Damn.
‘Does it really look all right? You’re not just being polite?’
Polite? He nearly laughed out loud. There was absolutely nothing polite about the way his body was reacting, and he shifted the jacket to hide it. Although maybe she needed to see—
No!
‘I’m not polite, Molly,’ he said bluntly. ‘It’s not my style. I say what I think. And I think you look stunning.’
She blushed, her whole body softening, and he just wanted to haul her into his arms and hug her. Bad idea.
‘I’m ready!’ Charlie yelled, bouncing out on to the veranda beside his mother and grinning at her. ‘Can we go?’
‘Sure.’
She locked the door and walked down the steps to him, and he had a ridiculous urge to extend his arm to her, so she could tuck her hand into his elbow as they walked.
He didn’t. He kept his jacket firmly in front of him and opened the gate instead and, as she walked past, he saw the split up the back for the first time and nearly went into meltdown.
Molly didn’t really believe him about the dress.
Oh, she believed he liked it, but she wasn’t sure it would be right for the evening. Suddenly, though, she realised she didn’t care, because even if everyone else thought she looked silly, the look in his eyes couldn’t be faked.
And he liked it.
More than liked it, she realised, glancing across at him just as he did the same and their eyes locked.
He smiled, a fleeting smile before he turned back to the road, but his eyes had burned with something very private that awoke the dormant woman in her, and she hugged it to her all the way to Georgie’s house.
The boys erupted out of the house and dragged Charlie off with them. Georgie came out to greet them and her eyes widened. ‘Molly! Oh, what a fabulous dress! Wherever did you get it?’
‘London, years ago,’ she said. ‘On Camden market. There was a vintage clothes stall.’
Georgie touched it, felt the weight of it and sighed. ‘Oh, it’s beautiful. I’m so jealous, I look like a whale, but you look—well, you’re far too good for my brother. I’ll have to find someone who deserves you.’
She was laughing, but Molly didn’t laugh, because the barb, however light-hearted, seemed harsh and undeserved, and she wondered if his guardedness with his family was as one-sided as she’d imagined. In which case, she’d been even harder on him yesterday than she’d realised. She slipped her arm through his and moved closer. ‘No way. He’s mine,’ she said with a smile, and his hand covered hers and squeezed.
‘Shall we see you there?’ he said to Georgie, and she could hear the reserve in his voice.
‘Actually, I was hoping for a lift, but you’ve only got the Saab. Do you want to come in my car? Nick’s already there.’
‘We can take you,’ David said. ‘You can squeeze in the back. You always used to.’
‘I wasn’t pregnant then.’
‘I’ll go in the back,’ Molly said hastily and, hitching up her skirt, she flipped the passenger seat forwards and climbed in behind it to settle the argument.
The evening, as she’d predicted, was dressy, and amazingly she didn’t look out of place. Nor did David.
Not out of place, but certainly, to her eyes, at least, he stood out from the crowd. Which, in such a glittering crowd, was quite an achievement.
Nick was there to greet them, standing in the grand entrance foyer by a beautiful old mahogany reception desk which had been lovingly restored. He kissed her cheek, shook David’s hand and directed them towards the refreshments, and to Molly’s relief Georgie promptly disappeared off to speak to someone and they were left alone.
The car journey had been short, because the house was only a few minutes away from the hotel, but it had given her a chance to watch him with Georgie, and she realised how much of himself he was holding back. With her, he was relaxed and chatty. With his sister, he was almost monosyllabic.
She’d thought it was just because of the tension between them, but in fact he was like that with everyone all evening, hardly relaxing at all, retreating into the background, watching his father with pride in his eyes and keeping close to her so she didn’t feel alone, but distancing himself from the others.
Plenty of people recognised him and came over to talk to him, and his reaction was very revealing. He didn’t seem to want to be drawn on what he was doing in Australia, and when person after person asked him how long he was staying, he was deliberately evasive.
Some even went so far as to tell him he was shirking his duty to his father and should have come home for good, and she could see by the tension in his jaw that he was hanging by a thread.
Only Harry Kavenagh didn’t push him, just said, ‘They’ve missed you, you know. We all have, but you have to do what’s right for you.’
‘I know.’
‘It isn’t always obvious. You’ll work it out in the end.’
Like he had? Molly wondered. And Daniel? They’d both come home. Did Harry think that David would?
‘We’ll have to come and check out this retreat of yours that keeps you so busy you can’t get home,’ his wife Emily chipped in. ‘It must be something really special.’
David gave probably one of his first proper smiles of the evening. ‘It is. Just let me know when you’re coming, and I’ll make sure we’ve got space, although one of the other hotels might be better, with the kids. The retreat isn’t really set up for young children.’
Of course not, Molly thought. It would be quiet and tranquil and romantic and there would be no place for a small boy having a water fight with his hero.
She frowned, wondering where on earth her thoughts were taking her and why, and tried to tune back into the conversation.
‘Sounds like a really interesting set-up,’ Harry was saying. ‘You’ve done well.’
‘Life’s been kind,’ he replied, and Molly thought of his leg and wondered how he could stand there in front of all these people, taking everything they threw at him and lying so convincingly that none of them realised the turmoil and agony he’d been through.
Tell them! she wanted to scream, but it was his business, not hers, and she knew he had another week and a bit to get through, not to mention the wedding itself, before he could let his guard down. Grief. The strain must be horrendous.
‘Seen enough?’ he asked after what seemed an interminable time and was probably only a couple of hours.
She smiled. ‘Absolutely. It’s fabulous, but social net-working’s never been my scene and I’ll never be able to afford the membership, so it’s all a little academic.’
‘Shall we cut and run?’
‘Good idea.’
His grin was infectious, and they sneaked out of the side door and headed for the car park with a mutual sigh of relief.
He chuckled and tucked her hand into his arm, covering it with his other hand as they walked across the car park. It was chilly now, and her little pashmina look-alike from the market was too thin to keep out the cold. She shivered, and he stopped.
‘Here,’ he said and, shrugging off his jacket, he dropped it round her shoulders, warm from his body. As she snuggled down inside it she caught a drift of his aftershave, warm and spicy and subtle, and even more subtle the undertones of his own special fragrance, and it was like being hugged by him. She breathed in his scent again and stifled a moan.
‘Better?’
Oh, so much! ‘Yes, thanks. Will you be all right without it?’
‘I’m fine. It wasn’t exactly cold in there.’
He opened the car door for her, helped her in and went round to his side. ‘One down, one to go,’ he said, and started the engine. ‘And then I can escape.’
‘Are you going back so soon?’ she asked, shocked at how much that mattered, but he laughed.
‘Oh, no. I meant escape from the public gaze and the interrogation of old acquaintances.’
‘What about your friends?’
‘Wh
at friends?’
‘Dan and Harry and Emily.’
He shrugged. ‘What about them? We’ve moved on, Molly. Our lives are all very different now, and mine’s on the other side of the world. No point in stirring it all up.’
And maybe he’d felt that Harry was getting a bit too close, hinting rather too hard about him returning home. Why else would he describe his old friend’s interest in his life as stirring it all up?
Such a private man. So much locked up inside him, and she was much too fascinated by all of it. By him.
And she wanted to know more.
Even if his life was, as he said, on the other side of the world. She felt drawn to him like a moth to a flame, and the fact that she knew she was going to get burned didn’t seem to make any difference. Unable to help herself, she just flew closer.
‘Are you hungry?’ she asked, and he swivelled his head and grinned.
‘Starving. Nibbles aren’t my thing. I’ve never mastered the art of juggling a plate and a glass and a conversation.’
‘Fancy chips?’
He laughed. ‘Absolutely. Tell me where to go.’
‘Down to the front and turn right. There’s a place at the end near the roundabout.’
They cruised along, the lid down and the cool night air drifting around them, and he pulled up outside and ran in, emerging a minute later with two steaming bags of chips and a couple of wooden forks. ‘I assume you wanted salt and vinegar?’
‘Too right.’
He chuckled, handed her the bags and swung back out on to the prom, driving slowly along to the far end before pulling over and cutting the engine.
‘Want to stay in the car or walk?’
‘Walk,’ she said and, handing him back the chips, she slipped off her shoes and reached for the handle.
He was there before her, holding the door open and taking her elbow to help her out, which brought her up against him as she straightened.
And then the atmosphere between them, already electric, changed and shifted, and she felt the world tilt and slide, never to be the same again.
She heard the soft hiss of air as he sucked in his breath, and their eyes clashed and locked. She could feel his body, warm and hard and very male, against hers, and where she’d lifted her hand to his chest to steady herself she could feel the steady thud of his heart behind his ribs.
Ignoring common sense, the public place, the bags of chips in his free hand, she slid her palm down and round, flattening it against his spine and easing him closer as she lifted her mouth to his.
His breath sighed out against her lips, and then he lowered his head that last tiny fraction and brought his mouth into contact with hers.
Just for a moment. Just for long enough for her to know that no one kiss could ever put out the fire in her blood, that no single touch would ever satisfy her, because when it ended there would always be another need, another time when she would have to hold him.
This wasn’t going to burn out.
This was for ever.
The thought should have terrified her, but it didn’t. She’d loved Robert. She’d loved him and lost him, and she could love and lose again, because there was no way she was going to miss out on loving this man just because he was going back to the other side of the world to a place where there was no room for her son in the adult-only world that was his home.
She knew it wasn’t for ever. She knew it couldn’t last.
He knew it too, knew he’d be going, but she wasn’t going to let him run away without exploring this beautiful thing that was happening to them.
So she eased away and looked up into his eyes, saw the raw hunger in them and lifted her hand to cradle his jaw.
‘Take me home,’ she said softly.
She heard the catch of his breath, the sharp hiss of air as he straightened and stepped back, heard the chips hit the ground as he went round to the other side of the car and slid behind the wheel, firing up the engine as she struggled to fasten her seat belt with fingers that somehow didn’t seem quite steady.
He stopped outside a pub, ran in and came back a few moments later and tossed something into her lap.
She looked down at the little packet and stifled a spurt of hysterical laughter.
Thank goodness one of them had some common sense.
He leant across and gave her a quick, hard kiss, then, straightening up, he snapped on his seat belt, fired up the engine and shot out on to the road with scant regard for the speed limit.
She could see his jaw working, see the tension in his face and hands, the fingers curled tightly round the wheel, and she knew his control was hanging by a thread.
That made two of them, she thought, and wondered if they’d make it home before one of them snapped.
His hand reached out, palm upturned on her thigh, and she slid her hand into it and hung on.
Not long now, she told herself. Not long and you can hold him, touch him.
Love him.
They made it as far as the cabin, then he stopped and stared down at her, his eyes dark in the soft light from the bedside lamp.
‘I’m going to apologise in advance,’ he said, his voice uneven. ‘It’s—uh—it’s been a while. You remember the football thing with Charlie? I said it was one of the things I hadn’t tried yet?’
She nodded.
‘Well, this is another,’ he confessed. ‘I haven’t done this—haven’t had a date, haven’t gone out, haven’t made love to anyone since I lost my leg. Well, earlier, really. Years. Not since the accident.’
She felt a wave of tenderness towards him, and cradled his jaw in her hand, loving the rough silk of his skin, the stubble just grazing her palm as she smiled up at him and said a little unsteadily, ‘Welcome to the club. I haven’t made love to anyone since I lost my husband.’
He stepped back, his face a study of conflicting emotions. ‘Hell, Molly—’
‘Don’t.’ She reached out to him. ‘Don’t make excuses to run away from this. Don’t stop now, please, David. I need you.’
For a moment he stood there, chest heaving, and then, with a muffled groan, he dragged her into his arms and crushed her against his chest. ‘I can’t stop. God help me, I can’t stop, Molly, because I need you, too, and I know this is the wrong thing to do but—’
‘No.’
‘No?’
‘No, it’s not the wrong thing to do. It’s the right thing. The only thing. It’s our time, David, and I know it’s not for ever, but let’s just take what it has to offer and enjoy it—starting now.’
He couldn’t believe it.
Couldn’t believe that this wonderful, beautiful, sexy woman wanted him. Couldn’t believe he was going to get to touch her, to hold her, to bury himself in the magical, incredible warmth that was Molly. Assuming he got that chance, and that once he’d taken his leg off she wouldn’t recoil in disgust.
He stepped back again, finding the self-control from somewhere to make space between them. Actually it wasn’t that hard. Suddenly aware of what he was about to do, his previously robust self-confidence deserted him and he turned away, his heart racing.
‘I’m sorry, I can’t do this,’ he said gruffly and, walking out of the door, he crossed the garden, went round the side of the house and through the broken gate—really, he should fix it—and up on to the sea wall.
He stopped there, but only because of the drop down to the shingle below, and, ramming his hands in his pockets, he stared out over the moonlit sea and wondered how the hell he’d got himself into this mess and how on earth he could get himself out of it…
CHAPTER SIX
WHAT a tortured man.
Molly didn’t follow him. She sensed this was something he had to deal with alone, and anyway she was having doubts now herself.
Well, no, not doubts—she had no doubts—but she was scared to death of what losing him would do to her.
Which was ridiculous. You couldn’t lose what you didn’t have, and he wasn’t hers to lose, s
he knew that. He belonged to his empire on the other side of the world, and she belonged here. That wasn’t the issue. If she was brutally honest, the issue was that she was afraid she’d fail him, fail to give him back the confidence she sensed he’d lost with his leg, and so in many ways she was happy he’d walked away so she didn’t have to let anyone else down.
She went upstairs to her room, took off the dress—prickly where it chafed the inside of her arms, and heavy, hanging on her shoulders like a dead weight now—and pulled on her soft old jog bottoms and a fleecy top. Then she went downstairs and stood in the sitting room with her arms wrapped round her waist, staring out at him on the sea wall.
Utterly alone.
She couldn’t leave him there.
She made tea, scooped up one of the car rugs, which were still by the door, and went out to him. He hadn’t moved a muscle, standing there like a sentinel, hands firmly in his pockets, legs apart, shoulders braced for the blow.
Pride in every line of his body.
She didn’t speak, just spread the rug out on the edge of the wall and sat down at one end of it, putting the tea in the middle. For a moment she thought he would just ignore her, or walk away, but then he took his hands out of his pockets and joined her, with his legs dangling over the wall and his tea cradled in his hands.
‘I’m sorry.’
His voice was rough and she bled for him. ‘Don’t be,’ she said softly. ‘I pushed you.’
‘No.’ He turned his head towards her. ‘No, it’s not really about you. It’s about Celia—my ex.’ He paused, swallowed hard, then said expressionlessly, ‘She threw up when she saw my leg.’
Molly felt her anger rise at this unknown, stupid woman who’d destroyed his body image and damaged him more than she could ever imagine. ‘After the amputation?’
‘No—no, before, when it had the fixator on and all the stitches and bandages and drains and stuff. I couldn’t blame her, it was pretty gross. I threw up myself when I saw it. She didn’t stick around long enough to see it after I lost it.’
The Single Mom and the Tycoon Page 8
