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‘There’s isn’t.’
‘Then whose is it?’
‘His name is Sam, Leo.’
‘And his father’s name?’
‘Is none of your business.’
‘And is that what you told him when he asked you where you were all night?’
She shook her head, her eyes tinged with sadness. ‘Sam’s father doesn’t figure in this.’
His eyes darted between mother and child, noticing for the first time the child’s dark hair and eyes, the olive tinge to the skin, and he half wondered if she was bluffing and had borrowed someone else’s baby as some kind of human shield. He would have called her on it but for noticing the angle of the child’s wide mouth and the dark eyes stamped with one hundred per cent Evelyn, and that made him no happier.
Because someone else had slept with her.
He thought of her in his arms, her long-limbed body interwoven with his, he thought of her eyes when she came apart with him inside her, damn near shorting his brain. And now he thought of her coming apart in someone else’s arms…
‘You should have told me.’
‘Why?’
‘Damn it, Evelyn! You know why!’
‘Because we spent the night together?’ she hissed. Sam yowled, as if he’d been on the receiving end of that, and she leaned over, surprising Leo when she didn’t smack him, as he’d half expected, but instead delicately stroked the child’s cheek and calmed him with whispered words. Something twisted inside him, something shapeless and long buried, and he had to look away lest the shape take form and he worked out what it was. His gut roiled. What was happening to him? Why did she have this effect on him? She made him feel too much. She made him see too much.
She made him remember things he didn’t want to remember.
And none of it made sense. None of it he could understand.
‘I’m sorry you feel aggrieved,’ she said, and reluctantly he turned back to see her unclipping the child’s harness and lifting the child into her arms, where he snuggled close, sniffling against her shoulder as she rubbed his back. ‘But what part of our contract did I miss that said I should stipulate whether I should have children or what number of them I should have?’
‘Children? You mean there’s more?’
She huffed and turned away, rubbing the boy’s back, whispering sweet words, stroking away his hiccups, and the gentle sway of her hips setting her skirt to a gently seductive hula.
‘Ironic isn’t it?’ she threw at him over her shoulder. ‘Here you are, so desperate to prove to Eric Culshaw that you’re some kind of rock-solid family man, and you’re scared stiff of a tiny child.’
‘I’m not—’
She spun around. ‘You’re terrified! And you’re taking it like some kind of personal affront. But I wouldn’t worry. Sam’s a bit old for anyone to believe he was conceived last night, so there’s no reason to fear any kind of paternity claim.’
‘You wouldn’t dare!’
‘Oh, you do flatter yourself. A woman would have to be certifiably insane to want to shackle themselves to you!’
‘Clearly Sam’s father was of the same mind about you.’
He knew he’d hurt her. He recognised the precise moment when his words pierced the fighting sheen over her eyes and left them bewildered and wounded. He almost felt regret. Almost wanted to reach out and touch her cheek like she’d touched her child’s, and soothe away her pain.
Almost.
But that would mean he cared. And he couldn’t care about anyone. Not that way.
And just as quickly as it had gone down, the armour was resurrected and her eyes blazed fire at him. ‘I have a child, Mr Zamos. It’s never affected the quality of my work to date and it’s my intention that it never will, but if you can’t live with that then fine, maybe it’s time we terminated our agreement now and you found someone else to look after your needs.’
Bile, bitter and portentous, rose in the back of his throat. She was right. There was no point noticing her eyes or the sensual sway of her hips. There was no point reliving the evening they’d had last night. She couldn’t help him now and it was the now he had to be concerned with. As to the future, maybe it was better he found someone else. Maybe someone older this time. It wasn’t politically correct to ask for a date of birth, but he’d never been any kind of fan of political correctness. Especially not when it messed with his plans. He huffed an agreement. ‘If that’s what you want.’
She stood there, the child plastered against her from shoulder to hip, his arms wound tightly around his mother’s neck, the mother so fierce he was reminded of an animal fighting to protect its litter that he’d seen on one of those television documentaries that appeared when you were flicking through the channels on long-haul flights. The comparison surprised him. Was that how all mothers were supposed to be?
‘In that case,’ she said, ‘I’ll burn everything of yours onto disk and delete it from my computer. I’ll send it to you care of the hotel. You can let them know your forwarding address.’
His hands clenched at his sides, his nails biting into his palms. ‘Fine.’
‘Goodbye, Mr Zamos.’ She held out her hand. ‘I hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for.’ Her words washed over him, making no sense as he looked down at her hand. The last time he would touch her. The last time they would meet skin to skin.
How had things gone so wrong?
He wrapped his hand around hers, her hand cool against his heated flesh, and he felt the tremor move through her, saw her eyelids flutter closed, and despite the fact she represented everything he didn’t want in this world, everything he hated and despised and had promised himself he would never have, still some strange untapped part of him mourned her loss.
Maybe that was how it started, though, with this strange want, this strange need to possess.
Maybe it was better to let her go now, he thought, while he still could. While she was still beautiful.
But still it hurt like hell.
Unable to stop himself, unable to let her go just yet, his other hand joined the first, capturing her hand, raising it to his mouth for one final kiss.
‘Goodbye Evelyn,’ he said, his voice gravel rich, tasting her on his lips, knowing he would never forget the taste of her or the one night of passion they’d shared in Melbourne.
‘Leo! Evelyn!’ came a voice from over near the bar. ‘There you are!’
CHAPTER EIGHT (#ulink_2a89107f-b681-56c7-8e2b-89906f51adbd)
EVE gasped, tugging to free her hand, the fight-or-flight instinct telling her to get out while she still could, but Leo wasn’t about to let her go, his grip tightening until she felt her hand was encased in steel. ‘This is your fault.’ He leaned over and whispered in her ear as Eric Culshaw bounded towards them, beaming from ear to ear. ‘Remember that.’ And then he straightened and even managed to turn on a smile, although his eyes were anything but relaxed. She could almost hear the brain spinning behind them.
‘Eric,’ Leo said, his velvet voice all charm on the surface, springloaded with tension beneath. ‘What a surprise. I thought you were taking Maureen out.’
He grunted. ‘She spotted some article in a woman’s magazine—you know the sort of thing—and grew herself a headache.’ He shook his head. ‘Sordid bloody affair. You’d think the reporters could find something else to amuse themselves with by now.’ And then he huffed and smiled. ‘Which makes you two a sight for sore eyes.’ His eyes fell on the dozing child in her arms. ‘Although maybe I should make that three. Who’s this little tacker, then?’
Almost as if aware he was being discussed, Sam stirred and swung his head round, blinking open big dark eyes to check out this latest stranger.
‘This is Sam,’ Eve said, her tongue feeling too big for her mouth as she searched for things she could tell him that wouldn’t add to the lie tally. ‘He’s just turned eighteen months.’
Culshaw grinned at the child and Sam gave a wary smile in return before burying his head back in his mother’s shoulder, which made the older man laugh and reach out a hand to ruffle his hair. ‘Good-looking boy. I thought you two were playing things a bit close to the chest last night. When were you going to tell us?’
Eve felt the ground lurch once more beneath her feet. Eric thought Sam was theirs? But, then, of course he would. They were supposed to have been a couple for more than two years and Sam’s father was of Italian descent. It would be easy to mistake Sam’s dark eyes and hair for Leo’s. Why would they question it?
But she couldn’t let them keep thinking it. Weren’t there enough lies between them already?
‘Actually,’ she started, ‘Sam—’
Her efforts earned her a blazing look from Leo. ‘Eve doesn’t like to give too much away,’ he said, smiling at Eric, glancing back in her direction with a look of cold, hard challenge.
Suddenly Maureen was there too, looking pale and strained, her mood lifting when she saw Sam, clucking over him like he was a grandchild rather than the child of someone she’d only just met.
‘You didn’t tell us you had such an adorable little boy,’ she admonished, already engaging Sam in a game of peek-a-boo before holding out her hands to take him.
‘Some people wouldn’t approve,’ Eve offered stiffly, ignoring Leo’s warning glare as she handed Sam over, then adding because of it, ‘I mean, given the fact we’re not married and all.’
‘Nonsense,’ Eric said, pinching Sam’s cheek. ‘There’s no need to rush things, not these days.’
Leo smiled, his eyes glinting triumphantly as Maureen settled into a chair and jogged Sam up and down on her knees, making him chuckle.
‘So,’ said Eric, following his wife’s lead and pulling up a chair, and soon demanding equal time with Sam, ‘I assume Sam explains the “family reasons” you weren’t going to be able to join us on the island?’
Eve dropped into a chair, feeling like she was being sucked deeper and deeper into a web of deceit. Leo must have warned them she might not be coming and used one of the excuses she’d suggested.
‘That was my fault, Eric,’ he said coolly. ‘I figured that a toddler was hardly conducive to contract deliberations.’
‘He can be very disruptive,’ she added. ‘Especially when he’s out of his routine. You wouldn’t believe what a handful he can be.’
‘What, this little champion?’ Bouncing the laughing toddler on his knee with such delight until it was impossible to work out who was laughing the most, Eric or Sam, as the toddler got the horsy ride of his life. ‘You must come,’ he said, slowing down to take a breather.
‘More,’ demanded Sam, bouncing up and down. ‘More!’
Culshaw laughed and obliged, though at a much gentler pace. ‘You will come, won’t you? After all, it’s hardly fair to keep you two apart when you barely get to see each other as it is. You will love it, I promise. Tropical island paradise. Your own bungalow right on the beach. We’ll organise a cot for Sam and a babysitter to give you a real break. I imagine you don’t get too many of those, working for Leo and looking after this little chap. How does that sound?’
Eve tried to smile, not sure she’d succeeded when the ground beneath her felt so unsteady. ‘It does sound lovely.’ And it did. A few days on a tropical island paradise with nothing more to do than swim or read or sip drinks with tiny umbrellas. The bungalow probably even had hot running water. Except she’d be sharing that bungalow with him. ‘It’s just that—’
‘Oh, please,’ Maureen added, putting her hand on Eve’s arm. ‘Last night was the best time I’ve had for ages. I know it’s asking a terrible lot of everyone and disrupting everyone’s schedules, but right now it would mean so very much to me.’
‘Of course they’ll come,’ she heard Leo say, ‘won’t you, Eve?’
And finally the unsteady ground she’d felt shifting under her feet the last few days opened up and swallowed her whole.
A smiling flight attendant greeted them, cooing over Sam, as Eve carried him on her hip into the jet. Eve just nodded in return, weariness combining with a simmering resentment. As far as she was concerned, this was no pleasure trip and she certainly wasn’t happy about how she’d been manipulated into coming.
And then she stepped into the plane and found even more reason to resent the man behind her. It looked more like a luxury lounge room than any plane interior she’d ever seen before, the cabin filled not with the usual rows and rows of narrow seats and plastic fittings and overhead lockers but a few scattered wide leather armchairs with timber cabinet work trimmed with bronze. Beyond the lounge area a door led to what must be more rooms and Eve caught a glimpse of a dining table with half a dozen chairs in a recessed alcove.
So much wealth. So much to impress. Leo Zamos seemed to have everything.
Everything but a heart.
Maybe that’s how you got to be a billionaire, she mused as another attendant showed her to a pair of seats where someone had already fitted her child restraint to buckle Sam in more securely. She helped settle the pair in and to stow their things, chattering pleasantly all the time while Eve stewed as she stashed books and toys close by and missed every word.
It all made sense. No wonder Leo Zamos was the success he was. Being ruthless in business, ruthless in the bedroom, taking what you wanted when you wanted—a heart would surely get in your way if you had one.
And while Eve simmered, Sam, on the other hand, was having the time of his tiny life, relishing the adventure and the attention, his dark eyes filled with glee as he pumped his arms up and down and made a sound like a war cry.
‘I think someone approves,’ Leo said from the seat alongside when the attendants had gone to fetch pre-flight drinks.
‘His name is Sam,’ she hissed, her resentment bubbling over at how she’d been trapped into this weekend away, a weekend of continued pretence with people who didn’t deserve to be lied to. The only bright spots she could see were that the Culshaws and the Alvarezes were travelling together on the Culshaws’ jet, and that they would all have private quarters, which meant she didn’t have to pretend being madly in love with Leo twenty-four seven. She couldn’t have stood the strain of it all if she had. As it was, she didn’t know now how she was going to keep up the charade.
The attendant brought their drinks, advised there were two minutes until departure and discreetly disappeared.
What a mess. Eve poured a box of juice into a two-handled cup and passed it to a waiting Sam, along with a picture book to occupy him for a few minutes. How was she expected to act like Leo’s loving fiancée now? It had been so much easier last night when there had been so much sexual tension and simmering heat sparking between them. Now the tension and the heat had more to do with anger.
All to do with anger, she corrected herself with a sigh. She was over him, even if he did have a velvet voice and the body of a god.
Across the aisle, the subject of her dark thoughts raised his drink. ‘You sound like you have a problem.’
‘Funny you should mention that.’
‘You could have said no.’
‘I did say no, remember? And then you turned around and said yes, of course we would come!’
He shrugged, as if it didn’t matter, and if they’d been on any normal kind of plane, Eve could have given in to the desire to smack him. ‘What can I say? Maureen likes you. It means the world to her that you can go.’
‘You don’t care about Maureen,’ she said, keeping her voice low so she didn’t alarm Sam. ‘You don’t care about anyone. All you care about is yourself and what you want, and you’ll do anything to keep this deal from going off the rails, even if it means lying to people.’
‘You don’t know anything.’
‘I know you made the right decision to never get married. Because I understand you now, and I understand what makes you tick, and you might have a fortune and a private jet and do okay in the sack with women, but you have a stone where your heart should be.’
His dark eyes glinted coldly, his jaw could have been chiseled from the same hard stone from which his heart was carved. ‘Thank you for that observation. Perhaps I might make my own? You seem very tense, Evelyn. I think you might benefit from a couple of days relaxing on a tropical island.’
Bastard! Eve turned away, checking on Sam as the cabin attendant collected their glasses and checked all was ready for take-off.
The jet engines wound up as the plane taxied to the runway and Sam looked up in wonder at her, excited but looking for reassurance at the new sounds and sensations. She stroked his head. ‘We’re going on a plane, Sam. We’re going on a holiday.’
And Sam squealed with delight and the plane raced down the runway and lifted off. Good on you, Sam, Eve thought, finding the book she’d hoped to read a few pages of as the plane speared into the sky, at least one of us might as well enjoy the weekend.
She must have dozed off. Bleary eyed, she found her book neatly placed by her side, while beside her Sam was grizzling softly but insistently, unable to settle.
‘What’s wrong?’ Leo asked, putting aside the laptop he was working on as she unbuckled Sam from his seat and brought him against her chest.
‘It’s his nap time. He might settle better on my lap.’ She searched for the chair’s controls, although it was hard to manoevre with Sam’s weight on her chest. ‘Does this seat recline?’
‘I’ve got a better idea. There’s still a couple of hours’ flight time to go. You might both be more comfortable in the bedroom. Let me show you the way.’
And the idea of a real bed in which to cuddle up and snooze with Sam sounded so wonderful right now, she didn’t hesitate.
Maybe if she hadn’t been so bone-weary. Maybe in an ordinary airline seat, by holding onto the back of the seat in front of her to pull herself up, she could have managed it. Then again, she realised, maybe if she’d thought to undo her seat belt she could have done it. Damn.
‘What is it?’ he said, when she didn’t follow him.
