“Three years ago.” His eyes scanned her face, wondering if she had any idea of the connection between them. Wondering if something might dislodge a memory. “Eleanor was twenty two. And pregnant.”
“Oh, God.” Chloe’s hands covered her mouth, and for a second, Hendrix thought the whole sordid mess might have untangled in her mind. But she was only expressing sympathy for his situation, not realisation. “What a tragedy. Did they get the guy?”
“The guy?”
“The drink driver?”
His black eyes flickered with some unknown emotion. “Not yet. But I have a feeling fate won’t be kind to him.”
Chloe wanted to step up on tiptoes and kiss him. Only Ellie’s curious little presence stopped Chloe from reacting in the way that her instincts demanded.
“I suspect you’re right. These things have a way of evening out.” The butter began to fizz noisily and she moved back to give it a stir. The diced onions and garlic were in a little bowl; she upended it into the butter and moved them around until they glistened in the fat.
“Where did you learn to cook?” He asked, fascinated by the ease with which she added ingredients to the pan. She didn’t seem to be following a recipe, other than one in her head. Every now and again, she’d tilt a spoon into the sauce and taste it, then nod or shake her head and further adjust the seasoning.
“My mother was a chef. My childhood was spent at her feet, amongst the potato peelings and smell of soups.” She pulled a glass container from the fridge and laid it down on the bench top. Ellie’s cheese had long since disappeared, and Chloe furnished her with half a banana. “They had their own pub. Mum and dad.” Her eyes, when they lifted to his, were sparkling with pleasurable memories. “I grew up in the kitchen. It would have been impossible not to pick some things up.”
“The opposite to my experience,” his grin was lopsided and it set her heart going at a gallop.
“Why? In what way?” She’d made the gnocchi earlier that day and it was now perfect. Cold enough to add to the water and hold its shape. Hendrix peered into the container, marvelling at the neat little oval shaped pasta pieces.
“Neither my mother or father had any interest in cooking.” He moved closer to the stop, to see the sauce that was bubbling away. “My mom was French, and she used to joke that we ate Continental dinners. You know. Platters. Cheese, bread, fruit, nuts. She didn’t like to cook, but she liked food.”
Chloe turned the temperature up on the saucepan, and added a glug of oil. “That sounds romantic.”
He couldn’t resist pressing a finger against her cheek. It was soft and pink from the heat of the kitchen. “Flour,” he said apologetically, when her eyes flew to his face. “Yes, it was romantic. My parents were artists. My memories are all against the background of bohemian irresponsibility and joie de vivre.”
“Really?” She asked, the picture she had subconsciously formed of his childhood. “How wonderful!”
His face shifted into a mask of exaggerated chagrin. “At times, yes. My father would play the guitar, soft Spanish style songs that filled our home with music. My mother would dance, tall and slender, with long black hair and bright red lips. And they’d laugh, often. Yes, Chloe, you would have found enough in my childhood to warrant the belief in fairy tales.”
Chloe lifted the container from the bench and gradually began to add the gnocchi to the boiling water.
“Yet you speak of it with a hint of disdain?” She prompted deceptively.
His brows lifted at the question, but he nodded. “It is not ideal for a child to feel they are the most adult person in the house.” He shook his head, a rueful smile playing at his lips. “From paying bills to buying food, my parents were far too caught up in the enchantment of life to go through the motions of something so boring as grocery shopping or checking my school work.”
Chloe’s gaze drifted thoughtfully to Ellie. “Children change you,” she said. “At least, that’s been my experience.” She grinned up at him. “Imagine how footloose and fancy free they must have been before they had you!”
He grimaced. “I can’t even think.”
Chloe stirred the creamy mushroom sauce once more, and then leaned against the bench. “The gnocchi just needs a few minutes to cook,” she explained.
“And you?” He queried, silkily, as though she hadn’t spoken.
“And me, what?”
“You said children change you. How has Ellie changed who you are?”
“Oh.” She bit down on her soft lower lip. “Well, for one thing, Ellie holds a mirror up to who I am. I look at the decisions I’ve made through the filter of her making the same mistakes, and it scares me.” She lowered her voice. “If she had married someone like William, I’d have kidnapped her and taken her out of the country.”
He didn’t laugh. In fact, he could understand the sentiment. “My sister, Eleanor, was involved with a man I despised. A man who wasn’t good for her, and certainly wasn’t good enough for her. But she thought herself in love, and no matter how I encouraged her to leave him, she dug her heels in.”
“Do you regret not kidnapping her?” Chloe asked, the gnocchi forgotten as she got lost in the landscape of his dramatic face. All hard ridges and planes, shadows and darkness. She wanted to map it using only her lips.
“Yes,” he laughed shakily. “Of course I do. But we can’t force people to live as we want them to. You wish you hadn’t married William, and yet you wouldn’t have Ellie otherwise.”
Her smile was beaming, as she turned back to the gnocchi. “That’s what I tell myself, every morning. Ellie’s a gift. No matter what came before her, she’s worth it.”
She lifted the pasta from the water with a slotted spoon, adding it into the deep saucepan. “Now, I’ve seen for myself your handiwork with a knife. How do you think you’ll go with a cheese grater?”
“Time will tell,” he prophesied with an air of mystery, pushing the sleeves of his business shirt up to physically demonstrate his willingness. She fished a block of reggiano from the fridge and handed it to him, along with the fine grater.
“Don’t lose your fingers,” she warned.
Ellie pointed her finger towards the table and said, “Wa! Wa! Wa! More me wa!”
“You want some water, baby?” Chloe handed the Dora water bottle to Ellie and then looked thoughtfully at her guest. “You said your dad’s a musician. Do you play an instrument? Or sing?”
His dark eyes lifted to hers briefly, then returned to the chore of grating cheese.
“In the same way you learned to cook by osmosis, yes, I learned to play.”
“Guitar?”
“And piano.”
Her pulse was liquid lava in her veins. “I’d love to hear you sometime,” she spoke quietly.
It was not an unusual request, given their conversation. But the mood in the kitchen had shifted. They’d swapped confidences, and they’d learned more about one another, and the path they’d travelled had gone too far to deny its existence. There was an attraction between them. More than just physical. And Chloe wasn’t sure she could fork away from it now.
“I’d love to play for you sometime,” he responded, his voice gravelly.
Their eyes were linked, hers seeking his and his probing hers. With no speech and no contact, Chloe felt her whole body tingle in anticipation.
“Sorry I’m late!” Georgia’s voice, calling from the front door, broke through the atmosphere, startling Chloe. She shook her head as if to clear the haze of romance that was making everything foggy.
“You’re right on time,” Chloe retorted, smoothing her hands down her apron as though the signs of how she’d been feeling might be visible on the Laura Ashley print.
Georgia appeared at the kitchen door and stopped in her tracks, when her eyes landed on Hendrix. “Ah! Hendrix Forrester. You must be the most dedicated lawyer in the country,” she said, her voice lightly teasing. “To be working on a Saturday.”
Chloe shot her friend a wa
rning look. “Hendrix has been helping me cook.”
His laugh was seductively husky. “More like trying to stay out of the way,” he corrected.
Georgia looked from one to the other, wondering if they knew how obvious it was that they were both totally hooked. She scooped Ellie out of the high chair with the confidence of someone who saw her every day. Ellie went to Georgia willingly, her chubby arms wrapping around Georgia’s neck.
“We’ll set the table,” Georgia said, taking the little girl into the living area.
Hendrix’s dark eyes searched Chloe’s face. She was busy scooping gnocchi into bowls. “I think she’s onto us,” he said finally, putting the cheese down so that he could press a finger beneath her chin and lift her face to his.
“Onto us?” She asked unevenly.
“Mmm.” His thumb padded across her lower lip, and his eyes followed its progress, wishing, desperately, that it were his mouth instead.
Her blue eyes were enormous pools of uncertainty. “Hendrix.” His name on her lips was a whisper.
“I prefer how you said it the other night,” he murmured, lifting his other hand and cupping her cheek.
“And how was that?”
His smile was sensual. “As though you were drowning and I was the only man who could rescue you.”
She tilted her head into his strong grip. “That’s what scares me,” she said honestly.
“What scares you?” He prompted, moving his body closer to hers, so that she was within the frame of his strength.
He had been talking about the fires he’d lit within her body. The flames only he had the power to extinguish and release. But there was a broader dependency than Chloe feared. “I don’t want to need anyone to rescue me.” Her eyes fluttered closed against her cheeks. “I’m not the same girl I was when I married William. A naïve idiot who believed life was some kind of Hans Christian Anderson existence.” She shook her head with scathing self-derision, freeing herself from his touch. “When I left him, I left that part of myself behind too. I stopped waiting for someone to come to the tower and slay the dragon for me. I rescued myself.” Her smile was weak. “Do you understand that? I made a life for myself, even though I was scared to the bottom of my toes.” She sucked in a breath. “I need your legal help. But I don’t want to need you.”
Something like frustration barbed in Hendrix’s gut. “What if I need you right back?” He asked quietly, his eyes probing her mouth thoughtfully.
Chloe’s expression was thoughtful. “I don’t think you need anyone,” she said finally, stepping away from him with a weak imitation of a smile. “Now. Let’s eat.” It was overbright. She was trying to gloss over the sadness that was ripping through her. The confusion, too, was making her weary. One minute, she wanted to grab him with both hands and beg him to make love to her, and the next she was erecting fences all over the place, designed to keep him at a physical and emotional distance.
Hendrix followed her into the small lounge, carrying two bowls of gnocchi. He sat down silently, contenting himself to be an observer of their lunch. Chloe and Georgia chatted almost incessantly. If Chloe was constrained by his presence, and his declaration that he needed her, then she was an excellent actress. It was difficult to tell from her demeanour that she felt anything for him at all.
He toyed with his fork, and then began to eat the gnocchi. He’d been unprepared for how delicious it would be. How deeply rich and satisfying the flavours. She’d mixed things together and created this from scratch. She was a culinary magician.
Ellie seemed to agree. Despite the cheese and banana she’d feasted on in the kitchen, she was making impressive headway with her gnocchi. And so lunch went, Chloe and Georgia talking, Ellie and Hendrix eating with silent appreciation.
Long after the meal had been devoured and coffee and chocolate had rounded it off, Hendrix found himself lingering. Her apartment was tiny, but it was cheery. It was homely. He felt comfortable in the brightly coloured lounge room. Nonetheless, he forced himself to stand. “I think it’s time for me to make a move,” he said, his eyes on Chloe.
“Oh.” Her disappointment was a wave; an icy bucket of water that doused her. “Are you sure? It’s only early.”
His eyes lifted to the clock on the wall. It was the evening, and he’d arrived mid-morning. But he understood. She didn’t want him to go. He walked into the kitchen, certain she’d follow him to a more private location.
She did, leaving Georgia and Ellie playing happily with the Duplo Hendrix had brought.
“I’ve had fun today.” His dark eyes saw through her soul. “I liked spending time with you.”
Her cheeks flushed at the compliment. “I’m sure it’s a vastly different speed to what you’re used to,” she said with a small smile.
“A welcome change,” he agreed.
They stared at one another, the silence and need causing the very air they breathed to hum with its vibrations. Chloe’s throat felt dry. Her tongue was immovable. She could only look at him. Speech was impossible.
“Can I see you tomorrow?” His words were pulled from him with an intensity she understood.
It was not sensible. It was not wise.
But Chloe found herself nodding.
Only a small part of her brain was left to wonder: How would she make it until then?
CHAPTER SIX
“You’re a great mom,” his words were spoken softly, in deference to the child Chloe had just settled into bed for the night. She pulled the door to Ellie’s bedroom shut and then moved towards him.
“Thanks.” Alone for the first time all day, she felt besieged by nerves. “Sometimes I am, sometimes I’m not. It’s the nature of the beast.”
He regarded her thoughtfully. Their time together had been surprisingly perfect. The word came to him out of nowhere, but he didn’t disregard it. It was the right way to describe what they’d shared.
They’d grabbed bagels and had lunch in a park, then spent the afternoon walking through Chloe’s neighbourhood while Ellie scampered at their feet. When the weather had turned cold, they’d come back to the flat to watch a movie. And now, Ellie was in bed, and Hendrix was looking down the barrel of a night alone with Chloe. Anticipation was nipping at his heels.
“Have you ever regretted it?” His voice was deep in the cool air of her flat.
“Being a mom? Not for a second. Even if I’d thought of … ending my pregnancy, the moment William hit me –,” instinctively her hands flew to her flat stomach, “I knew that I wanted the baby with all my heart. That I would have done anything to save its life.”
“Adoption then? You were what? Twenty one? And in a foreign country to what you knew, with no help or support.”
She nodded. “That wasn’t the baby’s fault though.”
His lips lifted in a small smile. “True.”
Chloe’s racing heartbeat wasn’t easing up. Standing just a small distance from Hendrix, his overpowering presence was making her nerve endings vibrate. He was dressed in black jeans and a pale grey shirt that emphasised the depth of his tan.
“I think you’re very brave,” he said with an intensity that made her stomach flip-flop.
“Do you?” A husky sound, her words were foreign to her ears.
His expression was one of sardonic amusement. He lifted a hand to cup her cheek, and she didn’t move away. Her large eyes stared up at him; she was lost in a raging ocean of sensation. “I do.” His smile was vague.
“Why?” She gulped, so that her throat moved in a visible knot beneath her pale skin.
“Look at what you’ve done since leaving William. You’ve had a baby. You’ve raised a girl. You’ve built a business and supported yourself. You’ve carved out a life despite the odds that were stacked against you. Yeah, I think you’re brave as hell, Chloe.”
She exhaled slowly, fluttering her blue eyes closed. “You have no idea how badly I needed to hear that.”
“You must know how remarkable you are.”
&n
bsp; “Remarkable?” She pulled a face, her eyes opening to pierce his in confusion. “Hardly. I’ve done what anyone would do in my position.”
“No.” He shook his head. “You could have sued William for a fortune. You could have been living off a healthy child support payment all these years.”
She spoke with a deadly softness to her voice. “But then he would have owned a part of Ellie. He would have had a claim to her.”
Hendrix felt a strange emotion swell inside of him – one he didn’t dare analyse too closely. “He has a claim to her, Chloe. He’s her father. Biologically and legally.”
The panic that had danced alongside her for two long years ripped through her gut. “He doesn’t want her.”
“No,” Hendrix agreed gently. “But he wants you. And he wants to hurt you, if he can’t have you.”
“What are you saying?” Now, her heart was racing like wildfire, and it had nothing to do with the desire Hendrix seemed to stoke in her soul.
Hendrix sighed roughly. Was he really prepared to do this? To wound the man who’d killed his beloved sister? His lips formed a grim line in his expression. “I’m going to do what I can, Chloe, but it’s going to be difficult to keep him out of Ellie’s life.”
She stepped away from him, wrapping her arms around her slender waist for comfort. “I didn’t put him on the birth certificate. Surely that means … something?”
He shook his head. “You gave Ellie his last name. Besides, a simple paternity test will prove that he is the father.” At her continued silence, he pushed his point, “And you run the risk of seeming petty and malevolent if you try too hard to keep him away from his own child.”
She spun around to face him, her cheeks flushed pink. “Even if I’m worried about what he might do to her?”
Hendrix nodded sympathetically. “Yes.”
“But how can that be?” Chloe implored, the threat of tears making her throat ache.
“He’s her father,” he said simply, as though it explained anything.
Chloe thought back to the last time William had yelled at her – the night she’d left him – and she shuddered. There was no way he could be left alone with their daughter. “But he could lose his temper with her. He could shout at her. He could …” The sheer terror of what she knew her husband to be capable of made her shake her head. She couldn’t even finish the sentence.
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