Kitabı oku: «Modern Romance February Books 5-8», sayfa 4

CHAPTER TWO

‘I WOULDN’T DREAM of it,’ he said softly.

He held out his hand, his eyes locking with hers, and his sudden, swift smile made her heart lurch forward.

‘You forgot these, and I was passing so…’

It was the pack of cards she’d left at his hotel.

She felt her breathing jerk. For a few seconds she couldn’t answer—couldn’t find the words to express her shock and confusion at finding him on her doorstep. Actually, not on her doorstep—he was already leaning against the frame, one foot resting negligently over the threshold so that shutting the door wouldn’t just be a challenge, but a virtual impossibility, given the disparity in their respective weights.

‘You were passing?’

She felt a shiver run over her skin as his dark gaze made a slow inspection of her, from the damp hair tumbling over her shoulders to her bare toes. Even if she’d been fully clothed she would have felt naked under his intense scrutiny, but she was wearing nothing but a T-shirt that was barely covered by her bathrobe.

There was a pulsing silence and then, tilting his head slightly, he glanced past her into the apartment. ‘Aren’t you going to invite me in? Or do you always entertain your guests in the corridor?’

‘You’re not a guest. Guests are invited, and I didn’t invite you.’ She stared at him suspiciously. ‘And I didn’t tell you where I lived either, so how did you find me?’

‘I looked up “beautiful female magician” in the phone book.’ His dark eyes glittered with amusement. ‘You were there—right at the top.’

Her skin was suddenly prickling, her stomach flipping over in response to his words. She’d spent so long remembering his flaws that she had forgotten he could make her laugh and it was an untimely reminder of why she’d fallen in love with him.

Only, even as her mouth began to curl upwards she knew she was making a mistake. The last thing she needed right now was to give him any hint of her continuing vulnerability where he was concerned so, tuning out the erratic beat of her heart, she shook her head. ‘Aristo—’

‘Okay, that was a lie.’ He shifted against the doorframe. ‘I actually looked up “angry, beautiful female magician”.’

Heart banging against her ribs, she took a deep breath, a rush of panic swamping her as she tried to gauge his mood. Surely if he’d found out about George he would be the angry one.

‘Did you follow me?’

His smile widened. ‘Of course. I have a second job as a private detective.’

Resisting the overriding urge to slam the door on his obviously expensive handmade shoes, she held his gaze. ‘Very funny. So you had somebody find out where I lived?’ She shook her head again. ‘That’s classy, Aristo.’

‘You gave me no choice. You left before we’d finished talking.’

His complete inability to understand what had happened back at the hotel sucked her breath from her lungs.

‘No, I had finished talking, Aristo,’ she said irritably. ‘That’s why I gave you the number of my lawyer.’

‘Ah, yes, your lawyer.’ Pausing, he glanced over his shoulder and frowned, pretending concern. ‘Are you sure you want everyone hearing about your private business?’

Teddie stared at him helplessly. She could tell from the glint in his eyes that he was not going to leave without saying whatever it was he wanted to say, and she couldn’t physically remove him herself.

Maybe she should call for back-up. But who would she call? Her maintenance charge for the apartment included a caretaker who was nominally responsible for security, but she had no idea how to get in touch with him, and Aristo might make a scene and wake George.

So that left her with the choice of having a conversation in the hallway or in her apartment. Her heart contracted with apprehension. Every instinct she had was screeching at her like a banshee not to let him into her apartment, but what if he met one of her neighbours and they mentioned her son?

Maybe there were other options, but right now she was too tired and strung out to work them out—and besides, she wanted him out of the hallway and her life.

Quickly she did an inventory of the apartment—thankfully she had tidied George’s toys away, and the only photos of him were in her bedroom. Her skin felt suddenly hot and tight, but of course there was no way Aristo would be going within a mile of that particular room.

‘Fine. You can come in,’ she said briskly. ‘But you can’t stay long.’

Mentally crossing her fingers, she hoped that tonight wouldn’t be the one occasion when Elliot was on time. She had, of course, given him an abridged version of her ill-starred marriage, only she had carefully edited out all mention of the tangle of unresolved feelings she still carried around with her.

But Elliot would only have to walk through her front door to know that she was upset, and right now she had enough going on with Aristo. She certainly didn’t want to have to deal with Elliot as well.

‘Ten minutes, Aristo, that’s all. And you’ll have to be quiet. I have elderly neighbours,’ she lied, ‘and I don’t want to disturb them.’

His dark, unwavering gaze fixed on hers and she felt a sudden rush of panic, for it seemed as though he could not only sense her lies, but also the reason behind them—as if the T-shirt she was wearing was printed with the truth.

‘I can do quiet, Theodora. Or have you forgotten?’

Her pulse fluttered, cheeks suddenly burning. No, she hadn’t forgotten. They had often been caught out by the strength of their desire, and on one particularly memorable occasion in a park they had satisfied their passion beneath the shade of a tree, hidden from passers-by. Quickly she pushed the thought away, wishing her brain hadn’t chosen to save that particular memory for posterity, but not even divorce proceedings had weakened the devastating pull of desire between them.

Ignoring the quivering tension of her body, she lifted her chin and smiled at him coolly. ‘It must have slipped my memory.’

Turning, she let the door fall back on his foot, his grunt of pain giving her a momentary but sharp satisfaction.

Stopping what she considered a safe distance away from him, she watched as he strolled into her living room, his assessing gaze travelling over the modest interior and no doubt contrasting it with the luxury of the apartment they’d once shared. But who cared what he thought? He was only here under sufferance, and she needed to make that clear to him.

‘I gave you my lawyer’s number for a reason. So why are you here?’ she asked stiffly.

She didn’t much care, but now that he was standing in her living room she realised there was no such thing as safe for her where Aristo was concerned. He was still wearing his suit, but he’d unbuttoned his shirt and lost the tie. Only, instead of making him less intimidating, his more relaxed appearance only seemed to emphasise his natural authority.

Add to that the fact that they were completely alone, it was no surprise that her head was starting to swim.

But it wasn’t just the tantalising temptation of his nearness that was making her hold her breath. Earlier she’d been so concerned about inadvertently revealing something about George that she’d been able to ignore her guilt at not doing so. In the unfamiliar surroundings of the Kildare Hotel it had felt almost like someone else’s life.

Now, though, it felt real, personal, and she could feel herself wavering. Could she really go through with this? Could she really cheat him out of knowing his son? Shouldn’t she at least give him the chance? And what about George? He’d already asked her why he didn’t have a daddy.

So far he was too young to really focus on the issue, but that would change…

‘I didn’t speak to her.’

It took her a moment to realise that he was replying to her question about her lawyer.

He was standing with his back to her, studying the books on her shelves, and she stared tensely at him, remembering how he’d loved to lie with that same head on her lap and how she’d loved to run her fingers through the thick, black hair…

She jumped slightly as he turned, her cheeks flushing with colour as his all-seeing dark eyes fixed on hers.

‘There was no point,’ he said blithely. ‘Why pay legal fees when we can talk for free?’

Her skin felt suddenly too tight. There was a long, steady silence as she stared at him incredulously. If she hadn’t been so stunned, she might have laughed. ‘Are you giving me advice?’

There was another long silence, and then he shrugged. ‘Somebody has to. Clearly whoever has been doing so up until now can’t have had your best interests at heart.’

He watched her green eyes widen, feeling childishly but intensely gratified that his words had clearly scored a direct hit. And then he caught sight of the two glasses and abruptly his mood changed, for clearly she hadn’t been planning on spending the evening alone.

Ever since she’d more or less fled from him, he’d been questioning her motives for doing so. Although he knew their relationship was purely professional, Edward Claiborne and Teddie had looked good together, and it had got to him—for, just like his mother, Teddie was not the kind of women to be alone. Despite her denial, he had no doubt that somewhere in the city there was a nameless, faceless man who had stepped into his shoes.

In fact that was why he’d found himself standing on her doorstep. Even just imagining it made a knot of rage form in his stomach, and that enraged him further—the fact that she still had the power to affect him after all these years.

His shoulders tensed. ‘Or perhaps they have their own agenda.’

Teddie felt a rush of anger spread over her skin like a heat rash. ‘Nobody has been giving me advice. I make my own decisions—although I wouldn’t expect you to understand that.’ Heart thumping, she lifted her gaze to his. ‘It was always a difficult concept for you, wasn’t it, Aristo? My being an independent woman?’

His eyes flickered, and she could almost see the fuse inside of him catch light.

‘If by “independent” you mean self-absorbed and unsupportive, then, yes, I suppose it was.’

She caught her breath. The room felt suddenly cramped and airless, as though it had shrunk in the face of his anger—an anger which fed the outrage that had been simmering inside her since meeting him earlier.

‘You’re calling me self-absorbed and unsupportive?’ She glared at him, the sheer injustice of his statement blowing her away. She could feel her grip on her temper starting to slip. How dare he turn up here, in her home, and start throwing accusations at her?

But even as she choked on her anger, she wasn’t really surprised. Back when she’d loved him, she’d known that he had a single-minded vision of the world—a world in which he was always in the right and always had the last word. Her refusing to talk to him now simply didn’t fit with that expectation.

Her motives, her needs, were irrelevant. As far as he was concerned she had merely issued him with a challenge that must instantly be confronted and crushed.

Queasily, she remembered his cold hostility when she’d refused to give up her job. Was that when their marriage had really ended? It was certainly the moment when she’d finally been forced to acknowledge the facts. That marrying Aristo had not been an act of impulse, driven by an undeniable love, but a mistake based on a misguided hope and longing to have a place in his life, and in his heart.

But Aristo didn’t have a heart, and he hadn’t come to her apartment to return a pack of cards. As usual, he just wanted to have the last word.

Crossing her arms to contain the ache in her chest, she lifted her chin. ‘If you believe that, then perhaps I should have given you the number for my doctor, as you’re clearly delusional,’ she snapped. ‘Wanting to carry on doing a job I loved didn’t make me self-absorbed, Aristo. It was an act of self-preservation.’

Aristo stared at her, his shoulders rigid with frustration. ‘Self-preservation!’ he scoffed. ‘You were living in a penthouse in Manhattan with a view of Central Park. You were hardly on Skid Row.’ He shook his dark head in disbelief. ‘That’s the trouble with you, Teddie—you’re so used to performing you turn every single part of your life into a stunt, even this conversation.’

They were both almost shouting now, their bodies braced against the incoming storm.

Her eyes narrowed. ‘You think this is a conversation?’ she snapped. ‘You didn’t come here to converse. I bruised your ego so you wanted—’

‘Mommy—Mommy!’

The child’s voice came from somewhere behind her, cutting through her angry tirade like a scythe through wheat. Turning instantly, instinctively, Teddie cleared her throat.

‘Oh, sweetheart, it’s all right.’

Her son, George, blinked up at her. He was wearing his pyjamas and holding his favourite toy boat and she felt a rush of pure, fierce love as she looked down into his huge, anxious dark eyes.

‘Mommy shouted…’

He bit his lip and, hearing the wobble in his voice, she reached down and curved her arm unsteadily around his stocky little waist and pulled him closer, pressing his body against hers. ‘I’m sorry, darling. Did Mommy wake you?’

Lifting him up, she held him tightly as he nodded his head against her shoulder.

Watching Teddie press her face against the little dark-haired boy’s cheek, Aristo felt his stomach turn to ice.

He felt winded by the discovery that she had a child. No, it was more than that: he felt wounded, even though he could come up with no rational explanation for why that should be the case.

His pulse was racing like a bolting horse, his thoughts firing off in every direction. He could hardly take it in, but there could be no mistake. This child was Teddie’s son. But why hadn’t she told him?

Thinking back to their earlier conversation, he replayed her words and felt an icy fury rise up inside of him. Not only had she said nothing, she’d lied to his face when he’d asked her about her family. Of course he’d been talking about siblings, cousins, aunts—but why hadn’t she told him then? Why had she kept her son a secret?

At that moment the little boy lifted his face and suddenly he couldn’t breathe. At the periphery of his vision he could see Teddie turning to face him, and then he knew why, for her green eyes were telling him what her mouth—that beautiful, soft, deceiving mouth—had failed to do earlier.

This was his son.

Like a drowning man, he saw his whole life speeding through his head—meeting Teddie at that dinner, her long dark hair swinging forward half-hiding a smile that had stolen his breath away, the echoing emptiness of his apartment, and that moment in the Kildare when she’d hesitated…

He breathed out unsteadily, and abruptly his pulse juddered to a halt.

Only, he wasn’t drowning in water, but in lies. Teddie’s lies.

The resentment and hostility he’d felt after she’d left him, the shock of bumping into her today—all of it was swept aside in a firestorm of fury so blindingly white and intense that he had to reach out and steady himself against a bookcase.

But the luxury of losing his temper with Teddie would have to wait. Right now it was time to meet his son.

‘I’m sorry too,’ he said gently, making sure that none of the emotions roiling inside his head were audible in his voice as he smiled at his son for the first time.

‘But you don’t need to worry.’ Skewering Teddie with his gaze, he took a step closer. ‘Mommy and I are going to have a chat, aren’t we?’

He turned to Teddie, making sure that the smooth blandness of his voice in no way detracted from the blistering rage in his eyes. Hearing her small, sharp intake of breath, he felt the glacier in his chest start to scrape forward. It had been barely audible, but it was all the confirmation he needed.

Forcing herself to meet his gaze, Teddie nodded mechanically, but inside her head a mantra of panic-stricken thoughts was beating in time to her heartbeat. He knows. He knows George is his son. What am I going to do?

Clearing her throat, she smiled. ‘Yes, that’s right. We’re going to have a grown-ups talk. And you, young man, are going to be taken back to bed.’

Although, given that her legs felt as though they were made of blancmange, that might be easier to say than do.

Aristo stared at her coldly. ‘But not before you’ve introduced me, of course.’

Her chin jerked up, but his glittering gaze silenced her words of objection.

‘This is my son, George,’ she said stiffly.

‘Hello, George.’ Aristo smiled. ‘I’m very honoured to meet you. My name is Aristo Leonidas, and I’m an old friend of your mommy’s.’

Gazing into his son’s eyes—dark eyes that were almost identical in shape and colour to his own—he felt his stomach tighten painfully. George had his jawline and his high cheekbones; the likeness between them was remarkable, undeniable. At the same age they would have looked like twins.

As George smiled uncertainly back at him he felt almost blinded with outrage at Teddie’s deceit. His son must be three years old. How much had he missed during that time? First tooth. First word. First steps. Holidays and birthdays. And in the future, what other occasions would he have unknowingly not attended—graduation, wedding day…

He gritted his teeth.