The Billionaire's Captive Bride. Emma Darcy
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Sarah had decided they were in a bad place, too. As soon as the story ended, she was urging the children to pick up their lunch-boxes and form a crocodile line, ready for their return to the kindergarten. She picked up the traffic Stop sign herself, and directed Erin to collect Thomas. “And don’t be put off by the guy who took them over,” she instructed emphatically. “The boy’s mother could sue us for negligence.”
“I’m sure he’ll see that the agreement is kept,” Erin replied confidently.
“Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to trust a stranger?” Sarah grumbled.
By their actions you shall know them, Erin recited to herself as she set off to approach the big man and the father and son he had taken under his protection. This guy was good. In fact, with his tall, muscular build and thick mass of blond hair, he was the perfect image for a splendid Viking warrior, wielding his powerful sword to fix wrongs. She could already see him being the hero in her next story.
He stood up when he saw her coming. Mr Harper remained seated on the park bench, speaking anxiously to Thomas who was on his lap, soaking up being cuddled by his father.
Erin was conscious of her pulse leaping into a gallop as she met the steady gaze of the self-appointed intermediary. There was a riveting quality about his blue eyes, giving her the weird sensation of a laser-probe straight to her heart.
Her skin tingled as though hit by an electric charge. She’d met a lot of different men in her globe-trotting, literary career. Not one of them had made this kind of impact on her. She wanted to say, “Don’t walk out of my life,” but such a plea seemed too embarrassingly presumptuous.
“Time to go,” she said, feeling a sickening irony in having to act on those words instead.
“It’s okay,” he assured her. “Your name is Erin, right?”
“Yes.” She hesitated, wondering if he would recognise her much published author name and all it now stood for, whether it would mean something positive to him, enough to spark an interest in knowing her. In a self-conscious burst, she added, “Erin Lavelle.”
“Lavelle,” he repeated, rolling it off his tongue as though tasting it.
But she could see it hadn’t made any impact on him. He didn’t know of her. He was probably more a man of action than a book person. They were simply passersby, not occupying the same world, only this bit of park on a summer day.
He smiled, the flash of perfect white teeth reminding her of the smile of the BMW driver, but this couldn’t be the same man, could it?
“Sarah is the one in charge of the kindergarten?” he asked.
“Yes. Sarah Deering. She’s my aunt.”
Why she’d given this information, she didn’t know. It was irrelevant.
“I don’t suppose Ms Deering will let this go—not report it to Thomas’s mother,” he probed.
Erin shook her head. “I think Sarah will feel the need to cover herself in case of a repeat occurrence.”
He nodded and handed her a business card. “Tell your aunt I will personally ensure that the right avenues for custody will be pursued.” The blue eyes hardened with intimidating purpose as he added, “She might like to pass that on to Mrs Harper.”
For some reason he was assuming he spoke from a position of power. In fact, power radiated so strongly from him, a little shiver of trepidation ran down Erin’s spine as she glanced at the name on the card.
Peter Ramsey.
It meant nothing to her.
She looked up, frowning her puzzlement. “Who are you? Why do you think this carries some weight?”
Surprise at her ignorance was swiftly followed by twinkles of amusement. “Just show the card to your aunt, Erin. It tends to influence people, believe me.”
She heaved a rueful sigh. “Guess I’m out of the general loop.”
He grinned. “Charmingly so. May I ask a favour of you?”
“Ask away,” she invited, dazzled into ready compliance by the grin that seemed to say he found her attractive, too.
“My cell phone number is on that card. Call me after Mrs Harper has been and gone this afternoon.”
Excitement zinged through her. This might not be the end for them. “You want to know how it pans out?”
“I’d like to hear your impressions of the mother’s reaction to what happened here.” He grimaced. “Truth tends to get lost when it comes to divorce and the best interests of a child are not always served.”
“You’re right about that,” she said with feeling, having been the child of divorced parents herself.
“So you’ll call me?” he pressed.
“I will,” she promised, blithely uncaring about whether it was appropriate or not. The call might lead to another meeting with this amazing man.
“Good!” Satisfied that a pact had been sealed, he turned to the father and boy. “Got to let Thomas go with Erin now, Dave.”
There was no argument.
“I’m sorry for the scene I caused,” Mr Harper offered as he handed Thomas over to Erin.
“I hope you have good times together in the future, Mr Harper,” she replied with genuine sincerity, then quickly led the boy away, seeing that Sarah had the crocodile line in order and was anxiously waiting for them to join it.
She was incredibly conscious of her body as she walked away from Peter Ramsey. It was as though she could feel him watching her, assessing everything about her. It made her shoulders square up to a straighter carriage, caused her bottom to feel twitchy, and her knees actually threatened to wobble. She didn’t look back, telling herself to maintain some dignity and not moon over the man like some star-struck teenager. His card was in her hand. That guaranteed another connection with him.
Once back at the kindergarten, Erin helped settle the children for their afternoon nap. She had intended to leave at this point, having done the favour her aunt had requested. A story-telling session from Erin Lavelle was great PR for the preschool, backing up the much-dropped fact that she was, indeed, Sarah’s niece. However, the intriguing encounter in the park demanded a change of plan.
Having taken the precaution of copying the essential details from Peter Ramsey’s card into the notebook she always carried with her, Erin slipped into the administrative office to have a private conversation with her aunt who was sitting at her desk, hunched over a newly made cup of coffee and looking as though she needed a shot of caffeine to stitch frayed nerves back together.
“That could have been nasty. Really nasty,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “Thanks for helping out, Erin. I don’t know how I would have handled it…” Her voice trailed into a heavy sigh as she shook her head over the frightening incident. “The children could have panicked…”
“It was lucky Peter Ramsey was there,” Erin quickly put in.
The name jolted Sarah out of her fretful train of thought. Her eyes sharpened to a wary alertness. “Who? Who did you say?”
“The big man. His name is Peter Ramsey. He gave me his business card…” She placed it right in front of the coffee cup, hitching her bottom onto the front edge of the desk’s large surface as she explained the card’s purpose. “He said for you to mention his name to Mrs Harper if she gets ugly over what her husband did.”
Sarah picked up the card and stared at it disbelievingly.
Erin carried on with her job as messenger. “He also gave his personal assurance that Mr Harper would seek legal help to get some custody rights, so you shouldn’t be afraid of him going off the rails again because of not being able to see his son.”
“Peter