For His Little Girl. Lucy Gordon
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an hour. If he was lucky.
After he’d coaxed Dominique under the covers he returned to the balcony, looking up into the sky, silently imploring the angel who protected fun-loving bachelors to fly low over his nest.
From far off he could hear the faint sound of a plane preparing to land at LAX. But somehow, he doubted if his good angel was aboard.
Ladies and gentlemen, British Airways flight 279 from London to Los Angeles will be landing in twenty minutes. It is 12:10 p.m. local time, and the temperature is seventy-five degrees….
Ten-year-old Josie looked back from where she was glued to the window. “Mummy, we took off at half past nine in the morning, and we flew for eleven hours. How can we land at half past twelve?”
Pippa yawned and stretched as far as conditions allowed. “Los Angeles is eight hours behind London, darling. I explained it all with the map.”
“Yes, but it’s different when it’s real.”
“That’s true.” Inwardly Pippa was working out how long it would be until she could have a good cup of tea.
Josie was doing calculations. At last she sorted it out to her own satisfaction. “We’ve been flying backward,” she said triumphantly.
“I suppose we have.”
“You see, you can time travel.”
Flying backward, not eight hours but eleven years. Flying backward to revisit the naive girl of eighteen whose heart ruled her head, who’d loved one man totally, knowing that he only loved her casually.
Turn time back to the moment before she’d met Luke Danton. There she was, standing in the basement corridor of the Ritz Hotel, lost, wondering which way to go, trying the first door she saw, finding herself in the kitchen, where she had no right to be. And there was the handsome, laughing young man grabbing her arm, scooting her out, practically ordering her to meet him later.
Hurry past that door, quickly, while you still can. Run to the end of the passage and there’s a flight of stairs. Now you’ll never know he exists. Turn time back and be safe.
Safe. No Luke. No blazing, ecstatic four months. No anguished loneliness. No glorious memories. No darling, wonderful Josie.
She pushed open the door. And there he was….
It was crisis time.
Of course, he could always say bluntly, “No wedding! No way! And goodbye!” But Luke hated to hurt people, and he was fond of Dominique. He just didn’t want to marry her.
He suspected a connection between this and a recent crisis in her life. After being a top model for six years, Dominique had been stunned to lose out on a job she really wanted.
To someone younger.
She was staggeringly beautiful, but she was an old lady of twenty-six, and the writing was on the wall.
She hadn’t told Luke about the job, but he’d heard via the grapevine, and now he had a wry, goodnatured awareness that his personal charm was not the only issue here. He didn’t blame her. It was a tough world. Even the lovely face on your pillow could be working an angle, and Luke, who’d worked a few angles in his time, was relaxed about it.
But yielding to it was another matter.
His mind drifted to the one person, apart from his parents, who hadn’t been trying to get something out of him: who had even refused his consciencestricken offer of marriage, bless her heart!
Funny, kooky little Pippa, as crazy as he was himself, who’d made his months in London an enchanted time and seen him on his way with a smile and a wave.
He knew he’d been her first lover, and it still made him smile to remember how she’d enjoyed sex as though it were a box of chocolates. She’d jumped into bed with a whoop, unrestrained in her delight, warm and generous, as eager to give pleasure as to receive it. He hoped—yes, he really hoped—that she’d since found a man who could satisfy her as much as he had himself.
Who did he think he was kidding?
She’d even been cool about the discovery that she was pregnant. He was back home in Los Angeles by that time, but she’d dropped him a line. He’d telephoned her and dutifully suggested marriage, as he was an old-fashioned boy at heart. Pippa had thought that was very funny, he remembered. People didn’t have to get married these days. Of course she wanted to keep the baby, but who needed Luke?
He hadn’t been thrilled by her way of putting it, but it left him free and with a clear conscience. He’d thought of going over to see her, but flying was expensive, and it would be more sensible to send her the money. So he did that, and had done so ever since.
She still lived in his mind as the crazy kid with the wicked sense of humor that he’d known then. There were photographs to tell him what she looked like now, but they were somehow unreal beside the vividness of his memories.
He realized that he was smiling as that daft, quarrelsome, delightful female danced through his brain. She’d been so passionate about everything that she was exhausting to be with: passionate about her dreams, about food, about every tiny little argument. And she’d argued endlessly! He’d had to kiss her to shut her up. And then there had been no way to stop until he’d explored the whole of her glorious, vibrant body and discovered that she was passionate about him, as well.
Pippa knew she’d done everything the wrong way. It had been crazy to decide to go to Los Angeles one minute and book for the first available seats the next.
Now here she was, weary from the long flight, with an inner clock that said it was nearly midnight, the hardest part still to come and the day barely started. And since she hadn’t warned Luke she was coming, he might not even be there.
Oh, why didn’t she think before she did these impulsive things?
It was Jake’s fault. And Harry’s and Paul’s and Derek’s. They should have stopped her, especially Jake, who was supposed to be the sensible one. Instead he’d come up with the name of a friend in the airline who could get her a couple of heavily discounted tickets.
Paul and Derek had checked her medicines repeatedly and given her a list of rules for taking care of herself. Harry had driven her and Josie to the airport in his old car. And they’d all come along because they couldn’t let her go so far away without waving her off.
If only her bags would appear on the carousel soon. She seemed to have been standing here for ages. She took a deep breath to disguise the fact that she was growing breathless, hoping Josie wouldn’t notice. But Josie was bouncing about in excitement, eager to be the first to spot their luggage.
“There it is, Mummy! Over there.”
“Don’t rush.” Pippa restrained her daughter from dashing over and trying to haul the bags off. “Wait for them to reach us.”
Josie shook her head so that her long, red-brown hair swung jauntily. “I hate waiting. I like things to happen now.”
“Then there’d be nothing left for later, and then what would you do?” Pippa teased her fondly.
“I’d make something happen later. I can make anything I like happen.”
It always gave Pippa a pang when her daughter talked like that, for she remembered someone else who’d thought life was his to invent as he pleased. And he had been right.
Looking around made her realize how far she’d traveled, in more than miles, since she’d left England. This wasn’t just a part of another country, but another world, another dimension.
Everyone looked so good. Where was the leavening of dowdiness that existed in any other population? Where were the overweight, the plain? They couldn’t all be wanna-be movie stars, surely?
What had Luke said once?
“The cream of the crop came out West to get into the movies, and when they