The Wedding Party Collection. Кейт Хьюит
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admiration…to be liked by him.
Pathetic.
A splash of water brought her back to reality. T.J. giggled. She gave a mock growl and pulled his wet, wriggling body toward her. With one hand she reached for a towel and swaddled T.J., patting him dry.
What on earth was she going to do?
“And Demetra’s got a net to the pond so the birds can’t eat the fish.”
She dragged her attention back to T.J. “No, if a heron took them, that would not be good.” She started to towel T.J.’s hair.
“We fed ducks at the park. Very greedy ducks,” he said reprovingly. “Demetra said next time we’ll take two breads.”
Just a few days and already T.J. was at home here in the bosom of Damon’s family. It would be a wrench when the time came to go back home. He would feel bereft. Rebecca pressed a hasty kiss to the top of his head as misgivings quaked through her.
“Mummy, can we make a fishpond? Get some fish? And ducks? Please?”
“We’ll see.” Rebecca tried to smile. Perhaps a pond would help him adjust to the separation. T.J. was at that age where creatures and water fascinated him. He kept her on her toes during excursions, feeding ducks in the park ponds and peering into rock pools at the sea’s edge. In a couple of years she’d have to buy him a fishing rod.
That was when he was going to miss having a father. What did she know about fishing, about hooks and sinkers and bait, after all? Rebecca sighed and hung up the towel. When she turned around, she saw T.J. had put on his pyjama bottoms back to front. She moved to help him.
“No, me do it,” he said with a three-year-old’s fierce determination.
She shook her head. Her baby was growing up—too fast—with no father figure to give him guidance. But he had her. He didn’t need anyone else. And, as she had told Damon earlier, she had no reason for marrying. Ever. Especially not for sex.
And she was not going to be Damon’s lover.
The weekend passed in a rush. On Saturday, Rebecca ushered T.J. into the dining room to find Damon had discarded his corporate attire and was wearing a pair of faded Levi’s, a Ralph Lauren T-shirt in plain white…and a devastating smile aimed right at her.
Her stomach started doing somersaults.
“On Monday, I fly to L.A. on business, so I thought we might go for a picnic today.”
Her heart sank. “But I wanted to spend time with T.J. I’ve barely seen—”
“Of course T.J. will come, too.” Damon gestured to a wicker hamper she hadn’t noticed. “Jane has already filled that with treats.”
“Picnic, picnic,” T.J. chanted, jumping up and down.
“He’ll love that,” Rebecca said, wondering why Damon was doing this.
They spent the day at Goat Island, a marine reserve an hour’s drive out of Auckland. The sun was hot enough to prickle, and the sea frothed onto the curve of beach below the pohutukawa trees.
“It’s hard to believe the city is so near,” Rebecca commented as she and Damon stood in the shallows, the sea sand squishing through her toes and T.J. squealing with delight when blue mau-mau flashed between his ankles.
“When he is older, he can snorkel to the island.” Damon pointed at the rocky outcrop that gave the reserve its name and sheltered the bay from the open sea.
Rebecca laughed. “He’ll love that. He’s a real water baby.”
At noon they ate the delicious fare Jane had prepared, and afterward Rebecca lazed on a towel, her head propped against a beach bag, watching Damon and T.J. build sand castles. T.J. bubbled with joy and Damon, well, Damon took her breath away. From behind the protective cover of her sunshades she eyed the hard curves of his chest muscles, the flat abs and the muscled thighs kneeling in the sand. Her breathing picked up. She couldn’t deny the effect he had on her.
Finally she admitted the truth to herself: she wanted him. She glanced away and focused on the waves licking the beach and struggled to remind herself that Damon was downright dangerous. She’d drowned in his attraction before. Why should it be any different this time?
Yet later, when he invited her out to dinner, she called herself all kinds of fool and accepted with a flush of pleasure. That night, after T.J. had been put to bed, they paid a short visit to Soula, leaving Demetra and Savvas to babysit. Soula took one look at the layered gypsy-style skirt and off-the-shoulder top that Rebecca wore and her gaze sharpened.
“You two going out?” she asked coyly.
“We have reservations at Shipwrecks. I promised Rebecca seafood tonight—”
“We took T.J. to Goat Island for the day,” Rebecca said hastily, before Soula got the wrong idea. “I bewailed the fact that we could not fish in the reserve. So Damon insisted on taking me out for dinner.”
“I see,” Soula smiled sphinxlike, leaving Rebecca to wonder what she did indeed see.
Dinner passed in a haze. Damon was wonderful company. His eyes gleamed with appreciation when she spoke and he laughed often, his lips curving into that smile that made her knees go weak.
Rebecca had to remind herself that she had no intention of being charmed, of allowing Damon Asteriades to become her lover. Yet she didn’t want the evening to end. But she knew it would and she rather suspected she knew how he intended it to end. So she was more than a little disconcerted when he said good-night to her outside her bedroom door without even brushing his lips across her cheek.
On Sunday morning he was waiting, a trip to the zoo planned this time. T.J. was in his element. He ran around, his eyes wide as he gazed at lions, elephants, rhinos, while Rebecca spent the day trying to keep her eyes off Damon. He appeared unaware of her growing tension, laughing with T.J. at the antics of the spider monkeys and the otters, oblivious of her acute sensitivity to the lightest brush of his hand.
That evening, after T.J. fell into bed, sun-flushed and tired, Rebecca couldn’t help wondering where it was all going to end…and what on earth had happened to Damon’s declaration that he wanted her.
After a hectic day escorting Demetra to half a dozen dress designers, Rebecca was surprised to find Damon at the dinner table on Monday night. Demetra was regaling Savvas and Damon with stories about how terrible the day had been, how she’d been tangled in yards of fabric and had pins stuck into her. Rebecca started to laugh.
“It’s all your fault,” Demetra accused, her eyes sparkling.
“Admit it—you enjoyed yourself.” Rebecca sat down between Savvas and Damon. T.J. was already in bed, fast asleep.
“Much more than I thought I would,” Demetra conceded. “You knew what I would like.”
“That’s my job.” Rebecca grinned at Demetra. Then to Damon, she said, “I thought you were flying out on a business trip today.” She glanced down at the slice of melon on her plate. The last thing she wanted was Damon cottoning on to the fact that his every movement obsessed her.
“He was supposed to go to the States,” Savvas responded. “But he’s delayed it. He’s got everyone in a flap about it because he needs to meet one of our American stakeholders.”
“Next week.” Damon’s voice was short. “I told you I’ll go next week.”
“I can’t understand what’s so important that you have to be in Auckland this week.”
“Don’t worry yourself about it,” Damon said in a peculiar tone.
Rebecca shot him a casual glance and froze. He was staring at her, his eyes burning. Her breath caught. Her pulse started to hammer. And she knew.
She was the reason he’d postponed his trip. Disjointed thoughts