His Best Mistake

by Lucy King

  Chapter Ten

  The week following their return from Norfolk whirled by in a blaze of, well, what Stella could only describe as fun. Showing no intention of returning the office, Jack had clearly decided to make it his mission to keep her mind off her abysmal excuse for parents and he’d thrown himself into it with an energy and enthusiasm that she couldn’t help but revel in. He’d taken her to the exhibition of an up-and-coming abstract artist she’d read about and loved. They’d gone rowing on the Serpentine. He’d even accompanied her to a pregnancy yoga class. He’d been attentive without being smothering and when it came to actual conversation, she hadn’t been able to shut him up, a development she found delightful.

  She fully realised he was overcompensating but she found it hard to care. It was so lovely to have someone on her side for a change, to be the focus of someone’s attention, to feel that she mattered. She’d had boyfriends over the years, yet she’d never realised how very lonely she’d been. How she’d come to accept that that was all she deserved. All those years of parental neglect had left her starved of attention and affection and she now realised that they were exactly what she’d been looking for in her previous relationships and which had always been missing.

  After a week of such close contact with Jack she couldn’t think of a better father for her child. It was a relief to learn that they shared the same values and seemed to be so similar in their outlook. Her canvases remained untouched and everything boded well for the future.

  Well, not quite everything, Stella amended, glancing up from her sketchbook to look at him as he sat at his desk and scowled at his laptop. One side effect of all the time they’d spent together was that she now found him more attractive than ever.

  For a while the desire she felt for him had been dampened by other concerns, but now, unfettered, it raged through her like wildfire. She constantly wanted to be near him. Any excuse to touch him, she took. He frequented her dreams, and that moment he’d taken her hand outside her parents’ house, such a tiny thing, had taken on a significance she just couldn’t contain.

  She’d drawn so many sketches of him her book was full. Halfway through she’d realised she’d got his hair all wrong. It wasn’t just brown. There were darker bits in it. Lighter bits. His eyes had flecks of gold in the brown and there was a tiny mark on his jaw that somehow, despite having explored pretty much every delicious inch of his body, she’d missed. She’d gone back to make the changes and wondered what else she might have missed.

  The one thing she could never get down on paper was his scent. She could barely even describe it. She detected no artificial hint of aftershave, maybe just some shower gel, some deodorant and something uniquely him. Whatever it was, whenever it floated over to her it inevitably made her go a bit dizzy. She found herself leaning towards him and breathing in deep, the urge to put her mouth to his skin and taste him overwhelming.

  But she knew she just had to ride it out. It was only lust. It would fade. In the meantime she’d simply have to strengthen her resolve, but goodness it was hard when she kept remembering how good he’d felt inside her.

  She must have made a sound, a moan perhaps, because Jack suddenly looked up sharply, his dark eyes intense, a frown on his face. “Are you OK?”

  “I’m fine,” she said, her voice a little hoarse.

  “What’s up?”

  A bad case of unrequited lust, she thought, but since there was no way in hell she was going to admit that, said instead, “Just thinking about my birthday.”

  “Your birthday?” he echoed in surprise. “When is it?”

  “The day after tomorrow.”

  “Do you have plans?”

  “No.”

  He studied her for a moment with those eyes that saw way too much, then said, “Do you ever have plans?”

  “No.”

  “You do this year.”

  *

  The hotel Jack had booked them into to celebrate her thirtieth birthday was like no hotel Stella had ever stayed in. It was a vast, magnificent stately home, and as they’d driven up the long, gravel drive she was sure she recognised it from a TV period drama.

  The building was perfect in its symmetry. In the centre, soaring columns held up a portico decorated with an intricate coat of arms. Two storeys of a dozen windows on each stretched the whole width of the house, and a dome sat on the top of each corner. On either side were low level wings supported by colonnades. The silvery-white eighteenth century stone was bathed in the early afternoon sun and glowed. The interior was just as spectacular. While Jack had checked in and a member of staff had materialised to take their cases, Stella had stood looking round in awe, taking in the marble busts, the old Masters and the galleried landing.

  Now she was in her room – one of the three, yes, three, that made up their suite – lying on the enormous bed and staring up at the beautifully carved wooden ceiling and thinking she could definitely get used to this. Not that she would of course, because she knew perfectly well it was a one off, but still. As birthdays went this one wasn’t going to be too bad at all.

  If only she could get her growing feelings for Jack under control. She knew what was happening. Despite her previous hope that she’d be able to ride out the lust, she was acting true to form and falling for him. For the sake of her sanity and her weary heart she ought to find her inner strength and put a stop to it, but it was hard when he was everything she’d ever wanted. Yet where could this possibly go? Jack showed no sign of being similarly afflicted and even if he was things were complicated enough already.

  She needed some air, she thought, levering herself up off the bed. She needed to blow away the cobwebs, alleviate the uneasy restlessness inside her and regain her perspective. Regroup and build up her defences before she slid straight down the slope into heartbreak and misery.

  Jack had disappeared off somewhere, so Stella decided that since the afternoon was unseasonably warm she’d go for a walk. She changed her shoes and grabbed a cardigan and opened the door, to find him standing there, fist raised, as if he was about to knock on it. In the same instant, the air rushed from her lungs and she was suddenly very aware of the huge bed behind her. Skin prickling, she automatically took a step back, out of his orbit, and breathed.

  “Did you want something?” she asked lightly, thankfully sounding completely normal.

  “I did,” he said with a nod. “I wanted to let you know I’ve booked a table in the restaurant for eight.”

  “Great. Thank you. And thank you for all this.”

  “No problem.” His gaze slid down her body leaving a trail of heat in its wake. “Going out?”

  “I thought I might go for a walk.”

  “Good idea,” he said, flashing her a quick smile. “It’ll build up an appetite for dinner. I’ll join you.”

  What? No. That was not the plan. How could she get perspective if Jack was with her? She could hardly think straight when he was close, and she needed to. Badly. “Honestly, Jack, I’ll be fine,” she said with an airy wave of her hand. “There’s no need to worry. I’ll take my mobile.”

  He arched an eyebrow and grinned, and there went her pathetic heart flip-flopping all over the place because he was just so hard to resist. “I was actually thinking about me,” he said.

  “Oh?”

  “This place apparently sits in nine thousand acres of English countryside, some of which I’d quite like to see too. But there are alpacas. Deer. Very possibly kamikaze sheep and no doubt a whole host of other forms of perilous wildlife. You’re a country girl. I’m a Londoner. I need you to protect me. Come on.”

  Jack spun on his heel and grabbed his jacket and with a sigh, Stella followed him. What else could she do? To refuse would be churlish when he was the one who’d arranged all this, and she did need air. Besides, if she protested too much he might decide to probe and the last thing she wanted to do was explain how she was feeling. She might have decided to open up but there were limits.

  However, as she
and Jack wandered through the stunning grounds and he entertained her with stories that made her laugh despite herself, Stella felt the remnants of her defences crumble and realised that if anyone was in need of protection, it was her.

  *

  He wasn’t nearly as rusty on the charm front as he’d imagined, thought Jack over supper a few hours later, as he watched Stella practically weeping with laughter at something he’d said. It was good to know that he was the one who’d caused it. Almost as good as realising that he hadn’t laughed so much in years either.

  Despite its inauspicious beginnings the last week had turned out really rather well. The shadows in her eyes had gone and the stress had faded from her expression. They’d spent time together and talked and he’d found himself increasingly fascinated by her.

  And not just fascinated. When he’d decided to switch on the charm he’d failed to consider that it could work both ways. He hadn’t allowed for the fact that her response to his attempts to distract her and entertain her would lead to him being equally charmed by her. But he was. Totally and utterly charmed. The smiles she shot him and the warmth in her gaze whenever it rested on him seemed to do strange things to his chest.

  This had given him pause for thought and as a result he’d toyed with the idea of going back to work, but then she’d revealed it was her birthday, implying that it had never really been celebrated before, and he’d thought to hell with work. He’d give her a birthday to remember. He hadn’t even hesitated.

  But perhaps he should have because he was finding it increasingly difficult to keep his hands off her. The attraction that had never really gone away was back with the strength of a gale force wind, whipping up a storm inside him and creating havoc with his reason. He spent virtually every moment they were together wishing he could haul her off and take her to bed. He’d lost count of the number of cold showers he’d had to have.

  Take this afternoon, for example. The hour-long, pleasingly wildlife-free walk should have been equally pleasingly desire-and-tension-free. It had started off benignly enough, the conversation meandering as much as the path, but then they’d come across a bronze abstract sculpture of two figures entwined. While telling him what she knew about the artist Stella had smoothed her hand over the lines of it, slowly, lovingly, as if savouring every pit and bump, and he’d been transfixed. His mind had reeled back to that night at the cottage when her hands had been all over him in much the same way and within seconds he was as hard as the rock the sculpture was sitting on, and this close to dragging her off into the bushes.

  When they’d got back to the hotel, she’d headed to the spa and he’d gone for a swim, but the vague hope he’d had that powering up and down the length of the pool might calm all the feelings rocketing around inside him had been dashed when she’d emerged from her room ready to head downstairs, dressed in a figure-hugging wrap-around dress that made him want to forget dinner and spend the night unwrapping her.

  Now, after a delicious meal, the candles flickering gently over her face, desire was building inside him, almost unbearable in its intensity because she was gorgeous, even with the hiccuping and smudged mascara, or maybe, actually, because of it.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, tension and desire making his voice rough.

  Stella nodded and discreetly wiped her eyes with her napkin. “I will be,” she said, the laughter still echoing in her voice. “Goodness, I had no idea you could be so funny.”

  “Neither did I.”

  “That was hilarious.”

  “We thought so at the time.”

  “Those poor Italian bankers.”

  “Indeed.”

  “This has been the best birthday, Jack,” she said with a funny sort of smile. “Thank you.”

  “It isn’t over yet. I have something for you,” he said, taking a small wrapped parcel from the pocket of his jacket and putting it on the tablecloth next to her cup of coffee.

  For a moment she just stared at it. “Is that a present?” she said, her voice cracking a little.

  “Open it.”

  She bit her lip and undid the ribbon, and then unwrapped the paper and let out a little gasp of horror or delight, he couldn’t tell.

  “It’s a scarf,” he said, possibly unnecessarily but for some reason badly needing to say something. “By that artist whose exhibition we went to see in Kensington. You can either wear it or frame it. Or take it back if you hate it.”

  “Hate it?” she said, her face lighting up as she wrapped it round her neck and tied it in a knot to one side. “I love it.”

  “Good.”

  “Thank you,” she said, and before he knew what was happening she got up and reached over and kissed him as if it was the most natural thing to do in the world.

  He froze. She froze. Time seemed to freeze. All he could hear was the sound of his heart thundering in his ears. All he could see was blush of horrified mortification spreading across her cheeks.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “Don’t be.”

  “That was totally out of order.”

  And he could just shrug and brush it off and tell her not to worry, but he couldn’t suppress how much he wanted her any longer. “No. It wasn’t. Do it again.”

  She stared at him. “What?”

  “Kiss me again. Or let me kiss you. I don’t much care who starts.”

  “No,” she breathed.

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  She really had to ask? “I want you so badly it hurts,” he said roughly. “I want to take you upstairs to bed right now and keep you there to make up for all the time we’ve wasted dancing around the extraordinary chemistry we share.”

  “No.”

  “Do you want me?”

  He didn’t know what he’d do if she said no, but for one long dizzying moment, Stella just looked at him, her breathing shallowing and that tiny pulse at the base of her neck pounding, and he really thought she was going to grab his hand and haul him off. But then she swallowed and blinked and shook her head and that hope crashed. “Well, possibly,” she said, “but it doesn’t matter. There’s nothing we can do about it.”

  “Isn’t there?”

  “No. You know that.”

  “I don’t know that.”

  “It would really complicate things.”

  Really? Everything seemed pretty bloody simple to him. “In what way?”

  His gaze roamed over her face and he could see indecision flickering in her eyes, the internal battle she was fighting, and he wondered why she was fighting it at all. After a moment she pushed a hand through her hair and sighed. “This isn’t just about us any more, Jack. There’s the baby to think about, and like it or not, we’re going to be involved for its sake for the rest of our lives. How would sex help with that?”

  “It would defuse the tension.”

  “The tension is a temporary thing. It’ll go. We just have to ignore it until it does.”

  “What makes you so sure it’ll ever go away?” He couldn’t imagine ever not wanting her. He didn’t want to imagine it.

  “It’s lust, Jack, that’s all, and lust never lasts. Give it enough time and it’ll burn itself out. We have to be practical.” She paused. Tilted her head and looked at him closely. “Can you really not see that?”

  He could, he realised; he just didn’t want to. But perhaps he had to because as much he wished she wasn’t, Stella was right. This wasn’t about only them any more and they did have to be practical. He wasn’t convinced that sex would complicate matters, since it was just sex, but if she felt that way he had no option but to accept it. For the moment.

  There was plenty of time to change her mind. He hadn’t got where he was in business by being deterred by seemingly unlikely prospects. He knew how to negotiate and persuade. Once he decided what he wanted, he tended to get it and he wanted her. He’d just have to be patient.

  Jack pulled himself together, his brain whirring with plans and tactics, then shrugged de
liberately casually and said, “I guess you have a point.”

  *

  Back in her room and stepping out of her dress, Stella marvelled at the way she’d managed to resist Jack’s attempt to get her back into bed.

  God, it had been hard. He was so attractive he made her burn with the desire to throw caution to the wind and just do as he suggested. Especially after he’d given her that present. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had given her anything. When he’d put the beautifully wrapped parcel on the table beside her she’d felt the instant sting of tears and she’d very nearly cried.

  It would have been so easy to say yes, then, and tumble into bed with him, she thought as she headed into the bathroom to brush her teeth. And it would have been a massive mistake. He wanted her – that much was obvious, and for him that was clearly enough. He didn’t seem bothered by the after or side effects of sleeping with her. Or if he did they weren’t important.

  But not only did the very real issue of what happened after concern her, sex with Jack wouldn’t just be physical. Not this time. She knew him better now. She liked him. A lot. It would therefore be wrapped up in emotion and mean too much and then where would she be? She was already in too deep. She had to cling on to the hope that the attraction would sizzle out eventually. She could then climb out of the abyss she was in and their relationship would develop into something more like close friendship.

  The last week had proved they had lots in common, and that was what they ought to be building on. It might be hard, especially if he met someone with whom sex might not be quite so complicated, but she’d just have to deal with that and she’d –