The Secretary's Secret

by Michelle Douglas

  ‘Right, smart move. Okay, here’s one—picnic.’

  ‘Ants.’

  They both promptly stared down at the ground.

  ‘No ants,’ Kit final y said. ‘C’mon, let’s get this picnic on the road. The fish is nearly done.’

  Ten minutes later they were settled in the chairs, plates balanced on knees, eating fish, potatoes, barbecued corncobs drenched in butter and salad.

  ‘Heck, Kit, for someone who won’t cook you’ve done a damn fine job.’

  Kit licked butter from her fingers. ‘I have, haven’t I?’ But when she realized Alex fol owed the way her tongue caught the trickle of butter from the back of her hand, saw the way his eyes darkened, her stomach clenched. She grabbed a serviette and wiped her fingers instead. She left the rest of her corn untouched on her plate. Alex wrenched his gaze back to his plate.

  The memory of their kiss burned between them.

  That kiss, what did it mean? Alex hadn’t planned on fatherhood, but it had found him anyway. He hadn’t planned on any kind of romantic relationship either, but…

  She refused to finish that thought.

  She shifted on her chair. Could she blame pregnancy hormones for the way her heart crashed about in her chest whenever she locked eyes with Alex?

  Her lips twisted as she speared a slice of cucumber. Not a chance. That was due to hormones she’d had long before she’d ever fal en pregnant.

  ‘The fishing this afternoon, Kit, it was fun.’

  ‘Yeah.’ She smiled. ‘I have so many great memories of sitting on my rock—fishing, dreaming, hanging out there with my friends or my mum and grandma. It reminds me of summer holidays and endless afternoons and laughter and al good things.’

  He stopped eating to stare at her. ‘I’m honoured you shared it with me.’

  Regardless of what happened, she knew this afternoon would always be precious to her. And what she’d just said to Alex, al of that was true. ‘Do you have a place like my rock?’

  He cut into a potato, but he didn’t eat it. ‘No,’ he final y said.

  His face didn’t shutter closed. She took that as a good sign. ‘What did you like doing with your parents when you were young?’ She swal owed as a different question occurred to her. ‘Are your parents stil alive?’

  ‘They died when I was twelve. Car accident.’

  There was no mistaking the closing up of his face now. Her heart burned. Her fingers shook and she had to lay her cutlery down. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘That must’ve been awful.’

  ‘Not your fault, Kit.’

  His words, his half-shrug…the fact he ate a piece of fish—fish she’d cooked for him—gave her the courage to continue. ‘Who did you live with afterwards?’

  ‘My grandfather. He was as rich as Croesus and as bitter as battery acid.’

  Uttered in a flat tone—fact with no emotion. Kit abandoned the rest of her food. ‘That’s when you moved to Vaucluse?’

  He nodded.

  The exclusive address hadn’t shielded him from life’s harsher realities. She could sense that much.

  ‘He’d disowned my mother when she married my father. Apparently a motor mechanic wasn’t good enough for the daughter of one of Australia’s leading politicians.’

  She shuddered. Alex’s grandfather sounded control ing and vengeful. It wasn’t the kind of home she’d ever want her child being sent to. ‘If he disowned your mother, why did he take you in?’

  ‘The papers got hold of the story, and to him appearances were everything.’ His lips twisted into the mockery of a smile that made a chil creep up her arms. ‘He had to at least be seen doing the right thing.’ He threw off his smile with a shrug. ‘I’d have been better off in a foster home.’

  This was the man who’d raised Alex throughout his teenage years? More pieces of the puzzle fel into place. Kit wasn’t prepared for the surge of anger that shot through her on Alex’s behalf, though. The people who should’ve looked out for him, loved him

  —his grandfather, his ex-wife—they’d betrayed him utterly.

  She didn’t blame him for guarding his heart.

  Her chest ached; her eyes ached. Did he have to keep guarding it against their baby, though?

  ‘I left when I was sixteen. I found work as a builder’s labourer.’

  builder’s labourer.’

  And he’d built an empire on his own. But that empire of his, it wouldn’t have made up for al he’d lost when his parents died. With an effort, she swal owed back the lump in her throat. She was glad he’d given her a glimpse into his past, but she wanted tonight to be about happy memories. ‘When they were alive, what did you like to do with your mum and dad?’

  Enough light filtered into her garden for her to see that her question stumped him. She had a feeling that Alex had shut himself off from his past to protect himself from al the bad memories, but in the process he’d shut out al the good memories too.

  ‘I…’

  She could see that he struggled. ‘Did your dad like to kick a bal around the garden with you? Did your mum make the best birthday cakes?’

  One corner of his mouth kicked up. ‘Mum couldn’t bake to save her life.’ He sat higher in his chair and grinned. It made him look younger, wiped al the cares from his face for a moment. It stole her breath.

  ‘We used to play this strange cricket game with a tennis racquet and a bal .’

  ‘We used to play that game on the beach!’ She clapped her hands, absurdly pleased at this point of connection. ‘We cal ed it French cricket. Though I don’t know how French it was.’

  ‘On the weekends Dad would tinker with the car and he’d let me help. He taught me al the names of the tools.’

  She could imagine a younger version of Alex—

  dark-haired and scrawny—handing his father tools, studying engine components in that serious, steady way of his. If they had a son, would he look like Alex?

  Share his mannerisms?

  ‘Mum’s favourite song was by the Bay City Rol ers and she’d sing it al the time. Sometimes Dad and I would join in and…’ he stil ed with his fork halfway to his mouth ‘…we’d end up on the ground laughing.

  Mum would tickle me.’ His grin suddenly widened.

  ‘And Dad would always say that we were in for an early night.’ He glanced at Kit, his eyes dancing. ‘I now know what that was al about.’

  ‘They sound like fun.’ An ache stretched through her chest. ‘They sound as if they loved each other very much.’

  ‘I think they did.’

  Don’t go fooling yourself into thinking you can get that kind of happy ever after with Alex. If it weren’t for the fact that she was pregnant, Alex would’ve left two weeks ago.

  Without a backward glance.

  He stil might yet.

  The only happy ever after she could hope for was Alex realizing that he could be a good father, that he would be there for her child. Their child.

  ‘I did have a place!’ He swung to her. ‘A place like your rock. It was a tree in the back garden—a huge tree!’

  She could tel he was talking about his garden in the western suburbs and not the one in Vaucluse.

  ‘There was a particular branch I always sat on. It was the best place. Mum would bring me out drinks and biscuits. You’re right, Kit, food out of doors does taste better.’ He set his now empty plate on the table and glanced around her garden. ‘You know, I like the idea of having a garden.’

  Her breath caught. Enough to give up his penthouse apartment with its harbour views? She crossed her fingers. ‘Al kids should have a garden.’

  She tried to keep her voice casual, which was nearly impossible when this al mattered so much.

  ‘Yeah.’ Physical y he was present, but she had a feeling he was a mil ion miles away.

  ‘Alex?’

  ‘Hmm?’

  ‘If you decided that you did want to be an active, involved father, what are the kinds of things you’d like to do with your child? Hypothe
tical y speaking, of course.’ She added the last in a rush. She didn’t want to scare him off. She didn’t want him clamming up again. She just wanted to plant the idea firmly—

  very firmly—into his mind.

  ‘I…’ He dragged a hand back through his hair, shrugged. ‘The fishing this afternoon was fun.’

  ‘Nuh-uh, I bags the fishing. You come up with your own activities, buster.’

  He chuckled but she heard the strain behind it. He swung to her. ‘Kit, I’ve by no means decided—’

  ‘I know.’ She refused let him finish, wouldn’t let him talk himself out of the thought of becoming a father. She touched his arm. ‘But wil you promise me to at least consider the possibility? Just to…think about it?’

  ‘Kit, I—’

  ‘Kit, I—’

  He broke off and dragged a hand back through his hair. ‘I’l think about it. But I’m not making any promises.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  He rose and took her now empty plate. ‘Would you like some more?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘I’l get started on the dishes then.’

  Kit watched him take their plates inside, her hand resting across her stomach, her fingers crossed.

  Three days later Alex wasn’t any closer to knowing if he could manage the kind of involvement Kit wanted from him.

  Whenever he thought of that baby girl at the Rock Pool, though, a surge of longing cracked his chest wide open. Longing that had grown into a persistent ache.

  He didn’t know what it meant. He’d discounted children and family for ever.

  But Kit was carrying his child. Could he just walk away?

  He swal owed, remembering the first moment Chad had been placed in his arms and—

  His mind shied away from the memory. Thinking about Chad, he couldn’t do it. It hurt too much.

  Thinking about Chad made him want to throw his head back and howl.

  He rol ed his shoulders, shoved his thoughts aside. He hadn’t signed up for any of this!

  When he half-turned from the house to seize the crowbar Kit appeared at the very edge of his peripheral vision, sitting in her Cape Cod chair.

  She’d gone stil , her fingers no longer flying across the keyboard of her laptop and suddenly he realized she’d ceased working to watch him. He swal owed and forced himself back to face the house. He pretended not to have noticed, told himself it didn’t matter, pretended it didn’t affect him.

  Impossible! Al the muscles in the lower half of his body bunched and hardened. Her gaze had the physical presence of a warm caress, like a soft finger tracing wil ing flesh.

  He gritted his teeth and ordered himself to focus on the job at hand. Several weatherboards on her cottage needed replacing before he could paint.

  With crowbar primed, he started prising one off, steadily working his way along its length.

  He’d wanted to refit the bathroom before he’d moved to the outside of Kit’s house, but the hardware store was stil awaiting delivery on the shower unit he’d ordered. The supplier was out of stock. He grimaced. He’d have to hide that particular bil from Kit when it arrived. The unit had cost a bomb and Kit would have a pink fit if she ever found out.

  He set his jaw. The unit was top-of-the-line, non-slip, non-breakable glass, and easy-clean. The fibreglass base and interior meant no grouting. Kit had heaved a sigh of gratitude when he’d mentioned that particular fact. He figured she’d be busy enough with the baby when it came without adding a high-maintenance bathroom to her list of chores.

  He wondered if she’d let him hire her a housekeeper or a cleaner.

  She won’t need a cleaner if you’re around to help her.

  If…?

  The nails, rusted into the timber frame of the house, screeched as he worked the crowbar. Final y the weatherboard came free and he sidestepped it as it clattered to the ground.

  If only he could sidestep other issues as easily.

  From behind, he heard Kit’s quick intake of breath. He glanced over his shoulder to find her gaze glued to his butt. She licked her lips, her eyes dark.

  She leant forward. He went hot, tight and rigid as rock.

  He and Kit, they had chemistry. Maybe…

  Her gaze lifted with a slowness and thoroughness that had him biting back an oath and fighting the desire to stride over there, drag her mouth up to his and have—

  ‘Oh!’

  He blinked. Kit stared at him, her cheeks a deep, dark pink. She swal owed convulsively and then jammed her canvas hat onto her head.

  jammed her canvas hat onto her head.

  He swore. He tried to loosen his grip on the crowbar. Hanging out with Kit like this—it was murder! For Pete’s sake, why had she taken to working outside anyway?

  She’d said it was to enjoy the sun. He’d told her that she just enjoyed watching him slave away. His teeth ground together. He’d been joking.

  It didn’t feel like a joke any more.

  He wiped his brow on his sleeve and let loose with another curse—low so she wouldn’t hear it. Who was he kidding? He couldn’t stay here in Tuncurry permanently. Kit deserved something more than he could ever offer. If he stayed here she would never get it.

  What about the baby?

  Could he…?

  Yes!

  His lips thinned. Probably not. He knew Kit was getting her hopes up—hopes that he would be some kind of father to her baby, a better father than hers had been. The thought of dashing those hopes made him want to throw up.

  He swal owed back the bile. No throwing up.

  No hiding from the facts either. Darkness threatened the edges of his consciousness. He let it in to swamp his soul, smother whatever hopes he dared to entertain. The man he’d had to become to survive his grandfather’s rule was not the kind of man who could make marriage and family work. His brief and disastrous marriage had proved that. His grandfather’s tyrannical bitterness had kil ed something essential in him. Something soft that was necessary to make relationships work. That was al there was to it.

  If he made promises to Kit—stayed and tried to build a life with her—eventual y she’d come to see him for who he real y was.

  And then she’d leave him, divorce him…and she’d take his child away.

  He had to stay strong. Damage control—that was al he could do now.

  ‘You must be ready for a break, Alex. You’ve barely stopped working al day.’ Ice chinked invitingly in the jug on the table beside her. ‘At least have a drink.’

  ‘Just one more board to go,’ he grunted, working the crowbar again. Tomorrow, with Frank’s help, he’d replace these boards.

  That would be one more job done. Kit’s house would be one step closer to being ready.

  And he’d be one step closer to leaving here.

  He didn’t turn as he spoke. He needed a few more minutes to find his composure, to make sure when he joined her he could resist the spel she threatened to weave around him.

  No matter how hard she hoped and wished, she couldn’t make him a better man—the man she needed for her child, the kind of man who could share her life. But the thought of the child growing inside her…

  Every day the evidence hit him afresh in the shape of her gently rounded abdomen, her heavy breasts.

  Every day. It worried at him until he felt he had a blister on his soul.

  Final y, he turned. Kit smiled, but her hand shook as she poured him a glass of fruit juice. He pressed his lips together hard. At certain moments she could make him believe this life could be his. She could make him forget what it had been like living with his grandfather, make him forget Jacqueline’s betrayal.

  She could make him forget that his heart had grown as cold and hard as his grandfather’s.

  It was dangerous forgetting those things.

  It was dangerous believing in fairy tales.

  He had to focus on what he had explicitly promised her—to get her house fixed. Nothing more.

  Against his wil
, his eyes travel ed to her stomach.

  How hard would it be to be a part-time father? To see his child three or four times a year and make sure it had everything it needed?

  To make sure Kit had what she needed?

  He glanced up to find her watching him again. He swal owed and took the glass she held out, moving back a few steps. He didn’t sit in the other chair arranged so cosily next to hers. He didn’t want her sunshine-fresh scent beating at him. He wanted to keep a grasp on reality. He sure as hel didn’t want the torture of being so near and not being al owed to touch her.

  Would Kit mind if he did touch her, though?

  He backed up another step. Perhaps not, but if he made love to her she’d think he was ready for al this…this domesticity. He didn’t feel any readier for it than he had on the first day he’d stalked into her back garden.

  back garden.

  That thought almost quel ed his raging libido.

  If he made love to Kit, she’d expect the works—

  marriage, kids and everything that went along with it.

  They couldn’t unmake the baby they’d created, but he could prevent himself from compounding the mistake.

  He surveyed her over the rim of his glass. When she realized he’d caught her out staring at him again, she sent him an abashed grin. ‘I don’t get it,’

  she confessed.

  Al his muscles were primed for flight. ‘Get what?’

  ‘For the eleven months that I worked for you, Alex, you’d come into the office every day the epitome of the assured businessman…’

  He relaxed a fraction. ‘And?’

  ‘Look, I understand your roots lie in manual labour, but…’

  His gut clenched. ‘But?’ Jacqueline had hated that about him.

  ‘But I don’t understand how you can stil be so comfortable and capable and easy with this kind of work.’

  Her admiration—admiration she didn’t even try to hide—made him stand a little tal er. He drained his juice and then shrugged. ‘It’s like riding a bicycle.’