The Single Mom and the Tycoon

by Caroline Anderson

He frowned. ‘Know what?’

  ‘How you lost your leg.’

  ‘Oh.’ He looked away. ‘You really want to know? It isn’t nice.’

  ‘I didn’t imagine it would be,’ she told him truthfully, and braced herself for the details she hoped would shed some light on the fallout from the accident.

  He sucked in his breath, then let it out in a gusty sigh. ‘I was down in Byron. It was late winter—August. There’d been a storm—cold water from the Antarctic meeting the warm tropical water carried down by the East Australian Current. The fish were sheltering close to the shore and the sharks had come in to feed on them. There were lots of little pleasure craft out, and people swimming, and everybody was screaming because of the sharks, but then suddenly the screaming changed and I knew someone had been attacked. I’d spotted the sharks, and I was trying to turn back the kayakers and get them back to shore, and I saw a child in the middle of it, and the water was red. I took the boat in between the child and the shark, dived in and grabbed him and passed him up to the guy who was with me, and then in the panic two of the boats collided and the stern of one swung round and the propeller clipped my ankle just as I was dragging myself up into my boat.’

  She felt sick. ‘I thought you were going to say the shark got you,’ she said unsteadily, but he shook his head.

  ‘No. Nothing so straightforward. It was only a small shark, it probably wouldn’t have done as much damage to me as it had done to the boy, but I fell back in and it tried to have a go as well. Anyway, then someone apparently dragged me into a boat and they got me ashore and flew me to Cairns and the rest you know. I don’t really remember anything after that till I woke up in hospital.’

  ‘And the child?’ she asked softly, knowing the answer, and he shook his head, his throat working.

  ‘He didn’t make it. He’d lost too much blood. That’s the really galling thing. It was all for nothing.’

  She shook her head and cuddled closer to him, sliding her arms round his waist and hugging him tight. ‘It wasn’t all for nothing, David. If you hadn’t tried, if you’d left him, you wouldn’t have been able to live with yourself.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she said, straightening up. ‘This is the man who won’t tell his father the truth because he doesn’t want to worry him! And you truly expect me to believe you’d leave a child to die and never look back? Don’t be absurd.’

  She felt some of the tension go out of him, and his arm tightened around her shoulders and drew her back against him. ‘OK, I’ll give you that, but still, there are times when it all seems so bloody pointless.’

  ‘Of course, but at least you can look forward now and move on.’

  ‘Maybe.’ He pressed his lips to her hair, and she tilted her head and kissed him back. ‘Anyway, enough about that. I want to talk about fantasies.’

  She blinked and laughed. ‘Fantasies?’

  ‘Yeah.’ He grinned and slid down the bed, taking her with him. ‘If we had room service, what would you order for breakfast? Bearing in mind we didn’t eat last night and the seagulls would have had our chips.’

  ‘Yes. I’d forgotten that. Oh, boy. Room service fantasies. I don’t really like eating in bed, it’s too messy. Is that a problem?’

  He chuckled, his chest rumbling. ‘No. No problem. You can eat wherever you like.’

  ‘Um—well, eggs Benedict, served on the veranda. With Parma ham and smoked salmon, and homemade hollandaise, washed down with tea, and followed by—ooh—pain au chocolat, probably, or a nice juicy apple Danish, with freshly brewed coffee.’

  ‘Black or white?’

  ‘White—with cream. Single cream. Not too much, just enough to be utterly indulgent. And I’d dunk the pastry, I’m afraid. I’m disgusting like that. What about you?’

  ‘A fruit platter—tropical fruits like mango, papaya, pomelo, kiwi—all sorts, whatever’s available. Then, yeah, the eggs Benedict sounds nice, and probably an almond croissant. And coffee, black and strong and hot. And I’d dunk, too.’

  ‘Just ring the bell,’ she said, with a grin, her laughter abruptly arrested as he threw off the quilt and leapt out of bed.

  ‘David!’

  She grabbed him, catching his arm and stopping him just in time, and he fell back again on the edge of the mattress, his face ashen as he stared down at his leg.

  For a moment he said nothing, then he turned his head and stared at her, his eyes wide with shock. ‘I’d forgotten,’ he said hoarsely. ‘I’d just completely forgotten.’

  She scooted over and slid her arms round him. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘No. Don’t be. Don’t be sorry for anything. It’s you,’ he said, his voice ragged. ‘You made me forget, Molly. You made me feel whole again.’

  And, cupping her face in his hands, he kissed her tenderly, reverently, then pressed his lips to her hair as he cradled her against his chest. She could feel his heart pounding, but then gradually it slowed and finally he let her go, his eyes still slightly dazed, and, reaching under the bed, he pulled out a pair of crutches.

  ‘I’m going to grab a quick shower and get dressed, then I’m going shopping.’

  ‘Shopping?’

  ‘Uh-huh. For breakfast.’

  She sat bolt upright. ‘But that’s my job! I’m supposed to be your landlady!’

  He reached out and brushed his knuckles over her cheek, a tender smile on his lips. ‘Not today. Today, just be my lady. Please?’

  She felt tears well in her eyes. She’d love nothing more than to be his lady, today and every other day for the rest of her life. She nodded. ‘OK. Just today. Can I get up and shower while you’re gone or do I have to stay here?’

  ‘You can do whatever you like. I won’t be long. And then I’m going to cook you your fantasy room-service breakfast.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  HE WASN’T long.

  Molly only had time to shower and dry her hair, and she was just putting on a clean pair of jeans when she heard the car pull up outside. She watched him coming back in, shopping bags in one hand, whistling under his breath as he walked up the garden, and he looked up and saw her at her bedroom window and blew her a kiss, and she hurriedly threw on a top and ran downstairs to him.

  ‘Can I help?’

  ‘No. Go and sit down outside in the sun. It’s lovely. I’ll bring you breakfast in a minute.’

  ‘Star,’ she said and, going up on tiptoe, she kissed his cheek, still rough with stubble and infinitely exciting, and, resisting the urge to drag him back to bed, she went out on to the veranda and found a single red rose lying on the table.

  Tears welled in her eyes, and she sat and held it and wondered what on earth she’d done to deserve this brief and precious moment in time with him.

  She took back everything she’d thought about him and relationships. He was the most amazing, wonderful, complex, thoughtful man she’d ever met, and she couldn’t even begin to contemplate what her life would be like when he’d gone.

  ‘Breakfast, milady.’

  He was balancing a tray groaning with goodies on one hand and, as she watched, he unloaded it item by item, setting each one down with quiet precision.

  A fruit platter, a pot of tea and fresh cups, a little jug of milk, another of cream, a coffee press, a steaming basket of pastries—it went on and on.

  ‘Good grief,’ she said, watching in awe. ‘Real coffee—and napkins?’

  ‘Only paper. They didn’t have linen.’

  He gave a few deft flicks of the wrist and folded it into an intricate shape like a swan.

  ‘How on earth did you do that?’

  ‘Years of practice,’ he said with a chuckle, and put the swan down in front of her. ‘Try the fruit. It’s gorgeous.’

  It was, and she was doing well until she speared a slice of mango and the juice dribbled down her chin.

  ‘Oops,’ he said and, leaning over, he captured the juice with his tongue, following the trail up to her
lips and kissing them.

  ‘I’ll have to do that again,’ she said with a smile, and he chuckled.

  ‘Feel free.’

  He disappeared into the kitchen again when they’d finished the fruit, and reappeared a couple of minutes later with two plates. ‘Eggs Benedict, as ordered,’ he said, and set them down with a flourish. Perfectly poached eggs, each cradled on a nest of smoked salmon and Parma ham supported by a round—literally—of toast and topped by fresh, warm hollandaise sauce which he must have whipped up while she’d been waiting. She’d heard him beating something, but she couldn’t believe he’d actually made it fresh. And it was perfect. Delicious. Mouthwatering and delicate and probably the best thing she’d ever tasted in her life.

  She said so and, to her surprise, he coloured slightly. ‘Thank you,’ he said, as if it really mattered what she thought, and, leaning over, he kissed her.

  ‘Am I dribbling again?’ she said with a laugh.

  He shook his head. ‘Not this time. That was just because I wanted to kiss you. Now eat up, the pastries are getting cold.’

  ‘So,’ she said, after she’d torn a chocolate croissant in half and dipped it in her coffee and sucked the soggy mess in ecstasy, ‘how come you can cook so well?’

  He gave a wry smile. ‘My father’s fault. He hoped I’d follow him into the business, and he insisted that I learn everything from the ground up, so there wasn’t a job I couldn’t do or a process I didn’t understand. He said you can’t know if people are doing a good job or being unreasonable about something if you don’t understand what it is you’re asking them to do. And he’s right. So I’ve applied it to everything I do. I’ve been involved in the building or renovation of every hotel we’ve got, I can do the maintenance, balance the books, make the beds, clean the bathrooms, cook the food, wait tables, make cocktails—I’ve even been known to play the piano in the bar when the entertainment didn’t show. And I’m the dive master and I take the dive boats out, I’ve built the canopy walk at the retreat and I can do the guided tour, although we have someone with far more experience to do it on a regular basis.’

  She realised she was staring at him open-mouthed, and she shut her mouth and turned her attention back to her pastry. ‘Um—that’s pretty multi-talented.’

  He chuckled. ‘You know the saying “Jack of all trades but master of none”? Well, that’s pretty much me, but I certainly understand the principles and I can step in and take over in an emergency without letting the side down. But I can’t make soufflés, for some reason. They just hate me.’

  She let out her breath on a little laugh and smiled at him. ‘Well, thank God for small mercies. Something you can’t do!’

  ‘I can’t paint, either. Well, as in art. Robert was right to support you. You’ve got an astonishing gift. I can’t tell you how I envy you that.’

  She cocked her head on one side. ‘But your hotels are successful?’

  ‘Oh, yes. They’re doing well. We’re really pleased.’

  ‘So you can do things well.’

  He smiled. ‘I get by,’ he admitted, wondering what she’d say if she could see the paper value of his empire. Probably something pretty damning, but it hadn’t been deliberate. It was all down to luck and chance and hard work.

  Lots of hard work. His father would understand that. Maybe even approve. If only he could talk to him openly.

  ‘I’m going to see my father later. What time do you have to pick up Charlie?’

  ‘Oh—Georgie’s going to phone. I think she’s keeping him most of the day.’

  ‘In which case, shall we move the stuff up to your new room, and then you can get settled in before tonight?’

  ‘Really? What about the washing-up?’

  He laughed. ‘Why don’t we leave it for the scullery maid?’

  ‘That’ll be me, then,’ she said with a smile, and stood up. ‘I’ll do it later. Come on, let’s go.’

  It looked really good.

  It had been a bit of a struggle getting the mattress up the stairs, but now everything was in, the bed was made—and christened—and they were lying in it side by side staring out over the sea and admiring their handiwork.

  Beside him, Molly gave a contented sigh and smiled up at him. ‘Thank you,’ she said softly. ‘I couldn’t have done it without you, and now tomorrow I can get all my art stuff moved and start work on that exhibition.’

  ‘I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that,’ he began, but then the phone rang, and with a wordless little grumble she got out of bed and ran downstairs to answer it, grabbing his shirt en route. He heard her say his sister’s name and, throwing back the covers, he dressed quickly.

  She appeared in the doorway as he finished, hesitating on the threshold. That transparent face was troubled, and he straightened up.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘That was Georgie.’

  ‘I heard. I take it you have to go and get Charlie.’

  She nodded. ‘We’re invited for an early supper—and she said I’ve got to bring you. She wants a word,’ she added with wry emphasis.

  He sighed. ‘Why am I always in trouble with my sister? You’d think she was older than me. She’s such a headmistress.’

  ‘I think she feels we should have stayed longer last night.’

  ‘Oh, stuff that. I did my bit,’ he said, turning away and looking for his shirt, then remembering she was wearing it and giving up. ‘Oh, well, I suppose we should go. She’ll only get worse if we don’t.’

  ‘Maybe you should tell her.’

  He snorted, and took the shirt she was now holding out to him. Which left her naked, and he looked at her, at the lovely peaches-and-cream perfection of her skin, the soft rose of her nipples pebbling in the cool air, and rammed his arms into the sleeves.

  ‘Get dressed,’ he said gruffly, ‘or there’s no way we’ll get there.’

  He pulled her into his arms, kissed her gently and let her go. ‘I’ll make some coffee,’ he said and, leaving her to it, he went downstairs and wondered if anybody would notice if he strangled his sister.

  Unfair. She was only protecting her beloved father, the father she thought he was neglecting and rejecting.

  Time to tell them.

  But how?

  He hadn’t got the slightest clue.

  Georgie was waiting for them when they arrived.

  His father’s car was there, and Nick’s, and Georgie’s, but no others, he was relieved to see. The others had obviously collected their children earlier, and so it was just family.

  And Molly, of course, who, as a close friend of Liz and her matron of honour at the wedding next week, was practically family as well.

  As they got out of the car they could hear the children playing in the garden. The boys had a tree-house in the little bit of woodland just behind the house, and David could hear whoops and yells and Tarzan noises coming from that direction.

  Boys being boys, he thought, and felt a pang of envy. It seemed like for ever since he’d had that much energy and enthusiasm.

  They came charging round the corner of the house and skidded to a halt. ‘Can Charlie stay?’ Dickon begged, jumping up and down, and Molly reached out and hugged him briefly.

  ‘Only till after supper. Your mother’s had enough of you all racing around, I’m sure.’

  ‘She’s been playing with the girls,’ Charlie said. ‘Nick’s been outside with us. We were playing football.’

  Oh, hell, he thought, but then looked up and there was Georgie, her face unsmiling, and if it hadn’t been for Molly he would have turned on his heel and walked away.

  ‘Can we have a word?’ she said stiffly, and he knew it was time.

  Time to stop pretending that everything was all right and he was just an arrogant bastard who didn’t care about his family, time to get it all out into the open and have done with it.

  ‘Good idea,’ he said and, ignoring the rest of them, he followed her back into the house and through to a little sitting ro
om overlooking the sea. ‘Fire away, then,’ he said, standing by the window and staring at the lazy swell, wishing he was out on it, sitting in a little boat with a line in the water and nothing to worry about except catching his next meal.

  ‘Sit down,’ she said, and he raised a brow, but he sat anyway, if only because she was pregnant and he didn’t want her stressed any more than she would be when she found out.

  ‘Why did you go so early last night? You know how important it was to Dad to have you there.’

  ‘Because I was sick of being lectured on my shortcomings by the entire population of Yoxburgh,’ he said truthfully.

  She frowned. ‘Who was doing that?’

  ‘Everyone—starting with you, mainly.’

  ‘I didn’t say a word last night.’

  ‘Except to tell Molly she was too good for me and you were going to find her someone who deserved her.’

  Her jaw dropped, and she shook her head. ‘David, that was a joke.’

  ‘Really? Sorry, I must have missed the punch-line.’

  She coloured and closed her eyes. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just—I’m very fond of Molly, and I know you’ll hurt her.’

  ‘Let’s leave Molly out of this.’

  ‘You brought her name up, and you can’t deny it. You’ve always been a heartbreaker, David. You’ve never thought about anyone but yourself.’

  ‘That isn’t true.’

  ‘Isn’t it? In which case, why didn’t you come home for my wedding? Why didn’t you come back for Dad’s heart surgery? You had a broken ankle, for God’s sake! That’s not a reason, it’s an excuse!’

  He looked down, knowing he had to do this now, and trying to find words that wouldn’t hurt her. Or him.

  ‘It was rather more than that.’

  ‘How? I mean, clearly it’s sorted—you don’t even have a limp, so it can’t have been that bad! Liz had a really nasty injury and she’s still limping, but she was up and about again a damn sight quicker than three years! So we all know it’s nothing to do with your ankle. Dad thinks there’s something wrong—that your business is in trouble, or you’re gay or something, or you’ve got cancer or HIV—’