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A Family To Belong To
NATASHA OAKLEY
Once, Kate loved Gideon from afar, but her feelings were not returned. Gideon was married, and had the kind of family life that Kate knew she could never have. Distraught, she fled, determined never to return.Now, years later, Kate meets Gideon again. Life has changed them both–Kate is still tortured by her rootless upbringing, while Gideon is bringing up his two children alone. Kate craves to get close to him again, as he does to her. But that will mean finding the courage to confront her past…and find her future. Her reward could be fulfilling her lifelong wish: having a family to belong to….
Dear Reader,
I think we’ve all experienced the agony of unrequited love sometime in our lives. You know…that boy you were too scared to speak to and whose smile made your day just that little bit brighter. For my Kate that “boy” was Gideon Manser.
I hope you ache for her—for them both—because life has hit them hard. In reality things do not always work out the way we would wish, but in my story Gideon and Kate have the happy ending they richly deserve.
The Isle of Wight, where this book is set, is a real place. My husband worked on it for a couple of summers, and my family and I escape there whenever we can. If you stand at the bottom of England and look out to sea, you will see it. Just twenty-three miles by thirteen miles, it’s a truly magical place. I can’t think of many places more perfect to live out a “happy ever after.”
Much love,
Natasha
Harlequin Romance® is thrilled to bring you another sparkling new book from British author
Natasha Oakley
Her poignant and emotional writing will tug on your heartstrings.
Books by Natasha Oakley
HARLEQUIN ROMANCE®
3838—FOR OUR CHILDREN’S SAKE
3854—THE BUSINESS ARRANGEMENT
A Family To Belong To
Natasha Oakley
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
NATASHA OAKLEY told everyone at her primary school she wanted to be an author when she grew up. Her plan was to stay at home and have her mum bring her coffee at regular intervals—a drink she didn’t like then. The coffee addiction became reality, and the love of storytelling stayed with her. A professional actress, Natasha began writing when her fifth child started to sleep through the night. Born in London, U.K., she now lives in Bedfordshire with her husband and young family. When not writing, or needed for “crowd control,” she loves to escape to antique fairs and auctions. Find out more about Natasha and her books on her Web site www.natashaoakley.com
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE (#u8b662603-bfdc-53ac-833a-9d4a22958ced)
CHAPTER TWO (#ua73dbdaf-10c2-5303-a456-63f0af48d3ae)
CHAPTER THREE (#u2de51ad0-6cd3-55ec-a54e-641c2628d4de)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE
THE wind tasted salty on her lips and the ice-cold rain pitted her cheeks. Kate Simmonds stared out at the slate-grey sea and felt her hair flick painfully around her face.
She was coming home.
Too late.
Aunt Babs was dead.
She lifted one shaking hand to push back her hair. A week ago everything had been so different, or had seemed that way. Then there’d been time. She had known she’d make the trip back home some time—just not yet. She wasn’t ready. Even now. And Aunt Babs had understood. She really had.
But now it was too late.
Kate leant against the metal bar of the upper ferry deck and looked out to sea. An immense grey vastness stretching out before her. It put everything into perspective somehow. Made all her bitter angst seem rather unimportant and petty. She should have made time.
Aunt Babs had given her a home. She’d taken an awkward, angry little ten-year-old into her house and loved her as though she’d been her own. A foster mum in a million. Kate knew she’d deserved more from her than the weekly phone call and the occasional trip to London. It was just one more regret to add to the pile she was accumulating in her life.
It must be almost six years since she’d made this trip. She’d not meant to stay away so long. Six years! So much had changed in that time. She had changed. She was barely recognisable from that twenty-two-year-old Katie. She’d passed through Katie, Kay and Katherine before becoming Kate. Reinvented. Kate Simmonds. Poised. Elegant. In control of her life.
If only that were true. Inside she still lived with the same cankerous uncertainties and a desperate desire to belong. Still carried the scars of rejection. And now, of course, there was something more. Something even deeper. A more recent pain that seared like a branding iron. She pushed her hands deep in the pockets of her long black coat and turned away from the overwhelming greyness of the March sky.
Just a handful of tourists had ventured outside to eagerly watch the Isle of Wight appear in the distance. They stood clustered together under a canopy of clashing umbrellas. Dimly she was aware of a questioning glance directed at her, then a half-smile as though the elderly lady in the red anorak thought she might know her.
Kate looked away. She didn’t. It was an illusion—like so much of her life. She didn’t want the inane conversation she knew would follow. She wanted to be left alone with her thoughts, however painful.
Abruptly Kate turned and walked back across the deck, pulling open the heavy metal door. The high heels on her suede boots made the steep steps down difficult and her black coat spread out behind her like a flowing cape.
Below, the passenger lounge smelt of chips and stale cigarettes but it was good to be out of the bitter wind. Kate shook out her hair and unwound her long burnt-orange scarf before joining the crocodile of people waiting in line for something to drink.
‘If you want coffee you’re in the wrong queue.’
Her head whipped up at the sound of a male voice and she stared up into the face of Gideon…Manser.
His name fell effortlessly into place. She remembered him perfectly. His intense blue eyes and angular features. The small indentation in the centre of his chin. A man with more sex appeal than the average movie star. And the object of her unrequited teenage fantasies.
‘The machine’s broken down this side,’ he said calmly, a faint smile pulling lines in his strong cheeks.
Gideon Manser.
Instinctively her hand went to her hair; she was uncomfortably aware it hung damp and limp about her face. She’d have known him anywhere. He hadn’t altered at all. Or perhaps he had a little. He was slightly thinner. Tired-looking. Slightly worn at the edges. But he was still sexy. Very sexy indeed.
‘Thank you,’ she managed.
She could remember, all too clearly, what a complete and utter fool she’d made of herself when he’d first arrived on the island. At seventeen she’d thought he was the most gorgeous thing to have ever walked the planet—and she couldn’t have made it much plainer.
He was older than her. Much older. A top London chef who’d lived in France and Italy. He’d had all the glamour and sophistication her young heart had craved. Just thinking about how she’d behaved made her long to curl up in a ball and howl with humiliation.
Strangely he didn’t seem so old to her now. With the magic of adulthood she seemed to have caught him up. Kate straightened her shoulders. ‘It’s Gideon, isn’t it?’ Kate hesitated. ‘Gideon Manser? Do you remember me? I’m Kate. Kate Simmonds? Well, I was always called Katie. You perhaps don’t remember me. I—’
Shut up. Just shut up. Stop babbling on, she thought desperately. It would be better if he didn’t remember her.
She bit down on her lip. He probably wouldn’t remember. Why should he? He hadn’t been interested in her. They must have laughed at her—him and Laura. Or felt sorry for her—which would be worse.
‘Of course I remember you,’ he said, stretching out his hand.
Hell! She felt a flush mottle her neck as she stretched out her own hand.
‘It would be difficult not to.’ He smiled and his fingers wrapped around hers. ‘Babs has…had,’ he corrected swiftly, ‘photographs of you everywhere and Debbie made sure everyone knew you were on the television now. Half the island is fascinated by your reports from the States each week. You’re a celebrity. A local girl made good.’
Kate looked down at her boots. ‘Oh, right.’ She should have guessed she’d be a minor celebrity on the Isle of Wight. Debbie had just loved it when she’d landed the job as LA correspondent and started making weekly television reports. Couldn’t hear enough of who was doing what and with whom.
And Aunt Babs had just been proud. The thought speared her with guilt. She should have come back to the island before now. It would have meant so much to the woman who’d changed her life so dramatically.
Gideon looked across at the other queue. ‘We’d better get in line or there won’t be time to have a coffee.’
‘I suppose not.’
She felt her stomach twist in a nervous flutter. Gideon Manser. Why did he have this effect on her still? She was twenty-eight years old, for heaven’s sake. Her world was peopled with sexy men. She’d interviewed most of them. He wasn’t anything special.
And yet…
She fiddled with the strap of her handbag. It was probably the place. It brought back memories she hadn’t thought of in years. Rocked her off balance. Or maybe Gideon was just a symbol of what she couldn’t have. Something else she couldn’t have, she amended silently.
She looked back at him. His jacket collar was pulled up against the cold, his jeans were dark and his hands were…well, they were beautiful.
He reached across for the tray. ‘Debbie said you’d be coming home for the funeral.’
‘Y-yes.’
‘Was it difficult to get away?’ Kate reached across for a tray of her own but he stopped her. ‘Don’t bother. I’ll get these.’
‘You don’t have to. I—’ She broke off and let her hand fall back. ‘Thank you.’
‘So—’ he turned to smile at her ‘—was it difficult?’
His smile was like a gateway to a time tunnel. She felt as if she was shooting back through the years at the speed of light. So many memories flashing by. The kind that came up to bite you when you were least expecting it.
At seventeen she’d fantasized about what it would be like to kiss him. At night she’d closed her eyes and pretended he was her pillow and imagined his voice telling her how much he loved her. She pulled her gaze away from his lips, embarrassed.
She’d been an idiot. It wasn’t surprising a man of twenty-six hadn’t been interested in an adolescent seventeen.
‘Did you find it difficult to get away for the funeral? Debbie thought you might be too busy. Not be able to make it.’
Kate stuffed her hands down into the depths of her coat pockets. ‘Oh, no.’
‘No?’ he repeated.
He seemed to be watching her critically. Probably wondering why she couldn’t have visited Aunt Babs and Debbie more often if it were so simple.
On the surface she’d just packed her bags and left without a backward glance. Only a few very special people knew why. And they wouldn’t have told a soul.
‘How long are you staying for?’ he asked.
‘Until Wednesday. Not long. I’ve got to get back to London…’ The line moved forward and Kate reached for a china cup. It was good to have something sensible to do with her hands. She rested it on the metal grid and pushed the ‘coffee white decaf’ button.
‘Not going back to the States immediately, then?’
‘No.’ She put the cup down on a saucer and made an effort to relax. ‘And how are you?’ She watched his strong hands go through the same procedure as she’d done.
‘Good.’ He hesitated. ‘You heard about Laura, I suppose?’
Her stomach did a somersault as the floor appeared to disappear beneath her feet. Damn it! She had heard.
With crushing clarity she remembered Debbie’s tearful phone call. The shock of hearing that Laura was dead. How could she have been so thoughtless? ‘Yes, I—’
‘She died.’
‘Y-yes, I know. I’m so sorry.’ She pulled her hand through her hair. ‘I meant to write at the time but…’ She trailed off weakly.
But…she’d been busy with her own trauma. Her own grief had been so intense when Richard left that she’d struggled to believe anyone could be hurting as much as she was. She’d had no compassion left for anyone but herself.
Not even Debbie, who’d been distraught at having lost her friend. With a pang she realised she’d scarcely given Gideon a thought.
She looked up at his face. His pain was there. Etched on his face. In his eyes. And there was nothing she could really say to help him. How did you even begin to say something sensible to a man who’d lost the wife he’d loved?
His smile was tight. Forced. ‘Two years ago. Not long after Tilly was born.’
‘I know. I’d just gone to LA. Debbie rang me…’ Thankfully the queue moved on again. ‘I’m sorry. I—’
‘Do you want a muffin?’ He cut her off. ‘Or perhaps some chocolate? You’re usually safer in these places if it’s wrapped.’
Kate looked up. One moment death, the next muffins. It was strange how people did that. Moved in and out of grief. It was as though they couldn’t bear to think about it for too long. Just touched it and then had to turn away before the pain became too great.
‘Nothing. Thanks.’
He reached out for some biscuits. ‘I missed breakfast. It was an early start,’ he said by way of explanation.
Kate nodded. The queue moved on again and they reached the till point.
