A Father At Last Page 4

  Tonight, she’d washed her hair, applied the smoothing product she’d bought last time she’d gone to the salon, and never yet used, and spent ages with the straightening iron, so her hair fell free in a shiny, rippling red‐gold mass.

  Julie Mac

  At eight‐thirty, she got to work on her makeup, starting with her best moisturiser and her sheer summer foundation. Ten minutes later, she applied the final touches of eyeliner and mascara, and stood back for a critical appraisal in the mirror.

  Passable, she decided, and wondered for the hundredth time why she was going through with this madness.

  Ben was a no‐go area, as far as she was concerned. There could never be anything between them.

  Apart from Dylan.

  And Dylan was all the more reason why there could never be anything between them. Her dad had been in trouble with the law and she’d lost him. Never in a million years would she want Dylan to suffer the same fate, the same despair, pain and gut‐wrenching, agonising loss.

  For that reason, Ben, obviously playing some sort of high‐risk game on the wrong side of the law, could never be part of their lives.

  No matter how powerful the chemistry between them. And it was there, strong and potent as ever. That was part of the reason she was going through with this madness—she simply couldn’t bear to miss seeing him again.

  Just one more time, and then it’s done. No more Ben. Besides, she kept reminding herself, he’d said they needed to talk. He wanted to talk, so she had to be there, for old times’ sake. She had a duty to be there.

  She jumped when her doorbell rang. Surely he hadn’t figured out where she lived and come to get her? She checked the mirror once more, hurriedly swiped on another coat of lipstick and went to the door.

  “Dylan, baby! What’re you doing here?”

  Her little boy was standing on the doorstep smiling up at her. “I forgot Mr Leopard.

  Can’t go to sleep without Mr Leopard. You look beautiful, Mummy.”

  “Yeah, you look real pretty, Kelly.” Dylan’s friend Lachlan was right behind him and equally enthusiastic in his admiration. Then the two boys were off, racing down the hall to Dylan’s bedroom to find the snuggly toy he liked to use as a pillow, and Lachlan’s mum, Marnie, was coming up the path, followed by his dad, Jamie.

  “Ooh, you go, girl,” crowed Marnie admiringly. “Don’t you look gorgeous!”

  “Yeah, Kel, you look very…ah, very nice. That blue with your hair is…ah…” Big Jamie was looking a bit sheepish.

  Laughing, Marnie came to his rescue. “What he’s trying to say is that you look hot, girl! I hope that hunk you were chatting up at the beach appreciates how lucky he is.”

  Kelly felt an uncharacteristic blush warming her cheeks. When she’d asked Marnie to have Dylan for a sleepover tonight, she’d explained simply that she was going to meet up A Father at Last

  with an old friend she hadn’t seen for several years.

  Jamie puffed up his chest. “If you need me to check out this guy—you know, be here when he comes round to pick you up, let him know you’ve got someone looking out for you, just say the word, Kelly.”

  Marnie reached around and gave her husband a playful whack on the shoulder.

  “Don’t fret, honey. She’s a big girl now, she can suss out the good men from the bad. Mind you…” Marnie turned back to Kelly, cocked her head on one side and smiled kindly, “…if you’d like us here when he arrives…?”

  Now it was Kelly’s turn to laugh. “Thanks guys, but I don’t need a big brother—or sister. I can assure you this man is perfectly safe.”

  Of that she was sure. But her tummy turned a flip and she had an almost hysterical urge to laugh out loud when she thought of Jamie quizzing Ben about what he did for a living. ‘I hang out with drug dealers,’ would go down like a lead balloon, as would ‘My job involves doing business with the low‐lifes of Auckland.’ No, it was much better all round if she kept Ben well away from any of her friends.

  “I’m going out to meet him,” she said. “In a public place, if that makes you feel any better,” she added, laughing, then glanced at her watch.

  Marnie took the hint. “Okay, we’ll get out of your hair, sweetie. Have fun.” She gave Kelly a quick hug. “Come on, boys,” she called.

  When they were gone, Kelly went back into her bedroom and stood in front of the mirror. You look hot, girl. Marnie’s words echoed tauntingly. She ran her hands down her bare arms, across her shoulders, and down the sensuously soft silk of her new blue top.

  Did she want Ben to think she’d made herself look hot for him?

  Quickly, she undid the silver belt, tugged the top over her head, and turned to the T-shirt shelf in her wardrobe. She grabbed the first shirt she came to—a dull grey unisex model, emblazoned with her law firm’s logo, a giveaway to all the staff for their pre-Christmas corporate sports day. It wasn’t pretty or particularly flattering. She started to reach for another shirt and then thought, what the heck, seeing Ben tonight wasn’t a date, for heaven’s sake. It was…what? A catch up with an old friend? Yes, that’s all it was—a harmless get‐together at the beach with an old school buddy.

  She pulled on the shirt, then looked down and groaned—what on earth had she been thinking? Quickly she kicked off her pretty, heeled sandals and stepped into a pair of casual flatties, then she headed for the bathroom where she removed the eye makeup she’d spent about eight minutes applying instead of her usual one, and replaced it with the merest hint of eyeliner and mascara. Her lipstick came off too, and she smoothed on a light coat of clear lip‐gloss.

  She grabbed a washcloth and scrubbed at the liberal dosing of perfume she’d sprayed on her wrists and on her neck, and finally, she pulled her hair back into a pony tail.

  Now she was ready to see Ben.

  Julie Mac

  Before she left, she walked through the house, checking that all doors and windows were locked.

  In Dylan’s room, she saw something that took her breath away. Lying on his bed was a picture drawn with crayons. She hadn’t seen it before, so maybe he’d drawn it at Lachlan’s place this afternoon and brought it home with him just now.

  She stared at his picture for a long time. He’d written ‘My family’ in big black letters below stick figures of a woman with bright red hair, a smaller figure holding her hand, and at their feet, a striped four legged creature which Kelly knew represented their cat; she’d seen many versions of this picture over the last few years. But this one was different.

  This one had a taller figure, standing off to the right of the picture. A man with black hair, a big smile, and a soccer ball at his feet. As always, Dylan had labelled his figures:

  ‘mummy’, ‘me’ and ‘cat’. The man with the soccer ball he’d labelled simply ‘man’.

  He leaned against the big old pohutukawa tree, appreciating the solidness of its trunk against his back. Because it had a multitude of irregular branches, sprawling well out over the sand, it was easy for a person to disappear into its shadows, especially now in the last few minutes before day became night.

  Which suited Ben just fine. He could watch the road and the car park, without being obvious to passers‐by. He didn’t know what sort of car she drove, but the rocky cove that was Little Long Bay was much smaller than its big cousin around the headland to the north, and even on a beautiful summer’s evening like this, there were surprisingly few people here.

  He would see her arrive easily enough. He concentrated on breathing slowly and swiped his hand across his forehead where sweat had broken out.

  He was nervous, and how crazy was that, dammit?

  He lived with danger every day, and here he was, feeling decidedly jumpy over a woman. But Kelly wasn’t just any woman—the feelings Kelly provoked were unlike anything he’d ever felt for any other woman. But his being with her, seeing her could put her—and Dylan—in danger. Automatically, he checked his surroundings in a quick three‐sixty degree scan.

&nbs
p; And even if he didn’t put her—them—in direct danger, it would be irresponsible, cruel even, to build a relationship with her and Dylan because if this current gig turned to custard, he’d have to disappear pretty damn quick. Certainly he couldn’t stay in Auckland, and possibly, he’d have to lose himself for a few years in Australia.

  He thought of Dylan, trusting, innocent. How would the boy feel if, suddenly, his mum had a man in her life, one who would play soccer with him, and then just as suddenly, be gone from his life? Even if he wasn’t officially Dylan’s dad, but ‘just a good friend’?

  “Same difference,” he muttered to himself, then a shiver ran down his spine, and he A Father at Last

  cursed his own stupidity.

  He couldn’t be with Kelly, couldn’t be with Dylan. Ever. The risks for them all were too big. Because of his job, yes, that was part of the reason. But most of all because of the horrible truth that hid inside him like black rot.

  Meeting Kelly here, tonight, or anywhere in the near future was just plain wrong. He pulled his phone from his pocket and checked the time. She was ten minutes late. Probably wasn’t coming at all. Good, that’s fine then. Better all round, this way.

  And then he saw her, getting out of a little silver Toyota hatchback in the car park.

  He should get the hell out of here. Now.

  He should, but he wouldn’t.

  There was something he needed to tell her.

  It might make her angry. Or it might not. Either way, he had a duty to tell her. He’d made a promise.

  Julie Mac

  Chapter 3

  Kelly wondered if she’d misheard him yesterday. The big old pohutukawa, resplendent in its summer cloak of red flowers, was there, right in front of her, but Ben was nowhere in sight.

  There were half a dozen vehicles in the car park, and a plumber’s van out on the kerbside.

  Not that any of those observations meant anything, because she had no idea what sort of vehicle he drove.

  She glanced at her watch again. She was sure she had the time and day right.

  Listening and getting details straight was her forte.

  But the location? It had to be right. There was only one really big tree at Little Long Bay and it was the one she was heading for; the same one she and Ben had sat under many a day after school in their teenage years.

  So that left one other possibility—he’d stood her up. Mortification followed a rush of sharp disappointment. But still she walked on, down the footpath, along the grass verge.

  With every step, her feelings of loss intensified. She wanted to see him tonight, badly. She wanted to feel his touch once more, bask in the warmth of his body close to hers.

  She wanted the heat of his gaze to fill the cold, lonely corners of her heart and sustain her through her years ahead as a single mother. Was it wrong to cling to a memory, if that memory buoyed and sustained you?

  Then she stopped walking and fought the sudden urge to turn and head back to her car. Who was she kidding? This meeting on the beach wasn’t about her and Ben, wasn’t about her feelings, her selfish longings.

  It was about Dylan, the beautiful little human being they’d created together.

  She had come to tell Ben the truth, she knew that now. It was his right to know. Even though they couldn’t—would never—be together as a family.

  She walked on, right up to the tree, and still there was no sign of Ben. Okay, so she’d been stood up—maybe—but then again, he could just be a few minutes late, so she’d sit on the sand a while and breathe the smell of the sea and savour the coolness of the evening after a sizzling January day. It was her calming recipe.

  Suddenly, he was there, stepping out from the shadows of the tree.

  “Hello again, Kelly.” As he spoke, his eyes roved up, then down, then up again, lingering on the company logo splashed all over the front of her T‐shirt before coming to rest on her eyes.

  “Good to see you dressed up for me.”

  A smirk formed on his lips. With any other man, she’d have been highly A Father at Last

  embarrassed. She might even have treated him to a fairly impolite retort.

  But he wasn’t any other man.

  This was like stepping back ten years in time to the days when they were best buddies and his silly sense of humour and dark sarcasm always made her laugh. She’d liked him a lot then, but now it was different.

  Then, they were kids. Now, they were adults.

  Then, she’d felt attracted to him. Now, something was happening that was almost frightening in its intensity.

  She looked at him and knew she wanted him.

  “You’re welcome.” She managed what she hoped was a friendly smile and a suitably nonchalant shrug of her shoulders. Not that she was feeling the least little bit nonchalant.

  She was one metre away from him. A couple of steps forward and she could lean in, put her hands on his shoulders and give him a friendly peck on the cheek, as was befitting a meeting with an old friend.

  But she remembered too well their kiss in the department store lift. If she kissed his cheek, she might not be able to stop herself from reclaiming his mouth and pulling him in close, body to body, so that she could feel every inch of him against her.

  He did it for her—stepped closer and kissed her, not on the cheek, but on the lips, a fleeting, sweet caress that was over before she could respond, and left her wanting more.

  Then he was standing back from her, but had taken her hand in a firm, cool grasp, watching her with unreadable eyes.

  “Come on,” he said simply, and led her down a couple of rough steps to the beach-ward side of the tree, where he’d spread a picnic rug on the sand. On it sat a small chilly bin and beside the portable cool‐box were a dewy bottle of French champagne and two elegantly stemmed champagne flutes.

  He stopped at the edge of the rug, still holding her hand.

  “I didn’t really mean that about your clothes,” he said softly. “It doesn’t matter what you wear, I’ll always think you’re gorgeous. In fact,” he turned to her with a quirky grin, “if you were wearing nothing, I’d think you were even more gorgeous.”

  His silly joke broke the ice and she laughed with him, but even as she laughed she remembered—her, lying beside Ben, unashamed in her nakedness; him, touching her body in wonder.

  “Dream on,” was all she said now.

  “Oh, I will. I will.” For a second, his eyes were serious, and she thought she saw a longing that matched hers. Was he remembering too? Then he let go of her hand, and reached down to scoop up the bottle and a glass.

  “Champagne, mademoiselle?”

  Julie Mac

  “Please.” Then she wondered where on earth her brain was. Champagne with Ben Carter? It was too easy, far too damn easy to forget why she was here tonight. Not a date, she told herself again. Not a date. It would be so simple—so natural—to drink champagne with him, talk, reminisce and compare notes about old acquaintances. And then kiss him until her mind turned to cotton‐wool, and let him lay his strong body next to hers.

  What was she thinking? Half a glass, max. That’s all she’d allow herself. She needed a clear head. She needed to tell him he was Dylan’s dad, calmly, without emotion. Keep it businesslike.

  It would be a simple explanation. Yes, it was his right to know, but that didn’t mean she had to let him into their lives. Ben was smart—he’d understand that someone dwelling on the wrong side of the law couldn’t be a part of a little boy’s life. And if he didn’t understand, then tough! She would explain that she wanted nothing from him, and that introducing him to Dylan now would be terribly disruptive for the little boy. Twelve or maybe fifteen or possibly even twenty would be a better age for introductions. Simple.

  She’d tell him the truth tonight. Then it would be ‘Goodnight, Ben,’ she’d jump in her car and go home.

  Meantime…she would enjoy the company—the perfectly innocent company—of a handsome man.

  And he was
handsome. No ifs or buts. Willing herself to feel calm, she smiled. Being with him here, in this place where they’d spent time as kids, was scrambling her brain. Then, she’d been a girl; now she was a woman, and his presence, his voice, his smile—

  everything—was doing the weirdest things to her. Being with him was like walking on a sparkly cloud, floating in a happy dream.

  She smiled wider at the silliness of her analogy, watching as he eased the cork with a satisfying hiss from the champagne, poured a glass and handed it to her.

  She breathed in the yeasty scent of the golden bubbles and enjoyed the view as he poured his own drink. In the soft light of dusk, he looked even better than she remembered, his dark hair and brows accentuating the unusual light green‐gold of his eyes, his strong jaw shadowed with dark whiskers.

  The baggy jeans, outsize T‐shirt and hoodie of the day at court were gone, as were the long shorts, loose shirt and baseball cap he’d worn at the beach yesterday. Tonight, he wore well‐fitted jeans and a plain black T‐shirt that showed off a taut, toned physique and revealed muscled arms.

  She was surprised to see him pour a very small portion of champagne into his glass, then top it up with orange juice from a bottle in the chilly bin.

  “Isn’t that a waste of good French champagne?” she queried, one eyebrow raised.

  “A contradiction in terms, you think—orange juice and champers?” He moved back to stand close to her. “I’d call it a sensible idea, because I want to keep my wits about me and I haven’t eaten much all day.”

  A Father at Last

  He gave his glass a gentle ‘clink’ against hers. “To you, my Kelly,” he said, his eyes never leaving hers, and she felt again that insidious, inexorable pull towards him, as if she was at the other end of an elastic bungee cord.