Kitabı oku: «Modern Romance February Books 5-8», sayfa 6

CHAPTER THREE

WALKING INTO HIS APARTMENT, Aristo stared blankly across the gleaming modern interior, a stream of disconnected, equally frustrating thoughts jamming his brain. He’d barely registered the hour-long drive home from Teddie’s apartment. Instead he’d been preoccupied by that simmering undercurrent of attraction between them.

They’d both been so angry, and yet even beneath the fury he had felt it, strumming and intensifying like the vibrating rails beneath an express train.

Of course he’d known it was there since this morning—from that moment when he’d turned around in the Kildare and his stomach had gone into freefall. It had been like watching flashes of lightning on the horizon: you knew a storm was heading your way.

And he’d wanted the storm to come—and so had Teddie—right up until she’d told him that it was all in his head.

Not that he’d believed her. It had been just one more lie in a day of lies.

He breathed out slowly, trying to shift the memory of her final stinging remark to him.

‘You and I are impossible. You being George’s father changes nothing between us.’

Wrong, he thought irritably. It changed everything.

No matter how much she wanted to deny it, there was a connection between them—and it wasn’t just based on sex, he thought, his heart tightening as he remembered his son bumping fists with him.

He still couldn’t believe that he was a father. A father!

The word kept repeating inside his head like a scratched record.

Suddenly he needed a drink!

In the cavernous stainless steel and polished concrete kitchen, he poured himself a glass of red wine and made his way to the rooftop terrace that led off the living area.

Collapsing into a chair, he gazed moodily out at the New York skyline. Even from so high up he could feel the city’s energy rising up like a wave, but for once he didn’t respond to its power. He was too busy trying to piece together the life that Teddie had shattered when she’d walked into his hotel.

And if that hadn’t been enough of a shock, she’d then lobbed a grenade into his perfectly ordered world in the shape of a three-year-old son.

Welcome to fatherhood, Teddie-Taylor style.

Thanks to her, he’d gone from nought to being the father of a miniature version of himself in a matter of seconds, with Teddie presenting George to him like the proverbial rabbit being pulled from a hat.

He ran his hand slowly over his face, as though it might smooth the disarray of his thoughts. It felt surreal to be contemplating even the concept of being a father, let alone the reality. He’d never really imagined having a child—not out of any deep-rooted opposition to being a father, but because work and the expansion of his business empire required all his energy and focus.

He frowned. But maybe there were other reasons too? Could his father’s decision to opt out of his responsibilities have made him question his own programming for parenthood? Possibly, he decided after a moment’s thought. Apostolos Leonidas had been an intermittent and largely reluctant presence in his life, and maybe he had just assumed that he’d be the same.

And up until now he’d more or less given his father a free pass—having been made to look a fool, his father had understandably wanted nothing to do with his adulterous wife, and that had meant having nothing to do with his son either.

But even when Aristo had been blinded with shock and anger earlier he’d felt no resentment towards George, no sense of panic or dismay. Gazing down into his son’s dark eyes, he had felt his heart tighten in recognition—and love.

His shoulders stiffened. The same love that Teddie clearly felt for George?

Resentment still simmered inside him, but he couldn’t stop himself from reluctantly admiring his ex-wife. Whatever else she might be, Teddie was a good mother. George clearly adored her, and she loved their son—not with his own mother’s chilly, grudging variety of love, nor the nod of recognition that had passed for love in his father’s head. Just love—pure, simple and unselfish.

Imagining how it must feel to be the focus of that kind of affection and tenderness, he felt something tauten inside him—not just a sense of responsibility, but of resolve. He was George’s father, and it was his job to make sure his son had the love and security that he himself had been denied as a child.

His parents’ divorce and subsequent remarriages had left him rootless and unsure of his place in the world, and he knew instinctively that George needed both his parents. But if that was to happen then this time Teddie wouldn’t be running anywhere—ever. Only, judging by how quickly she had bolted from his life last time, he needed to make that clear sooner rather than later.

* * *

‘Well, if you ask me, it could have been a lot worse.’

Elliot raised his elbows swiftly off the breakfast bar as Teddie swept past him with a wet cloth, cleaning the evidence of George’s cereal from the surface and wishing she could wipe Aristo from her life just as effortlessly.

Elliot hadn’t appeared the night before but had arrived at breakfast, bringing doughnuts and his usual reassuring patter, and she’d been both grateful and relieved to see him.

It wasn’t that he could do anything to change what had happened, but he made her feel calmer, more rational. Less like the woman she’d been last night.

Her fingers tightened around the cloth and she closed her eyes.

That, in short, was the problem. Maybe it was because he was so uncompromisingly masculine physically, but Aristo made her feel like a woman—fierce and wild and hungry to touch and be touched. They’d felt so right together; he’d felt so right against her. And, even though she despised herself for being so shallow, she couldn’t pretend that anything had changed. When he was near her she was still so aware of his body, his breathing, the heat of his skin…

Her insides felt suddenly hot and tight and, breathing out a little, she opened her eyes. She’d done everything she could to excise the memory of what it felt like to be held in Aristo’s arms, only for him to turn up on her doorstep and make a mockery of all her efforts. It wasn’t fair—but that didn’t mean she was going to roll over and let him turn her and George’s lives upside down.

‘It could?’ Turning, she stared at Elliot disbelief. ‘How, Elliot? How could it be worse?’

He shrugged, his expression innocent. ‘He could have kissed you.’

Remembering how close she’d come to letting that happen, she scowled at him, a blush of colour heating her cheeks. ‘He didn’t.’

‘Or you could have kissed him—Hey, it was a joke.’ Grinning, he caught the cloth that Teddie threw at him. ‘Where’s your sense of humour?’

Collapsing onto the stool beside him, she shook her head. ‘It packed its bags and left shortly after Aristotle Leonidas arrived.’

She felt a sudden rush of panic, remembering that stand-off between them—the prickling of her skin and the intensity of his gaze, his dark eyes scanning her face, all-seeing, hungry, unwavering… Her stomach tightened, her hands curling into fists. She might not have given in last night, but this thing, this ‘connection’ between them wasn’t going to just disappear.

But she could.

The thought popped into her head unbidden, fully formed, because of course that was still her gut instinct. Before Aristo, years of her life had been spent living out of suitcases, staying in hotels and motels, always ready to leave, to flee like a getaway driver after a heist. Running away had been her quick fix, her go-to solution for dealing with any problem in her life, any time things got hard.

It was a hangover from a childhood spent dodging unpaid bills and bailiffs and a legacy from her father—not that she’d ever thought of him as that. Wyatt Taylor had never stayed around long enough for the name ‘Dad’ to stick. Just long enough to teach her a couple of magic tricks and to make her miss him when he left.

Her heart began to pound.

Only, how could she run with a child? George’s life was here, in New York. He went to nursery here, he had friends, a routine. He was the reason she’d stopped running.

As though sensing her panic, Elliot reached over and pushed a stray strand of hair away from her face.

‘Come on, Teddie, I know he was a pig to you, and maybe it wasn’t ideal, him turning up here out of the blue, but…’ He hesitated, his expression becoming uncharacteristically serious. ‘But whatever you’re telling yourself, you’re wrong. You can’t run this time, babe.’

As she glanced up guiltily he gave her a lopsided smile.

‘I’ve known you since I was twelve years old. I don’t need supernatural powers to read your mind. This isn’t something you can run away from, and deep down I don’t think you really want to.’

She lifted her chin, narrowing her green eyes. ‘And yet strangely, on a superficial level, I feel completely certain that I absolutely do.’

Elliot poked one of her clenched hands with his finger. ‘No, you don’t. I was there, remember? I know how often you tried to call him. I know how many messages you left, how upset you were.’ His jaw tensed. ‘I’m no fan of Aristotle Leonidas, but—’ he frowned ‘—he’s still George’s father and he’s got a right to see his son. Right now it’s a shock, but once you get used to the idea it’ll be okay, I promise. I mean, loads of couples share custody of their children.’

Teddie gave him a small, tight smile.

Thinking about a future in which she would have to see Aristo on a regular basis, speak to him and have him turning up on her doorstep, was not her definition of okay. But maybe over time her feelings for him would diminish, like radioactivity—only didn’t that take, like, decades? Not that it mattered how she felt, or where she was. She could run but, as Elliot said, she couldn’t hide from the truth any more. Aristo was George’s father and she was just going to have to suck it up.

Pushing back his stool, Elliot stood up. ‘I gotta go, but I’ll call you later.’ Sliding his arms into his jacket, he kissed her forehead. ‘And don’t worry. Leopards don’t change their spots, baby, and from everything you’ve ever told me about your ex he’s not the kind to stick around long enough for this to become a problem.’

Watching Elliot let himself out of the apartment, she knew he was trying to reassure her. And she should feel reassured—it was, after all, what she wanted, wasn’t it? For Aristo to disappear from her life for good? Only, for some strange reason, that thought didn’t seem quite comforting as she’d imagined it would.

* * *

While George took his afternoon nap Teddie tidied the apartment, moving automatically to pick up the tiny toy cars and miniature dinosaurs that were scattered everywhere. Eventually she stopped beside her bed and, kneeling down, pulled out a cardboard box.

Feeling a lump start to build in her throat, she hesitated, and then sat on the floor. Lifting off the lid, she gazed down at the contents.

Was that it? Had her marriage really amounted to nothing more than a shoebox shoved under a bed?

Pushing aside the letters and documents, she reached to the bottom of the box and pulled out a small blue box.

Her hand twitched and then slowly, heart thumping erratically, she opened it and stared down at the plain gold band. For a moment she couldn’t move, but as her breathing steadied she picked up her wedding ring and slid it onto her finger.

She still wasn’t sure why she had kept it. But the answer to that was not as simple as the question implied.

At first, in the weeks after she’d moved out of Aristo’s apartment—and it had always felt like his apartment—she’d kept wearing it because even though it had become clear to her by then that her husband was a different person from the impulsive lover she’d promised to love and honour and cherish, she hadn’t been ready to give up on her marriage.

And then later it had been the one thing he’d given to her that he hadn’t and could never take away—of course that had been before she found out about George.

Her throat tightened. She could still picture the exact moment that she’d finally decided to stop wearing it.

It had been on the taxi ride home from that night she’d spent in Aristo’s arms, hoping and believing that they’d been given a second chance.

He’d followed her out of their meeting with the lawyers earlier and they’d argued, both of them simmering with fury, and then they’d looked into each other’s eyes and desire had been stronger than their anger combined. Unreasonable, but undeniable.

But then what did desire ever have to do with reason?

They’d rented a hotel room like newlyweds, kissing and pulling at each other’s clothes in the lift, hardly noticing the other guests’ shocked or amused expressions as they’d run to their room.

But even before the sheets tangled around their warm, damp bodies had grown cold she’d realised her mistake.

That night hadn’t been some eleventh-hour reprieve for their marriage. Aristo hadn’t acknowledged his part in their marital problems, or been willing to listen to her point of view. Instead he’d just wanted to get his own way and, having failed to convince her with words he’d switched tactics. Like the hopeless, lovestruck fool she had been then, she’d let herself be persuaded by the softness of his mouth and the hard length of his body.

But, waking in the strange bed, she’d realised her mistake instantly.

She breathed out unsteadily, remembering how his face had grown hard and expressionless, the post-coital tenderness in his eyes fading as he’d told that he’d pay for the room, but that would be the last dollar she’d see of his money.

It hadn’t been. Three weeks later she’d emptied one of the bank accounts they’d shared—the one with the least amount of money in it—partly to prove him wrong, but mostly so his unborn child would have something from its father.

Sliding the ring off her finger, she put it back in the box and got slowly to her feet. Elliot was right. She needed to face reality, and it would be easier to do so if she was in control of what was happening rather than sitting and stewing, waiting for Aristo to call.

Walking back into the living room, she picked up the card he’d given her the night before and punched out his number on her mobile before she had the chance to change her mind.

‘Hello, Teddie.’

She hadn’t expected him to pick up quite so quickly, or to know it was her, but that wasn’t why she slid down onto the sofa. It was just that hearing his voice down the phone again felt strangely intimate, and for a split second she was reminded of how they’d used to talk when they’d first met. Conversations in the early hours of the morning after she’d finished performing and she was lying in bed in some hotel on the other side of the country.

It hadn’t mattered what time she’d called—he’d always answered and they’d talked sometimes for hours. She felt her skin prickle. And not just talk… Sometimes he’d made up stories to help her fall asleep.

Curling her fingers around the phone, she gripped it more tightly. Remembering Aristo doing that for her was like waking to find a handcuff around her wrist, linking her to him in a way she hadn’t imagined.

Steadying her breathing, she pushed the memory to the back of her mind. ‘We need to talk,’ she said bluntly. ‘About George.’

‘So talk.’

‘No, not on the phone. We need to meet.’

There was a short pause, and her chest tightened as she imagined him leaning back in his chair, a small triumphant smile curving his mouth.

‘I can come to your apartment.’

‘No.’ Hearing the panic in her voice, she frowned. But there was no way he was coming to the apartment again, not after what nearly happened last time. ‘I’ll come to your office.’

She glanced at the time. She could drop George off at Elliot’s and then go on into Manhattan.

‘Shall we say about five?’

‘I look forward to it,’ he said softly.

* * *

At exactly five o’clock she was staring up at a tall, gleaming tower as all around her crowds of tourists chatted and laughed—no doubt on their way to see the Empire State Building or some other world-famous landmark.

If only she was a tourist too, enjoying a well-earned holiday, instead of having to face her clever, calculating ex-husband. But the sooner she faced Aristo the sooner she could return home, and so, heart pounding, she slipped through the revolving doors into the cool smoked glass interior of the Leonidas Holdings’ headquarters.

Five minutes later she was riding up in an elevator, only just managing to force her mouth into a stiff smile as the doors opened.

‘Ms Taylor.’ Smiling politely, a young male assistant stepped forward. ‘If you’d like to come with me, Mr Leonidas’ office is this way.’

But not Mr Leonidas, Teddie discovered as the assistant showed her into the empty office. She wondered if Aristo had absented himself on purpose. Probably, she decided. No doubt he was trying to psyche her out by making her wait, by giving her a glimpse of his personal fiefdom.

She glanced slowly around the room, her narrowed gaze taking in the dazzling panoramic views of New York, the Bauhaus furniture and the huge abstract painting that hung behind his desk.