Just One Night...: Fiancée For One Night / Just One Last Night / The Night That Started It All. Trish Morey
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this time taking in the unfamiliar surroundings with wide, suspicious eyes.
‘It’s okay, Sam,’ she said, reaching for the stash of food she’d brought and had tucked away in the baby bag. ‘We’re visiting, that’s all. And then I’ll take you for a walk along Southbank. You’ll like that. There’s a river and lots of music and birds. Maybe we might even spot you a fish.’
‘Fith!’ He grinned, recognising the word as she handed him his favourite board book and he reached for a sultana with the other. ‘Fith!’
He’d been waiting on the call, all the while working out a strategy that would get her out of the lounge and up into his room. At last he’d hit on the perfect plan, so simple it couldn’t fail. He’d play it cool, accept the documents she’d brought without mention of the trip away and without trying to change her mind, and see her to her car, remembering once they’d got to the lifts something he’d meant to bring down for her—it wouldn’t take a moment to collect it from his suite…
He hit the second floor with a spring in his step. Oh, he loved it when a plan came together.
He scanned the lounge for her, skipping over the groups and couples, searching for a single woman sitting no doubt nervously by herself. Had she been able to forget about last night’s love-making yet? He doubted it. Even though the night had ended on a sour note, those flashbacks had kept him awake thinking about it half the night. When Culshaw had mooted this idea of going away for the weekend, he’d initially been appalled. It was bad enough that the closing of the deal had been held up by last night’s dinner, without having to endure still more delays while Culshaw soothed his wife’s wounded soul with an impromptu holiday. Until he’d worked out that he could easily endure a couple of more nights like the last. Very easily.
And then he saw her sitting with her back to him in a little booth off to one side, her hair twisted high behind her head, making the most of that smooth column of neck. Just the sight of that bare patch of skin sent such a jolt of pure lust surging through him, such a heady burst of memories of her spread naked on his sheets, that it was hard to think over the pounding of the blood in his veins, other than to want to drag her to his room and prove why she needed to come with him until she begged him not to leave her behind.
In another time, maybe even in another part of this world, he would do exactly that, and nobody would stop him, nobody would think twice.
But there was more reason than the mores of the so-called civilised world that stilled his savage urges. For he knew what he might become if he let the animal inside him off the leash.
Never had he felt so close to that beast. Why now? What was it about her that gave rise to such thoughts? She was the means to an end, that was why he needed her. Nothing more. Great sex was just a bonus.
She turned her head to the side then, her lips moving as if she was talking to someone, but there was nobody there, nothing but a dark shape in the shadowed recess behind the sofa, a dark shape that had him wondering if he’d found the wrong woman the closer he got. Because it made no sense…
She looked around at the exact time his brain had finally come to terms with what his eyes were telling him, at the precise moment the cold wave of shock crashed over him, washing away his well-laid plans and leaving them a tangled and broken mess at his feet.
‘Hello, Leo,’ she said, closing the picture book she was holding in her hands. ‘I’ve brought those documents you asked for.’
She’d brought a hell of a lot more than documents! In the dark shape he’d worked out was a pram sat a baby—a child—holding onto the rail in front of him and staring wide-eyed and open-mouthed up at Leo like he was some kind of monster. It didn’t matter that the kid was probably right. He looked back at Evelyn. ‘What the hell is this?’
‘Leo, meet my son, Sam.’ She turned toward the pram. ‘Sam, this is Mr Zamos. If you’re very nice, he might let you call him Leo.’
‘No!’ Sam pushed back in his stroller and twisted his body away, clearly unimpressed as he pushed his face under his bear and began to grizzle.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, one hand reaching out to rub him on the back. ‘He’s just woken up. Don’t worry about coffee, it’s probably better I take him for a walk.’ She picked up a folder from the table and stood, holding it out for Leo. ‘Here’s all the documents you asked for and I’ve flagged where signatures are required. Let me know if there’s anything else you need. I promised Sam a walk along the river while we’re here, but we’ll be home in a couple of hours.’
He couldn’t say anything. He could barely move his hand far enough to accept the folder she proffered. All he could think of was that she had a child and she hadn’t told him. What else hadn’t she told him? ‘You said there wasn’t a Mr Carmichael.’
‘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