The Secretary's Secret

by Michelle Douglas

  The need and the energy, it took her and Alex and merged them into a sparkling, flaming oneness until, body and soul, she didn’t know where she ended and Alex began. It was the kind of kiss to shape and Alex began. It was the kind of kiss to shape worlds and change lives. It shifted the foundations of her world and al she believed about herself.

  The hope is greater than the fear.

  For the first time where Alex was concerned, her hope was greater than her fear.

  Alex eased away from Kit. He didn’t know for how long they’d kissed. He barely knew which way was up. Very slowly he drew his hands away—one from her face, one from her stomach. He tried to stop his legs from jerking in reaction.

  ‘Are you okay?’

  Her voice came out soft and husky, as if he’d kissed al her breath away. Served her right for kissing his breath clean away too.

  He nodded and cleared his throat. ‘And you?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’

  She had stars in her eyes! No woman should look at him like that.

  An imaginary noose pul ed tight around his neck, and yet for a moment al he could see was the shine on her lips and he ached to sample them again.

  ‘I’m…’ He cleared his throat again. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘I’m not.’

  ‘It can’t happen again.’

  ‘I’l be holding my breath til it does.’

  He closed his eyes. He was in way over his head.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THE phone rang. Alex stared at it and then down the hal way towards the bathroom, where he doubted anything could be heard over the blast of Kit’s hairdryer.

  The phone rang again.

  He opened his mouth to hol er for Kit. He snapped it closed again. She wouldn’t hear him. Or if she did she’d ask him to answer it for her.

  He snatched it up, barked, ‘Hel o?’ into the receiver.

  He hated answering her phone. There would always be a strategic pause, like now, as the person on the other end of the line—one of the very many of Kit’s community of friends—tried to weigh him up by the sound of his voice.

  ‘Hel o, I’m hoping to speak with Kit Mercer.’

  Female. It wasn’t a voice he recognized, but something about it made his shoulders loosen a fraction. ‘I’l just get her for you. May I ask who’s cal ing?’

  ‘Candace Woodbury. I’m her mother.’

  Kit’s mother! His shoulders immediately clenched up twice as tight. ‘Uh…right.’ He headed down the hal way and knocked on the bathroom door. And then he gulped. He hoped Kit was decent.

  ‘I’m sorry—’ that pleasant voice purred down the line ‘—but I didn’t catch your name.’

  His teeth ground together for a moment. He unclenched them to mutter, ‘Alex Hal am.’

  ‘Ah…you’re Alex.’

  He grimaced and rol ed his shoulders, knocked on the bathroom door again. Louder.

  Muffled muttering came from behind it, then it was flung open and Kit stood there in a white terry-towel ing robe that stopped short of her knees, her hair fluffed around her face. She literal y glowed with that golden light he found almost irresistible. He wanted to reach out and cup her cheek, slip the robe from her shoulders and explore her new lush curves.

  He wanted to kiss her like he had on the breakwater the other day.

  He wanted to please her. Pleasure her.

  His jaw clenched. He had to remember al the reasons why that was such a bad idea.

  ‘Is that for me?’ she said, al sass and fire as if she was aware of the effect she had on him.

  She raised an eyebrow and pointed downwards.

  Did he have an erection? He’d done his best to quash—

  The air left his lungs in a rush. She was pointing at the phone. He shoved it into her hands. ‘It’s your mother.’ And then he fled.

  It didn’t prevent him from hearing the start of her conversation. ‘Mum, I see you’ve met Alex. I think you scared him off.’ And then the bathroom door closed and he was out in the living room again and could breathe. After a fashion.

  Kit’s mum hadn’t scared him off. He stretched his neck to the right and then to the left. He dropped down onto a sofa. Who was he trying to kid? Al of it

  —Kit’s whole life—scared the heck out of him.

  Everyone here, they had expectations of him. He’d rather deal with the savage cut and thrust of a boardroom coup than Kit’s family and friends.

  He leant his elbows on his knees and rested his head in his hands. He didn’t have a lot of friends to speak of. Loads of acquaintances, but not many friends. He had a couple of mates from his building trade days, another from university and one from school.

  He’d been a loner as a kid—his grandfather had made sure of it. In the last two years, since Jacqueline and Chad had gone, he’d shut himself away, had thrown himself into work. It hit him now that he’d neglected those four friends of his. They’d rung, tried to arrange outings. He’d ignored them, cut them off. Kit would never do that to her friends. He lifted his head and steepled his hands beneath his chin. When he returned to Sydney he’d contact each of them and make arrangements to catch up, apologise.

  He slumped back against the sofa, his lips twisting. He had more acquaintances, col eagues and associates than he could poke a stick at, but it wasn’t like the community that surrounded Kit. To his untrained eye, it looked as if everyone in town had clamoured to welcome her home. From her old school friends, to her mother and grandmother’s friends, to neighbours old and new and everyone in between. He hadn’t known until he’d come here how important family and friends were to Kit.

  She belonged here.

  He’d never belonged anywhere.

  He’d never belonged anywhere.

  But then he remembered sitting in a tree, his mother coming out with milk and biscuits, humming her song, and his father waltzing her around the back garden. He’d belonged once.

  Could he belong again?

  ‘Ready?’

  Alex started. He’d been so lost in thought he hadn’t noticed Kit enter the room. The vision of her stole his breath. She wore a loose cotton sundress that fel to just below her knees, leaving her glorious golden calves on display. The dress—indigo-blue dotted with tiny sprigs of white flowers—made the golden highlights in her hair and eyes gleam.

  The dress scooped down in a low vee at the neckline, making him swal ow. He told himself he was grateful she wore a little khaki three-quarter-sleeve jacket with it. He just knew that beneath that jacket the dress would have those tiny shoestring straps. Straps made for being pushed off glorious golden shoulders. Shoulders made for kissing and—

  ‘Alex?’

  High colour stained her cheekbones, but her chin hitched up as he continued to survey her. If he reached for her now she’d let him. They’d make glorious golden love.

  And Kit would interpret that as a sign that he meant to stay, that he meant to stay and make a family with her and the baby. She’d give al of herself.

  She’d have every right to expect the same in return.

  It didn’t matter how much he hungered to lose himself in her softness, her promise; it didn’t matter how much he ached to give her al her heart desired.

  The hope is greater than the fear.

  He didn’t know if that was true for him. And until he’d worked it out, touching Kit and kissing her, that was off limits.

  He shot to his feet and swung away.

  ‘Alex?’

  He heard the frown in her voice and forced himself to take another step away from her and her heavenly, beguiling scent. ‘I was thinking my time might be better spent getting on with the painting than attending a tea party.’

  ‘You made the cake so you have to come. It’s the rules.’

  ‘You can pretend you baked it.’

  She snorted. ‘Everyone who knows me would see through that lie in a mil isecond. Anyway, my grandmother is expecting you and the luncheon is for charity. It’l only be for an hour or so
. Grit your teeth, smile politely, eat cake and then it’l al be over. Oh, and pack your board shorts. I thought we might drop in for a swim at the ocean baths at Forster on our way home. It’s supposed to get hot today.’

  The rest of his argument died on his lips. He and Kit swimming together? He wouldn’t risk it if it weren’t in a public place.

  But it was in a public place and it was too much to resist.

  The retirement vil age was on the outskirts of Forster. It only took them ten minutes to drive there and, although they arrived on the dot at midday, the luncheon was already in ful swing.

  Ostensibly the event was supposed to take place in the community hal , but it had spil ed out into the surrounding gardens. Kit dropped a two-dol ar coin into the donation box before he could stop her. He pushed a twenty-dol ar note through the slot. He’d tried to do it unobtrusively, but her gaze had flicked back at him, mouth open as if she meant to say something. She blinked and then she sent him a smile that warmed him to the soles of his feet.

  ‘That was very generous.’

  He shrugged. ‘It’s for charity.’

  ‘Okay, let’s find Grandma. We’l say hel o, place the cake in her capable hands, make ourselves up plates of goodies and then find some people to talk to.’

  He bit back a sigh. It had al sounded great up until that last bit. He’d rather find a cosy corner and settle down to flirt with her. Finding people to talk to, a crowd, was far more sensible. Safer.

  There was stil the promise of that swim later.

  He’d hold onto that while he gritted his teeth and made smal talk.

  ‘I’ve been meaning to say,’ Kit said, ‘that I like this new casual look of yours.’

  He wore a pair of long, loose cargo shorts and a cotton T-shirt. The simple compliment took him off guard. He didn’t know what to say. ‘Can’t paint in a suit,’ he final y muttered. ‘I’d look a bit stupid.’

  Her laugh made him grin. He could do smal talk for an hour or so. For Kit. He could do anything she wanted him to.

  Can you be the man she needs you to be? Can you be a father for her baby?

  He pushed the thought away. He wasn’t ready to face those questions and al they implied yet.

  Well, then, when?

  He rol ed his shoulders. Later. When he had her house finished and… He gulped. The house was almost finished. Another week or so and…

  Soon. He’d have to answer those questions soon.

  ‘Alex, it’s lovely to see you again. I’m so glad you could make it.’

  He latched onto the distraction. ‘Nice to see you again, Mrs…uh…Patti,’ he corrected at her glare.

  ‘Thank you for the cake, dear. Now, head on over to the tables and grab yourselves some food before it’s al gone.’

  ‘No chance of that,’ Alex said. ‘You’l be eating this for a week!’

  Patti touched his arm. ‘Make sure my

  granddaughter has something with lashings of fresh cream. It’s good for the baby.’

  Fresh cream? He frowned. He’d baked a simple sultana pound cake. He wished now that he’d baked something with lashings of cream, like a strawberry shortcake. Tomorrow he’d make Kit one of those.

  He liked to watch her eat. He’d like to watch her lick whipped cream from her fingers. He’d like to drop dol ops of whipped cream onto her naked body and slowly lick—

  Whoa!

  He did his best to banish that image as he fol owed Kit. She pushed an unerring path through the crowd towards laden trestle tables groaning under the weight of luncheon goodies.

  She glanced back at him over her shoulder. ‘How d’you learn to bake anyway? I thought you said your mum couldn’t bake to save her life.’

  ‘I spent a lot of time in the kitchen when I lived at my grandfather’s, watching the housekeeper. Some of it obviously rubbed off.’

  She started fil ing two plates with sandwiches, cakes and slices. He scanned the table for something laden with whipped cream. He seized a chocolate éclair and popped it onto one of the plates. ‘Your grandmother’s orders,’ he muttered at her raised eyebrow.

  Her laugh made him grin. He couldn’t help it. He Her laugh made him grin. He couldn’t help it. He should be doing his best to keep his distance until he’d worked out how he was going to deal with…

  everything. When he was with her, though, that resolution flew out of the window. She made it impossible.

  ‘Did you like the housekeeper? Was she kind to you?’

  He met her gaze and saw hope there—hope that he hadn’t been completely alienated whilst at his grandfather’s. He swal owed. ‘Yes,’ he lied.

  He told himself it was only half a lie. The housekeeper had been kind. She’d taught him how to cook and had taken him under her wing. She’d ruffled his hair and wrapped an arm around his shoulders at least once a day—her every caress a treasure to a lonely boy’s soul. Until his grandfather had found out about it and she’d been dismissed.

  After that, Alex had been banished from the kitchen.

  He hadn’t tried making friends with any of the other staff.

  ‘Here.’ Kit pressed a laden plate into his hands.

  ‘Fol ow me.’

  He shook off the sombre memory and fol owed her.

  The smal talk wasn’t the chore he’d dreaded. He found himself in a circle with four of Kit’s male friends from school talking renovations and home maintenance. He took mental notes when they discussed

  the

  predominantly

  sandy

  soil

  compositions of the area and the best remedies.

  Kit’s lawn could do with some serious TLC.

  Eventual y, however, the crowd and the chatter grew too much. He eased himself out of the hal and found a quiet spot in the garden, lowered himself to a rock that bordered a flower bed. The sun beat down overhead. Kit was right, the day would be warm, but a nearby tree fern provided filtered shade and kept him cool.

  ‘Hel o.’

  Alex’s gut clenched. He swal owed and turned.

  Davey stood nearby. He moistened suddenly dry lips. ‘Hel o,’ he croaked back.

  The little boy took a step closer and frowned.

  ‘Don’t you like me?’

  Heck, where had that come from? Then he remembered his abrupt departure earlier in the week when he’d thrust the little kid into Kit’s arms and had bolted. He hadn’t meant to hurt the little guy’s feelings. ‘Sure I do.’ He held out his stil half-ful plate as a peace offering. ‘Want a cake?’

  Davey’s eyes brightened in an instant. He raced over and promptly settled himself on Alex’s left thigh and helped himself to a cupcake. Alex clenched his jaw at the child’s warm weight, the smel of him. He beat back the panic that threatened to rise up and smother him. Panic he couldn’t explain. This little guy—he wasn’t Chad!

  Chad. His hand tightened around the plate until he thought it might break as he fought the urge to remove the child from his lap.

  Normal. Act normal.

  He fought for control, fought to find his voice.

  ‘Comfortable?’ he drawled.

  Davey nodded, oblivious to Alex’s discomfort. ‘I’m not supposed to get dirty,’ he confided. ‘If I sit on the ground I’l get dirty.’

  Fair enough. He held the plate out to Davey again once the cupcake was gone. ‘I hear the caramel slice is very good.’

  Davey ignored him and reached for a piece of coconut ice instead. Alex considered eating the caramel slice himself—to give him something to do with his hands, in an attempt to occupy his mind with something other than the smel and feel of warm child—but he doubted his stomach would deal with food at the moment.

  Given the choice, what would Chad have chosen

  —caramel slice or coconut ice? Grief as raw and hard as it had been two years ago sliced through him now. He set the plate on the ground, aghast at how his hand shook.

  ‘Can I tel you a secret?’

  Alex nodded. It was al
he was capable of.

  ‘Auntie Kit is having a baby. Did you know?’

  ‘Yes.’ The word croaked out of him.

  ‘Wel , I heard her and Mum talking and if she has a boy she wants to cal him Jacob and Mum thinks that’s a great name but there’s a Jacob at my pre-school and he picks his nose and…’

  The rest of the childish patter was lost to him.

  The day darkened. He clenched his fingers into the soil of the garden, held on tight with both hands as the earth turned al the way over. He dragged in a breath and fought to remain upright. He would not be sick!

  sick!

  It came to him then, the answers to the questions he’d so desperately put off answering.

  He couldn’t do this.

  He wanted to get up and run. Who was he trying to kid? He couldn’t do any of this. He could not be the father Kit so desperately wanted for her child.

  Any child, every child, reminded him of Chad, had memories threatening to burst forth—memories and pain. Davey, here, and…and Kit’s baby, would act as constant reminders of his loss, would have panic rising through him…and grief.

  Not to mention anger. How could he be a proper father to Kit’s child when he couldn’t see past Chad?

  Ice trickled across his scalp and down his spine.

  He couldn’t. The bottom line was that he couldn’t.

  Was this how his grandfather had felt when Alex’s mother had left? Was that why he hadn’t been able to show softness and love to his grandson? The way Alex now knew he couldn’t show softness and love to his own child?

  It would’ve been better for al of them—but especial y for Kit—if he’d left that first day when she’d told him to. It would’ve been better for her if she’d never clapped eyes on him.

  ‘…anyway, I think it’s a dumb name, don’t you?’

  Eyes the same colour as Chad’s lifted to his. It didn’t make any difference tel ing himself that ninety per cent of the population had brown eyes. At this moment in time they were the spitting image of the child’s he’d loved and lost.