Love Lines Volume 1
Published by Jayne Sykes at Smashwords
Copyright 2012 Jayne Sykes
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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“Much too young." Christine’s gaze lingered on the waiter’s tight backside as Sarah continued. "Besides, you're a married woman."
“Thanks for reminding me," Christine scowled at her best friend. "I know what you’re thinking.”
She really did. Sarah was thinking that there were worse things in life than being married to Robert, a man who was always there for her. Good old sturdy Robert.
So what if she had been married to him ten years today and he had only managed to remember their wedding anniversary once or twice? Not that buying a card and a faded bunch of flowers from the local garage the following day actually constituted remembering. Not in her eyes anyway.
Surely that had to be better than a husband who bailed out after two years, leaving you with one year old twins and a heavily re mortgaged house that had funded his affair with another woman?
She'd almost left Robert once. It hadn't been because she didn't love him. She did. Tremendously. That's why it hurt so much when he didn't remember. His mother had told her he was useless at dates. "It's just the way he is, love," she'd said when he had forgotten their first wedding anniversary and Christine had rung her in floods of tears.
Christine sipped her cappuccino and shuddered as she remembered all the long nights she had spent comforting Sarah, who had been devastated by her marriage break up.
Besides, it wasn't that Robert deliberately forgot their anniversary. She knew that he loved her. It was just that sometimes-
“So, if you know my point of view, why are you moping into your drink?” Sarah chided, and Christine stuck her tongue out at her.
“Probably because my best friend won’t let me ogle the waiter!” she joked, her gaze once more sliding across the crowded café to rest on the waiter who had served them earlier.
Sarah was right. He was too young, even if he did look good in his butt hugging jeans and tight white tee shirt.
“There are worse crimes, Chris,” Sarah pointed out and Christine shrugged.
Robert still looked good for his age. His blond hair might have more silver in it these days but he still pressed all her buttons. Christine even thought that if she made him wear a pair of tight black trousers and stretch top, instead of the baggy chinos and loose fitting shirts he favoured, he’d get his fair share of female attention too.
But then, she didn’t really have a problem with his clothes, even if she did consider it another crime to keep his well-toned body so well hidden.
“I know," Christine sighed. "I just wish he’d remember, that’s all.”
She had stopped reminding him after their sixth anniversary. She didn’t even get him an anniversary card now. Perversely, Christine knew that it saved Robert the embarrassment of having forgotten again. He only managed to remember her birthday because his mother reminded him.
“Well, you could always glam up for him. Give him a treat when he gets home,” Sarah winked. “He’d love that new dress you bought.”
“You mean the one you talked me into buying?” Christine frowned.
“Of course. Slip into some sexy undies and he’s bound to think it’s a special day.” Sarah giggled and Christine shook her head, unable to stop herself from laughing with her best friend.
“Hmm, probably his birthday!” And since when did you become my personal dresser?”
Sarah laughed louder.
“It does take two you know.” She shrugged. “And maybe your best friend thinks you’re both being pretty stupid. So Robert’s forgetful? Being too proud and stubborn is just as big a crime.”
Christine pouted. “You’re meant to be on my side.”
Sarah reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “I am. Marie’s away on a school trip, you have the house to yourselves. Go for it. You know Robert will like the dress!”
Christine slowly nodded. Of course he would. What sane man with half a pulse wouldn‘t? The red, strapless sheath had been a bargain at less than half price and Sarah had vigorously nodded her approval when she had stepped cautiously out of the changing rooms and given her an uncertain twirl.
Her generous boobs had been pushed up in the tight fitting dress and it hugged her slim waist and hips. Yes, it was definitely a man’s dream outfit. Still, she couldn’t help wondering when she would really get a chance to wear it. No doubt it was another item doomed to live out its life crumpled at the back of her wardrobe.
“It’ll look out of place at the kitchen table with beans on toast,” Christine offered, and Sarah chuckled as they paid their bill and walked out to the car.
Christine suddenly had the strange, feeling that something was going on. The last time she had felt this prickling at the base of her spine was when she had escorted Sarah to the solicitors. She had fidgeted until Sarah had emerged half an hour later, and admitted that the man she loved had not only walked out on her for another woman, but he had also embezzled their life savings to do it.
Sarah started the car. “You know, there’s still time to get your nails done. Shirley said she’d fit you in.”
Christine glanced down at her nails and frowned. Okay, so she was prone to a bit of nibbling now and again. Still, they were clean and tidy and she’d never get half the jobs done around the house if she sported a mean set of acrylic talons. “Sarah, what aren’t you telling me?” She suddenly blurted, her heart skipping a beat.
Did Sarah know something about Robert? Had she discovered some dark secret and was doing her best to try to save her best friend from the devastation of a failed marriage?
No.
Christine took a deep calming breath. Sarah wasn't one to go in for subterfuge. If there were a problem, she would be direct and supporting. Besides, Robert might be forgetful, but he was loyal, and they had a healthy sex life. Wasn't that meant to be the first thing to suffer in a troubled relationship?
Never the less, Christine felt that gnawing sensation in the pit of her stomach as Sarah flicked her a coy look and asked innocently enough, "What do you mean?"
“Something's going on.” Christine answered, only to be distracted by Sarah's eager pointing as they drew level with her house.
“Ooh, look, Robert’s home early.”
Robert’s blue Volvo was parked in its usual place on the drive, and Christine chewed her bottom lip and climbed slowly out of the car. She grabbed her bags from the boot and purposefully ignored Sarah’s shouts to enjoy her evening as the car sped off.
Some chance, she thought as she marched up the drive. And since when did Robert, the strict nine ’til five person, finish work early?
She suddenly wondered if he was ill. Robert was one of the more robust men she had ever known, and he never caught so much as a cold. However, there was a first time for anything.
Christine hurried into the house.
Maybe that was why she had been on edge all day. Her Aunt Edie had always insisted that she had inherited her sixth sense. Or was it Marie? Maybe she was poorly on her trip? Maybe that’s why Robert was home early. She took a deep breath. No, he would have called her mobile. Then again, he was so forgetful.
Christine charged into the kitchen and stopped.
The sight of the immaculately laid table, complete with her best silver cutlery was almost as surprising as the sight of Robert bending to place a large, oval dish in the oven.
“Since when did you cook?” she blurted, dropping her shopping bags on the floor. “Is Marie okay? Are you?”
Robert laughed. “Good. You’re home. Marie’s fine. So am I, although this cooking lark makes you all sweaty. Only a bit of chicken casserole. Not exactly Gordon Ramsay. Drink?”
Christine watched, dumbstruck, as Robert strode purposefully over to their fridge and pulled out a bottle of Champagne. It wasn’t an expensive brand, but it was bubbly all the same.
She heard the cork pop and took the glass he offered her. Okay, so he hadn’t found the crystal flutes her mother had bought for them years back, and the tumblers weren’t exactly the height of sophistication, but she took a quick sip and nodded her appreciation.
“Special occasion?” she asked, after a few seconds of awkward silence. She could tell by the expectant look on Robert's face, that he was waiting for her to say something.
His cheeky grin brought a smile to her face and a deep love surged through her veins.
There are worse crimes.
Sarah’s words echoed in her head as she ran her gaze over her husband’s tall frame and desire, mixed with a generous helping of guilt consumed her. Had she really been fantasising over a young waiter who, she now realised, was nowhere near as sexy as her husband? Maybe she had always expected too much from a man who had always been there for her. And he had. Robert was loyal, loving and a tower of strength. He was also good in bed.
Christine blushed and took a big gulp of the bubbly alcohol.
“You mean you’ve forgotten what day it is?” Robert’s deep voice interrupted her thoughts and she took a deep breath, inhaling the delicious smell of cooking.
She shrugged, still unable to give him an easy ride. In fact, she was quite enjoying teasing him now as she felt the love simmering between them
“It’s Friday,” she supplied with a shrug.
Robert tutted as he took the half empty glass out of her hand and placed it on the table beside his own. Then, in one quick movement, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her hotly.
“Dinner won’t be ready yet. Why don’t you have a quick shower and slip into that sexy red number you’ve just bought?”
Christine leaned back in his arms. “How did you-?” Robert chuckled. “Sarah!"
“Guilty as charged.” He nibbled her ear lobe. “She asked me if I was planning anything special for our tenth anniversary. That got me thinking. Then it got me feeling guilty for all those times I’ve forgotten and let you down.”
“But you drove to work this morning.”
“You saw me drive off to the supermarket. I’d booked the day off. All I needed was for Sarah to whisk you off for the day so that my plan could come together.”
“So how do you know about the dress?” she probed.
“Ah, well, I was stuck in traffic the other day and I saw it in the window. I thought how good you’d look in it. I had a word with Sarah and-”
“I should be mad at you both!” She scowled, even though she felt wonderfully special that he had gone to so much trouble. “Tell me our daughter really is away on a school trip to the Lakes and not conveniently locked in the cellar.”
Robert laughed. “Perfect timing. So,” he glanced over her shoulder at the kitchen clock, “about that shower, hmm?”
Later, much later, when they had eaten the delicious meal and drank the bottle of champagne, Christine led Robert upstairs to their bedroom, feeling wickedly sexy in the new dress and wishing she’d invested in those red stilettos.
“Happy anniversary,” Christine kissed him tenderly.
“And you. I was right," Robert said, kissing her softly. "You look sensational in that dress. Tell me, am I forgiven for all my past crimes?” His eyes sparkled as she slid the zipper of the dress down, allowing it to drift softly to the floor.
Christine smiled invitingly. “Oh, I think I might just be able to let you off for good behaviour.”
Julian Seymour sighed and took another sip of his vodka martini. It was three o'clock in the morning and he was getting married tomorrow. No. He was getting married today.
He motioned to Dave and ordered another martini. When it arrived it had the obligatory cherry on a cocktail stick resting against the smooth rim, and Julian smiled.
Once, in Florida, he had been called some derogatory name for asking for a cherry rather than the usual olive. He didn't mind. He had never been bothered by others' opinions of him. He couldn't afford to in his line of work. As chief troubleshooter for a renowned chain of luxury hotels, he travelled extensively and knew he wielded a great deal of power.
However, right now, there was nowhere else he would rather be, even if he was about to leave the splendour of the penthouse suite where he had semi resided for the past few years, for a eight room detached house in the suburbs.
“You okay, Jule?”
Julian shrugged. He had known Dave for as long as this hotel had been open. Five years in total. It had been a business venture and a friendship forged when Leeds was quickly establishing itself as “the” place to be. They had shared many late nights together when he was in town. Over a few beers, they'd discussed everything from politics to Dave's misguided, in Julian's opinion, support of the local football team.
“Yeah," Julian replied, toying with the stem of his glass.
“Hey, you’re getting married tomorrow." Dave glanced at his watch. "Nope, make that today Why the face?”
Another shrug.
Julian had ventured down into the bar when sleep had evaded him. He was feeling an unusual pang of nerves. He had no doubt that he was doing the right thing. He loved Cherie and couldn't imagine his life without her in it. He just hoped that he could be a good husband. He had a demanding job that often took him away from home for days. Would that bother Cherie? She had never commented on his trips abroad. She had simply welcomed him with kisses and undisguised joy.
Julian’s mind did a flash tour around the other Asquith hotels. London, Sydney, Paris. The part built hotel in Rome.
“You ever heard the saying “a girl in every port?”
Dave nodded. “Sounds okay to me.”
Julian grinned and placed a large, tanned hand on the breast pocket of his navy blazer.
“That was me until I met Cherie. Thirty eight year old playboy bachelor. Young, lucky and healthy enough to enjoy whatever I wanted. Rich enough not to care.”
Dave laughed. "You having second thoughts, Jule?"
"God no." Julian looked aghast.
“She’s a grand lass.” Dave picked up another wet tumbler and began to dry it.
“I know."
Right now, she would be in her old room at her parents' house. Julian wondered if she was lying in bed dreaming sweet dreams about her wedding day and almost laughed aloud at his thoughts. Until Cherie, he would never have considered himself the sentimental type.
“You know what my nickname is for her?” Julian asked now.
“Do I want to know?” Dave grimaced.
“Cherry stone.”
“Yeah, well, that doesn’t surprise me. Look what you have with your martini.”
“Right. But the cocktail thing came about well before Cherie." Julian took a sip of his drink. " Nope, I call her that because she was so adamant that she wasn’t going to fall for my charms. She was as hard as stone.”
“But you won in the end. Cherry stone. Like it. Just about sums her up. Does she like it?”
Julian smiled. “I’m not sure.”
His nomadic lifestyle had never left him much opportunity or inclination to find the woman of his dreams. Instead, he had settled into the routine of travelling the world and leaving a long string of fun loving beauties behind in each of the cities he visited. Some he saw again. Most had moved onto the next party by the time he came around again.
Cherie had been different. Julian remembered the first time their paths had crossed.
“Oops. Sorry.”
Those first words had been a rushed apology after she had ploughed straight into him in the spacious foyer of this very hotel. He had been returning from a trip to Rome, where he had spent many late nights negotiating with the hot-headed interior designer. His six-foot frame had been tired and irritable as it was jolted into action to prevent Cherie from falling to the floor.
“Damn!” He had felt the hot coffee seconds before he saw the brown stain spreading through his white shirt and the front of his cream chinos.
“Oh-” Cherie’s pale blue eyes filled with horror. “I really am sorry, but I have to catch a bus.” With that, Cherie had flounced right out of the swing doors.
That evening, Julian had decided to eat in the hotel’s restaurant instead of relying on his usual room service. For once, he needed the constant background chatter of people to help lift his mood.
He had spotted her as he was seated at a table. His interest piqued, he decided to have some fun and exact some form of wicked revenge. For some reason he was drawn to this feisty, obviously strong-willed woman. He didn't usually play on his high position in the Company, but it served a purpose now.
He ordered his pre- dinner martini, and asked the Maitre D’ to ensure that she waited on his table.
“Oh, it’s you,” had been Cherie’s first words when she had approached to take his order.
Julian had expected another apology, one with more sincerity than her earlier offering. However, instead of being angered by her flippancy, he found his body responding to her in the most elemental way.
The faint scent of lavender when she lifted one arm and tucked her long hair behind her small ears as she matched his frank stare, elicited a primal sense of satisfaction. And he wanted more. It had been some time since a woman had squared up to him instead of bowing down with grace or sycophantic ease.
"Yes, it’s me. I thought I might eat here before giving you my dry cleaning bill.”
“I said I was sorry. I was in a rush. There’s only one bus every hour.” She lifted her chin in defiance, and scowled at him.
He laughed. “I’m joking. Honestly. It was an accident.”
“Your martini, Mr Seymour.” The waiter deftly placed his drink on the table and left, but not before Julian had noticed the flicker of concern cross Cherie's beautiful face.
“You’re that Mister Seymour?”
Startled pale blue eyes, edged in panic, met his calm dark brown eyes. He raised an eyebrow, enjoying his control of the situation.
“Guilty as charged.”
“Oh my God, I am so fired.”
He held up a placating hand. “Only if you don’t take my order before I starve to death, and you refuse my invitation to join me for a drink after your shift ends. Oh, and promise not to spill coffee down me again. Of course, that goes without saying.”
Cherie threw him a brief smile. “I’m not allowed to date guests.”
“I live here and, considering who I am, that hardly makes me a guest.”
“Is that supposed to make a difference? I mean, that sort of makes me your employee and I don't remember reading anything about dating the boss in my contract.”
She placed a defiant hand on her slim hips and his eyes were drawn to her shapely legs and slim frame, their desirability heightened by the short black skirt and crisp white blouse.
“That’s up to you.” He shrugged.
Cherie pretended to give it some consideration. “Guess not then.”
She then proceeded to take his order as though he hadn't just propositioned her, and then, “Oh, and whilst we’re on the subject, maybe you might like to think about putting on a shuttle bus for your valued employees. It would make life a lot easier for us.”
She had then spun on her heels and retreated to the kitchen. He hadn’t had an opportunity to speak to her again that night as she resumed waiting on her usual tables, under the ever-watchful glare of the Maitre D’.
That had been the beginning. Not a very auspicious start, but he hadn’t given up. Surrender was a word that didn’t exist in his vast vocabulary.
Instead, he had begun a campaign to win her heart, starting with the shuttle bus. Eventually, she had given in and agreed to have dinner with him.
Julian recalled their first few dates. Nothing fancy. She didn't want that. Instead, he found himself sitting beside her in a packed cinema watching the latest blockbuster, or attacking a pizza in a local restaurant. Cherie was a down to earth Yorkshire lass who shared a house with her best friend on the outskirts of Leeds. She had been hoping to start university in the near future to study Law. She had never had the opportunity or confidence in her younger days. Now, at the age of twenty five, she had decided that she really wanted to make a difference with her life. Instead of drifting in the currents, she wanted to make waves.
“Yeah, you’d make a good lawyer,” Julian had replied when she had told him of her hopes. “So long as you keep the coffee in the cup.” That had earned him a playful slap.
Above all, she had told him, she wanted a family life and commitment. In the beginning, she was honest enough to tell him that he was a high flying executive who loved to travel the world and had nothing to offer her other than a great time in bed and a chance to travel with him. Even when he had called her “Cherry Stone”, a play on her name, she had refused to soften her stance. This was fun, but it couldn’t last.
His next few trips had him enjoying many dates, but they ended outside the bedroom door. Julian realised that he didn't want any other woman. He wanted Cherie.
The first time he had kissed her properly had been on his return from one such trip. Usually he liked to stay on a little longer once all the business was sorted out. It was his excuse to have fun. Work hard. Play harder. However, that time he had wanted nothing more than to catch the next flight back to Leeds. He had simply turned up at the end of her shift, taken her into his arms and told her how much he had missed her.
That had gone some way towards disproving her theories of incompatibility.
He had proposed to her in Rome. He knew there would never be anyone else for him. Julian had hoped that his instincts weren’t going to let him down. Usually, his gut feelings were spot on. With Cherie, he had been nervous as hell. Business was one thing but falling deeply in love was something totally alien and scary to him. He loved her because she was Cherie, not someone working to make ends meet. He just hoped that she felt the same way and could discount what she called "their class difference".
Julian brought his mind back to the present.
“Better hit the sack.”
“Yeah. Big day. You and Cherie make a great couple," Dave offered with a wink.
“Yes, we do. Thanks. And you know what the best part is Dave?”
The bartender shook his head.
“It doesn’t matter where I am in the world, I’ll always be reminded of my Cherry stone!”
With that, Julian popped the martini soaked cherry into his mouth and headed toward his future.
“Hey Len, want me to foot your ladder?”
Len smiled down, careful not to show too much encouragement. The last thing he needed right now was a couple of teenagers with a raging hormonal crush following him around.
“I’m fine, ladies,” he replied smoothly, waiting until Amelia and her best buddy had set off down the pavement before tucking the damp chamois leather into the back pocket of his tight fitting work jeans and shimmying down the ladder.
He watched their skinny hips swinging in an exaggerated wiggle and shook his head, laughing as he wondered what Councillor Shaw would make of his daughter’s recent trip to the lap dancing club he had so vehemently opposed. It was amazing how a few squirts of hair spray and a generous splash of make up could turn a relatively innocent fifteen year old into an excitable, near desperate vamp.
Len picked the yellow sponge out of the bucket and attacked the downstairs windows, humming a favourite dance tune as he worked. He executed a couple of salsa moves, his hips sashaying to the mental beat as the sponge glided across the glass. Hearing a chuckle behind him, he wriggled faster and pretended to be oblivious to his new female audience.
“There’s a nice pot of tea and some fresh scones waiting.”
“Thanks,” Len watched Mrs Grange’s reflection as she hobbled back indoors.
Her arthritis was playing up again. He would have to keep an eye out. Mrs Grange never liked to bother the doctor. It was why he always made time in for a quick chat on his rounds, no matter how busy he was.
Len’s nostrils filled with the scent of fresh baking as he entered the small kitchen and took his usual seat at the pine table. He helped himself to a fruit scone.
“Like the routine?" He asked with a wink.
“Is that all you’ve got?” Mrs Grange teased and Len laughed.
“I have a few more moves. Want me to get you tickets for the next ladies’ night?”
“And send me to my grave early?” Mrs Grange clutched her hands to her chest. “Give them to Councillor Shaw. I’m sure he’d love to see what his lovely daughter gets up to behind his back. Anyway, I'm more bothered about how clean my windows are.”
“Sparkling,” Len proclaimed, enjoying the banter. Mrs Grange's good humour was a sign that she wasn't in too much pain today.
“Good.”
They relaxed in companionable silence and Len snagged another scone as he thought back to last night.
For the first time since he had been dancing at the Club, he had seen a face in the audience that had almost stopped him mid routine, and that was something. He had seen quite a few surprises in his time. There weren't many things that shocked him these days. Or so he liked to think.
Once he had climbed the ladder of a house on the neighbouring estate, sponge at the ready, and come face to face with a naked woman handcuffed to the bed. She had winked saucily at him, no hint of any embarrassment. He hadn’t recognised her, but knew that she wasn’t the wife who usually paid him on a Friday evening when he called round to collect his window money.
“I hear Jenny’s back.” Mrs Grange supplied, almost as if she had been reading his thoughts, and Len’s head snapped up, meeting her shrewd gaze. “Have you seen her, dear?”
Had he? Maybe he had spent too long wishing for Jenny’s support that his mind had been playing tricks. Besides, they were no longer together so why would she pay to watch him do something she hated?
“I thought I saw her at the club last night," he edged, taking a long gulp of tea, heedless to the way it scolded his mouth.
Mrs Grange’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline.
“I always thought it was a shame you two couldn’t work things out. You were so right for each other.”
Yeah, he knew the feeling.
He could have given Mrs Grange a thousand and one answers, but the only one that would have made any sense was that Jenny hated that he subsidized his income as a window cleaner by dancing two nights a week at the local lap dancing club.
Thanks to lugging heavy ladders and buckets around most days, he had a great body. It was easy to get on stage and make extra money dancing.
Not that Jenny had looked at it like that.
They had met at the local amateur dramatics society. She was an actor. He was the prop man who loved to watch her on the stage, never once dreaming of taking the limelight. However, when the Dramatics Society had put on their own version of "The Full Monty" for charity, he had been pushed into one of the starring roles.
“With a body like that dear, it would be a shame to let you hide behind a cardboard tree,” the director had announced.
Two months later, the new lap-dancing club had opened and the manager had offered him a job. Len had enjoyed his role in the play so much that he had jumped at the opportunity to earn some extra cash. Besides, he had known then, that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with Jenny, but wouldn't propose until he had bought her a ring. He needed money for that. He had been assured that it was all good, clean, innocent fun. The women could look, but not touch.
Then the arguments had started.
Len liked to focus on the positive, but as he finished his tea and left Mrs Grange to her baking, his thoughts dwelled on Jenny. Six months later, after trying to get him to stop dancing and do nothing but cleaning peoples’ windows, she had walked out. They hadn’t seen each other since.
“Hello, Len.”
His head snapped round. “You’re looking good.” Too good, he thought, as he finished securing the ladder on the roof of his car, his keen blue eyes giving her a surreptitious sweep.
She had lost weight and his heart filled with the sudden hope that she was missing him. God knows he had spent enough lonely hours pining for her, and hoping that she would realise she had made a terrible mistake and come back.
Just as quickly, he shelved the thought and threw the large bucket into the boot before slamming it shut.
Her hands fiddled with the strap of her handbag, a tell tale sign that she was nervous, and Len almost laughed.
“What do you want, Jenny? I have a dozen more windows to clean before the rain comes. A man’s got to make an honest living somehow.”
She blushed at his obvious dig, her small, even white teeth worrying her bottom lip. “We need to talk.”
“Is that why you were at the club last night?” He threw out. "Only, I seem to recall that you hated that dingy, seedy hole as you liked to call it. Hardly the place for polite conversation." Len couldn't stop his bitterness from overflowing now. Jenny's abandonment had hurt him deeply.
“Please-” she stopped, took a deep breath. “I had to see you.”
“And did you like what you saw?” He took a step closer, resisting the urge to swivel his hips. “Did it turn you on?” Len deliberately provoked, the need to punish her for her hypocrisy getting the better of him.
She lifted her chin. “You always turn me on.”
He laughed then. Not the warm, hearty laugh she used to like, but a sharp, brittle sound that left you feeling cold and empty.
“But only if I’ve got a bucket in my hand. Not a pole.”
“Stop it,” she hissed, tears filling her eyes.
Len swallowed his sudden, guilty compassion and tugged his car keys out of his pocket. “I think you said everything the day you left. What was it? Oh yeah, Len the window cleaner...great. Len the lap dancer... not so much.”
“You have a son,” she blurted, his blue eyes clashing with moss green pools of sadness.
Len froze. “What?”
“He’s called Michael,” Jenny rushed on. “I was four months pregnant when I left. I didn’t know.”
“And you’re just telling me now?” Anger quickly consumed the desire he had felt moments ago. “Ashamed to tell him about daddy?”
Jenny hung her head.
“Where is he now?” Len demanded.
He could hardly take it in. He had a son. He had missed everything but the conception. He hadn't even named him. Anger overtook the strong sense of pride flooding his veins.
“At mums.” Jenny answered.
Len swore. He wanted to strangle Jenny at the same time as he wanted to gather her into his arms and kiss her senseless.
Suddenly a large droplet of water hit his face, heralding the start of the heavy showers that had been forecast earlier. Without a thought, he ushered them into the car, ignoring her protests.
“So, why now?” He asked, watching as she rubbed her hands together and shook the rain droplets out of her long, honey blonde hair.
She lifted her head and held his gaze. Len could still see defiance in her eyes. “I wanted you to stop dancing. Cleaning windows is okay but…but stripping-”
“I don’t strip.”
“You didn’t have many clothes on last night. Baby oil doesn’t exactly cover much.”
“It’s a job. I enjoy it.” He was unrepentant.
“And the women?”
Len swivelled round in his seat and cupped her cheek, forcing her to meet his solemn gaze.
“Is that why you left?” he demanded. "You were jealous?"
“No!" she protested, but Len was filled with a sudden sense of hope. Why hadn't she told him this before?
“Jenny, I’ve had more propositions cleaning windows than I have wearing nothing but a leopard print thong.”
“They were almost throwing themselves at you last night,” Jenny accused, and he sighed.
“I do it because it’s a decent living and it keeps me fit.”
Jenny eyed him and he resisted the urge to shake her stubborn shoulders.
“So," he took a deep, calming breath, even though his heart suddenly felt as though it was going to pound out of his ribcage. "let’s get back to Michael.”
He couldn’t dwell on the electricity sparking between them. Standing on the pavement with her had been one thing, but now they were in the small confines of his car, her familiar scent wound its way around his senses, sending his libido into overdrive.
“I won’t stop you seeing him.”
“So are you so desperate for money that you’ve had to swallow that pride of yours and come beg me to share my ill gotten gains?” he provoked.
“Michael needs his father.”
He nodded his agreement. "And what about his mother? What does she want?”
“I’ve always wanted you, Len.”
“Just not the shame that goes with it, huh?”
“Do you think we could start over?” Jenny’s small voice asked and Len’s heart pitched.
Could it really be as simple as this?
“I won’t give up my dancing." He met her gaze, taking some satisfaction when she blushed and shifted uncomfortably in her seat. He went on, "I love doing it. There really is no shame in it."
“Len, I have a confession to make.” Jenny suddenly blurted, and he frowned.
“Let me guess, you’re a secret geisha girl or something?” He teased, the sudden tension almost unbearable.
“No.” She dropped her gaze, twisted her fingers together. Len itched to reach out and still their nervous twitching, but he held himself still.
“You have a secret fear of ladders and chamois leather?”
“No!” she swatted his arm.
“Oh, so it must be the secret thing you have for lap dancing clubs.” He kissed the tip of her nose then, unable to resist.
“When I was pregnant with Michael I did a bit of modelling.”
“Modelling?”
She nodded. “I wanted to see what it felt like, you know, having people looking at you like those women do when you're-"
“You took your clothes off in public?” Len’s eyes widened in surprise, as the unspoken part of her confession fell into place.
Jenny chewed her bottom lip again. “The local art college were doing a study of the pregnant form and wanted volunteers. Are you mad?”
Len threw his raven-haired head back and whooped. “Did you enjoy it?”
“Not really.”
“Good. I don’t want other men looking at you like that.”
“Hypocrite,” she mumbled. “You should stick to cleaning windows!”
Then he kissed her properly and thoroughly. A long sweet kiss that seemed to last forever.
When they eventually pulled apart, Len spied the local traffic warden and gunned the ignition.
“Where are we going?” Jenny squealed as he screeched away from the kerb.
“We're gonna pick up Michael and then go home.”
“But you haven’t finished your rounds.”
“Yeah, but it’s raining now. Besides,” he came to a stop at a set of traffic lights and leaned across to kiss her cheek. “I’m going to show you some more clean loving fun.”
Helen’s eyes swept across the crowded interior of the small coffee shop until they settled on the gorgeous olive skinned face of the man in the corner. For the briefest of moments she hoped he might raise that raven haired head of his and throw her a smile, anything to brighten her day. However, as usual, his attention remained firmly fixed on the paper he was reading.
A quick glance around the bustling room told her that she wasn’t the only one looking at him. It didn't matter. The furtive, admiring glances were to be expected. After all, the man was Alpha male, model material. He looked as though he had just stepped out of a romance novel.
Helen quickly stifled the sudden jealousy that heated her blood and straightened her spine.
Every Wednesday lunchtime for the last four years she had come here to feast on his beauty as much as the delicious food and best coffee in town. Now, anticipation zinged in her blood as she wove her way through the myriad of tables. She stopped only when she had reached the last seat available.
“Do you mind?”
He raised his head then, a broad smile lighting up his chiselled features, and Helen felt as though the busy room had melted away as he moved his coat from the seat opposite him. Helen almost drowned in the warm espresso depth of his slumberous gaze, and her stomach flipped when he gestured with one large, tanned hand. She sat down quickly, heat colouring her face as she tried not to think about that same hand caressing her soft skin.
God he was handsome!
“Absolutely bloody gorgeous more like!” Her best friend, Jenny, had gushed when they had first set eyes on him. Helen had known that she would never tire of looking at him She had fallen in love with him in that very moment, even if Jenny had laughed at her and categorically told her that there was no such thing as love at first sight. Only lust.
It had always been like this. From the very first time she had seen him, she had wanted no other man, and she shifted in her seat now, fighting the desire that coursed through her as his dark, slumberous gaze swept over her before coming to rest on her flushed face.
“Is it still raining, cara?” He asked as she shrugged out of her damp coat, his deep voice with its lilting accent washing over her skin like the brush of soft silk against her thigh.
“I think it’s stopping,” she muttered, running a hand through her rain damp hair as she smiled at him.
“I am glad.” He folded his newspaper and placed it on the table, finally giving her his undivided attention.
“Me too.”
He sat back, watching as Helen gave the waitress her order. The same one she had given for the last four years. Ham and cheese panini and a large cappuccino.
“She likes you.” Helen sniffed when they were alone again, and he gave a resigned shrug.
Who wouldn’t? Helen thought as she cast her eyes over his expensive charcoal grey suit, noting how the crimson silk tie complemented his olive skin tone. It would have been exactly what she would have chosen for him. She also happened to like the royal blue tie he sometimes wore.
“But you are the one sharing my table, cara.”
Helen had the sudden ridiculous urge to drag him to the nearest hotel room and forget about the stack of reports waiting for her to write up back at the office.
Almost as if he had been reading her thoughts, a wicked smile played on his lips and he reached across the table to cover her small hands with one of his own. As he did so, his wedding ring caught the light and she ran her index finger over it.
“I am due back in the office in fifteen minutes.” His look of disappointment matched hers, and she grinned sheepishly.
“So soon?” Her order hadn’t even arrived.
“I was here on time, as always. You were late,” he gently chided, and she glared at him as he downed the remainder of his coffee and got to his feet.
“I’ve been in a damned meeting all morning. It ran over," she grumbled, and he chuckled.
“I will see you tonight, tesoro. I promise I will make it up to you. I will cook your favourite dish.” His soft voice washed over her, sending delicious shivers along her spine. The sparkle in his eyes promised more than a delicious meal, and she nodded and craned her neck to allow better access for the softest of kisses on her pale lips.
His thumb stroked her chin and she stretched up, falling in love with him all over again. Whenever he touched her, it always ignited the passion she felt for him and she reached up to cup his cheek, relishing the feel of the morning’s growth of stubble as she inhaled the familiar citrus scent of him.
Vittorio was her soul mate.
They had first met when she had been holidaying in Rome with Jenny. One humid afternoon they had lost their way back to their hotel, the busy streets and foreign language confusing to them.
She had been shy back then but Jenny, in a fit of pique, had boldly walked over to the nearest stranger and asked for directions in broken Italian. Instead of laughing at them, Vittorio had willingly come to their aid.
Jenny had a boyfriend waiting back home. Not that it was a fact that needed reinforcing, because as soon as Vittorio had raised his handsome head and his chocolate gaze had meshed with hers, it had taken all of Helen’s concentration just to remember to breathe.
They had been inseparable ever since. Those few, agonizing months leading up to the wedding when he had been busy sorting out and packing up his life in Italy didn't count. He had phoned her every evening, told her how much he loved her and couldn't wait to call her his wife.
Helen smiled now.
“I’ll pick up a nice bottle of wine,” she offered as he pulled on his coat.
“Do not be late, cara. Ciao.” He dropped a kiss onto the tip of her nose and left.
“Ciao, Vittorio. Ti amo.”
The waitress finally appeared with her order and spared his broad, departing back with a look that could only be described as lustful longing.
“My husband’s pretty gorgeous, isn’t he?” Helen asked, taking a sip of her hot drink to hide her smug contentment.
The waitress nodded before moving to the next table and Helen dived into her food, anticipating the evening ahead. Vittorio was a good cook, but a fantastic husband and lover.
Helen sighed. “And I’m the luckiest woman alive.”
“You’re fat!”
Well, Shelley supposed it was one way to describe the extra weight she had put on over Christmas, on top of the pounds she had never been able to shed after her holiday to Turkey.
She resisted the urge to shout at the little boy who had just barrelled into her and took a deep breath. She didn't need this today. Her head pounded, her back ached, and her feet were ready to drop off. She was fast beginning to realise that braving the sales had not been one of her better decisions. She was about to ask the annoying child where his parents were when a tall, blond haired man strode over.
“Toby! That’s a very rude thing to say.”
Shelley groaned. Why did she always bump into gorgeous men when the timing was lousy? She ran a hand through hair she should have washed last night and realised that the man who had now grabbed the little boy’s hand was now talking to her.
“I’m sorry. Are you okay?” He asked and she nodded, lost for words when only moments ago she had been silently ranting and raving.
He had a deep voice. Not too much bass, but just enough to cause a shiver along her spine. She allowed her thoughts to linger on how he would sound when he made love, seduced, then quickly shoved them out of her naughty mind.
“Wow! Look at the train set! Can I go play?” Without waiting for a response, the little boy tore himself out of his dad’s hold and raced across the room.
Shelley watched him go, wondering if she should chastise the man for not keeping a tighter rein on his child. When her child was older, she would teach him, or her, to behave, especially out in public.
She wondered where the boy's mother was. The men she knew wouldn't venture out to the shops on a busy day like today. Besides, if she were this guy's other half, she wouldn't let him out of her sight for long.
She tuned back into the perfect vision standing before her and couldn't help but sigh.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” The man asked again, and she smiled, slowly rubbing her tummy.
“I’m fine, really.”
She glanced down at her expanding frame. You could always trust a child to tell it how it was. No preamble or grace. Children always went straight for the jugular.
An image of Chris popped into her head and she blinked hard. She would not cry in front of a gorgeous stranger. Her ex had broken up with her two weeks before Christmas, saying she was frumpy and boring because she wouldn’t go away for the Festive season. She knew he had taken Tracy who lived two doors down from him. She definitely wasn’t frumpy, or boring. Easy going would have been the polite way Shelley would have used to describe her.
“Would you like a coffee?” The man asked and Shelley glanced up into the bluest eyes she had ever seen.
“I don’t...” she stammered, thrown by his offer.
“I insist. There’s a coffee shop on this floor. I’ll make sure Toby knows where I am and then I’ll join you.”
Shelley found herself on automatic pilot as she went to order a large cappuccino and found a vacant table in the half empty coffee shop. She hardly knew the man. Still, the aroma of freshly ground coffee reminded her that she had traipsed around the shops all morning without a break. What harm would it do?
The stranger dropped onto the seat opposite and placed a large cappuccino on the table beside her own.
“Snap!”
An awkward pause descended upon them and Shelley frowned, suddenly wondering what she was doing sitting in a coffee shop drinking a coffee with a total stranger, whose son thought she was fat.
“Toby will be playing trains until closing time now!” The man raised his head and laughed, revealing an even set of pearly white teeth.
He was too good to be true, Shelley thought, as he shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over the vacant chair beside him. She licked her lips, wishing he’d kept it on. The sight of firm, toned muscle displayed by the tight blue tee shirt overloaded her senses, and Shelley groaned. She was having enough trouble with her hormones as it was.
His upper body was firm and toned and he obviously kept himself in good shape. Then again, looking after a small child was enough exercise. At least, that's what her mum kept warning her about. Soon she would find out for herself.
“I’m Andrew by the way.”
She took his outstretched hand and a bolt of electricity rippled through her. She quickly snatched it away hoping he hadn’t noticed. God, her hormones were on hyperactive drive today.
“I’m Shelley," she said, suddenly feeling shy.
“Well, pleased to meet you.” He inclined his head and winked. Shelley's blush deepened and she sent silent thanks that she didn't have to go for one of her antenatal checks today. One large coffee and one tall, gorgeous stranger spelled hypertension.
“So, what brings you to the store?” He asked and Shelley could have told him not to be so nosy.
“I’m looking for a birthday present for my nephew," she replied instead.
“You’re in the right place.” His smile held genuine warmth. “How old is he?”
“He’ll be six in February.”
“Toby’s age. I'm thinking I'm going to get suckered into buying one for Toby's birthday.”
Andrew took a sip of his drink and Shelley couldn’t stop herself from laughing when he moved the mug away to reveal a frothy white moustache on his upper lip.
She offered him a tissue and he wiped it, totally at ease. Chris would have been mortified. Still, when she thought about it, he wouldn’t have ordered something as fancy. He was a tea man, straight down the line. He hated all the fancy stuff, unless it wore a skirt and six-inch stilettos, Shelley thought as a picture of Chris's latest conquest popped into her head.
Shelley shook her head to dispel the image.
“I’m struggling to think of something suitable.” She shrugged in defeat and forced herself to meet his gaze.
She wished she hadn't, for she suddenly had a startlingly clear image of a small, blonde haired boy kneeling on the floor, laughing as a red train hurtled round the toy track.
“When is Toby’s birthday?” she asked, praying he hadn’t seen her checking out his left hand. Not that the lack of a wedding ring meant anything.
“December.” Andrew grimaced and Shelley laughed.
It was almost a year away. At least Freddie’s birthday was close. It was her main reason for daring the sales today, eager to find a bargain on her small budget.
She had lost her Festive cheer just before Christmas after losing her boyfriend and job in the space of a fortnight. Then there was the other news. She had told Chris knowing that it wouldn’t make any difference, and she had been right.
Shelley frowned and immediately wished she hadn’t when Andrew’s brow furrowed in concern.
“If Toby hurt you, I’m a doctor.”
She raised a hand to silence him. She didn’t want concern. Hot sex, even love, she could handle, but his easy charm was difficult to ignore.
“I’m fine. Toby has a hard head but at least I didn’t end up bottoms up in the ball pool.” She rubbed her abdomen. “If anything, my pride’s a little dented.”
Shelley smiled reassurance and met his intense gaze. For some seconds they both stared, until Andrew cleared his throat and dropped his gaze to the table.
“You’re not fat. In fact, you’re quite beautiful.”
Shelley gasped as his hand reached across the table and gently squeezed her own.
No way was this man hitting on her in a toy store. At five foot three, she had never been beautiful. Her blonde hair and hazel eyes were her best features by far, but her nose was a little crooked and she had never been the slimmest girl in the office. Now, in her present condition, she felt cumbersome and uncomfortable.
Shelley blushed. “I-”
“Dad! Dad! Mum would love the trains. Can I have one?”
Andrew quickly removed his hand and offered her a resigned smile as he grabbed Toby’s hand, the action bringing him to an abrupt halt. Shelley watched, suddenly filled with shame. In fact, the guy had just openly flirted with her and she had practically melted at his feet. She didn't even know if he was in a relationship, married.
She gave herself a mental shake. She must be getting desperate.
“Toby, what have I told you about running about?”
“Sorry, Dad. But-”
Andrew silenced him. “And what do you say to this nice young lady?”
Shelley couldn’t remember the last time she had been called a young lady. Or nice, for that matter. She gave her undivided attention to Toby, thankful for the distraction.
Toby’s grin melted into a sulky pout. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled.
“Apology accepted,” Shelley smiled. “I’m sure your mum would love to see the trains,” she offered, trying to hide her disappointment.
Toby’s eyes filled with tears and he ran off.
“His mother died two years ago,” Andrew’s low voice broke into her thoughts.
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
She dismissed happy images of Andrew playing happy families whilst she returned to a lonely flat to wrap the train set she had decided to buy Freddie. Tears formed in her eyes and she hurriedly sniffed them away.
Andrew shrugged his broad shoulders. “There are times when Toby gets a little confused.”
“It must be difficult.” Shelley offered, suddenly feeling an overwhelming urge to protect them both. There were the hormones again.
“It gets easier," Andrew sighed. "We both miss her but life has to go on.”
Despite the dismissive tone, Shelley sensed that it had taken a great deal of courage for him to reach this point.
“Well, I suppose I should be off,” Shelley ventured, knowing that she really should make tracks if she was going to get her shopping done before the store closed. Besides, she could feel the tears threatening to fall again.
They both got to their feet and pulled on their coats, Shelley suddenly feeling like she was at the end of a first date as she tried to think of something to say without feeling awkward.
As they made their way over to Toby, Andrew suddenly reached out and placed a firm hand on her arm forcing her to stop and meet his gaze.
“Look, I know this is crazy. We hardly know each other but,” Andrew paused. “If I can find a baby sitter, would you consider having dinner with me some time?”
Shelley’s look of surprise melted into a broad smile as she met eyes filled with sincere warmth.
“I’d love to,” she replied as she rubbed her abdomen, hoping it would be soon or she would need a babysitter herself.
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