectant.
‘Maybe,’ she murmured. He nodded, his expression showing his understanding as he turned and carried his daughter from the room.
She flopped back onto the lounge, smacking her arm across her forehead, her breath gusting out of puffed cheeks. The man was…explosive.
She shifted, crossing her legs, her arousal still rampant. He was too hot to handle. Except she’d handled him, and had thoroughly enjoyed doing so. And wanted to do it again. His expression when he’d left – she should have felt embarrassed, but she got the impression he’d accepted that she had reservations, and was prepared to let her take the lead.
She fanned herself, trying to calm her heart and cool her ardour. Oh my God. If Julia hadn’t interrupted, what would have happened? She would have gotten all Little Miss Horny-Pants over Mr Hot Property, that’s what. Would have? Did. And what would have happened next? Well, aside from the obvious, that is. There was a certain level of intimacy that came from making love, an honesty she just couldn’t commit to at the moment.
Dominic thought she was some amazing, fantastic, awesome woman when she was really a sneaky, opportunistic tramp. She stopped fanning herself as desire gave way to self-disgust. She couldn’t do this anymore. She couldn’t keep lying to the man. Dominic was kind, more than generous – passionate… She was beginning to admire him in so many ways, and treating him like this, the deceit, the manipulation, it was a crippling burden. She had to tell him.
She had to tell him the truth.
Just the thought of how he’d react twisted her stomach into knots. Would he hate her? Abhor her? Would he be disgusted? Disappointed? Surely all of the above.
In that moment, before their kiss, the guilt had almost flattened her. She’d so wanted to come clean, so wanted to be honest, to reveal the truth, despite what it might cost her with him. And she’d tried. Okay, so she should have tried harder, but the man kissed like an angel. The price for her honesty would be high – and she wasn’t thinking about her safe haven, her hideaway from danger. No, she was beyond that. Her guilt at lying to Dominic was beginning to tip the scales away from her issues, from the risk of leaving – or possibly being exposed to the media – and Mark Shein. Her guilt was beginning to weigh more heavily on her, the personal toll of her actions – she didn’t like doing this, didn’t like what she was becoming. Like Dominic had said, everyone made mistakes. Perhaps he would look at her actions like that – a mistake. How unfortunate. Well, onwards and upwards.
She made a face. As if. He was going to be hurt – but the sooner she told him, hopefully the less invested he would be, the less hurt he would feel at her deceit.
She looked at the television screen. The movie had ended, and the late news opening theme was playing. She sat back on the lounge. She’d tell him tonight. She’d tried to earlier, and the wicked man had distracted her. When he got back though, she’d make him sit and listen. No more distractions.
She watched the news absently, trying to prepare herself for her confession, thinking about what she would say. She wouldn’t sugarcoat it. No, she respected him too much to try to put a positive spin on what she had done – how could she possibly excuse it? How could he possibly excuse it?
A late-breaking story flashed upon the screen about a house fire in the suburbs of Sydney. She stiffened as footage of the fire’s aftermath was shown, of smoke curling from the blackened and charred remains of the house, a wind chime on the front verandah railing appearing to be the only thing to have survived the fire. She knew that wind chime: she’d given it to her father for Christmas when she was nineteen, after she’d spent two hours making it in a beading class.
She leaned forwards, eyes wide, throat drying as she scanned the screen. The reporter was making a comment on the surprising fact that the owner of the house was a retired firefighter who didn’t have a working fire alarm.
She shook her head slowly. No. Dad was anal about replacing the batteries. He even had a backup alarm hardwired to the main electrical. And he tested it, despite the fact that he thought every time Darcy cooked the fire alarm got a workout. Where was he? She scanned the background. Where was he? Where was Dad?
She started to shiver, and she raised her hand to her mouth, feeling like she was going to throw up. Oh, please, no. No, no, no, no. Please let him be okay, please.
There! In the background, a blanket around his shoulders, an oxygen mask over his face, surrounded by a number of firemen. She sagged against the lounge. He was alive. She shook, a tear rolling down her cheek. He’d almost died. The journalist blithely reported that the homeowner would have been blown up with the rest of the house if he hadn’t hesitated because the sensor light didn’t come on and he couldn’t see the steps.
Darcy slid from the sofa to kneel on the floor in front of the television, stretching to touch the screen, as though she could reach into TV land and hug her father. Instead, she traced his face for the brief time the cameraman got a close-up before another fireman stood in front of the desolate figure, blocking the view.
She sobbed. Her dad. That was her dad, sitting there all huddled and miserable, looking every day of his sixty-eight years, watching the firefighters hose down the skeletal remains of the house he’d bought with his wife and had brought his two children up in. Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she took great gasping breaths.
‘Sadly, the owner was uninsured, having lost his life savings in a recent fraud scheme,’ the reporter stated seriously to the camera, before revealing the fugitive daughter of the home owner had played a part in a massive embezzlement operation that had duped thousands out of their retirement savings.
An image of Darcy Montgomery appeared on the screen briefly, and she jerked back, barely able to reconcile the attractive blonde smiling from an old article in Sydney Confidential’s gossip pages to her paler TV-screen reflection. The image was replaced by a harried Mark Shein as he tried to escape reporters mobbing him in front of his stately mansion opposite Sydney’s Centennial Park.
‘I’m just as much of a victim,’ he snarled at the cameras. ‘My assistant embezzled the funds and then absconded, framing me for her crimes.’ He faced one camera in particular. ‘I’m not the one who’s disappeared, I’m not the one on the run.’
The reporter reappeared. ‘Darcy Montgomery has been missing for several months, and police have now issued a warrant for her arrest.’
The image c
hanged to the main presenter at the news desk, and another story started, something about a cold snap stretching across North America, wreaking havoc on the roads.
Darcy folded her arms, hands shoved in her armpits, despite the discomfort the position caused her shoulder, and started to rock back and forth. ‘Dad.’ She whispered the word to herself over and over again. He’d lost so much – and all because of her. She bit her lip, trying to silence her sobs. She wasn’t fooled, not at all. That house fire was no accident.
She pressed a hand to her forehead. They’d gone after him. She tapped her head lightly with the heel of her palm. They’d gone after Dad – after everything she’d done to keep him and her brother safe. She kept smacking herself in the head, rocking back and forth. Oh God, they’d almost killed him. Before, she’d thought he’d lost everything because of her, but at least he’d still had the house. Now, she knew her father had lost every damn thing he owned, bar the shirt on his back – and it was because of her.
And now the police were looking for her. She shook her head. She couldn’t go back – couldn’t hand herself in, not after what had happened the last time.
She had to get out of here. What if they came after Dom? And Jonah and Julia? Gertrude? Roland? She was trapped. Darcy rose to her feet. She had to run, she had to get out of here. What if they did to Dom and his family what they’d done to her father?
Oh God, Dad.
She left the room, hurrying through the dark house. She had to leave. Tonight. She had to move, and keep moving. A rolling stone gathers no hits. Whatever. She hurried down the upstairs hallway, already thinking ahead. It wouldn’t take her long to pack – if necessary she was prepared to leave with nothing. She’d done it before. She could do it again.
She cannoned into a dark figure emerging from a doorway, and struck out instinctively, whimpering as her balled fists hit firm flesh.
Runaway Lies Page 14
