by Heidi Rice
‘You drenched me, you idiot.’ Halle stood over the pool wiping the droplets off her face.
‘Oops.’ He smiled. For once, she sounded amused instead of pissed off.
Mission impossible accomplished.
‘How cold is it?’ she asked.
‘Absolutely bloody freezing.’ He shuddered, treading water, his groin now blessedly numb, like the rest of him. ‘But it feels great. You coming in?’
She plucked at the soaked cotton of her top, which had moulded to her breasts as if she were modelling a wet T-shirt competition. ‘Sod it. All right, then.’
He grinned.
Then she whipped her T-shirt over her head, revealing a plain white sports bra that flattened her breasts against her torso, and the smile died. Her choice of underwear couldn’t have been less erotic, but it did more than enough to remind him of the full, firm weight of Halle’s breasts, the dusky pink shadow of her supersensitive nipples … The Holy Grail of his teenage years.
Fantasising about Halle’s boobs had caused him several mortifying moments as he sat cross-legged in the assembly hall and watched her file in with her class while he imagined the treasures that lay beneath the shapeless pinstriped blouse of her uniform.
Despite the thick fabric of the bra she wore now, which disguised the shape into a flat ridge, he could imagine the plump swell of soft succulent flesh, the large, ripe nipples through the spandex. And the soft sobs of her breathing as he captured them between his lips and tongued them into hard peaks. Damn, he could still remember the night they’d found out a guaranteed way to make her come with penetration was if he licked and nipped all around the areola and then sucked the tip to the roof of his mouth while establishing a deep, even rhythm of strokes. It had required every ounce of his control not to climax before she got there, but despite the occasional mishap, he’d learned to do it the way she liked with some degree of finesse.
He could perform with much more finesse now.
Was that still the only way she could hit the jackpot if he wasn’t manipulating her clitoris? Or had she discovered other sure-fire ways to achieve orgasm in the years since?
Blood pumped into his crotch while simultaneously blazing a trail up his neck.
He dived under the water, horrified at how quickly his thoughts had gotten out of control. But as he came up for air, there she was standing on the bank, wiggling out of her hiking shorts. And the torture continued.
She folded the garment and bent to add it to the neat pile she’d assembled, affording him a tantalising glimpse of her lush bottom covered in snug white cotton.
‘I’ll have you know I’m not a complete pussy,’ she declared as she marched towards the water.
Terrific choice of words, Ms Best.
He gave a tight smile. At least she seemed to have forgiven him for that ill-advised comment about her lack of guts.
But as she sat on one of the rocks to dangle one cautious toe into the water, something glittered in the fold of pale flesh above the waistline of her panties. No way! She still wore a stud in the belly piercing she’d gotten at seventeen. So some remnants of the rebellious girl did still remain beneath the sophisticated veneer of the successful career woman.
The startling thought brought with it a renewed surge of excitement, followed by the unsettling feeling of connection.
Ignore it. She’s not that girl and you don’t want her to be.
She sucked in a breath as she eased herself off the rock. ‘Good God, it’s a miracle you didn’t stroke out jumping into water this cold at your age,’ she said.
‘Give over, I’m only thirty-seven,’ he countered, the teasing a welcome change from the razor-sharp snark. ‘And, anyway, I’m a guy. Risking death for no good reason goes with the territory.’
‘Tell me about it,’ she scoffed. ‘I’ve got a ten-year-old son who thinks he’s immortal.’
On a startled gasp, she dropped the rest of the way into the pool with a gentle plop. Shivering while she adjusted to the frigid temperature, she did a smooth breaststroke towards him. Her pale limbs glowed like lightsabres against the dark silted green of the water. ‘Wow, it feels glorious.’
She flipped onto her back to paddle away across the swimming hole, and his gaze snagged on the contours of her nipples, poking against the wet and pliant fabric of her sports bra like high-calibre bullets.
He did a shallow dive to duck back under the water’s surface, swimming down to explore the cold bottom of the pool, but it was already too late. Arousal sizzled through his system again like a firework ready to explode.
Mission accomplished, my arse.
‘I’m definitely going to get the recipe for this fried chicken from the resort’s chef.’ Halle bit into her drumstick, humming as she chewed, the sensual combination of spicy coating and chicken juices exploding on her tongue. ‘It tastes phenomenal.’
‘You do that.’ Luke grabbed another wing from the array of picnic food she’d laid out on their drying towels. ‘I just plan to eat it.’ He set about devouring it in huge mouthfuls.
‘I can see that.’ She frowned, her skin still zinging from the refreshing chill of their swim.
His hair had started to curl as it dried in the afternoon sun, the bronze strands highlighting the golden brown and adding to the ruggedly sexy combo of dusty hiking shorts, damp T-shirt and two-o’clock shadow.
His wet boxer briefs hung on a branch of mountain laurel, alongside her damp bra and knickers, making her even more aware of what they both didn’t have on beneath their clothing. Not that she needed reminding with her hypersensitive nipples rubbing the stretchy cotton of her T-shirt every time she moved.
Maybe she shouldn’t have taken him up on his dare. But she refused to regret it.
So what if he looked even better damp and her body acknowledged that? Surely any woman’s would after a ten-mile hike followed by the intense stimulation of a freezing-cold dip in her underwear. It was a purely chemical reaction. The result of millions of years of human evolutionary biology. It didn’t have any more significance than that. Luckily, she wasn’t a Neanderthal woman or a female ape, so she would never be compelled to act on the attraction.
‘Problem?’ He dumped the skinned bones into the hefty pile of debris he’d accumulated and wiped his hands on a napkin.
‘No,’ she lied. Her gaze flitted down to his feet, only to encounter the intimate curls of hair on his bare toes.
Get a grip, Queen Kong.
‘It’s just depressing to realise the man-sized appetite never goes away.’ She poured herself another glass from the canister of home-made lemonade Luke had chilled under the waterfall, ready to make small talk as if her life depended on it. ‘Aldo already manages to polish off a week’s worth of grocery shopping in three days. I may have to buy a pickup truck by the time he hits puberty.’
‘He’s ten, right?’
‘Um-hum.’ She nodded, grateful for the neutral topic. Using the empty backpack as a pillow, she stretched out on the sun-heated rock. Not looking at Luke was probably the smartest way to avoid noticing his Neanderthal attractions.
The warmth seeped through her clothing and she yawned.
The quiet hum of the local insect life, the burble of the falls and the scent of mountain laurel mixed with tree resin lulled her towards sleep. Maybe she wasn’t the outdoor type, but as wilderness experiences went, the past few hours had been surprisingly relaxing. Give or take the odd blast of Stone Age conditioning.
‘So do you know who Aldo’s dad is?’ It sounded so odd to hear Luke say her son’s name, it took a moment for his question to register. When it did, her mellow mood faded. Considerably.
She sat up, her unfettered breasts bouncing uncomfortably. His tone had been conversational rather than accusatory, but even so … ‘Of course I know who he is. Not that it’s any of your business.’
‘So why haven’t you told Aldo, then?’ he said, apparently untroubled by her indignation.
‘How do you know I haven�
�t told him?’ she gasped, as the indignation turned to outrage.
‘Because Lizzie talks about her kid brother to me. How do you think?’ He sent her a level stare that dared her to lie about it. And suddenly she knew exactly what it must be like to be interviewed by him.
‘You mean, she bitches about him to you,’ she said, redirecting the conversation. She wasn’t about to talk to Luke about Claudio.
And she could just imagine what Lizzie had to say to her father about Aldo. The thought made her feel instantly protective of her son.
‘You know, it would be really helpful if you didn’t humour her on that score,’ she continued. ‘Aldo’s had a few problems with his behaviour and he hasn’t found it easy to make friends since we moved to Notting Hill, but …’ She wheeled her hand, only too aware she was Aldo’s only cheerleader. ‘But he responded well to anger management CBT, he’s got a terrific au pair now and he’s doing OK.’
The guilt, which was never far away, tightened around her ribs like a vice. If she’d let Lizzie down by giving her a father who had once abandoned her, she’d let Aldo down more by giving him a father who couldn’t care less about him.
‘He’s just a child and he only has me to fight his corner—’
‘Lizzie doesn’t bitch about him to me,’ Luke cut into her passionate defence of her son. ‘Or not more than she bitches about everyone. She is a teenage girl, after all.’
‘I don’t believe you.’ How could that be true? When her daughter never missed an opportunity to bitch about her brother to his face, and hers?
‘You should,’ he said simply. ‘When she talks about Aldo, it’s usually because she’s worried about him, or mad with someone on his behalf. She loves him.’
Halle gulped her lemonade and let the tart sweetness ease her dry throat, caught halfway between the happy glow his revelation created and dismay at the implication that Luke might know more about Lizzie’s feelings towards Aldo than she did.
She ran her thumb through the beads of perspiration on the lemonade tumbler. ‘Perhaps I should give my daughter more credit.’
And maybe I should have given you more credit, too.
‘Our daughter,’ Luke said, his lips lifting in a gentle smile. ‘Don’t beat yourself up about it. You’re doing the best you can. And however much bitching she does about you, or to you, Lizzie knows that.’
‘Does she? Sometimes I think she hates me.’ The confession tumbled out before she could prevent it.
‘She’s giving you grief because she can,’ he said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. ‘All kids do it. It’s called growing up.’
The family counsellor had told her something similar, but she’d never been able to believe it. And she didn’t now. Easy for Luke to say, when he had been spared their daughter’s taunts and tantrums.
‘If that’s true, why doesn’t she give you the same grief?’ she said, as all the insecurities she’d worked so hard to suppress crept out of the shadows.
‘Because she doesn’t trust me the way she trusts you, Hal.’
‘I doubt that. You’re Super Dad, remember.’
He gave a hollow half laugh. ‘Yeah, I know. Which used to be great. But it’s not any more.’
‘Why not? I’d rather be Super Dad than Crap Mum.’
‘Would you?’ He glanced at her, the wistful expression for once unguarded. ‘I don’t even know what she was in therapy for a year ago.’
‘She didn’t talk to you about it?’ How could that be possible, when she’d always assumed Lizzie confided in her father all the things she refused to speak about to her?
He shook his head. ‘She let slip that she’d been in counselling. And that was as much as I could get out of her.’ He fiddled with one of the chicken bones, the sun casting his face into shadow. ‘I’ve been crapping myself about it ever since.’
‘Oh.’ He sounded genuinely worried. And even more insecure than her.
‘But unfortunately I’m Super Dad, which basically means I’m Superficial-Can’t-Be-Trusted-With-Lizzie’s-Secrets Dad, too.’
The vehemence of his statement surprised her even more.
Part of her wanted to seize on the irony and point out to Luke that Lizzie’s secrets were not nearly as legion as his own. But the hopelessness on his face stopped her. Was it possible that Luke had struggled, too? That all the pernicious envy, which she had never really acknowledged, about his role as Super Dad in Lizzie’s life had been misplaced?
‘I got her into therapy because I thought she might be anorexic or bulimic or something.’
He shot upright, his face going bloodless. ‘She’s anorexic? Why the hell didn’t you contact me?’
‘It’s OK, Luke. Don’t panic. She’s not and she never was. I completely overreacted about a perfectly normal weight loss a year or so ago.’
‘What made you think she had an eating disorder? There must have been a reason.’
Warmth swelled in her chest. She’d never seen Luke with his concerned parent hat on before. It was remarkably cute. Maybe not as cute as watching his toned body cannonball into a mountain pond in his boxers, but close.
More surprising, though, was how comforting it was to realise she wasn’t the only one who had performance anxiety issues where their daughter was concerned.
‘Honestly?’ she said. ‘I totally panicked. She got so skinny when she grew. The GP didn’t think it was anything to be too concerned about, but I refused to be convinced.’ Especially after Lizzie had hooked up with the hideous Liam, and Halle’s relationship with her daughter had gone into meltdown … ‘She refused point-blank to discuss it with me. So I paid for a very expensive therapist.’ Because her working-mother guilt had insisted on hiring the best. ‘And it took him four months to tell me the same thing.’
‘She’s no skinnier than I was at her age,’ he pointed out.
‘Well, yes, I suppose now you mention it, that’s true. Her build’s always been more like yours than mine.’
Perhaps if she hadn’t been determined to erase all thoughts of Luke from her consciousness, she might have figured that out a bit sooner. And saved herself a few thousand pounds in therapist’s fees—not to mention several hundred sleepless nights.
‘I’m sorry, Luke.’ Apologies had never come easily to her, but she supposed she owed him this much at least. ‘I should have got Jamie to tell you what was going on. I just assumed you knew. That Lizzie spoke to you about that sort of stuff.’
‘No need to apologise. At least you’re speaking to me now.’ He stretched his legs in front of him and turned his face into the sun. ‘It’s hard to know what the best thing is sometimes, when you’re stuck doing this all alone.’
His gaze caught hers and, seeing the complete sincerity there, she was suddenly struck by an even more disturbing thought than the last one. A thought that once let loose would not be ignored. Was this the real reason he’d blackmailed her into coming to Tennessee?
‘Please tell me you didn’t set this whole thing up with Monroe just to get me to talk to you about Lizzie? Because, if you did, I may have to self-harm.’
But as she looked up at the brilliant blue sky, it felt entirely like a trap of her own making. If she had met him halfway, if she had communicated with him, he never would have been forced to pull a stunt like this.
The rueful tilt of his lips turned into a grin. ‘Don’t be daft, I’m not that cute. Or altruistic.’
‘So there is actually an article on Monroe?’
‘Of course.’ The grin became sly, triggering the dimple in his cheek. ‘I’ve already sold the pitch to Vanity Fair, so it’ll be well worth my while dragging you out here whatever happens.’
‘Good to know.’ She smiled, no longer angry with his tactics. And oddly grateful that there was, and had always been, an article. An altruistic Luke would only be more of a threat to her peace of mind. She didn’t want the warm spot under her breastbone getting any bigger.
Plus, she was actually sort of char
med by Luke’s un-shakeable confidence in his work.
She had a similar pride in her own career achievements. But, more than that, she’d always known how bright he was, and how desperate he had been to get away from where he’d started. For once, she didn’t feel bitter that he’d gotten there in the end, even though he’d refused to take her with him.
‘So, who is Aldo’s dad?’
She eased onto her back, slung her arm across her face to protect herself from the sun’s glare—not to mention Luke’s curiosity. ‘Still none of your business.’
‘True, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to keep asking you till you tell me. And I should warn you, I can be very persistent.’
‘Really?’ She lifted her arm, not feeling quite so charmed by his journalistic confidence. ‘I never would have guessed.’
‘Come on.’ He nudged her with his foot. ‘You might as well give it up before I get out the thumbscrews.’
She huffed, wanting to be annoyed, because it was a question she’d resolutely refused to answer from pretty much everyone else. But why not confide in Luke? She didn’t have to be specific. And talking about her ill-fated affair with Claudio should help put this arbitrary warm spot back into perspective. ‘If you must know, Aldo’s dad was a complete tosser.’
‘More of a tosser than you think I am?’
She chuckled at the sanguine tone. ‘Incredibly, yes.’ Even though she’d always been so much angrier with Luke than Claudio. Probably because she’d never kidded herself she was in love with Aldo’s father. ‘Not only was he a tosser as a boyfriend, he turned out to be an even bigger tosser as a father.’
That at least was something it seemed Luke had never been.
‘How so?’
She swivelled her head to look at him, but his expression was masked by the lengthening shadows of the afternoon. ‘Are you really interested in all this?’
‘Yeah, I love a good story,’ he said, sounding surprisingly earnest. ‘Start from the beginning. How did you two meet?’
She listened to the muffled splatter of the water falling onto lichen-covered rocks, felt the dry wind lift the soft hairs on her arm and let herself recount the story she’d never told anyone else, because it had made her feel like such an abject failure as a mother.
