A Ludlow Nights Romance: Book 3

 

by CC MACKENZIE

 

 

 

Copyright © CC MacKenzie 2017

CC MacKenzie has asserted her right to be identified

as the author of this work.

All rights reserved. No part of the publication may be reproduced, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, imaging, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

ISBN: 9781909331464

 

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places and events other than those clearly in the public domain, are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Published by More Press

 

Cover Design by Gabrielle Prendergast

 

 

 

 

CC MACKENZIE is a USA Today bestselling author.

CC writes fast paced, sexy, contemporary romance with unforgettable characters.

 

Born in Scotland, she could write her name when she was three and excelled in English. In spite of failing Math, she went on to a successful career in International Banking specializing in trade finance, which just goes to show Karma has a hilarious sense of humour. Once upon a time, she was dared to dance with cheer leading pompoms to Love Shack by the B-52's on top of a moving truck. She did and she has the pictures to prove it.

 

Readers have dubbed her books, "made me laugh and made me cry," "hot," "page turners" – all of which have delighted her enough to put in her bio, but humbled her enough not to tell her H in case he wants to bring her down a peg or two and make her do her own laundry.

 

If you meet CC in the flesh, you should call her Christine.

 

 

Christine loves to hear from her readers.

You can find her at:

 

 

For Other Books By CC

 

Website

 

Facebook

 

Twitter

 

Email

 

 

Sean Kennedy had a simple rule when it came to women—

if they were hard work—

he didn't bother.

Why put himself through unnecessary hassle?

And then he met a blonde bombshell...

 

 

From the moment Sean Kennedy frisked T.C. he captivated her. The look in the bodyguard's tawny eyes for her was too intense, insanely sexy and dominant. He was a powerful man who towered over everyone. And a man who believed he could have anything and anyone. Despite T.C.'s reservations, she had a night of passion with him. A night which brought the demons of her past into her present and her future.

Demons that have no intention of ever letting her go.

But Sean was a man prepared to fight dirty for the woman he wanted.

And a man who'd never lost a battle—yet.

 

BREAK the RULES is the third installment of THE LUDLOW NIGHTS series. It can be read as a standalone. But, to fully appreciate Sean and T.C.'s story, I recommend combining the reading experience with HIS RULES and HER RULES.

 

 

 

“She is beautiful, and therefore to be wooed; She is woman, and therefore to be won.”

 

William Shakespeare

 

F CONTENTS

 

 

TER ONE

"You have the luck of the Irish, alright. It is not every day a man saves two lives, is hit by a bus and survives to tell the tale."

Propped up on pillows in his hospital bed, Sean Kennedy eyed the tall, blonde bombshell.

Theresa Catliff was a stunner all right and mouth-wateringly gorgeous. Today, she wore a floaty summer dress the color of her eyes, a vivid violet. She seemed to have an unending collection of floaty dresses. The way the fabric tightened against her superb breasts, he was sure they were designed to test a man. The dress had little shoestring straps. Little straps that might take a man mere seconds to untie. Her smooth skin had been kissed by the sun.

Sean closed his eyes, not only against the agony of his ribs, but the ache between his legs. He was assigned to protect the head of Ferranti Communications, Anastacia Morgan, fiancée of Italian soccer star, Olivier Conti. And in that role he'd saved Anastacia and her friend Danni. Hence the part where he'd been hit by a bus and was now lying in a hospital bed in Paris. Fortunately for him he hadn't broken anything. But, he'd ended up with a concussion and banged up ribs.

Theresa, aka T.C., was one of Anastacia's best pals and the bane of Sean's existence.

For six days she'd taken on the role of his fake fiancée.

He'd been out of it when, in order to gain access to his room, she'd lied to the medical staff and told them she was his bride-to-be. On day one, she'd pitched up in his room with a silver “Get-Well-Soon” balloon and an enormous purple teddy bear. The bear's maniacal grin had seriously freaked him out during a delirium caused by his bump on the head. Then she'd proceeded to have an argument with his doctor —in horribly bad French—about pain medication. She appeared to have the uncanny knack of being able to tell, simply by looking at him, he was in pain.

Although Sean didn't believe in the existence of magic, he'd begun to wonder if she was a witch.

Six days later and the woman had his entire medical team eating out of her hand.

Seemed she'd taken to the role of a loving, caring fiancée like the proverbial duck to water.

As he opened his eyes and examined her flawless face, her dancing blue eyes held their usual challenge. He swore that when he was back on his feet, he'd kiss the very breath from that voluptuous body. "I thought you'd have gone home today with your little pals."

In response to his cranky tone, her eyes narrowed in a long and very slow study of his face.

A study that saw too damn much.

"Didn't take your pain meds again. Did you?"

Yup, definitely a witch.

"They make me feel as if I'm floating."

"Better floating than being a bad tempered growly bastard. I pity the poor nursing staff around you, I really do." She dropped a leather bag the size of a small town on a visitor chair, moved towards his bedside cabinet and opened the top drawer to rummage around his personal stuff. When the scent of her slid around his senses, warm woman, shampoo and summer, Sean closed his eyes to enjoy the moment. Christ, she smelled incredible. When she didn't find what she was looking for, she turned to him, held out her hand and wiggled her fingers. "Gimme."

Wincing, he slid his hand beneath his pillow, found two pills and told himself the only reason he was giving in without a fight was because the pain in his ribs hurt like hell.

He dropped the pills into her palm.

"Stop being such a man, Sean. Don't you understand that if you don't take these you won't get enough rest to heal?"

He knew he'd received a head injury that may make a person feel as if they're having out of body experiences, but he found it beyond weird that Theresa Catliff was acting as if she gave a hot damn about him. Before he'd been hit by a bus, she'd made it clear, to put it mildly, he was not her favorite person. The idea struck him that perhaps her daily visits to make sure he was alive was a gratitude thing. And didn't that make him feel sick to the stomach, disappointed and downright pissed off?

"Why do you care?" he growled.

Her brows rose. "Hell if I know. If you carry on with the bad attitude, I won't give you your present. Open up." She poured a glass of water, popped the pills into his mouth and watched him wash them down.

Her full lips, painted a glossy red, twitched when he poked out his tongue to prove it.

Christ, now he was behaving like a three-year-old.

He closed his eyes and inhaled her scent.

Truth be told, he was too fucking exhausted to care or to fight with her.

When gentle fingertips brushed his hair back from his forehead, Sean's eyes blinked wide open. He stared into hers and believed he caught a tender look in those baby blues that reminded him of his mother when he'd had mumps. The look was gone in an instant as if it had never been. Sean decided he was hallucinating because to compare the blonde bombshell with his sturdy but loving Irish mother was plain crazy.

However, the pain meds were kicking in.

He closed his eyes and took a careful deep breath to inflate his lungs, something his physio had told him was crucial to ward off bugs like pneumonia. His groan of agony was heartfelt.

It was pure shock, when her mouth whispered over his and it hit him with the force of a tsunami.

His heart pounded in his ears and his dick snapped to attention as if it was eighteen again.

He squeezed his eyes tight shut because there was no way a sissy cotton hospital gown and single blanket would hide his body's betrayal.

"Oh, my good Lord," the witch whispered.

Oh Lord, indeed, Sean thought viciously.

The strong hand clamped on her neck kept her in place while Sean (there was no other word for it) ravaged her mouth.

T.C. had been kissed too many times to count, but she'd never been kissed like this, as if he wanted to take the breath from her lungs. To steady herself, the last thing he needed was her landing on top of him. Her hand on his thigh made him moan into her mouth. The sight of his epic erection had got her all hot and bothered, as her tight nipples and the ache between her legs could attest.

And since she wasn't a woman to pass up such an amazing opportunity, T.C. slid her hand up the blanket to stroke him. Good God, he was hard as steel and thick and long. When his hand on her neck slid to her shoulder to push down the strap of her dress, she shifted back a little to watch his face. His eyes were closed. Heat slashed across amazing cheekbones. His breathing was hectic. He hadn't shaved for a few days and the tawny scruff made him look like a sex God. Apart from a thin white scar which ran from eye to mouth, his skin was clear and tanned and pulled tight across the peaks and dips of his facial bones. He had a wonderful strong jaw. Manly. And still she stroked him in a regular rhythm that made his thigh muscles tighten.

He was close.

A little voice asked her what the hell she thought she was doing.

The man was hurt.

She released him and his head fell back on the pillows.

His hand slid beneath the blanket to grip his erection.

Seemed Sean wasn't at all shy about pleasuring himself in front of a woman.

Fair enough.

She moved to the door to lock it, and turned to find those tawny cat eyes fixed on her.

The look in those intense eyes were so filled with need and lust that her whole body trembled.

"Let me see your ribs," she said. "The last thing I want to do is hurt you, Sean."

In response, he shoved down the blanket and lifted his hospital gown.

"Are you up for a ride, Theresa?"

Her eyes went wide.

Oh.

My.

God.

To the left of a glorious six pack, his flesh was black and blue.

But it was the heavy erection gripped in his fist that held her attention.

He was a beautifully proportioned man.

And she wanted him, all of him, inside her.

Now.

Moving towards her bag, she kicked off her shoes, rummaged until she found an unopened box of condoms and then turned to him.

She ripped open the package. "I want to make it clear this is a one-time only thing."

He watched her through lazy eyes as she stepped out of her thong. "Whatever you say."

She straddled him on the bed, her body slick and ready to take him.

When she slid on protection, his breath hissed from his throat.

Her eyes narrowed on his. "Don't move. I'll do all the work. If I see you in pain I'll stop."

Hands fisted at his sides, his eyes never left hers as she positioned herself and took him in nice and easy and deep. Pleasure had her close her eyes at the way he stretched her, filled her.

He lasted for seven slow and easy pumps of her hips and then erupted.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Heat of mortification crept up his chest, into his neck and up into his face.

"It's been a while," he croaked.

"Hmm," she said, and then examined the evidence for herself.

He'd overflowed the condom.

She should have bought XXL.

Good job she was on the pill to regulate her periods.

Well, these things happened.

It wasn't the best sex she'd ever had, but she'd enjoyed the unique feel of him.

It didn't take her long to dispose of the evidence and clean him up.

She stepped into her thong and her heels fully aware his gaze never once left her flushed face.

With her heart going crazy in her chest, T.C. found she couldn't meet his eyes.

"Once I'm on my feet again, I'll prove to you I can do much better than that."

As she slung her bag over her shoulder, she turned to him and beamed. "How did you like your present?"

He blinked. "You planned this?"

"I've always wondered what it would be like with you. Now I know." She unlocked the door and turned to give him an impertinent finger wave. "Get well soon. Bye."

And left.

Sean stared helplessly at the door.

If Theresa Catliff thought she could waltz into his hospital room, seduce him and then waltz right out again, she had another think coming.

 

 

 

Six weeks later...

Sitting behind her swanky desk in a swanky office befitting her role as Chief Executive Officer of Ferranti Communications, Anastacia Morgan was dressed to kill in a soft black pants suit and nude five inch heels. A girl who considered herself vertically challenged needed all the help she could get. Her hair, a river of inky curls, flowed down her back. On the ring finger of her left hand sat an eye-popping jewel she considered totally over the top. However, the love of her life had chosen it, so she'd wear it.

At the moment, she typed a response to an email from her boss, Nico Ferranti, regarding the Rome video shoot for the new Ferranti Boutique Hotel starring Ana's brand new fiancé, Italian soccer star, Olivier Conti.

Due to an unfortunate sickness, the film director was suffering from complications of adult chickenpox, the whole thing had been delayed by four weeks, much to Nico's irritation.

Ana was beginning to think the whole advertising campaign for the Ferranti Boutique Hotels was jinxed. If it wasn't one thing it was another. At least the Paris promotion looked amazing, in spite of all the drama they'd gone through. She could only hope the Rome shoot would look as good, once they'd got it in the bag.

Dressed in skinny blue jeans, a pale pink ribbed T-shirt and matching soft leather ballet flats, her best friend, Danni Pebbles, sat cross legged on a long white leather sofa. A silver pen tucked behind her ear, her fingers danced over the keys of her laptop. And all the while she was muttering under her breath, something about fabulous shoes and that cranberry was the color for winter. Ana was so proud of her bestie. Her fashion blog had over three million hits this year, which meant big advertising revenue for Danni.

Ana peered at Danni over her black framed reading glasses. "Have you noticed T.C.'s gone quiet," she said, referring to the third person in their best friend troika.

Eyes on her laptop screen, Danni nodded. "Uh-huh. I think she has an issue with your Sean."

Ana adored the head of her protection team.

In Paris, Sean had saved the lives of Ana and Danni from a stalker and nearly lost his own in the process. He was also a man who didn't put up with anyone with a bad attitude, or a potty mouth. And since T.C. had both, things tended to be tense between them.

Ana's head came up. "Sean? He doesn't come back to work until next week. What's her beef with him now?"

Danni shook her head, her eyes still glued to her screen. "Dunno. I just get the L & H vibe."

"The what?"

"The Lust and Hate vibe."

Ana took her time digesting this news. "He's not her type," she said finally. "When it comes to men, T.C. is the one in control. No way would Sean let her lead. He's a pure alpha with a capital A."

"Uh-huh. Doesn't suffer fools either. I like him."

Ana nodded. "I love him, like a brother."

"Having said that, he has his eyes on her."

"Yup. I'd noticed that, but since most men have their eyes on T.C. I didn't think it was a big deal."

"She looks at him, too, but not with lust, it's more like loathing."

"Think something's cooking?"

Danni nodded. "Yup. Simmering. Hot. Under the surface."

"She say anything to you?" Ana frowned. She wasn't sure how she felt about a Sean and T.C. relationship. Not, she reminded herself, that it was any of her business.

"Nope."

"Me neither. And lately have you noticed a distinct lack of F-bombs?"

"I did. I bet Sean's responsible for that, too."

Ana pursed her lips. "She won't be able to keep it up."

"I've been thinking the same thing. When T.C. blows—"

"She blows," Ana agreed. Then her dancing gaze met Danni's. "I wonder how long it will take."

Danni's hazel eyes went wide. "Might get bloody."

An amazing idea popped into Ana's head. "God, what if Sean is the one."

Danni blinked, thought about it. "Nah. She'd fight him tooth and nail."

"It'll be interesting to watch."

"Sure will."

 

Their chat was interrupted by a brisk knock on the door and the arrival of Ana's PA.

Linda clutched a letter in her hand, while she danced a jig on the spot.

Ana peered at her over her glasses, took in the black hair with the burnt orange streaks which matched the plastic frames of her glasses, the ripped jeans that were one size too small and the biker books. The frog tattoo blinking above a navel exposed by a tight black skinny vest caught her eye. It was just as well Linda was an awesome PA and a good friend or they'd have a come-to-Jesus talk about her work attire.

"What's up? You won the lottery?" Ana asked.

Linda's hair was back-combed so high it bounced, along with her thirty-four DD breasts.

"Nope. Even better!"

"You're resigning?"

"Har-de-har-har-har. You are not going to believe it."

"Is this a new game where I guess and you dance?"

In response, Linda boogied over to Ana's desk, placed the letter onto the keyboard and dropped into a seat. "Read that!"

Ana read it.

Her eyes went wide.

Her heart went crazy in her chest.

"Omigod," she whispered.

Danni's head came up. "What?"

Ana stared at Linda.

Linda beamed at Ana.

"OMIGOD!" Ana screamed and leapt to her feet to grab Linda in a hug.

They both danced on the spot.

"For the love of all that's holy, what the hell is wrong with you guys?" Danni rose to pluck the letter from Ana's fingers.

Her eyes went like saucers. "Whoa. Ferranti Communications has been listed for an Eros advertising award this year. Best concept for the Ferranti Boutique Hotel promo."

The joint screams of joy had Ana's personal protection officer peek around the door.

Pete grinned at the scene and went back to his spot by the entrance.

"They're celebrating," he said, by way of an explanation for the noise, to Maria, Chloe and Tanith Rucker, who'd arrived for a lunch date with Ana and Olivier.

 

When her step-mother and half-sisters strolled through the door, a thrilled Ana turned to beam a warm welcome and explain all the excitement.

"I've said it before and I'll say it again," Maria said as she hugged Ana. "There's always something interesting going on in this place."

Once the greetings were done and dusted, Linda pointed to Chloe. "You, come with me and help organize the champagne and glasses. It's time to paaaaaarty!"

Chloe, a tall, leggy, blue-eyed blonde, grinned and checked her watch. "It's not lunchtime."

"A stickler for rules are you?" Linda guessed, studying the girl with shrewd eyes.

"Rules make the world go around."

"Hmm. And some are worth breaking. A small glass in celebration won't kill you."

 

And just as everyone had clinked their glasses, Olivier entered, his dark eyes twinkling in delight. "I just heard from Nico that congratulations are in order."

He grabbed his fiancée in a clinch.

While everyone smiled at the loved-up couple, Linda looked to heaven. "Put her down for a minute." She offered him a glass of bubbly. "Here's to the best boss in the world and her well-deserved nomination. May the best woman win!"

Once the cheers had ended, Olivier sat on Ana's ergonomic chair behind her desk and pulled her onto his lap.

Chloe grinned. "Aw. I love the love between you."

Ana hugged her man close. "Me, too."

"When's the wedding?" Tanith asked.

Ana blinked as her mind went a complete blank. "Um..."

"Whenever Ana wants it," Olivier said into the suddenly awkward silence.

"Um..."

He shifted to look into her wide blue eyes. "There is no need for the scared-to-death face, cara. I am a patient man."

Phew.

Ana reckoned she'd dodged the bullet.

She turned to a furiously blushing and mortified looking Tanith. "We've plenty of time to decide. We're young. We have careers."

"None of which should stop a couple making the ultimate commitment," Maria Rucker said.

Ana was a woman well in tune with her inner self and understood her personal flaws and strengths, ergo she did not respond well to external pressure in her personal life. Ana reckoned her step-mother needed to butt out of her business. "Why does everybody jump immediately to a wedding?" she snapped.

Linda narrowed her eyes at the combative tone and stepped in to what bore all the hallmarks of the first breach between a strong-willed step-mother and even stronger-willed step-daughter. "Okay, boss lady. No need to go all looney-tunes. Maybe the rock the size of Gibraltar on your hand has something to do with it."

Before Ana could reply, Olivier stood, set her on her feet and took her hand.

"Time for lunch," he said and dragged her and the rest of the family out of the door.

 

Danni watched them leave.

She turned to a thoughtful looking Linda.

"Maria needs to back off a little. Ana's not accustomed to having a mother figure in her life. She's used to making her own decisions in her own time. If she comes under pressure, she'll push back."

Linda collected the champagne glasses and the empty bottle on a tray. "Hmm. Trouble is, the relationship with her father is too new and she won't want to rock the boat with his family. Not yet. Plus, she's coming to terms with putting Olivier's happiness and needs before her own. It's not always easy for someone as independent as she is to let new people in. Adding to the strain is the wedding noises coming from Olivier's Italian mama, too. Ana's in the squeezed middle."

"She gets on well with Valentina," Danni said, packing up her laptop. "They've been chatting regularly on the phone."

"Yes. But, if tension builds and everyone has an opinion and Ana feels her voice is not being heard—you know how she gets."

"She'll flip and then it's looney-tunes." Danni lifted her bag. "God, why is life so bloody complicated? I've told Pascale I want to marry on a beach with just the two of us."

"Hmm. He's from an important family. How did he take that?"

Danni grinned. "Told me I can have whatever makes me happy."

Linda lifted the tray. "And what did Ana and T.C. think of the beach idea?"

"That as long as they're invited, too, I can do what I like."

"A man who's crazy in love with you and two best friends who love you, too. You are a very lucky girl."

"If it wasn't for my parents, I'd agree."

Linda nodded in sympathy. "Is the mother from hell behaving badly?"

Danni made a face as she followed Linda out the door. "She's gone to war with my father again. He says she's having a problem with ageing."

"She needs a boot up the arse."

Danni could only nod in agreement. "Pascale wants to meet her. I've been putting off the evil day for weeks."

"He's a big boy. He'll handle himself."

"Yes, but I'll just sit there and be mortified and embarrassed."

Linda placed the tray on her desk and turned to open her arms. Danni stepped into the hug. "Don't take responsibility for her behavior. I hear she's attending Ana's engagement party?"

"Couldn't keep her away. I can't believe she had the gall to invite herself."

"Look on the bright side, when Pascale meets her for the first time, you'll be among friends with plenty of support."

Danni supposed Linda was right, but she just couldn't get rid of the worry gnawing in her gut. What if Pascale changed his mind about her when he met her chronically dysfunctional family? Then she decided she was doing the man a huge injustice. Pascale Wolfe was well-named. He put up with no shit from anyone.

Linda's mouth curved. "Chin-up. I'll be there, too."

Danni gave Linda another hug goodbye and left.

As she and entered the elevator and pressed the button and told herself she was a worry wort.

Pascale loved her, he said so every chance he got.

Everything would be fine.

Next day...

In twenty-six years only three things in life had dropped Olivier Conti to his knees—soccer, the death of his father, and making love first thing in the morning to Anastacia Morgan.

His talent for the beautiful game had come from his father's gene pool. The first time he'd scored a genuine goal—he'd been seven—he knew he'd found his purpose, his focus, his reason for living.

His father's early death had been devastating. Nine years later and the loss still casts a dark cloud over the Conti family. Along with his mother and his two younger sisters they missed him every single day, but thanks to Nico Ferranti's help and support, they'd survived. Hell, as a family they were thriving.

His mother and sisters were due to fly in later today to prepare for his engagement party at Ludlow Hall tomorrow night.

And as for Anastacia—his brand new fiancée—he adored her beyond all reason.

Lying naked on his back in their new big bed in their new London apartment, Olivier stretched his spine like big happy cat feeling all loose and limber after a night of great sex.

"Feels weird not working on a work day," Ana said, her voice thick with sleep.

Her attempt to slip out of bed was easily foiled by Olivier rolling on top of her.

He grinned into her heavy eyes, then his gaze slid to her full mouth and as usual his dick went rock hard.

In response, her blue eyes narrowed. "Don't even think about it." Then she licked her lips and his erection jerked against her inner thigh. "You're insatiable," she whispered even as her blue eyes went dark with arousal.

He studied her flushed cheeks, the way her breath hitched. "Si. Only for you. Only ever for you."

"I love you," she whispered in a tone that melted his heart, his very soul.

It had taken time for her to fully open her heart and let him in and Olivier promised himself he would never do anything to break her trust.

"I love you, Anastacia, bella."

She was so very precious to him and so essential to his life in the way she was a permanent part of his thoughts. He told himself he was going to take it slow as he loved her. Be gentle. But the smell of her, all warm and soft woman, drove him insane.

Her hands were already in his hair, nails digging deep into his scalp to pull him closer. Her lips were gently nibbling at his—taunting, torturing, taking more. When her greedy hand slid between them to find him hot and hard, Olivier swore an oath in Italian.

Her laugh was soft and wicked and it tripped a switch inside him.

Between one heartbeat and the next, he had her wrists pinned above her head with one hand, while the other slid beneath her bare bottom to get the angle just right.

And then he took her fast and hard, until she sobbed with every thrust, until she screamed his name as the orgasm rocketed her into oblivion and beyond.

The way her body pulsed around his triggered his own climax.

He collapsed on top of her.

They were a tangled, sweaty mess.

When he finally found the strength to lift himself to his elbows to make sure he hadn't killed her, he looked down and had to smile.

Her skin was pale and flawless and her hair an inky tumble of curls. Naked, sated, she looked like any man's erotic wet dream. The flare of desire in her eyes caused his own as he hardened deep within her. As her lips, swollen from his kiss, parted for him, Olivier Conti knew he was one lucky bastard.

Later, as they shared a late breakfast, Anastacia, dressed in yoga pants and a T-shirt, checked her phone and the text in shouty letters from Danni.

"Bugger."

Wearing soft jeans and a ratty T-shirt, Olivier, busy topping up their coffee from the pot, paused to raise an enquiring brow. "Problem?"

Her frown was fierce as she tapped out a rapid response.

She muttered, "It's the 22nd. How the hell could I forget it's the 22nd?"

"What is so special about today?"

Still focused on her phone, Anastacia shook her head. "It's special to T.C. Christ, I'm a terrible best friend."

"Is it her birthday?"

It was a perfectly sensible question, Ana decided. At times being in a committed relationship was like walking through a mine field. She hated keeping secrets from the love of her life, but this wasn't her secret to share. So, instead of telling him the truth, Ana went with prevarication.

"No. It's just the anniversary of something." When her phone pinged with another message from Danni, it wasn't good news. Ana chewed on her bottom lip. She lifted her head to find Olivier's gaze steady on hers. "Any chance of me opting out of part of our plans today?"

His dark brows rose as his eyes went wide in complete shock. "You do not want to meet my mother?"

"Of course I do! It's just that Danni and I always spend today with T.C."

She didn't add that because he'd distracted her with morning sex, she'd forgotten all about the date. In fact it struck her that since she'd met Olivier they'd pretty much been joined at the hip. Perhaps that had to change? However, letting down a friend in her hour of need was, as far as Ana was concerned, not acceptable.

"Mama is flying in from Rome to meet you. And T.C. is attending our party at Ludlow Hall tomorrow," he spoke the words softly, the tone perfectly reasonable.

Reading the confusion and the hurt in his eyes, Ana realized she couldn't let him down either.

She was stuck between a rock and a hard place.

What to do?

"Let me call T.C. and explain the situation," she said.

 

"Frankly, it is not a big deal, Banana!" T.C. yelled in Ana's ear.

Ana chewed her bottom lip. Beneath the cranky tone did her friend sound sad? She was sure she sounded sad.

"You're sad," she said.

"I'm FINE! Honest. Look, you cannot miss collecting Mama Conti and Olivier's sisters from the airport. And I'll see you at the party tomorrow."

"I know, but..."

"But nothing."

"But Danni's in Paris, she's not returning until tomorrow morning..." Ana began again only to be rudely interrupted.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Banana. We're all adults. We have lives and commitments. And I'm happy that both of you are so fucking happy. Go and meet your future mother-in-law. She's a helluva lot more important than I am."

Since the F-bomb had been dropped, twice, a fact which proved T.C. was indeed feeling fine, Ana decided she could live with it.

"Okay. But if you need to talk..."

"I'm good! I'm working. Go away."

 

Olivier sipped his coffee and watched her over the rim of his cup. "What is so special about the 22nd?" he asked again.

"It's just a thing."

A black brow rose. "A thing?"

Placing her phone on the countertop, Ana shifted to wrap her arms around his waist and inhale the heady scent of coffee fresh from the pot and her man.

"Hmm. You need a shower," she said hoping to distract him.

It worked.

He sniffed his armpit even though she reckoned he smelled heavenly.

"Join me."

Ana shook her head as she placed her hand over his holding the cup and stole a sip of his coffee. "Nope. My hair's a nightmare to dry."

"Join me."

She gave him points for persistence, moved away and missed the gleam in his eye. "No. But I will be a domestic Goddess and fetch you a clean towel."

By the time she returned to their bathroom with a big white fluffy towel, the power shower hissed as it spat out steaming water.

"Here's the towel," she yelled, her mind still on T.C.

"Perdono?" His voice was muffled by water.

She leaned in to enjoy the view of her naked and fit man.

And what a view.

He had the tightest ass she'd ever seen. His shoulders were wide and muscled. He turned and her gaze slid over a ridged six pack, his flat belly to his... Oh, mama.

"I've put it on the heated rail."

"I can't hear you!" Olivier yelled.

When she popped her head inside the glass door, strong hands caught and dragged her beneath the force of the jets.

"You..." she spluttered, her squeaks of outrage mingled with laughter as she pretended to punch him. "You've ruined my hair."

"Oops," he said, laughing down into her face, his black lashes all spiky. "I am economising on water to save the planet and get you naked."

He pulled her close and kissed her hard, disregarding the sting of the water teeming down on both of them.

Ana gave up and let him have his way.

***

Later, as Olivier's car limped its way through heavy London traffic on the way to the airport, Ana turned to him.

She couldn't help but admire the way he wore plain blue jeans and a crisp white shirt, both expensive and exquisitely cut, but neither screaming money. Although the same couldn't be said for the outrageously expensive timepiece on his wrist from one of his most important sponsors.

Actually, she looked pretty hot herself in her little shift dress by her favorite designer. And thanks to Olivier messing up her hair, she'd tied it in a loose plait that sat over her breast.

"I love it when you speak Italian to me. Say something."

He kept his eyes on the road, but his lips twitched.

"Cappucinno," he drawled.

"Olivier!"

His face went serious. "Okay—Americano."

"Har-har. I need to learn Italian, pronto!"

"I am happy to teach you my language—among other things."

"Like what?"

"Like trusting me to take care of your heart," he said softly.

Ana wondered how the hell their conversation had gone from light to deep in the space of a few seconds.

"This is about setting a date for the wedding, isn't it?" She sat up, shoved the weight of her plait behind her shoulder and kept her eyes fixed on the road ahead. "What difference will it make? We live together, most of the time."

Which was true, except between them they were racking up the frequent flyer miles.

A decision about their future needed to be made, and fast.

Could she meet him half way?

Maybe?

His sigh was deep and heartfelt. "I want more. You want more. You know it."

She did know it.

And a compromise wouldn't kill her.

"I'll speak to Nico, see if I can move the office to Rome. At the end of the day I can work from anywhere."

He turned to look at her. "You would do that for me?"

"Yes. Something tells me Linda will do a happy dance at the thought of relocating to a city full of hot Italian men."

"I am stunned you would even consider it," Olivier admitted.

Ana knew the feeling. "To tell you the truth, so am I. My whole life is here in this city. My friends are here and now my family, too."

Olivier shook his head. "There is no rush to move or to marry, tesoro."

"Hmm. But I bet being married will smooth the path ahead with your mother?" Ana guessed.

"Si. Of course it will. Always remember I love you, cara. I love you more than life."

She knew that and covered his hand with hers.

"And I love you so much, Olivier. So much."

 

A companionable silence reigned for a few minutes, until Olivier turned to her.

"You are quiet."

"I'm nervous."

"You have no need. Mama will love you. You talked on the phone for over an hour last week. She loves you already."

Ana made a face. "Yeah, but that's not the same as meeting my future mother-in-law in the flesh."

There was always the busy hum of traffic and people on a Friday afternoon in summer in London. Wide-eyed tourists, wearing their usual uniform of sneakers, jeans and back packs, roamed in closely packed groups. Loved-up couples took pics on their selfie sticks.

However, the majority hovered at the black iron fence surrounding Buckingham Palace, cameras clicking madly at soldiers standing to attention and guarding the gates. They wore red jackets, shiny brass buttons and black bearskin helmets. T.C. reckoned the poor guys must be as hot as hell in all that gear.

From the rail of her penthouse apartment, she enjoyed the ebb and flow of humanity. High above, she absorbed the wide variety of languages and cultures and noise, without being an intrinsic part of it. Danni always said that T.C. was an observer of life until she wanted to let her hair down and be reckless and bang in the middle of all the action. And T.C. supposed that was true.

The persistent ache of grief in her heart was a permanent reminder of a time when she'd been reckless and it had led to a disaster of her own making.

Who'd have thought the price would have been a human life?

But summer in England, especially late summer, always triggered memories of the past, good times, when her life had been normal. Until one afternoon when she'd made a fatal mistake which had cost herself and her family dear. At this time of year, she couldn't help but relive the moment over and over in her dreams until she couldn't eat, couldn't sleep. Last night's nightmare had been a particularly harrowing one that had left her pillow wet with tears.

Years of painful experience had taught T.C. that any attempt to run from the past usually led to her in a bar with her emotions wired too tight, drinking too much and ending in a one night stand. Maybe one of these days she'd move past the guilt, the shame and a grief that was pitiless as it was unrelenting.

The time had come to move on, or at the very least, to deal with the loss differently.

She didn't have much choice.

And definitely no alcohol.

Lifting her head, she let the wind whip her hair. It danced frantic and free on the breeze, a heavy shock of blonde, the shade of light gold found on a newly minted pound coin. Her skin was lightly tanned from her recent trip to support her best friends in Paris.

 Anastacia often said T.C.'s eyes—depending on her mood—were a regal purple. T.C. herself called them a common blue and didn't waste precious brain cells on the precise shade. A few men, who deludedly thought they were being poetic and romantic, declared them lavender. And anyway, who gave a shit about poetry or romance? Not her.

Seriously, T.C. thought a man was a complete tool if he fell for the color of a person's eyes. Eye shade was merely the lottery of genetics and had nothing to do with the woman within. For twenty-four years she'd put up with people dissecting the beauty of her eyes, and had come to the decision most people were beyond stupid. In truth, she took after her great-grandma on her father's side—as the family portrait, painted in oil, in her hallway proved. If anyone had taken the time to actually ask, she'd have explained, in words of one syllable, the biological process of how a gene was passed from one generation to another—including eye and hair color, height and build—plus the same do-not-mess-with-me disposition. However, most men were genuinely not interested in scientific fact and T.C. was genuinely not interested in most men.

Most men.

There was one man she'd left herself no choice but be interested in.

Although Sean Kennedy had absolutely no idea she was concerned with him at all—and that was the way she planned to keep it.

For now.

It wasn't as if she could lay the blame for what happened at his door, because he'd done nothing wrong.

But anxiety about how she was going to cope alone in the future wound tight in her gut. At the end of the day, T.C. couldn't blame anyone except herself for the shit storm that was about to hit her entire world and everyone in it.

 

Her mind trapped in constant circles hunting for a solution which wasn't forthcoming, she kept an eye on the comings and goings far below her knowing full well she was deep in what Anastacia would call procrastination mode. In the normal course of events, Ana and Danni would have remembered today's date. But these days nothing was normal between her and her besties. Anastacia and Danni were crazy mad in love. And since today was the anniversary of a horrible time in her life, they'd called her to make sure she was alright. Her response had been to tell them to get on with their own lives and have fun with the men they loved. Which was as it should be and was probably just as well. Because if, when, they learned what she'd done, they'd be pretty damn horrified.

Hell, she was horrified with herself.

A whimper escaped from her throat.

Oh God, what had possessed her to kiss Sean like that?

One kiss had led to one thing and then another.

Truth was, the man had been helpless lying in his hospital bed and she'd found that helplessness simply irresistible. Plus, she'd been just as helpless to resist an attraction that had been burning hot for weeks. She hadn't been able to turn down the chance of being in control of him, for once, either.

It had been her choice to visit him during his stint in hospital in Paris.

In her heart, she knew gratitude played a large part in why she'd let her guard down with him. She'd been so terribly grateful he'd saved Ana and Danni's lives by laying his own on the line. Although, she supposed risking his life in the protection of others was the kind of thing a bodyguard did. Plus, with the bump on his hard head and his ribs all banged up, he'd been helpless to defend himself against her womanly wiles. To gain entry to his room, she'd told the French authorities she was his bride-to-be. Typically, they'd fallen for the romance and given her unlimited access to a brave and gorgeous tough guy who was about six foot four and two hundred and twenty pounds of hard muscle.

A guy who'd watched her from beneath his dense lashes, his cheeks hectic with lust as she'd kissed him—with tongues. The thought of how he'd tasted, powerfully male, even now made the pulse between her legs ache and throb and want. Her nipples peaked beneath her T-shirt.

T.C. took in a deep breath to try and ease the need, but it was no use.

Six weeks later, she was still mortified by the memory of that kiss and by the dirty things she'd done to him. Things that had left her feeling dazed, confused and her belly all twisty with need.

Afterwards, she'd given him a finger wave good-bye and strolled right out of the room and out of his life.

Since then, she'd ignored his texts.

Every day, he rang, once, and left the same message on her machine. "Pick up the phone, Theresa."

She reckoned Sean Kennedy was more stubborn than most, but he'd give up soon enough.

They always did.

T.C. had a rule that any emotional involvement with a man was, for a variety of reasons which made perfect sense to her, not an option. Although she'd well and truly broken that rule with Sean.

The trouble was, she'd no idea what to do about it.

Through the grapevine, mainly from Danni, she'd learned that Sean was due to return to active duty any day—as Ana's lead personal protection officer. Seemed the guy was going stir crazy after weeks stuck at home doing paperwork.

T.C. tried to have sympathy for him, and failed, because she had something more important to worry about.

Something she hadn't prepared for.

Something she could never have imagined.

 

Recently, and when she least expected it, her brain seemed to delight in taking sneaky little trips down memory lane. She'd been feeling off, a bit brain foggy, since returning from Paris.

Yesterday morning, she'd taken a nap.

In sleep, the dream of one of the worst moments of her life had seemed so real to her, she'd cried out. She was back in her childhood home. The argument with her mother had begun like so many others, over a small thing, and had escalated into a screaming tantrum from a child desperate for an affection that was deliberately withheld.

In response, T.C. had broken every single piece of the family's collection of Edinburgh crystal glass.

"I hate you," T.C. had screamed at her mother, with every single furious beat of her twelve-year-old heart.

"We do not do hate in this house, Theresa," her mother had replied, her blue eyes like ice, flat and hard. Her lilac business suit the perfect foil for her slim blonde beauty. "To hate we'd need to care in the first place about a person who's torn the beating heart from this family. I don't care about you and neither does your father, and it is about time you grew up and realized the truth."

T.C. had accepted long ago that rejection from her parents had broken something fundamental inside her.

She'd never truly recovered from it.

Once she'd reached the age of independence, she walked away and never looked back.

For the last six years she hadn't set eyes on her parents.

And apart from Ana and Danni, T.C. didn't do close friends either.

She certainly didn't do close relationships with men.

Truth was, since the age of twelve, T.C. had lived each day just waiting for the axe to fall on her and chop her heart from her chest.

After all, she expected, she deserved, nothing less.

 

But now Sean, through no fault of his own, had forced his way into her life.

Actually, she'd forced her way into his life.

He was brave.

Gorgeous.

Sexy.

And in Paris, she'd seen him vulnerable in a way she knew he'd never willingly have shown her.

Maybe she had feelings for him.

Maybe he'd even taken a tiny piece of her heart.

Maybe.

But another possibility filled her with utter dread.

What if she cared too much?

What if she'd tripped and fallen down the rocky road to love?

The thought horrified her enough that her heart began to pound against her ribs.

Nah.

Not possible.

She hardly knew the man.

And anyway, people chose to love.

They didn't just fall into love against their will.

Did they?

The truth hit her so hard she could hardly catch a single breath.

And now her heart stopped before it went crazy.

She loved.

Oh God, she loved Sean.

The whole idea was insane on so many different levels.

She didn't do love, couldn't do love for one simple reason, she didn't deserve such a gift.

Over the years, she'd learned one very hard lesson.

If she loved, she'd be punished for it.

Even if she couldn't quite imagine what form the punishment might take.

Lying alone in her bed, she'd curled up into a ball to make herself smaller.

To wait.

 

She hadn't needed to wait long.

It had taken exactly twenty-four hours after the nightmare of her argument with her mother for the axe to fall.

And when her punishment came, it had been a doozy.

Pregnant.

Knocked up.

Knocked out, more like.

Bloody hell.

Now what?

 

Sean Kennedy had often been told he was a man of few words.

Fair comment, he supposed.

In the army, his superior officers had called him a challenge, usually because they were talking a complete crock of shit.

He was street wise.

And perfectly at home in the desert where he'd honed many deadly skills.

Not that there was a lot of sand, or a desperate need for deadly skills, in London.

Taking time to prepare for his return to his day job, to keep a close eye on Anastacia Morgan, he checked what was left of the bruising on his ribs. His hours of physio might have hurt like hell, but at thirty-three he was relatively young, fit and a fast healer. His breathing had improved and he'd managed a steady jog this morning without coughing up a lung.

Considering he lived in one of the most expensive cities in the world, his two-bedroom apartment was spacious and airy, all glass and steel. It had tall windows overlooking the murky waters of the winding river Thames. He'd bought it years before Canary Wharf had become a big deal and had never regretted it. He was careful with money, some might say a little too careful, but Sean never gave a shit about what others thought. He worked hard. His personal protection business was in the black. He might live frugally and not worry about home comforts like a couch or a T.V. but that was no one's business but his own.

For the first time in years he'd grown his hair long enough to actually style it.

Not that he was vain, but Nico Ferranti had told him he looked like GI Joe and to grow it to blend in with the staff and clients of Ferranti Communications.

Sean had a lot of time for Nico and Bronte Ferranti and their rapidly expanding family.

Their kids were a blast, especially little Sophia. The last time he'd been in her delightful company, she'd told him she was six and asked him wait until she was at least eighteen because she was gonna marry him. He had to laugh. The kid was a complete pistol, no wonder Nico's hair was going grey.

One day—maybe—Sean himself might meet a woman prepared to put up with him, settle down and have a family of his own.

One day.

And of course that thought put the blonde bombshell that was Theresa Catliff in his head.

Again.

The girl might be drop-dead-fucking-gorgeous, but she was also stubborn as a fucking mule.

Obstinate.

Contrary.

And determinedly ignoring his texts and his calls.

T.C. wasn't any man's idea of wife and mother material, especially with her bad attitude, bad temper and that beautiful but potty mouth.

Then again, knowing her, she'd likely surprise him.

After all, the woman lived to surprise him.

He loved the sound of her smoky voice. It was a voice that crawled under a man's skin and tugged low in the belly. Plus, she'd smelled amazing—warm woman and sweet and delicious—like a blonde bombshell should.

He grinned, thinking of the first time he'd seen her and the way she'd stopped him in his tracks. The face of an angel with the mouth of an Irish road digger. Sean hadn't been able to take his eyes off of her. Still couldn't, truth be told. She had the most amazing bone structure and that flawless peaches and cream skin, like silk or velvet. Her hair was a glorious tumble of blonde, all shiny and slippery. And, man, those eyes were large, a stunning blue framed with thick dark blonde lashes. She was tall, curvy, perfect—even with a dirty mouth and bad attitude—he couldn't get enough of her.

He heaved a sigh filled with a weird yearning that went deep into his very soul.

Pity she didn't feel the same way about him.

Sean was a big boy.

He accepted that once had been enough for her.

She had a rule, one time with a man and that was it.

End of.

He grinned again, and wasn't it a shame that Sean Kennedy lived to break the rules?

It had been six long weeks since she'd seduced him in his hospital bed when he'd been too weak to put up much of a fight.

Actually, he might have been dosed up to the eyes with pain medication, but he'd loved every single minute of it. Hell, he'd even kept the revolting purple teddy bear she'd bought him. Although he'd dumped the Get Well Soon silver balloon.

What he needed, Sean decided, was a plan.

He was ex-military.

He was good with plans.

What was her weakness?

When it hit him, he had to smile.

Sugar.

The girl had a sweet tooth.

Laughing softly, he kicked back in his chair and decided to beard the lioness in her den.

Seeing her natural habitat, her environment, would give him a much better idea of how she ticked.

Knowledge, as the old saying said, was power.

At the end of the day, he was a goal-oriented man.

His goal was to get her into his bed and keep her there.

For good.

The girl, he decided, didn't stand a chance.

 

Sean discovered she lived in a converted Mansion apartment near the edge of The Mall.

Super-expensive.

Fancy.

Very fancy.

The chatty concierge was ex-army, which had been a lucky break for Sean.

Seemed T.C. had the top two floors—impressive—rich—unexpected.

She didn't sound rich—no private school plummy accent.

She didn't dress rich—except when she was all dolled up to go out with her pals on a girlie night.

From what he'd observed when he'd seen her at Ana's and Olivier's apartment, she tended to live in a legging-T-shirt-sweatshirt combo, not designer threads.

As he stood outside her flat, he admired the huge arched double doors made of oak. They had handles and a heavy knocker made of a brass so polished he could see his reflection.

As he lifted his hand to the knocker, Sean wondered what he'd find inside.

 

 

***

Her belly might still tremble and jump with shock, but T.C. felt more like herself as she sat at her glass topped desk. Her fingers rattled at over one hundred words per minute on the keyboard of her slim silver laptop.

At the last count, her blog had two million followers and was growing nicely, with a core group of hardened fans who hung onto her every word. Which, in T.C.'s mind, meant she owed it to them to do the best job she could when it came to recommending beauty products.

Just as well they couldn't see her now.

Her skin was pasty and sallow, which was a disaster of epic proportions for someone who promoted the clean and natural look. According to her mirror this morning, she looked like an extra from the Walking Dead. And if fashion guru Danni had set her critical eyes on her, she'd have had a heart attack. She'd certainly consign T.C.'s ratty T-shirt and moth-eaten yoga pants to the nearest dumpster.

T.C. found comfort in the old and the familiar and since both were comfortable, she reckoned Danni could kiss her ass.

On a positive note, this morning she'd found the energy to shower and wash her hair. She'd used a super secret sample of a new shampoo, which had arrived by courier, from a Big Name beauty company.

T.C. grabbed the end of her messy ponytail and inhaled. The scent, sort of fresh flowers mixed with spring time in the mountains, was to die for and, more importantly, didn't turn her horribly sensitive stomach. Her hair was silky soft and manageable. As her fingers flew over the keys to write up her report, she reckoned they were on to something big with this product. She opened an email to the company and filled in their tick sheet, made a copy for her files, and sent them her initial findings.

A glance at a wall clock the size of a dustbin lid told her she'd been working for four hours straight.

Time to take a break.

She padded on socked feet into her vast kitchen-dining-living space to fill the kettle. While she was at it stuck a finger in the soil of the herb pots on her window ledge. She gave them a drink. The waistband of her leggings was definitely too loose, probably because they'd been washed so many times the elastic had worn.

A firm hand on the knocker on her apartment door made her frown.

Eddie, the concierge, usually made sure all deliveries were buzzed up first.

Maybe it was his day off?

 

Still frowning, T.C. opened the door to a Sean Kennedy standing there as large as life and wearing a shit-eating-grin.

Two things seriously annoyed her, the clutch in her belly and the fact she struggled to feel surprised.

Good God, how could she have forgotten how tall he was—how big.

Beyond furious that he'd caught her when she was a hot mess with a bare, shiny face without even a slick of lip gloss. And worse—no bra.

Couldn't he have called first?

But then she remembered she'd ignored his calls in a clear message to back off.

In typical Sean Kennedy fashion, he'd called her bluff.

Damn him.

Her brows rose as she took in the black leather boots, combats and long sleeved muscle shirt.

"I'm ready and prepared to do battle." His deep voice had that soft lilt of Ireland which always made her melt. Then he drawled, "With my new fiancée."

To hide how happy she was to see him, her eyes narrowed into slits. "I'm not a real fiancée. You know perfectly well the hospital wouldn't permit me to visit you unless I was close to you. What was I supposed to say?"

He leaned his shoulder against the doorjamb and smiled, forcibly reminding her of a great white shark. "Hmm. You behaved like a real fiancée. You brought me a purple teddy bear and a silver balloon. You brought me flowers. You kissed me. I've never had a fiancée before. You're my first."

Her cheeks glowed, because she had done all of the above and an awful lot more.

However, no matter how much her hormones wanted to dance with him, she seriously didn't have the patience for him right now.

She needed time to think, to plan, to decide what to do and to come to terms with her situation.

Therefore, she wanted him gone.

Now.

"I bet you think you're funny, don't you? Well, let me tell you, your attitude stinks. You piss me off so much my butt cheeks feel as if they suck lemons."

"The last time I saw your butt cheeks they were working like a piston on my dick." And with that he strolled through the door.

The memory of her behavior, plus the unintended consequences of her actions, made her face burn with a lot more than embarrassment and shame.

All it had taken was one look at him and her ovaries had gone into a hormone driven meltdown.

Telling herself not to go there and that she was so not ready for a showdown with this man, not yet, T.C. slammed the door hard enough to rattle the glass crystals of the outrageous chandelier fixed to the high ceiling.

She stalked after him. "Excuse me? Who invited you into my personal space?"

In response, he opened a door at random and poked his head into a coat closet. "I'm sussing out your place to make sure it's a safe venue for Anastacia to visit. I take my job very seriously."

T.C. told herself to keep calm.

"That's the most pitiful thing I've heard in years."

Since he had his back to her and was happily checking out a guest powder room, she told herself to take absolutely no notice of his tight ass, or his long legs, or those awesome shoulders. The man was built. And as she knew to her cost he didn't have an ounce of fat on him. Unlike her. She had bits that wobbled, especially around the boobs and ass.

"I am diligent in my duty to serve and protect," he carried on as if she hadn't spoken and led the way through open double doors into her vast sitting room.

"You're a—" she caught herself before she said a word that would surely bring a shower of reprisals down upon her head.

He turned to her and shot her a wide smile that took her breath away. Those amazing tawny eyes danced into hers. "Well done. I'm proud of your restraint."

Her eyes narrowed. "I'm swearing in my head."

He took a step towards her.

She took a step back.

They continued the waltz until her back slammed against the wall.

"As long as it doesn't come out of that gorgeous mouth, I don't care."

The music of the land of his birth was in his deep voice, a rhythm that sang through her blood.

He was so close she smelled his shampoo, something manly and fresh.

His hair, the color of rich chestnut, had grown, but the style didn't soften his hard face or that firm mouth.

Her fingers itched to touch the five o'clock shadow on a strong jaw.

Taking her by surprise, he dropped a soft kiss on her mouth, so soft her bottom lip trembled as her heart went crazy in her chest.

"You smell amazing. It's a shame you're such a bad, bad, girl," he said in a low voice.

Masculine.

Dominant.

The man had absolutely no idea how bad she really was.

They were both in deep shit and he didn't even know it.

In response to how he scrambled her pulse and the way her legs trembled, her chin lifted.

"Yep."

His knuckles gently stroked her flushed cheek, while hungry eyes studied her mouth.

"You are an impossible woman."

When she bit down hard on her bottom lip, she caught the way his breath hitched.

Seemed he was just as affected by her as she was by him.

The fact she had a certain amount of power over this big, strong, man made her smile.

"You haven't seen nuthin' yet."

"You're enchanting." The Irish in his voice again danced through her veins.

She loved the sensation so much, her lip curled. "Now that's a new one."

His strong, hard, body pressed hers against the wall. "I will have you," he said in a low voice. "Naked and craving and crying out while I bury myself deep inside you over and over until you scream my name and then I'll do it all over again. And then, just maybe, I'll walk away from you the way you walked away from me."

Phew.

Spoken like that, all hot and heavy, put all sorts of dirty pictures in her head.

Beneath her T-shirt and yoga pants, her body tingled, throbbing with lust.

Her mouth was so close to his, she saw slivers of a tawny brown in those eyes of dark gold. His heavy erection, hard and thick, pressed into her belly. The man was a predator. And she'd been the one to make the first move all those weeks ago in Paris. Then she'd walked out on him and ignored every single one of his attempts to contact her. She knew perfectly well he was the type who wouldn't put up with that sort of behavior.

And if T.C. was being completely honest with herself, she'd known it at the time and had done it anyway.

After studying her carefully, his eyes narrowed. "I can see your devious little mind considering all the angles. If I were you, I'd think very long and very hard about what you are getting yourself into with me."

She fluttered her lashes.

My dear man, you have no idea.

Her brows rose.

Her top lip curled.

"Meaning what exactly?"

In response to the snark in her voice, a big hand cupped her chin to tilt back her head, his thumb gently rub, rub, rubbing her full bottom lip.

The way he had his hands on her thrilled her to the bone.

Her hormones sang the mating song of the ages.

And just like that, she made a decision.

She wanted him, so she'd have him.

And then they'd see who walked away from whom.

 

Searching eyes of a stunning blue, Sean noted the flash of anger and felt the tremble of lust through T.C.'s body before her thick lashes lowered.

Beneath his hands her body hummed like a tuning fork.

He smiled a slow smile.

Not as cool and calm as she appeared, was she?

Unless he was wrong—which he doubted—she knew exactly what she was doing to him.

Seemed Ms. Catliff was under the delusion she was in control of this... situation, or whatever it was, between them. Seemed she thought she could use her sexuality as a bargaining tool. He didn't mind her attempting the latter, but if she thought she could take him on there was a couple of things she needed to understand.

"Meaning you mess with me, you'd better be prepared to face the consequences, darlin'."

He dipped his head to inhale her scent.

She smelled amazing, hot sex and summer by the sea.

What a combination.

His eyes lowered to that full, somehow vulnerable, mouth. The thought of this women ever being vulnerable lifted his gaze sharply to tangle with hers. "Because I'm not looking for a quick fuck, and I know you know exactly what I mean, Theresa."

"Maybe I only want you for your big dick. Maybe I only want it fast and hard."

He knew the outrageous words were designed to bait and put him off his stride.

Not a chance.

A vision of what he wanted to do to her entered his mind.

He decided to share. "I'm going to bend you over the arm of the big couch over there, strip you bare and play with your sweet clit until you're screaming my name. I want at least three orgasms from you today. Three. And then I'm going to take you so hard and so fast you won't be able to count at all."

Only when her face paled and her breath panted in her throat with a lust that shone from her blue eyes did he release her and turn away.

Thanks to the epic erection tenting his pants, he walked with a limp.

 

Since snooping into another person's habitat was something he considered a big part of his job, and it was always helpful to see how another person lived their life, Sean felt absolutely no guilt as he wandered down the vast hallway in T.C.'s plush apartment and pushed open the arched double doors to her bedroom.

He entered to find a girly love-nest decorated in pale gold with ivory soft furnishings. Ceiling to floor curtains in heavy silk the color of a newly minted copper coin decorated vast arched windows. A long low couch in velvet the color of mouse held matching cushions edged with amber beads. A huge standing wall mirror, gilt, reflected an immense bed, a glittering chandelier of black crystal, and a couple of large chests of drawers in a highly polished dark wood. The furniture looked expensive, maybe antique. A long bureau, the top crammed with bottles of lotions and potions and perfumes, caught his eye. His nostrils flared as he inhaled the unique scent of a female who liked to indulge herself. A chaise longue the color of pale honey and crammed with ivory cushions sat at the bottom of the bed. The room smelled of woman. Gorgeous. Erotic. Sensual.

"I suppose in your line of work spying on people is a fucking given?" The cranky tone in her smoky voice had him turn to her, unsmiling.

Fascinated by something edgy, a sort of tension, in the atmosphere that seemed to swirl between them, something he didn't understand, he watched the blush rise over T.C.'s neck, her cheeks.

The anxiety in her voice and the wary look in her eyes made him wonder if he intimidated her. After thinking about it for a moment, he found he couldn't be sorry for it.

The time for games was over.

The time had come for them to have a little heart to heart.

"Didn't we already have a conversation about your mouth?

Her body language, the hip thrust, the folded arms and the superior lift of her brow, all screamed, ‘Are you kidding me?'

"Fuck off."

In spite of ribs that weren't quite one hundred percent healed, Sean moved fast.

The scuffle was too short to be ugly.

Within moments, he had her cheek crushed to the wall and her slim wrists caught in his hand and shoved above her head.

His thighs, hips, pinned her in place.

T.C. knew she'd pushed him too far.

Every time he lost control, it seemed to give her a perverted sort of pleasure.

"Let me go," she said through gritted teeth.

"No. You've had plenty of warning of what would happen if you dropped the F-bomb one more time."

When she tried to buck under him, he simply used his weight to press her into the wall. He had at least one hundred pounds of muscle on her and he now used every single ounce of it to effortlessly hold her still.

Her heart might be thud, thud, thudding against the wall, but his hard body, the scent of him, the feel of him, was doing X-rated things to her libido. In fact, she was so turned on she couldn't believe it.

What the hell was wrong with her?

When had she ever been aroused by dominant behavior?

There was no way she was a submissive.

No way.

The thought of it had her growl in her throat.

"I understand discipline, Theresa," he said into her ear. His pleasant voice was so low and deep, the sound vibrated through his chest pressed against her back. "I understand that there are many different levels of punishment for many different types of misdemeanor."

"You hurt me and I will have your balls in your throat."

His response to her promise was to fix his mouth to her neck to nuzzle a pulse going crazy. His tongue licked and then he set his teeth on her. The shudder of pleasure was so intense it rippled from her head to her toes. The sheer force of it had her close her eyes tight.

This time all she could do was whimper.

"I can promise never to hurt you. But neither do I tolerate disrespect from you or anyone."

She opened her mouth to spew vitriol, when his teeth on her lobe stopped her dead.

"Swear at me one more time and I'll have your bare ass over my knee and burning from my hand. One warning, Theresa. One. Take a nice deep breath and think about it."

His voice might be mild, but she picked up the gravity, the absolute assurance, to follow through.

Oh, how she wanted to rant, to rave.

But something, it might have been the tone of his voice, hard. Or it might have been the words, sincere, made her bite her tongue.

The last thing she wanted was the indignity of being... spanked, by a gorilla. A bully. By a man who used his sheer physicality against her.

But the thing that not only dismayed and disgusted her was the fact she was aroused to the point where her womb felt as if it was melting with need.

Then she remembered the precious cargo she carried deep within her.

So precious she'd never permit him to get physical with her, no matter how much she wanted it.

"Let me go," she whispered the words, becoming a little bit desperate now, because there was no way in hell she'd ever let this man anywhere near her panties.

"Are you on birth control?"

For a moment she went rigid with the thought that she'd misheard the question.

Excuse me?

"None of your business."

"Yes, it is very much my business. When did you last have a sexual health check?"

Her cheeks blazed, literally blazed, with mortification. The man was taking far too many liberties. She was sexually active and proud of it. That didn't mean she took risks with her health. Her sex life had nothing to do with him, or anyone else.

Then the truth of the matter slapped her so hard something like panic rose into her throat.

Of course it was his business.

What was happening to her body was very much his business.

"Again, none of yours. Release me."

He did and took a single step back.

She spun to face him, hands fisted and ready to strike.

Those eyes of dark gold, lion eyes, slid to her hands and then clicked to her face.

"You don't need to fear me."

Fear him?

Her eyes burned into his.

Oh, she wanted to flay the skin from his bones. But she wasn't stupid. She knew when she was out-gunned. Her well-honed instinct for self-preservation told her he'd happily follow through on his threat.

Now he studied her as if she was a small child having a temper tantrum, and her hand actually itched to smack his face, hard. Instead, she rubbed her damp palm down the hip of her yoga pants.

Those eyes followed the move before again flicking up to meet hers.

"You fear me," he repeated the statement.

She wasn't going to get into a pissing competition with him.

"Stay away from me."

Head held high, she marched out.

Sean waited for the bedroom door to slam, but the girl managed to restrain herself.

Just as well because he would have made her regret it.

He might, he considered now, have come on a little too strong. But his actions had had the desired effect. No more swearing. The change suited her. He might have won this round. But he was under no illusions. T.C. was very wary of him. She didn't respect him. Not yet. But she would learn to, very soon.

 

 

She was a midget in a family of giants.

A dazed Ana found herself gathered in a lightly scented but incredibly expensive embrace by a tall, slim woman in her late forties.

Valentina Conti's hair was black and shiny like her son's.

When she'd asked Olivier what his mother was like, he'd said she was, A typical Italian mama.

Yeah, right.

Ana decided her fiancé was a lying bastard because Valentina could never be called a typical anything. Immaculately presented, wand slim, and dressed in head to toe Armani, the woman looked as if she'd stepped from the pages of Vogue Italia.

Meanwhile, Olivier beamed, happy and content, as his sisters Marina and Michelle showered the male head of the family with hugs and cheek kisses, all the while talking in rapid Italian.

When his sisters turned their high squealing attention on Ana, she found it hard to keep her feet planted and not run screaming for the hills.

Something like panic gripped her.

When Olivier had talked about his family, in Ana's head they'd been vague and one dimensional and sort of fuzzy.

Now reality hit her so hard she was stunned by the sheer magnitude of the commitment she'd made to her man.

The three women judging every part of her from her hair to her shoes and studying her like a bug under a Petri dish were his family, for God's sake. Why hadn't she made more of an effort with her hair? With her makeup? With her shoes?

Who the hell were these beautiful people?

There was no way she could possibly fit into his world.

She couldn't do this.

 

 

 

Meanwhile, Sean was in his element exploring every nook and cranny of T.C.'s spectacular apartment.

The girl was well organized, he'd give her that.

Her kitchen-dining-living space was beautifully furnished, feminine and immaculate, with two sets of bi-folding doors that opened onto an L-shaped balcony. He wondered how she'd ever got planning permission because the space looked over The Mall with Buckingham Palace in the distance. She had a love of plants and flowers in pots, specifically trailing roses the color of baby pink. One part of the balcony was protected from the elements by a tight-fitting sunshade in the shape of a boat sail the color of bone. Very on trend. And beneath the sunshade were two low rattan couches with deep cushions covered in a heavy linen fabric. The color reminded him of milky coffee.

He wandered over to what looked like a long narrow workstation, the white table top protected by plate glass. Sitting next to two huge flat screen PCs was an enormous clear glass fish bowl half filled with M&M's.

He grinned.

Yep, T.C. had a sweet tooth.

Interesting.

He knew she was behind him, watching him.

"You eat your emotions," he said.

She moved so fast, he blinked.

Stormy blue eyes met his. "Excuse the hell me?"

He nodded to the bowl of candy. "That's what that is—a bowl of emotions."

Beneath her ear, her pulse was going crazy in a way that made him wonder.

Her furious gaze dropped to the sweet treats, then clicked to his. "Looks like M&M's to me."

Since he'd taken the job to protect Ana, he'd overheard enough of T.C.'s conversations about her weight—to him her figure was sensational—with her best friends, so he wasn't about to let her get away with that one. "You complain constantly about your diet and resent the fact that Ana and Danni eat what they like and never gain an ounce. And yet you have at least a pound of chocolate at your elbow when you work. What do you call it?"

In the blistering silence that followed, tension again built in the room.

Neither blinked first.

"I call it close the door on your way out," she said in a voice seething with hate and loathing.

"No."

Sean knew when he'd pushed someone over the edge.

He didn't need the glass bowl of M&M's heaved at his head, or the ear piercing scream she released, to tell him.

Fortunately for both of them, his reflexes were quick.

He caught the bowl and tossed it safely onto a couch, scattering candy everywhere, before gathering close a woman who'd totally lost her temper.

Seemed she was mad enough to sink her teeth into his shoulder.

A move which made him spin her around and close his arms around her to hold her tight.

It didn't take her long to run out of steam.

When her body went lax and she shuddered out a single sob, he could have kicked himself for upsetting her.

"Who hurt you, Theresa?"

The question had been a shot in the dark, but the way she went utterly still told him he'd hit a sore spot.

 

He had her arms pinned to her sides.

She was trapped against a hard body by a man who gave no quarter.

It galled her—fucking galled her—that emotions, long buried, should start to claw their way up through her chest and into her throat.

Something like terror now made her limbs, her voice, tremble. "Let me go."

And she knew by the way he loosened his grip that he'd heard and felt both.

When he turned her round to dip his head to study her face.

She knew he saw devastation, the heartbreak of loss and regret, all of it, swimming in her eyes.

"Christ, I'm sorry, Theresa. I never meant to hurt you."

He released her.

Then he turned to pace, his hands thrust through his hair.

He looked at her, his mouth a tight hard line. "How the hell do things keep getting so out of control so fast between us?"

She wasn't sure if he was asking her or himself.

She lifted her hands, realized they were shaking and hugged herself. "I don't know."

And then his arms were around her, holding her close and not too tight.

He pressed his lips to her forehead, her cheeks, the edge of her trembling mouth.

"I'm sorry," he said. She knew by the way his voice went soft, he meant it.

The tension, the fight, seemed to drain right out of her. "Please just leave me alone."

"I can't," he said in a tone that, right on cue, pressed a hot button.

And the fight was back.

"Try harder," she snapped.

 

The rapid return of Ms. Cranky made him grin.

He couldn't help it.

She was amazing.

"For some reason, God knows why, I like you," he admitted the truth and felt as stunned as she looked.

"Then you must be a glutton for punishment."

"That must be it."

"I don't like you," she said, but there was no heat in the words.

He heard the lie loud and clear.

"Yeah, sure you do."

The spark of fury was back in those blue eyes. "Don't tell me what I think or what I feel."

His mouth flirted with hers. Kissing but not kissing. Breath teasing breath. Tongue flicking along the seam of a stubbornly closed mouth.

"Pigheaded woman," he whispered.

"Better believe it..."

"I want to kiss you, touch you, all over. And then I want to do it again."

The picture he put in T.C.'s mind dissolved all thought of resistance.

Sean Kennedy was like the Borg—resistance was futile.

Her hands gripped his shoulders and then seemed to move of their own volition around his neck. "Anyone tell you, you talk too much?"

His head dipped and his mouth whispered delicate kisses over her jaw. "Theresa—"

"T.C. My friends call me T.C."

"I'm not your friend."

"No. You're about to be that very rare thing, a second one-night-stand."

He shifted to gaze down into her face, his tawny eyes focused and intent.

"And that bothers you?"

No.

Yes.

Who knew?

She gave him big blue eyes. "Hell, no. Don't worry about it. It's how I roll."

 

He grabbed the opportunity and now he swooped, leaving her no choice but to take part in the kiss or die from a lack of oxygen.

Her moan made blood flow too fast to his dick.

There was nothing Sean could do about it as it pressed against her soft belly, so he didn't even try.

He shifted to look down into her face, just loving the hectic flush of her cheeks, the wet fullness of lips swollen by his. Her eyes were closed. "I bet your feeling something now." He ground his pelvis into her belly.

Her inhale shuddered through lips that trembled.

When she finally opened her eyes, he recognized lust, need, want.

For some reason he searched for something more and caught a flash of that something and then it was gone.

Oh, she had feelings for him alright.

He wasn't entirely sure what they were, but she had them.

Maybe that was enough.

For now.

"Bed?"

She exhaled and nodded just once. "I suppose..."

He scooped her up.

"I'm too heavy..."

His mouth on hers—the long drugging kiss—shut her up.

 

"I'm a manly man," he said as he strode down the hallway and shouldered through the doors into her bedroom without even breaking a sweat, T.C. had to admit he was right.

Sean Kennedy was all man.

And for one more night only—he was hers.

 

Sean toed off crepe soled boots and laid her down on her big bed.

Then he joined her and rolled to his side to study her flushed face.

Those blue eyes still looked a little bit teary as they stared, unblinking, at the ceiling.

Hmm.

This wasn't how things were supposed to go when he was determined on seduction.

Last time she'd been the one in control while he'd been lying, helpless, in a hospital bed.

The memory of how utterly she'd seduced him made him smile.

"I don't think I'll ever forget what you did to me in my hospital room in Paris," he said, his fingers combing through the glorious gold of her hair. It was so soft, so fragrant, like silk.

She looked at him. "I wanted to see how your bruises were healing."

He nodded. "You kissed me and my dick stood to attention."

Her full mouth tilted. "You blushed."

"If you had a dick like mine, you'd blush too. He let me down very badly that day."

"Good job I came prepared."

A thought made him frown. "You often carry a box of condoms in your purse?"

"Once upon a time I was a girl guide. Today I still follow their motto—always be prepared."

He bit his lip. "Did you wear the blue uniform? The little beret?"

"I did."

"I can just imagine it. With pigtails?"

"A ponytail."

He placed a gentle hand on her belly, felt the stomach muscles flutter, watched the way her cheeks went hot, the way she bit down hard on her bottom lip. Encouraged, he slid his hand beneath her T-shirt to find warm, satin smooth skin. Her thigh muscles tightened. She liked that. So, he moved up to find her breast, naked, the flesh tight and her nipple beaded.

He rubbed his thumb gently, so gently, over her nipple.

Under his hand the way her body trembled thrilled him.

Hell, she was so incredibly responsive to his touch.

It wasn't as if he was unaffected either, his dick pressed hard against his zipper.

"I couldn't believe it when you pulled down your panties, lifted your dress, and straddled me. You took me so deep I couldn't breathe. You were so tight and wet and hot. And I remember you telling me not to move, not to touch you, that I was just to lie back and let you enjoy the ride."

"I didn't want to hurt you," she whispered. "I knew what I was doing was wrong. But I couldn't leave you like that, all achingly hard and aroused. Have you ever wanted to kiss someone for a long time and then when you did kiss them, the world fell away?"

He nodded, still gently kneading her breast, his thumb slowly circling the hard little bud of her nipple. "Yeah."

In response to his touch, she shuddered. "That's how I felt and I wanted you, so I took you really slowly and with great care."

He dipped down until his forehead rested gently on hers. "You, Theresa, are a very bad girl."

The way she batted her eyelashes made him smile. "What are you going to do about it?"

His eyes on hers, he whispered, "This time it's my turn. I'm going to get us naked and take it from there."

No words were spoken.

First of all he removed her socks, then peeled her leggings away.

He took his sweet time, after all there was no rush, to admire long limbs, the white lace of her panties.

She was trembling and watched him with over-bright eyes as he stripped her bare.

Kneeling between her spread legs, he looked his fill at the very heart of her. "Beautiful," he whispered, and stroked a gentle finger over her slick center as his thumb circled a clit that pulsed in time with her heart beat. "You're so ready, so wet for me. Is this nice, darlin'? Want more?"

He inserted one finger, two, inside her and her flesh trapped and caught his fingers tight.

And all the while his thumb circled and then flicked twice across her clitoris and she bowed her spine and cried his name as she poured her release on his hand.

"That's it. Just like that. You look amazing. Yeah, keep it coming for me."

He kept stroking, circling, bringing her down nice and easy until she relaxed.

Her eyes were closed, her face flushed, her lips trembling with every exhale, every inhale.

She looked gorgeous.

Stunning.

Replete.

Naked.

His.

 

Her gaze studied his face, his chest, and lingered on the bulge between his legs. "You seem overdressed for this."

He grinned, whipped off his muscle shirt and tossed it.

His hands went to the button of his fly. "I need to contain him. When it comes to you, he's a wild man with no control."

"I remember. The condom wasn't really big enough for you."

Heat of mortification scorched his cheeks as he got rid of his combats, his Calvins.

"Don't remind me. In my defence it had been a while since I'd been with a woman."

When he ripped open a condom, she gave him big eyes. "Why?"

He slid on protection. "It's a time thing. I work hard. With you, I'm making up for lost time."

Before she could ask any more embarrassing questions, he was on top of her, his mouth on hers.

 

God, she tasted amazing.

The way her hands explored his shoulders, his back, and then his ass, her fingernails digging deep made him growl like an animal.

Hell, he felt like an animal.

"I don't know if I can take this slow," he admitted into the heavenly scent beneath her ear.

"Take me," she whispered.

He didn't need to be told twice.

His eyes on hers, he slid a hand beneath her knee and lifted it over his hip to open her wide to him. Then he plunged, deep, to the hilt and swore his eyes nearly rolled back in his head.

Christ.

She was so tight.

So hot.

So wet.

Her body pulsed around his as he rode her hard and fast.

A voice in his head told him to slow the hell down, but he couldn't do it.

And she was with him every single step of the way, her cries of pleasure drove his higher and higher. Sweat stung his eyes, and still he watched her as her hands clung to his shoulders and he bet those fingernails drew blood and didn't give a damn. At one point her eyes went wide and he recognized a fear of letting go, but he refused to release her, to let her turn her face away from what could be between them.

Jesus, her body was gripping and pulsing around his and he could feel her resist and fight her orgasm all the way.

"Look at me!"

His tone brought her eyes, big and wide and frightened, to his. "Sean! I can't... I can't..."

"You can. You will. Let go, Theresa. LET GO!"

"I'll fall!" she screamed the words.

Again his eyes held hers. "And I'll catch you."

When she threw her head back and sobbed out his name, her epic release triggered his own as he emptied his seed into her.

 

He lay, boneless, on top of her and knew he was too heavy.

But he couldn't move.

As sanity returned, Sean accepted they'd shared something other than body fluids.

This wasn't just a lust for a hot body and mindless sex.

It was more.

Much more.

And Sean knew for absolutely certain that he'd never ever be the same again.

"Get off me," she said, and smartly slapped his ass.

He had to laugh, because whatever he felt for her, it was clear Theresa Catliff felt nothing for him.

"Sorry. I'm too big for you."

He rolled to his side taking her with him.

She muttered something beneath her breath, but closed her eyes and snuggled her face into his neck. "Shut up. I'm tired. Go to sleep."

Sounded like a plan.

Sean closed his eyes.

They'd sort out whatever they had to sort out tomorrow.

 

 

"I don't do morning sex," T.C. said and turned to roll out of bed.

Sean seriously wondered what it was going to take for the woman to lie still for five minutes and just cuddle. But no, as soon as she opened her eyes, she'd pushed him away.

Again.

Instead of letting her go, he hauled her back, abruptly, to bed.

His big body pinned hers to the mattress and with a quick move, he was deep inside her.

His gaze met one filled with fury, frustration and lust.

He figured he could work with lust. "You do now."

When she opened her mouth, his took hers, that way she couldn't speak at all.

 

Later, as Sean rolled to his back, panting as if he'd run a sprint, T.C. lay on her back staring at the ceiling.

Her heart raced so fast she pressed a fist to the spot.

Plus, she was feeling weird and over... emotional.

When her eyes stung, she took a shocked breath.

What on earth was the matter with her?

She refused to be cowed by these complex feelings for this man.

They'd had sex, that was all.

Okay, spectacular sex.

But it wasn't as if she'd lost her virginity to him, and why the hell did that thought give her a pang? However, he was an incredibly demanding, very detail-driven lover, probably due to the fact he was a military man.

Any woman would have trouble finding her equilibrium after a night of sex with Sean Kennedy.

Seriously, it was time to show him who was the boss around here.

She turned her head to find him all relaxed and limber with his eyes closed and a satisfied smile on his fabulous mouth.

"We've only had sex. We didn't promise each other undying love. We didn't make any sort of unspoken commitment, so you can wipe that smile off your face. I'm busy. Please leave."

She'd assumed a show of male temper in response, even braced herself for it.

Sean looked astonished for a beat, but then, incredibly, he laughed. And it was that same wonderful, natural, full-bodied laugh of his that made her stupid heart sing.

To ward him off, she scowled, determined to keep that laughter from sliding beneath her skin. But it didn't work. She was fast coming to realize that nothing she did or said, no matter how horribly bad her behavior, nothing stopped him taking what he wanted from her.

"Come here, baby girl," he said when he had regained a semblance of control over himself. When he clicked his fingers in her face, something inside her snapped and she nearly took a bite out of him.

He was too close, both physically and emotionally.

Why the hell couldn't he give her space to breathe, to think?

Her eyes narrowed. "What am I? A poodle? A pet?"

"Woman, you would start a fight in an empty room," he said in that deep voice of his that made her knees weak. "Put that mouth on mine instead of using it in an attempt to push me away. You'll feel better. I'll feel better. A win-win."

"No."

"Yes," he argued. He shifted onto his side to stare at her with that intense glitter in his eyes she recognized was hunger. Along with the remains of that wonderful laughter that made him seem even more gorgeous. "Why do I scare you?"

Her heart beat faster. "Don't flatter yourself," she snapped, but then she couldn't move as his gaze pinned her to the spot. It seemed as if he could see right into her brain. "I just need some me time."

Then she remembered how he'd strolled into her house, crowded her personal space until he'd had her back against a wall. How the hell had he done that? She hadn't even noticed. And then they'd ended up naked in her bed.

"You mean some time away from me, to gather your defences, to resist me. Not gonna happen, darlin'."

Her jaw dropped.

She wanted to tell him where to get off, along with a few other choice descriptives, but not a single word emerged.

Sean grinned.

"But... we can't just have sex all day," she insisted, not very hard it had to be said. Her voice sounded all breathy. Weak as water. None of which made any sense, because Theresa Catliff didn't do weak.

This time his grin lingered in his eyes, making them gleam dark gold.

The look in them, for her, shivered right through her. "Of course we can."

"No. We can't," she said in all seriousness. "I have sex once with a man. That's it."

He ran the back of his hand down her hot cheek. "Ah, but I'm not just any man and you know it. That's why you're trembling."

She didn't know she was trembling, and the shock must have shown on her face because his eyes went all soft as he took her in his arms as if she was precious, a fragile woman.

He smoothed her hair back from her forehead, something she'd come to understand he loved to do. And that look in his eyes for her, so bright and clear, made her tremble again.

His eyes held hers, and her heart seemed to shift inside her, releasing things she didn't want released. Certainly things she didn't want to accept. Making her feel things she didn't want to feel for any man and certainly not a man like him.

Dominant.

Controlling.

Powerful.

Only a fool would tell a man like Sean Kennedy she had feelings for him.

She lifted her chin. "You're too bossy. Go away and give me space. You're too sexy for your own good."

He drew her right in, and she felt his chest move beneath her cheek as if he was laughing inside, although he didn't make a sound. He probably knew she'd give him a black eye if he did.

"You're right," he said, and ran big strong hands down her back, over the swell of her ass, pulling her hard against a straining arousal that made her gasp. "But sex is good for us as a couple, it seems to help our communication."

His erection was hot and hard against the soft flesh of her belly and she forced down all the feelings that threatened to overwhelm her deep inside. Especially the ones that desperately wanted her to surrender to him.

She shifted to stare up into his face, and by the knowing look in his eyes he knew exactly what he was doing to her.

Sean smiled. "And we need to have a helluva lot more practice at communicating. Let me show you how that goes."

But she didn't want him to show her how it went.

She didn't want this sense of intimacy with him.

Too many conflicting feelings now spun into her mind as if to tear it apart.

And all the while another voice in her head yelled, Tell Him The Truth!

Oh, the words burned on her tongue, words that would change both of their lives forever.

But she couldn't do it.

Not yet.

Not until she'd found her balance.

Not until she had her thoughts and emotions straight.

And not until she'd told her friends who were like family to her.

Friends who would never judge her.

Would they?

"You need to leave," she whispered.

Good God, the woman was hard work, but worth it.

So worth it.

Sean took a gentle bite of her bottom lip. "You're easy."

In his arms she went utterly still. "Thanks."

He shook his head. "I meant you're incredibly responsive to my touch, my mouth, my tongue."

But she didn't soften, if anything she tried to push him away. "Thanks."

He grinned at her and then the grin faded as he studied her set face. "You're welcome."

His eyes were on hers and that's when he saw them change, saw the light within dim and a darkness he'd never noticed before, return.

"You can go now," she said in a toneless little voice.

He blinked.

It was as if he held a completely different person in his arms, as if she'd tripped a switch and the old T.C. was back and rejecting him.

A rejection that hurt so much he had to take a deep breath against a pain that floored him.

Not only that, he was confused.

Why couldn't she see what they'd found together?

They'd found something special.

Something very rare.

Something she obviously did not want.

He tried to get his stunned brain to think back to the point in their conversation where he'd gone wrong with her.

She pulled the duvet over her breasts, hiding her nudity from him.

Too late.

How she smelled, how she tasted, how she felt were forever indelibly tattooed on his brain.

Now he felt used and abused.

Furious with her and with himself, he rolled out of bed.

Determined not to show her how badly she'd hurt him, Sean smiled, all teeth and narrow hard eyes, as he watched her lie there like a corpse, her blue eyes unblinking as she stared at the ceiling.

She couldn't even look at him now?

Well, to hell with her.

As he pulled on his pants, tugged the zip up, he growled low in his throat.

"You're something else, sweetheart."

He grabbed his shirt, his boots and headed for the door.

When she called his name, he turned to look at her and saw a complete stranger.

"Don't come back."

"Don't intend to."

 

 

 

 

ELEVEN

"You look very serious, my friend. Are you in pain?" Nico Ferranti asked Sean.

"Nah. I'm almost back to normal."

To conform to the dress code on their invitation to Anastacia's engagement party to Olivier Conti, both wore black tux. They stood with their backs to the wall next to a huge potted fern in the grand ballroom at Ludlow Hall. Even though he wasn't on duty, old habits died hard, Sean nursed a glass of water, while Nico held a glass of Chianti from one of his many vineyards.

The party was in full swing and the entire Ludlow Hall clan, including children, were out in force to show their love and support for the young couple.

"They look happy," Sean said, referring to the guests of honor who were grooving on down to a dance hit.

Nico nodded. "Si. She is good for him. And he is good for her. It is a good match."

Sean grinned. "That's good. His mother seems happy, which is the main thing as far as Ana's concerned. I know she was nervous."

Nico's grey eyes twinkled. "Si. Valentina Conti is a good woman and happy Ana cannot cook to save her life, which means she will continue to rule the kitchen, like all good Italian mamas."

Sean couldn't help but laugh because Anastacia's lack of culinary skill was legendary.

As he continued to scan the room, he caught sight of a man he didn't recognize talking to Ana's half-sister, the beautiful Chloe Rucker.

Sean's eyes narrowed.

"Next to the entrance to the hallway to the restrooms, who's the tall guy with the man-bun talking to Chloe?"

Nico turned. "Ah, that is Serge Morretti, a friend of Olivier's. And much too old and experienced for young Chloe."

"He looks rich."

"He is rich. Very rich. He is Sardinian."

The tone had Sean glance at the bland expression on Nico's face. "You say that as if it's a problem."

"It may be a problem if Serge decided to have Chloe. Olivier would never permit it."

"What's it got to do with Olivier?"

"Because like Ana, Chloe and Tanith are now part of Olivier's famiglia. And he would never tolerate Serge anywhere near one of his sisters-in-law."

"I take it the guy's bad news?"

Nico made a face. "Let us say that he is not kind to women."

"A Prince amongst men?"

"He is damaged. As I said, he is not kind."

When Serge put his hands on Chloe both men stiffened.

But then little Sophia Ferranti, looking gorgeous in a pale pink party dress made from yards of tulle, skipped into the picture.

The child tugged on Chloe's hand and said something.

Looking displeased, Serge released Chloe and took a step back.

Chloe walked towards the restrooms with Sophia.

This was a Sophia who turned to toss a narrow-eyed look over her shoulder at Serge.

She made a horrible face and poked out her tongue.

The utter shock on the Sardinian's face was priceless.

Sean and Nico's roar of laughter had heads turn in their direction.

"Christ, that Sophia is something else."

Nico wiped his eyes. "Si. She is special."

"When she grows up, you're going to have your hands full with her."

"Perhaps. But, she will never bring shame on la mia famiglia."

 

Sean's gaze tracked across the room to another loved-up couple, Danni and Pascale.

He pointed with his chin. "They'll be next."

"Hmm. He is smitten with her."

"Yeah. She's a sweetheart and a kind and gentle soul." Sean's gaze landed on T.C. sitting at a round table. She laughed as she batted her eyes and flirted outrageously with a young man. "Unlike some people." His eyes narrowed when he spotted her pour water into her glass instead of her usual white wine.

Nico's black brow rose as he followed Sean's gaze. "Ah, yes. Theresa. That one marches to the beat of her own drum," he drawled, his Italian accent strong. "You sound angry, my friend."

"She's like an earworm in my head." At Nico's bemused expression, he continued, "You know, a tune in your head, like an advertizing jingle that simply won't stop."

"Sounds... irritating."

"She is irritating."

Nico laughed. "She is very beautiful."

Sean glowered. "What's that got to do with anything? It's what lies beneath the skin that matters." Then he heaved a heavy sigh, feeling as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. "I will never understand that woman."

"You are attracted to her. And she is attracted to you. When you are not looking at her, she is looking at you."

Sean knew it.

He'd felt her eyes drilling into the back of his head all night, hadn't he?

"We don't seem to be following any rules, at least none I can work out."

Nico rubbed his chin. "Perhaps it is time to start breaking the rules."

"Nope. I'm a big believer in rules. I live by rules," Sean said, happily forgetting that he'd broken T.C.'s one night only rule.

"Hmm. How is that working out for you?"

Sean turned to stare hard at Nico's shit-eating grin. "Point taken. She's a pain in my ass."

"Ah, true love. It is a wonderful thing."

His belly tremble at the thought of true love had Sean scowl horribly at his friend.

"What's love got to do with it?” he demanded.

The tone of sheer outrage had Nico throw back his head and roar with laughter.

"Ask Tina Turner."

"Get lost," Sean said.

T.C. wondered why the hell she'd asked Freddy Beaumont to dance with her.

The man had two left feet and even though they were down to a shuffle, he'd still managed to stomp on her toes, twice.

"Ouch."

Freddy's freckles stood out against his pale face. "Sorry, T.C. I hate dancing. You know I'm no good at it."

Her attention fixed elsewhere, T.C. nodded.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Sean Kennedy sending her the stink eye.

He'd been looking at her, just like that, all night.

Bastard.

She turned her attention back to Freddy.

He'd known her since she was ten, so his response to her glittering smile was not one she might have hoped for.

Instantly on guard, Freddy frowned. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Put your hand on my ass."

His eyes, a pale grey, went like saucers. "What?"

"Don't burst my eardrum. You heard me. Do it."

"Uh huh. I don't know what you're up to, but, I'm not doing it."

She stared up into his face and fluttered her lashes.

"Freddy," she said in a low purr that would have had Danni and Ana look to heaven. "I'm trying to send the right message to a guy who's refusing to take the word no. Do it."

Freddy kept a wary eye on her and clamped a big hand on her ass.

Out of the corner of her eye, T.C. watched Sean's face.

He didn't even twitch.

Instead, his gaze clicked to the hand on her ass then lifted to meet hers.

He mouthed. You are a bad, bad girl.

He moved towards them.

T.C. blinked.

A horrible thought entered her mind.

Omigod.

What if Sean hit Freddy?

He wouldn't hit Freddy.

Would he?

Sean tapped Freddy on the shoulder, while T.C. looked on with something like fear gripping her heart. Freddy was a gentle soul. When they'd been young, he'd had a problem standing up for himself. There was no way he'd be able to handle a big tall Irish man a good sixty pounds heavier.

Freddy turned and shocked T.C. to the core when he beamed. "Hi, Sean. How are the ribs?"

"Good, Fred. The new pain pills helped a lot, thanks."

T.C. gaped at them. "You know each other?"

Freddy stared hard at her, blinked. "Of course. I treated him in outpatients."

Which just went to show what a small bloody world it was, T.C. realized, putting two and two together to make four.

"Mind if I take over, Fred?" Sean asked.

It was insulting, T.C. fumed, the way Freddy had just handed her over to Sean, as if she was a packet of... of... chips.

Sean took the woman who was driving him mad in his arms.

She held herself so stiff he was amazed her spine didn't snap.

The hectic flush on those cheekbones and the feral glitter in those baby blue eyes made her look like an angel who'd swallowed a wasp. But Sean knew T.C. was no angel, with that body in a red dress that looked as if it had been sprayed on her. The woman had a mouth made for sin and the morals of a harlot.

His hands on her waist fisted when her brows rose in a what-do-you-want gesture.

Because part of him wanted quite desperately to spank her ass, while another part of him longed to toss her over his shoulder and take into his man cave so he could strip her down to the skin and rediscover the sex kitten who'd clawed his back and begged him for more, more, MORE.

He was going to do neither, since one idea was as stupid as the other.

Hadn't she made it clear he'd meant nothing more to her than a stud?

One night only.

End of.

She looked nervous.

So she should be.

"Don't worry," he said. "I'm not up for another roll in your bed."

She looked down her nose at him. "I'm not looking for another forgettable night either. The feeling is entirely mutual."

Her combative tone was a shock to the system.

He couldn't deny it.

In case they found themselves around her beautiful neck, he shoved his hands into the trouser pockets of his monkey suit.

Who the hell did she think she was, talking to him like that?

He wasn't the one in the wrong here.

She'd been the one crawling over him like a rash when he'd been hit by a damn bus in Paris, and she'd lied to the medical staff to gain access to him by saying she was his fiancée. And then she'd taken him to her bed and made wild love to him all fucking night. They'd found something special and then she'd kicked him out.

So what was with the stink eye?

As if he'd ever tie himself down to a woman like her?

Difficult.

Bad tempered.

Alley cat.

And now she had the nerve to stand there looking at him with an attitude?

In the military, he'd handled dangerous situations and dangerous men with ease.

So how did she manage to press every single hot button?

He was a fool, that's what he was.

Because one night with her would never be enough for him.

Never.

Just touching her, smelling her hair, looking at her as she shot daggers at him, he admitted he wanted more.

He wanted everything with her.

And if that wasn't foolish he didn't know what was.

"You're a spoiled little rich girl who thinks she can treat people like dirt. One of these days Karma's going to kick your ass so hard and I hope I'm around to see that day come."

The flash in those blue eyes should have warned him.

But he didn't heed it.

The punch to the mouth rocked him back on his heels.

Around them, people stopped dancing.

T.C.'s face was so pale that for a moment Sean thought she was going to pass out.

Omigod, she shouldn't have hit him.

The man had a jaw like granite.

She was sure she'd broken her fingers.

No matter how much he deserved it, there was no excuse, and no place, for violence, ever.

Humiliation burned T.C.'s cheeks.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Ana and Olivier heading their way.

A deep shame scorched her throat.

This was her best friend's big night and she'd gone and made a horrible scene.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that."

Sean's tawny eyes were dark and hard as they studied her face.

"No." He glanced at his fingertip, at the blood from his lip. His eyes clicked to hers. "You shouldn't. It is the act of a coward to hit a person who will not hit back."

T.C. closed her eyes as Sean assured Ana and Olivier that there was nothing to see and that everything was fine.

There was nothing worse than being in the wrong and having your nose rubbed in it.

Ana grabbed her hand. "What is going on?"

The last thing she'd wanted was to do anything to spoil her best friend's party.

T.C. shook her head. "It was just a stupid argument. I'll tell you and Danni all about it on Monday. We'll meet at the bar. Okay?"

Ana's eyes searched T.C.'s, but she nodded. "All right. Are you sure you're feeling okay, you look awfully pale?"

Actually, she felt sick to her stomach, but T.C. nodded. "Go back to the party. I'm fine."

 

Later, as she sat in the back of the black cab taking her home, T.C. knew she was so far from fine it wasn't funny.

Yet again, she'd messed up.

Big time.

And she had no idea how to fix it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Great party," Linda muttered to Danni.

They were sitting at a round table tucked into a corner of the ballroom and far enough away from the sound system blasting out a rock song from the band on the stage.

Danni nodded, her mind on other things.

"Where's Gillian Pebbles-McCarthy-Lyons-Stone and her latest conquest?" Linda asked, referring to Danni's oft-married mother and her new fiancé.

Danni turned to study Ana's personal assistant, who looked pretty amazing this evening.

Linda's hair had been dyed the color of ink and she wore a black, sleeveless body-con dress with matching sky high heels showcasing amazing legs encased in sheer stockings. She'd gone for contacts and vivid red lipstick this evening, which made her look fifteen years younger and opened up her face. The woman was stunning, as the lingering looks from men could attest. However, it appeared Linda wasn't interested in picking up a beau. She'd settled in at the table and appeared perfectly content to people watch.

"She's been a nightmare, hasn't she?"

Linda shrugged. "No more than usual. Where's your man gone?"

Danni wished she knew.

Thirty minutes had passed since Pascale had muttered something about getting a real drink and wandered off.

"I think Gillian put him on edge."

Linda made a noncommittal sound in her throat. "If she'd stared at me with that unblinking focus, she'd have put me on edge, too. What's wrong with her face?"

"Botox."

"She should get a refund. Same with the boob job. The heroin chic look with massive tits doesn't work."

"Daddy says she can't cope with ageing and she can't cope with having a daughter my age."

"She's a mental case. That's what she is. I've never heard a woman play the narcissistic whiney victim so badly in my entire life. No wonder her fiancé's gone to look for pastures new." Linda jerked her chin. "He's over there chatting up the little blonde."

A mortified Danni had already noticed.

Looked as if her mother's latest wedding was over before it had even begun.

Not that that was a bad thing.

She'd long ago come to the conclusion that what her mother needed was time on her own to understand herself and to stop depending upon men to make her happy.

"I need to go to the ladies room," Linda told her, rising.

Since she wasn't fond of the idea to be seen sitting alone at the table, Danni nodded. "I'll come, too."

Linda craned her neck to check out the hallway leading to the main rest rooms. "Looks busy. We'll go this way and use the one next to reception."

As they made their way through the throng, Danni checked her phone for a message from Pascale and found nothing. He was a tall man and easy to spot, but she couldn't see him near the bar, or mingling with some of Olivier's pals.

A weird chill began in her chest and low in her belly.

She wasn't good in crowded spaces at the best of times and tended to suffer from sensory overload.

How many times had she been told that she was over sensitive?

She took a breath and shrugged of the feeling that something was off in the atmosphere this evening.

When Danni and Linda shoved through large double door into the reception hall, they breathed a combined sigh of relief.

At this time of the evening the curved and highly polished reception desk wasn't busy. A handful of people sat chatting on long couches and quiet nooks with high backed chairs and coffee tables. Instrumental music turned low added to the overall affect of calm and relaxation.

Danni sank into a chair, leaned back and closed her eyes to enjoy the sensation of peace.

Much better.

A young waiter arrived and asked if he could help them.

"Why don't you order one of your green teas and I'll have a black coffee," Linda suggested before she walked in the direction of another long hallway, which lead to the rest rooms.

Danni smiled up at the young man, a student by the looks of him, and placed her order.

She turned and noticed that Linda had come to a dead stop, had her phone in her hand and was either recording something or taking a picture. And then she side-stepped behind a huge plant and checked her phone.

Danni rose, her heels clicking on the stone floor.

"What are you doing?" she whispered.

It was the look in Linda's eyes for her, pity, that had Danni poke her head into the corridor to see what the hell was going on and that was when her heart dropped to her feet.

Her mother was in a man's arms.

The scene was an intimate one.

Gillian had her body pressed against his, her arms wound around his neck.

His hands were fixed to her narrow waist as he bent his head.

And the man was—Pascale.

 

 

 

Between dancing and mingling with her guests for three solid hours, Ana reckoned her new shoes had put her feet through all nine levels of hell.

The heat in the room was killing her, too.

Time for a breather.

Since the band was on a break and slow music played on the speakers, she took the opportunity to slide into her seat and glug down a glass of water.

Beneath the table, she kicked off her heels and wiggled her toes.

Bliss.

"You make my son very happy," Valentina Conti said from over her shoulder.

Olivier's mama took a seat next to Ana.

It was the first time she'd been completely alone with the woman since the Conti family had arrived and immediately Ana's guard came up. She scanned the room and found her half-sister, Tanith, making her way back to the table.

Thank you, God.

Ana turned to Valentina and gave her a wide smile. "He makes me happy, too."

This evening Valentina wore an ivory silk sheath with a lace over dress the color of black coffee. The color combination set of her slim figure and dark hair beautifully.

"As long as Olivier is happy, I am happy."

Since she'd already gone through all the happy chat, Ana nodded in response.

"I cannot wait for his wedding. Of course, you will marry in Roma. We Italians know how to celebrate true love."

Ana's mind went blank. "Um... We've agreed not to rush into it. We have a lot to discuss about the logistics, my career, his career, etcetera."

Valentina's sharp eyes studied Ana's flushed face. "You look stunning. Red suits you. It is hot in here this evening. Are you feeling well?"

Ana blinked and wondered if there was a subtext going on and the woman meant she really looked like crap. "Yes. I'm good. It's been a busy week at work."

"Things will settle now. Olivier will transfer to an English team."

Ana's jaw didn't drop, but it was a close run thing.

Hang on a minute.

Back up the truck.

Olivier was moving to England?

Since when?

"I'm sorry," Ana said weakly. "I don't think I heard you correctly. Olivier's transferring clubs?"

Immediately Valentina's brown eyes grew wide and her hand flew to her mouth.

"He has not told you? Dio mio. He said it was to be a surprise!"

It was a surprise alright.

If he had plans, why the hell didn't he say anything when she'd told him she was prepared to move to Rome?

Valentina's hand covered Ana's. "Please say nothing. I thought he must have told you by now." Ana's gaze caught hers and read a genuine horror that couldn't be faked that she'd let the cat out of the bag.

"Things have been so hectic, what with the engagement party and work, we've hardly had time to chill out."

Valentina beamed. "And then you will have a wedding and give me many bambini!"

Across the table, nineteen-year-old Tanith caught the last part of the sentence because her eyes went wide and she mouthed, Omigod.

Babies?

Who the hell had time for a baby?

A thought hit her so hard something like ice settled in Ana's stomach as she did a quick mental calculation, twice.

Mind spinning, nerves dancing in her belly, she slid her feet into her shoes and stood.

"I'm sorry. I just need to go to the ladies for a moment."

As Ana forced a smile to her face and pushed her way through the crowd towards sanctuary, a weird sort of panic threatened to overtake her.

It wasn't until she was alone in a stall and sitting on a toilet lid, that she used her fingers to calculate, again. And came up with the truth.

Her period was late.

It was never late.

Never.

 

Her mind a complete blank, she simply stared unseeing at the door.

Minutes passed.

She knew she couldn't stay here all night.

As Ana washed her hands at the sink, Bronte Ferranti entered.

Nico's blonde wife was dressed in a sleeveless sheath of emerald silk the exact color of her eyes. The woman was tall and slim with long, lean arms. She looked stunning this evening.

Her ready smile slid away as she studied Ana's white face in the mirror.

"You okay?"

Was she?

Ana had no idea.

The key, she told herself, was not to panic unless she had something to panic about.

She'd been under a lot of stress recently.

At times stress did weird things to the human body.

First chance she got, she'd buy a pregnancy test, or six.

"I'm fine."

Bronte's emerald eyes filled with a ready sympathy. "Is it all getting a little too much?"

"Yes. Just a bit."

"You know I'm here if you want to talk."

Ana gave her what passed for a weak smile. "I know. And I appreciate it. I do."

Bronte's eyes stayed sharp, but her mouth curved. "But you want me to mind my own business."

Ana shook her head. "No. It's just a lot to get used to in a short time, you know?"

"I do. My door is always open."

When her eyes stung, Ana gave her friend a hug. "Thanks. I appreciate it." Then she wondered how the hell she was going to get through the rest of the night.

 

 

***

 

 

Olivier checked his watch.

Ana had been in the restroom for ages.

He was about to ask one of his sisters to make sure everything was okay, when Ana stepped into the hallway. In spite of looking stunning in her dress and heels, she'd been wearing that wide-eyed I'm-overwhelmed look all day. But then he supposed anyone would be overwhelmed by the way his mother and sisters had fawned over both of them today. If he added the strain of her newly found father, stepmother and two step-sisters into the mix, no wonder his woman appeared a little frazzled.

Plus, he had a huge surprise for her.

Later.

When they were alone.

And he couldn't wait to see her face when he told her his news.

He took her hand. "Come, dance with me."

She blinked and sent him a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "I'd love to."

On the dance floor he held her close and dipped his head to find her looking over his shoulder, staring into space. "You are very quiet."

"Tired. It's been a long day."

As he studied her pale face, he wondered if she was coming down with something.

"You have handled the initial blending of our families very well."

She tilted her head to look him in the eye. "Have I?"

"Si. I knew you would."

"Did you?"

Olivier reckoned he'd come to know and understand how Ana ticked, at least he thought he had. Was there something, some undercurrent, in her tone? "I understand it has not been easy for you to accept so many opinions, unasked for opinions, on what we should do next. On our future."

"We could always elope," Ana said in a hopeful voice that made him smile.

He didn't believe she was serious. "That would hurt the people we love."

Ana stared over his shoulder again. "I suppose that would be an incredibly selfish act."

He frowned at the wistful tone in her voice.

There was something going on with her. "Has someone said something to upset you?"

Shocked blue eyes met his. "No. Everyone has been very kind. Although since our wedding seems to be a hot topic, it would be nice for someone to ask me what I want, you know?"

He blinked and tried to think back over their many conversations about their future and actually could not remember once asking her what she wanted. She was right. Since agreeing to marry him, Olivier had sort of assumed she was like every other girl and would want a big, fancy, wedding.

Now he wondered if he had got it all wrong.

Ana loathed publicity and the celebrity press in particular.

She'd shot down any and all tabloid approaches to write a piece on their engagement or their relationship. Not that Olivier wanted their personal life or plans spread across the glossy magazines either. He could not think of anything worse.

All that mattered to him was Ana's happiness.

He dipped his head to drop a soft kiss on her mouth and inhaled the scent of his woman. And took a moment just to enjoy how she felt in his arms. "We will talk about it later."

Ana nodded, her eyes serious as she met his. "Seems we have a lot to talk about. However, now is neither the time nor the place."

For a moment, Olivier studied her set face and then held her close.

He frowned.

Now what the hell did that mean?

 

 

 

 

Heartbeat a pulsing thump behind her breastbone and nausea clawing its way up her throat, Danni took a deep breath as her whole world seemed to spin.

Linda gripped her arm and dragged her behind the plant. "It might not be what it looks like," she hissed.

Danni stared into Linda's wide eyes. "When I was sixteen, my mother slept with my boyfriend. My father found them in her bed. I learned the lesson never to bring a boy home because she found the young and impressionable easy prey. Seems I'm not Pascale's type after all." She held out her hand, not a bit surprised to find it trembling. "What did you get? I want to see it."

"Why don't you wait until tomorrow, when you've calmed down a bit and talked to him."

"Give it to me, Linda."

Linda found the video and handed her phone to Danni. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart."

Well, the evidence spoke for itself and clinched it, so to speak, because there was no arguing with fact and proof. The kiss was hot, as was the fury burning in Danni's heart.

"Send a copy to my cell, please." She returned the phone, lifted her chin and marched down the corridor to confront two people who'd torn her heart from her chest. One part of her brain recognized the way Pascale's face went sheet white, the other was focused on a woman whose triumphant look in her eyes as she watched her only child walk towards them, made her unfit to hold the title of mother.

"Seems you two are already well acquainted," Danni said and pulled off her engagement ring and offered it to her now ex-fiancé who stood there as if he was made of stone.

He made no effort to take it.

He said nothing.

And that was fine with Danni because she had PLENTY to say.

"You know, mother," she began as she really saw the woman who'd given birth to her and felt... nothing. Nothing at all. "Daddy and I loved you, in spite of your faults. I could stand here and list all the vile things you've done to both of us over the years, but what's the point? This competition you seem to have with me is all in your own head. It doesn't matter what you have to do, you need to win at all costs." She got into her mother's face and it gave her no little satisfaction when the woman took a step back. "Well tonight's little drama has just cost you a daughter. If you ever come near me again, I'll take out a restraining order."

Danni spun to a Pascale who watched her through narrowed eyes.

The muscle in his jaw ticked.

He smelled so familiar, so male, and it broke her heart so bad that she could barely swallow the huge rock in her throat. Her eyes stung. Her nose stung, but she fought like a warrior to hang on.

She'd be damned if she'd ever let him see what he'd done to her this night.

"Seems the rumors about you are right. You like variety, a revolving door of women. Although I think going for a mother and daughter is little sick even for you."

Since he hadn't made a move to take the ring, she moved in, tucked it into his top pocket, gave it a little pat.

Chin held high, Danni turned and strode down the corridor as if she was going into battle.

 

His heart a block of solid ice in his chest, Pascale Wolfe watched Danni walk away.

Very slowly, he turned to look at the woman who had just turned his whole life upside down.

"You," he growled at a Gillian who took another step back. "Are a fucking piece of work. You better fix the mess you have made, or I will destroy you."

Eyes wide in a pale face, Gillian's pale hand clutched her throat. "You heard what she said..."

When Pascale's hand slashed through the air to silence her, she took another step back.

"Fix it."

 

 

***

Danni kept it together until she and Linda took a taxi to Linda's tiny apartment.

It wasn't until after she'd had a bath and a double brandy that Danni let it all out.

She cried for the loss of a mother who had never existed.

And she cried for the end of her dreams of a happy ever after.

"I knew he was too good to be true. Why don't I ever learn?"

Linda hugged her close. "You need to tell Ana and T.C."

Danni shook her head. "I can't ruin Ana's engagement weekend. I want to get the whole thing straight in my head. God, Pascale has a key to my apartment."

"You can stay here for as long as you like and we can always ask Sean and his team to change the locks on Monday."

"I need my laptop. My whole world is on my laptop and it's in Pascale's apartment."

"I'll sort it for you tomorrow. What you need is sleep."

Danni sat up and swiped her wet cheeks, but it was no use, the tears kept on coming.

She wrapped her arms around her waist and rocked. "God, I hurt so much."

"He said nothing?"

Danni shook her head. "Not a word."

"There's something weird about this whole situation," Linda muttered.

"We saw what we saw."

"I know, that's what's weird about it."

 

"Do you know what's going on between T.C. and Sean?" Ana asked a very quiet Danni two days later. "She lost her temper and punched him on the mouth on Saturday night."

Dressed for business, they were sitting at a table in a quiet part of the comfortable lounge area of the Down and Dirty bar. Ana studied the white and strained face of one of her best friends and wondered what was going on with her. She'd disappeared early from the party on Saturday night and Ana hoped nothing had gone wrong with her and Pascale's relationship. There were times when Danni needed to work through a problem herself before she reached out to her friends for help and support. Ana reckoned she'd get whatever was wrong out of her, eventually.

Danni frowned, sipping her coffee while she thought about the question. "I didn't know she'd hit him. I haven't heard anything from her. I sort of got the feeling something happened between them in Paris."

Her mind still on the way T.C. had slugged Sean at her party, Ana shook her head.

"Seriously? They detest each other."

Danni nodded. "Yup. It was hate at first sight."

Ana could only agree. Since they'd returned from Paris, her best friend and her head of security had done everything they could to avoid each other. "I know he can't bear her language at times. I heard him warn her more than once."

"I bet that went down well," Danni said.

"Like a lead balloon."

Danni checked out the room. "Talking about Sean, where is he?"

"He's at the doctor for a final check-up to clear him for work. Sean's colleague, Pete, is with me today. He's sitting at the bar."

Danni nodded, lifted her wrist to check the time. "She's late. Again."

Ana shifted in her seat to checkout a movement over Danni's shoulder. "Speak of the devil." Then her eyes narrowed in concern as she studied T.C.'s face when she reached the table. "What's the matter with you? You look like death warmed up."

"Lemme get the humble pie over with first. I'm sorry I caused a scene on Saturday," T.C. said to Ana.

"I'm sure you had a good reason," Danni said.

T.C. nodded. "Yeah, well. I shouldn't have lost it like that."

Ana looked hard at her friend. "Are you sick?"

Dressed in loose jeans, a short-sleeved man's cotton sweatshirt that had seen better days (probably to hide her fabulous breasts) and her blonde hair tied in a messy knot on top her head, T.C. dumped her huge purse on an empty chair, sat in the chair next to Ana and slumped over the table.

"I feel like crap."

Danni poured a glass of water from the bottle on the table and handed T.C. the glass.

"You look awful. What's up? You're never sick."

Instead of answering her, T.C. studied the water in her glass as if it held all the answers to the mysteries of the universe.

Then her eyes clicked to her friends.

"There's no easy way to do this... to say this..." she began.

"Say what?" Danni asked.

"I'm pregnant."

 

Omigod.

Ana knew her jaw was on the floor but before she could speak, T.C. turned and beaned her with a black look. "And I blame you for it," she said.

"ME!?" Ana screeched, her brain struggling to compute the news. "Do I have a penis?"

T.C. scowled horribly. "Don't be facetious. You know what I mean."

"Do I?"

T.C. leaned over the table and into Ana's face. "If you hadn't done the dirty with Olivier, his crazy-girl fans would have left you alone and Sean Kennedy would not be a burr in my butt. A burr I had sex with. Ergo—it's your fault I'm knocked up."

Anastacia shook her head. "Your thought processes, as ever, defy basic logic. What has Sean got to say about it?"

If anything T.C. went even paler.

She pouted. "How do I know?"

"You haven't told him?" Danni asked in a shocked voice.

T.C. had the grace to blush at the tone but she recovered quickly and jerked her chin.

"None of his business. This is my baby. He's merely the sperm donor."

Ana blinked, not only at the obstinate tone, but the flash of hurt in her friend's blue eyes.

"What happened?"

"We had sex. I kicked him out."

Confused, Ana tried again. "How many times did you have sex?"

The girls were well aware of T.C.'s one-time only rule.

"More than once," she said, reluctantly. "And he wouldn't take no for an answer."

Ana's eyes grew wide. "You mean, he wanted more than sex?"

T.C. shrugged. "He's a guy. They always want more. I don't. End of."

Struggling to unravel a thread of logic among the short sharp responses, Ana ran her hands through her hair and tugged.

"Okay. I get it and understand you have intimacy issues. But, babe, you're having a baby."

T.C.'s blue eyes went all teary and her smile wobbled, but Ana recognized happy tears.

"I know. It's just hit me that all this is real. Isn't it amazing? I'm gonna have a little mini-me. We'll be best pals. Go Shopping. Do Lunch. Be there for each other through thick and thin. I will never let her down."

Something like dread filled Ana's heart as she studied her best friend's dreamy expression.

Best pal.

Mini me.

Go shopping.

Do lunch.

What on earth was she talking about?

"Aw." Soft-hearted Danni blinked away a tear as she reached out to T.C. "That's so lovely. But what if she's a he?"

T.C. shook her head and her jaw went tight. "Nope. I'm having a girl. Don't ask me how I know. I just know it."

Ana sat back in her chair and simply stared very hard at a best friend who was living in her own crazy version of reality.

How could T.C. delude herself like this?

Something hot and hard settled in her stomach.

"You need to tell Sean. You need to tell him now. He has a right to know. Think of the baby for a moment. What if something bad happened to you. What if you got sick, or worse. What would happen to the baby then? She could end up in the care system." Like me. When T.C. simply looked into her eyes and said nothing, Ana read a stubborn determination that dismayed her. A wave of too many complex feelings and emotions seemed to rise up and threaten to wash her away. How could her best friend not see how wrong it was not to tell Sean? She stood. "I cannot believe you're being so unutterably selfish. I'm ashamed of you."

And with that parting shot, Ana picked up her bag and left.

 

 

 

***

 

With a clutch in her stomach, T.C. turned to gaze in dismay at a white-faced Danni.

As friends who'd stuck together through everything life threw at them, and were never shy to share an opinion, the three of them were used to the odd spat, but nothing like this.

Heart sick at the hurt she'd inflicted upon someone she adored, T.C. looked at Danni.

"Fuck."

"She's right," Danni said.

In response, T.C. heaved a deep sigh.

She listened to her heart, to the voice in her head, and accepted her fate. "Sean Kennedy will make my life a living hell."

Danni leaned over, patted her cold hand. "Something tells me you'll give a good as you get. Thing is, you know you hit a sore spot with Ana."

T.C. closed her eyes and remembered Ana's difficult past where her mother had lied and told her father was dead, when in fact he'd been alive and well. A consequence of which meant Ana had spent time in the care system after her mother had died.

T.C. had to admit Ana had been correct about Sean's right to know.

Although the thought of telling him the news after everything that had happened between them, made T.C. shudder. And just like that all her selfish and unrealistic dreams of how the future may look with her and an imaginary daughter became real. "I'm an idiot. Is it possible I've got baby brain already?"

Danni sent her a weak smile. "How would I know? But more importantly tell me when and where it happened? As far as I'm aware Sean's been recuperating. When did you get the opportunity to have sex with him?"

"In hospital."

Danni blinked. "But... how did you get in?"

"Told them I was his bride-to-be."

Danni's hazel eyes went wide. "And they believed you?"

"Hey, they're French. Romance is in their DNA."

"But... didn't Sean say anything?"

"He wasn't exactly coherent the first time he opened his eyes and then he went along with it. The night before he was released..." Danni's jaw drop made T.C. grin wickedly. "Let's just say I caught him at a weak moment."

"You mean he couldn't fight back?"

"It was six days after he'd been hit by the bus. Don't worry. He was with me all the way. I kissed him. He got aroused and I took control. All he had to do was lie back and think of England."

Danni shook her head. "I do not believe you at times. Didn't you think to use protection?"

"I used a condom and was on the pill—sort of."

Danni's jaw dropped again. "What do you mean, sort of?"

 

T.C. felt the heat of shame burn up her throat and into her cheeks. "You know what I'm like about taking pills. I keep them in my pantie drawer, but the last minute trip to Paris meant I left them at home. With everything that's been going on I didn't think."

"Whoa."

"Whoa's right. Lesson learned."

"And you haven't seen him since?"

T.C. found she wasn't quite ready to admit to her friend that she'd ended up in bed with Sean, again.

"Sure I have. Last Friday he turned up at my door unannounced, as if he had the right to be there. I made it clear I'm not interested in a relationship with him or anyone else. The man's a control freak. A dominant alpha. We'd kill each other."

"I like him," Danni said.

"Yeah, well, he's okay. But I also made it clear I am not in the market for a fuck buddy either."

Danni took a deep breath, her hazel eyes serious.

"Oh, T.C. You need to let the past go, babe."

 

Since that day all those years ago, T.C. felt as if the weight of the sins of the whole world had been placed on her shoulders. A day which had fractured the very foundation of the lives of her parents and her relationship with them ever since.

Regret and guilt made for uncomfortable bedfellows. Over time, they twisted a person's perception of the world and her place in it. Bottom line—because she'd destroyed her family, T.C. figured she didn't deserve to be happy.

She wasn't worthy of the gift of love or to find it with a man and have a family of her own, and so she'd done everything within her power to ensure love never found her—and it had found her anyway.

On one level, she knew her thoughts and feelings and her behaviors caused grave emotional and psychological self-harm. They also created a deep anxiety in those around her who cared for her. At the end of the day it was Ana and Danni's choice to be her friend. She asked for nothing except acceptance.

In truth, after what she'd done, she should be sentenced to a special place in hell.

"The past defines my today. I'm happy with the choices I've made for my life and my future. I can't change any of it. I am where I am and it is what it is."

Danni's gaze stayed steady and strong on hers. "You're wrong. So very wrong."

It might have been the softly spoken words. It might have been the pity glittering in those hazel eyes filled with unconditional love for her. But when her own eyes stung, T.C. figured it was probably pregnancy hormones which were making her unusually soft.

She blinked frantically to clear her vision. "Easy for you to say."

Danni reached across the table to take her hand and squeeze.

"It was an accident, babe."

"Yeah, that's what the coroner said at the time. I didn't believe him then and I don't believe him now. I was there."

"You need to talk to an expert to help you heal."

"Will it bring him back?"

"No. Of course it won't. But—"

T.C. had heard the arguments, the logic, the so-called truth, but she refused to open up the seeping septic wound deep in her heart and let in the light.

"So, what's the point? I deserve everything I don't get in life."

Danni shook her head. "Oh, T.C. What are we going to do with you?"

T.C. sipped her water.

"Hell if I know."

 

 

At least the bombshell had opened her door and let him in.

Then again, she was the one who'd requested his presence this evening.

Sean reckoned he could call it progress.

Tonight, her feet bare, she wore her regulation yoga pants plus over-size T-shirt.

The scent of her shampoo took him straight back to the night in her bed.

Her hair was piled high on her head in a messy ponytail.

Her skin was bare of cosmetics and she looked gorgeous.

The hectic flush on those high cheekbones and the feral glitter in those baby blue eyes made her look like an edgy fallen angel. But he knew T.C. was no angel—with those hot curves and a mouth made for...

He stopped his errant thoughts in their tracks.

However, something about the way she wouldn't meet his eye and the way she didn't know what to do with her hands dinged his intuition.

She looked ill at ease.

He wondered why.

"Don't look at me like that," she snapped.

Sean felt he was having a déjà vu moment. A repeat of the conversation they'd had just before she'd hit him.

"I'm not up to scratching your itch tonight," he said, just to make his point crystal. "What do you want?"

She stiffened.

"I know you think you're God's gift to women in bed, but I didn't ask you here for another night of forgettable sex."

Her adversarial tone was a surprise, as were her words.

Forgettable sex?

Hell, they'd reached Nirvana and beyond.

Again she was trying, and succeeding, to wind him up.

Bad, bad girl.

He shoved his hands into his jean pockets in case they found themselves doing something they'd regret, like strangling her.

But a righteous fury burned in his heart.

Who the hell did she think she was talking to him in that tone?

She'd had the sheer gall to invite him here and then turn on him with another bad attitude?

Whatever the hell her issue was, he wanted nothing to do with it.

He'd let her say what she had to say before he gave her a few home truths and booted her out of his life.

For good.

T.C. took her time to survey the way he stood there as if he was her lord and master. She had to admit the man looked fabulous in his soft blue jeans and black long sleeved thermal, which showcased his amazing body.

Her heart beat crazily in her chest as beads of perspiration trickled between her breasts

She wondered if pregnancy hormones gave women hot flashes.

Probably.

God knew pregnancy gave women everything else from twenty-four-hour morning sickness, to bursting into tears if a cute cat pic appeared on Instagram and everything else in between.

Sean's chest-beating gorilla act wasn't exactly a surprise, but she had his number alright.

The taciturn, he-man, do-as-you-are-told-woman act did nothing for her.

Why she'd given into a weak moment and actually felt sorry for him when he'd been vulnerable, she'd no idea.

Call it temporary insanity.

Call it stupid.

Whatever.

A little voice told her she had feelings for him.

She told the voice to shut up.

She'd asked him here to do the right thing, to make Ana proud, and to get him the hell out of her space, asap.

So why was she remembering his awesome penis?

"Seems we have an issue," she tossed the letter from her general practitioner, along with a black and white scan picture of a bunch of human cells, on the table. "You're gonna be a daddy."

 

Sean's shocked and appalled expression said it all.

T.C. would have laughed in his face if it wasn't for the fact her head ached like a bad tooth and she felt like throwing up. Plus, her heart was beating so fast she put her fist to the spot.

Well, the news had certainly wiped the snooty, superior expression from his handsome face.

"I do not believe this," he whispered.

"'Fraid so. Don't worry. I want nothing from you. After what happened to Ana when she was little, she made it clear you had the right to know. So—now you know."

She pointed to the three-D scan picture he seemed riveted by.

Shame her hand trembled.

His scent, clean and male, mixed with one-hundred-per-cent pure testosterone, was much too potent.

She took a step back.

Too late.

She'd already inhaled the very essence of him along with that just showered scent that she loved so much.

He didn't speak, didn't even look at her.

Okay.

The guy was obviously in shock and who could blame him?

She moved to grab the letter, the picture, and found a strong hand clamped on her narrow wrist.

"Don't. How do I know it's mine?"

Fair question.

However, T.C. couldn't help the sting of hurt or blame him for asking.

It wasn't as if she was a blushing virgin.

But surely he must know she'd never lie about something so important as a baby?

Then again, he didn't really know her, did he?

She ruthlessly held back a panic that threatened to overwhelm her.

Stay calm.

Don't freak out.

Don't punch him in the face.

T.C. took a deep, if shaky, inhale and let out a long breath.

She'd mastered the same technique over years of dealing with her parents.

"You'll just have to take my word on it."

"Will I?"

"Your choice. I've done my duty. Goodbye."

He blinked slowly like an owl. "That's it? You ask me here, drop a grenade, pull the pin and tell me to walk out? I don't think so."

For the life of her, T.C. couldn't understand why he wasn't already out the door.

After all, that's what most men would do when presented with such news under these particular circumstances.

The fact he was still standing there and looking at her as if she'd lost her tiny mind rendered her speechless.

It didn't last.

"You can thank Ana that I invited you here in the first place. If it had been left up to me—"

"You would never have told me," he finished her sentence.

"Yup."

"You are a something else, darlin'. What if your word isn't enough?" He went nose to nose with her. "What if I want proof? Because I am not going to pay a penny of child support without it."

The room spun as nausea crawled into her throat.

Good God.

He thought she was after his money?

Was he for real?

Didn't he know she could buy and sell him a million times over?

But before she could articulate a word, his eyes narrowed into slits before he continued, "Or are you planning an abortion and need the cash. Is that it?"

Shock and horror held her utterly still as her eyes searched the fury in his.

"What?" she whispered, not hearing her own words over a weird hum in her ears. His sarcasm and the fact he did not trust her, at all, hurt so bad her voice sounded as if it was coming from a galaxy far, far, away. "You think I want to get rid of it?"

"How do I know?"

The buzzing in her ears, louder now, made the room spin. Her knees went weak and an ache in her belly throbbed with the one in her head. She wound her arms around her waist and swallowed the acid of bile in her throat.

What a heartless bastard he was.

"What's the matter?" Sean demanded, anger morphing into something that looked like worry.

T.C. told herself to think.

But the pain in her head became unbearable, as if someone had taken a hammer to her skull.

"For God's sake, Theresa, you look as if you're about to pass out."

I'd never kill a baby, or a child. Never.

She tried to speak to him, to tell him, but no words came out.

She felt strong hands on her arms as her world went black.

 

***

When she came to, T.C. found herself lying on her side on her couch and being carefully considered by two female paramedics dressed in vivid green jump suits. They both wore blue latex gloves. One held a cardboard pot, which smelled as vile as she felt.

"Welcome back," the dark-haired paramedic said in a cheery voice. "How's the head?"

"Awful."

"Pregnancy can trigger migraine in some women. It's the over production of hormones. I don't want to give you anti sick medication until a doctor's looked at you. However, you're severely dehydrated and need fluids so we're taking you for a ride in our state-of-the-art ambulance."

"What will she need to take with her?" Sean asked.

T.C. closed her eyes.

She was so not up to dealing with him at the moment.

God, she felt like total crap.

"Cotton pj's, panties, toiletries. The usual, just in case they decide to keep her for observation. She'll feel a lot better once we've got her hydrated."

If she'd been feeling more like herself, the thought of them talking about her as if she wasn't here and Sean Kennedy going through her stuff would have had smoke belching from her ears, but T.C. couldn't give a shit.

 

The ride in the ambulance was not a highlight of T.C.'s life thus far. The smell of antiseptic had her sick into another grey cardboard pot. When Sean held her ponytail back from her face and told her she was going to be just fine and not worry about anything, she didn't even have the strength to roll her eyes.

Why couldn't he just go away and leave her alone?

 

Three hours later, T.C. awoke to find herself wearing a regulation hospital gown in a private hospital room with an intravenous drip in her arm and a machine bleeping next to her bed. Her pain in her head had dulled to a pulsing ache over her left eye and she desperately needed to pee.

When she tried to sit, a strong hand on her shoulder made her jump.

"Stay still. What do you need?" Sean asked her.

She turned her head to find anxious tawny eyes studying her face.

"Toilet."

He pressed a button and seconds later a young Asian nurse bustled through the door.

Kind brown eyes studied her face. "How are you feeling now? You look a bit better. Headache gone?"

T.C. shook her head, bit back a whimper. "Still feel sick. The pain is down to a banging pound rather than someone taking an axe to my head. I need to pee."

When the nurse produced a bed pan, T.C. simply gave her a hard look.

"It's the safest way," the nurse said.

Sean stepped out of the room while T.C. and the nurse did what they had to do.

When the worst it was over, and she felt fully relieved in more ways than one, T.C. settled back against the pillows.

The nurse checked the drip again. "You're fiancé is a lovely big man. He's been pacing up and down the corridor like a great caged beast."

T.C. opened her mouth to say he wasn't her fiancé, but then decided she couldn't be bothered getting into a lengthy explanation with a complete stranger, so she offered a weak smile in response.

A knock at the door signalled the arrival of two doctors, with an anxious Sean hot on their heels. She'd never been in hospital before and had to admit finding the experience a little unnerving, so she was glad to see him. Something of her thoughts must have shown on her face, because Sean moved to take the seat next to her bed and took her hand in his.

The older doctor had a shock of grey hair the color of a battleship. He wore a white shirt with a red bow tie. He took the chart from the nurse, read the stats and then turned shrewd and intelligent eyes upon T.C.

"Hello, Theresa. I'm Mr. Brownlee. I'm your consultant and will be in charge of your care going forward. This is my registrar, Gareth Evans, who runs my maternity clinics. You're suffering from hyperemesis gravidarum (HG), which is a fancy name for prolonged and excessive nausea and vomiting. Apart from making you feel pretty grotty, the trouble with it is that it can cause a number of complications like dehydration, ketosis which is a serious condition resulting in the build-up of acidic chemicals in the blood and urine - ketones are produced when your body breaks down fat rather than glucose for energy resulting in weight loss; plus hypotension which is low blood pressure when standing. From our tests we can see you have the whole package. At the moment we're treating you with intravenous fluids and we'll see how you get on."

"Will it harm the baby?" Sean voiced the question dancing on the tip of T.C.'s tongue.

"HG is unpleasant with dramatic symptoms, but the good news is it's unlikely to harm the baby, if treated effectively. However, if it causes you to lose weight during pregnancy, Theresa, there is an increased risk that your baby may have a low birth weight. If it's any consolation many women have these symptoms and, although distressing, they will go away when the HG stops, usually around twenty weeks, or when the baby is born."

"What causes it?" T.C. croaked, feeling all weepy and terribly scared for her baby.

"Hormones are the culprit. Is there anything else going on with you we need to know?" Mr. Brownlee asked.

"I have an extremely heightened sense of smell. The headaches are horrible. And I've lost weight."

"We'll start anti-sick treatment immediately. The heightened sense of smell is common and normal in pregnancy. In fact, in many women it's the first sign that they are pregnant. It's important your fluid intake is monitored. Staying hydrated will help the headaches. Try and eat as healthy a diet as you can manage. It is crucial you get enough rest and plenty of sleep."

T.C. took a breath and blinked frantically as she stared at the way Sean's fingers threaded hers as they held hands.

God, what a horrible mess.

Sean gently squeezed her fingers. "When can she go home?"

"As soon as her stats are within a normal range and she's feeling better. Maybe tomorrow or the next day. Any questions?"

Both Sean and T.C. shook their heads.

Mr. Brownlee and his team moved towards to the door.

With his hand on the handle the doctor paused and turned to eye them both.

"And no stress."

When the door closed, T.C. let the tears fall.

On the one the hand she couldn't help it and on the other she could have kicked herself to show weakness in front of this man.

"It will all work out, Theresa." Sean used a tissue from the box on the bedside cabinet to wipe her cheeks. "I've called Ana and she's on her way with Danni. I couldn't find your parent's contact details..."

T.C.'s groan was heartfelt.

She shook her head. "I'm not in contact with my parents. They're not a part of my life."

There was a long silence, before he cleared his throat. "Okay. We can talk about why another day."

She opened her eyes and found his glued to her face. "No, we won't."

He frowned. "But, you're carrying their grandchild. Surely—"

She shook her head very slowly and not once did her eyes leave his. "I wouldn't let them within a hundred miles of my child."

The soft knock at the door prevented Sean's response.

There had been something in her eyes he couldn't identify.

And that something had frozen the blood in his veins.

But then Ana and Danni entered, armed with flowers and magazines and a bulging gift bag.

Sean wasn't sure the laptop was a good idea, but he'd sneak it out later if she didn't follow the doctor's orders to the letter.

A teary looking Ana dumped the flowers on a trolley and caught T.C. in a hug. "I'm so sorry, babe. I shouldn't have yelled at you like that. How are you feeling?"

"A lot better. And I appreciate the flowers, I really do. But I can't stand the smell at the moment."

"Of course!" Ana grabbed both her flowers, Danni's bouquet of cream roses and headed for the door.

When she returned empty handed, Sean assumed she'd handed them to a nurse.

Deciding to the leave the girls in peace, he headed out to find the canteen and a strong black coffee, or three.

Instead, he found a bemused looking Olivier standing in the hall with an armful of flowers.

Olivier took one look at Sean's face. "How is she?"

"Sick. She's suffering from dehydration."

Olivier nodded as together they strolled toward the elevator.

Neither spoke until they were in the hospital coffee shop.

"Wow. Pregnant. I did not know you liked her," Olivier said.

Sean heard the offer of a shoulder to cry on when he heard one.

"She drives me crazy. But when she just collapsed like that—I've never felt fear like it."

"Ana's blaming herself."

Sean frowned. "For what?"

"They had a difference of opinion about T.C.'s plan to bring up the child alone. After what she went through as a girl... You know my woman, she makes her feelings clear. When we received your call, Ana blamed herself."

Sean absently stirred his coffee while he thought about it. "Makes sense. But sickness during pregnancy isn't anyone's fault. It's just one of those things."

"Falling in love is not easy, my friend."

Sean nodded. "At least Ana loves you back."

Olivier looked thoughtful for a moment, opened his mouth and then closed it before he spoke, "T.C. has been badly hurt by something that happened in the past."

Sean gave him a steady stare. "What?"

Olivier shook his head, his brow creased as he considered. "I do not know. Those three keep secrets. They are a tight knit group. It takes them time to trust."

Sean received the message loud and clear.

He'd need plenty of patience to get close to Theresa Catliff, to discover what made her tick. It wasn't as if he had a lot of choice, not now there was the baby involved.

"What are you going to do?" Oliver asked the question that had been dancing on the edge of Sean's mind for hours.

"Marry her of course."

Olivier's eyes went wide. "Good luck with that plan."

Sean nodded. "Thanks. Something tells me I'm gonna need all the luck I can get."

 

 

 

 

***

"I hate hospitals," T.C. said.

Ana rubbed her hand. "I know the feeling. But, you're in the best possible place for you and the baby."

T.C.'s eyes stung. "I'm so scared," she whispered.

Danni leaned in to give her a hug. "I know, babe. We're all scared for you. But, Ana's right."

T.C. clutched Danni's hand and stared at the empty ring finger.

Oh no.

Her gaze clicked to Danni's pale face and the desperate sadness in her hazel eyes.

"Omigod," she whispered.

Ana frowned. "What?" Then her blue eyes registered the problem. "What happened?"

Danni's eyes filled even as she shook her head. "This isn't the place—"

T.C. couldn't believe Danni's selflessness at times. "Of course it fucking is."

Danni's slim shoulders slumped. "I found Pascale kissing another woman."

"Where? When?" Ana demanded, her face fierce.

"At your engagement party."

Ana's jaw dropped. "No way!"

"Yup."

T.C. eyes narrowed as she studied Danni's hard mouth. "Who?"

Danni took a deep breath and then her gaze met her friend's. "My mother."

Cue a stunned silence.

"I do not fucking believe it."

 

Danni whipped out her phone, found the pictures and video Linda had shared and shared it with the best friends in the whole wide world. Friends who stood by one another through whatever shit life threw.

Right now, her friends were slack-jawed and wide-eyed as, heads close together, they studied the damning evidence.

Ana sat back in the chair and folded her arms. "I simply will never understand what the hell it is Gillian has over men. The woman is like catnip to them."

T.C. held Danni's phone and watched it again, her brow creased. "This is so fucking weird. Honestly, these days I feel as if I'm living in the Twilight Zone."

Danni plucked the phone out of her hand, switched it off and dropped it into her bag.

She'd no intention of telling them that Pascale had made the first move by calling her this morning, or that her mother had sent her a letter filled with the biggest bunch of emotional lying bullshit she'd ever read.

Apparently, according to her voicemail, Pascale wanted to see her to explain.

Well, she wasn't interested in anything either her mother or her ex-fiancée had to say.

Her heart might be broken, but she refused to be destroyed.

Hadn't she seen how her poor father had suffered years of torment after believing the emotional blackmail and lies? How many times had he taken her mother back and then had his trust and his heart broken again and again?

Therapists often say a family history repeated itself when it came to intimate relationships.

Well, what happened to her father was not going to happen to her.

As far as Danni Pebbles was concerned, her short-lived liaison with Pascale Wolfe was over.

End of.

 

 

T.C. lay back in her bed and studied the faces of her best friends, thought about the Big Mess she'd made of her life and poor Danni's even bigger Big Mess.

She narrowed her eyes when her gaze rested on a rather pensive looking Ana.

"Okay, Banana. Spit it out. What's going on with you?"

Dark head bowed, Ana's fingers plucked at the blanket on the bed. "I haven't said anything to Olivier about it because I wanted to be sure."

Uh-oh.

T.C. knew that tone. "Sure of what?"

Ana lifted her head and her eyes flicked from one to the other.

"I'm pregnant."

They all knew Anastacia Morgan had a life plan.

A plan which had been totally derailed when she'd met Olivier.

These days, Olivier came first, then her career and then marriage.

And in a dim and distant future, far far away, maybe a family.

Maybe.

Danni's mouth made an O shape as she watched emotions fill Ana's eyes and tip over.

T.C. knew the feeling.

Hell, she was emotional herself.

"Are those happy tears?" T.C. demanded.

Ana shook her head. "I don't know," she whispered.

"Holy Mary, Mother of God," Danni whispered.

"Amen, sista," T.C. whispered back.

"You are very quiet, bella."

Ana lay on a lounger on the balcony of their apartment. The night was balmy. Stars glittered like diamonds tossed upon a black velvet sky. Far below, the sounds of a busy City going about its business ebbed and flowed on a gentle breeze.

Olivier set a couple of glasses of wine on the small coffee table, lifted her legs, sat and placed them on his lap.

When they'd arrived home, they'd changed into what Ana called their cozy clothes.

In her case, blue jeans gone soft at the seams and a cotton vest, while Olivier wore knee length cargo shorts and a tatty T-shirt. The thought crossed her mind that they were already acting like an old married couple. The scary part was that it felt right.

"I'm sad for Danni and I'm sad she didn't tell me sooner."

"I find it hard to believe Pascale would do such a thing. He is deeply in love with Danni. I wonder if judgment was passed without knowing all the facts. I always regretted jumping to the wrong conclusion with you."

Ana frowned. "Thing is, Gillian has always been malicious. But this time she's taken her unhealthy obsession with Danni's love life too far."

He rubbed the sole of her bare foot. "I do not understand."

"When Danni was dating her first boyfriend, her father found him and her mother in bed together. The boy was sixteen."

"Mio dio," Olivier whispered.

"And that's not the worst of it, either. It's taken Danni's father, Tom, a long time to begin to live anything like a normal life. But he still can't seem to let Gillian go. Some people in this world are simply toxic. They live to create drama."

Olivier's mouth curved as he placed a kiss on the arch of her foot. "We like a quiet life."

She narrowed her eyes. "I led a perfectly quiet life, until I met you."

He regarded her with steady eyes. "You worry for T.C."

It was a statement rather than a question.

"I am worried. We're all worried. Did you see Sean? He's crazy about her."

"Si. I did not see that relationship coming."

"Me neither. I think he'll be good for her."

Ana knew the time had come to destroy any peace and quiet they'd found in their lives. Although she also understood that there was a deep excitement brewing in her heart. Olivier was a family man through and through. He'd be happy when she told him the news.

Wouldn't he?

 

When Oliver sprawled on top of her to kiss her senseless, Ana let him have his way. Until his searching hands slid beneath her top to cup bare breasts. When her breath hitched with incredible pleasure, she eased him back to stare into the devastatingly handsome face of the man she loved beyond all reason.

Oliver Conti was beautiful inside and out.

She rubbed her knuckles over his manly scruff, then ran her fingers through his hair.

All the while the love for her in his eyes was clear to see.

"I have a surprise for you," she whispered.

Dark brows rose and his mouth curved. "Si? Is it a good surprise?"

Aware her heart was beating too fast, she bit down hard on her bottom lip to stop its sudden tremble.

No matter what she did, she couldn't stop the sting in her eyes. "I hope so."

The emotions swimming there made him blink. "Tell me, cara mia."

"I'm pregnant."

 

Between one heartbeat and the next, he was on his feet and staring at her face, then his gaze dropped to her flat belly and back to her face.

"Truly?" he whispered.

When she read the stunned belief and sheer joy in his eyes, Ana's tears flowed freely.

"Yes. You're going to be a papa."

She was scooped up in his arms and spun until she was dizzy.

When he set her on her feet, he held her so close she could feel the way his whole body trembled. The words he muttered in Italian made absolutely no sense to her, but she got the gist of them.

Her man was happy.

Very happy.

So how could she tell him she was scared to death?

What on earth did she know about being a grown up?

Her mind flew back to the horrors of her own childhood, memories that made her bury her face in his chest and hold him tight.

God, she'd be such a crap mother.

What the hell was she going to do?

 

 

 

 

 

***

 

"Wow!"

It wasn't often Ana managed to stun her PA, but Linda looked as if she'd been hit by a two-by-four.

"It's early days. Six weeks. I don't want the news to go viral until we're over the first trimester. Olivier's desperate to tell his mother, but I think I've convinced him to hold fire. You should see him. He's strutting around like the cock of the walk."

Linda grinned. "I could say something disgusting and filthy in response to that, but we have a child to consider."

Ana lay her palm on her belly. "It's a mass of cells. I doubt anything that comes out your mouth is going to matter much."

Her eyes filled and immediately Linda was at her side. "You will be a great mother. Don't ever doubt it."

Ana sniffed. "How do you know?"

"Because I know these things. Look at how you are with the Ferranti kids? They adore you."

"The baby loves playing with my hair."

"There you go. You might have a tough exterior, but inside you are mush and children pick up on that. Even Jimmy Chew loves you," Linda said, referring to the Ferranti's adored Bichon Frise.

She had to laugh.

"He's gorgeous." Then Ana took a breath and spoke from the heart. "I never thought, never dreamed, I'd ever have a man who loved me or a home and family of my own. Life is strange. We never know what's around the corner."

Linda nodded wisely. "True. Look at Danni and T.C. - a month ago we could never have imagined what's happening in their lives right now."

Danni's unhappiness was a dark cloud in Ana's life. "I'm so worried about Danni. What exactly did you see that night?"

Linda sat on the edge of the chair, her eyes dark behind her glasses. "Pascale was in a clinch with Gillian. At first I thought I was imagining it, you know? Took out my phone and recorded the whole sorry scene. But Danni was right behind me and saw it, too. Poor girl. She was terribly brave the way she walked right up to them and called them out."

Ana frowned. "She didn't tell us that bit."

"Yeah, well, you and T.C. have a lot going on at the moment. Talking about T.C., how's she doing?"

"If she continues to improve, she'll be allowed home later today, under Sean's supervision."

"When I saw Pete this morning I received the message Sean wouldn't be here."

"I've told him to take all the time he needs."

Linda sniffed. "I must admit I did not see that one coming."

"Me neither. She seduced him in his hospital bed."

Linda barked out a laugh. "The girl is a pistol."

"Sean will handle her."

Linda's brows rose over the top of her glasses. "You think?"

"I'm hoping he'll help her move on."

Linda's eyes filled with pity. "She deserves to be happy."

"If anyone can do it, it'll be Sean. He's determined and persistent."

"Two things a person needs to get ahead in this world."

Ana tapped her pen on the glass table of her desk. "Speaking of getting ahead. Don't we have work to do today?"

"Yes, ma'am."

 

 

 

 

TWENTY

 

"You will marry me," Sean said, his voice low and hard.

In response to that outrageous statement, T.C.'s laugh pealed, echoing in the cavernous sitting room of her apartment.

Then her eyes narrowed. "In your dreams."

The muscle of his strong jaw clenched. "My child will not be born a bastard."

T.C. didn't even blink, didn't move, as she stood before him and wondered how it was through sheer physical presence alone he managed to dominate the space.

"Carry on like this and you won't see her at all."

Sean's face paled. "Her?"

T.C.'s super-white smile didn't reach her blue eyes. "Yep. A female. Bet you're the type who'd have loved a boy. Tough luck."

When the world tilted, she sat down on the couch with a distinct bump.

Sean opened his mouth then shut it with a snap.

Seemed she'd won this round.

Sean had never met anyone, man or woman, who drove him fucking crazy the way she did.

Although T.C. with the Big Mouth and Bad Attitude was back, he recognized she appeared pale and fragile, even vulnerable. Fragile and vulnerable—two words he'd never have dreamt to apply to this girl.

In spite of the mouth, it was clear she was unwell and needed support. And that meant him.

However, his business interests needed attention. He couldn't spend all day with her. He had Anastacia Morgan to protect.

"I'll hire a nurse," he muttered his thoughts out loud.

Right on cue her blue eyes flashed.

"No. If you want to be useful, hire a cook. I'm crap with food."

He smiled, a real one this time.

The woman refused to ever give in.

Hell, he loved that about her.

"Are you scared?" he whispered after a while.

"To death," she whispered back.

"Me, too."

She lifted her head to look him in the eye. "Seriously?"

He nodded. "Seriously shitting bricks here."

She closed her eyes. "This is all my fault."

"Um. I took biology. I believe it takes two."

"You know what I mean."

"Darlin', do you really believe that if I hadn't wanted you, I wouldn't have stopped you?"

She dropped her head to his chest and took a deep sniff that made him smile. "You were hurting and not in a position to stop me."

He wrapped her in his arms and held her close, his cheek resting upon her blonde head.

"I'm ex special forces. Trust me. If I hadn't been all in one hundred percent, you'd have been out of there."

"You don't even like me," she whispered.

"Do, too. I more than like you."

After a silence that went on, and on, she finally spoke, "I'm not a good person."

"You're a hard-ass all right. And one day we'll get to the bottom of why you are the way you are. But for now what you need is bed rest."

 

Since he was a man who believed in action rather than words, he scooped her up and took her to bed.

Once she was settled, he stood back to study her pale face, the glassy blue eyes.

"Want something to eat? To drink?"

She shook her head. "Too tired."

"Headache?"

She shook her head.

When she closed her eyes, he kept watch.

Well, who'd have thought he'd end up spending the night with a woman pregnant with his child?

Sean decided life was strange.

When his phone vibrated with incoming, he plucked it out of his pocket to check his messages.

Danni was worried.

Ana was worried.

Well, including himself, that made three of them.

He responded to their messages to tell them all was well.

Then he stripped and slid into bed to be with his woman and to hold her through the night.

Theresa may not need a hug, but Sean did.

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 The sound of water running in the bathroom sink had Sean switch on the light and out of bed to investigate.

He found her washing her hands.

"You feeling okay?"

Her eyes caught his in the mirror. "Fine. I had a drink of water."

"You managed two hours. Come back to bed." When she didn't blink, he added, "To sleep."

He held out his hand.

When she took it without a murmur and he towed her back to bed, he reckoned things had levelled out between them and he thanked God for it.

When she settled beneath the comforter, he wrapped an arm around her and drew her right in.

Once she rested her head wearily on his chest, he closed his eyes to take a moment. A moment to let everything that had happened to both of them sink in.

"I'll never forget the way you took me. You used me for your own pleasure. Selfish. Bad girl."

Her body shook with laughter. "You're over thinking it."

"You kissed me, touched me, had your wicked way and then strolled out. I didn't even get a hug."

"I don't do romance."

"But, you told all the doctors and nurses you were my fiancée."

"Fake fiancée."

"You bought me a big ugly purple teddy bear with a silver balloon."

"You hated it."

"I did. I do."

She went utterly still, then shifted to look up into his face. "You still have it?"

He caught the thrilled surprise in her eyes and grinned. "Yup."

Her smooth brow creased. "Why?"

"To remind me of a special moment. I've never had a fiancée before. I liked it."

"You liked the sex."

He nodded. "Yup. Every time I think of it I ache."

"Then don't think of it if it brings you pain."

Something in her voice told him she wasn't referring to him.

Never a man to pass up an opportunity when one presented itself, he shifted to lie back and pulled her on top of him until they both lay stretched out. When she tucked her head beneath his chin and sighed, he held her close to enjoy the scent of her hair and her soft body against his. Her arm slid around his waist and she took another deep breath.

"Tell me about your parents," he said in a soft voice.

"Not much to tell. They have too much of everything."

He blinked. "That's a very strange thing to say."

"Too much money for a start."

He stroked her blonde hair, it felt like slippery silk. "Only people born with wealth see it as a great burden."

"True. My parents were too young when they married within six months of meeting. They were bored to death of each other eight weeks after their lavish wedding ceremony. The whole event covered in a glossy magazine.

"What happened?"

"Too young. Too rich. Too much alike. No matter how hard they tried to fix it, their relationship fell apart. My grandpa said they were both madly in love with the celebrity image they made together."

After she said nothing for a long while, he dipped his head to see she was staring into space, he asked, "And then?"

"And then they had me," she whispered.

"Didn't having a child change them?"

"They went through the motions. To the public we were the perfect family. In private..."

"They fought?"

She shook her head. "Oh no. They were terribly civilized as they cheated on each other. Both equally responsible for the sham. I remember the night my mother threw her one and only tantrum. I was five. And she was pregnant. My father asked, his voice so soft and reasonable, if it was his."

Appalled, Sean realized he'd asked her exactly the same thing. "Christ."

"I know. It wasn't until I was older that I realized how sick the question was."

"What did she say?"

"She didn't know, couldn't be sure."

His throat was bone dry. "What happened?"

"He wanted an abortion. She said no. She had the baby. A little boy."

Sean smiled. "So you have a brother?"

She went so still, he dipped his head to find her face sheet white. "No. He died when he was six."

He held her tight, kissed the top of her head. "God. I'm sorry. What happened?"

For the longest time she said nothing.

From the noise she made, he realized she found it hard to speak.

He tipped her chin to look into blue eyes swimming with misery.

"I killed him."

 

 

 

 

 

She'd been too quiet all day and Sean blamed himself for it.

Why the hell hadn't he minded his own bloody business?

He still couldn't get over the utter shock of her words.

Of course she hadn't killed her little brother.

But it was clear to Sean she truly believed the statement.

Afterwards, in typical T.C. fashion, she'd refused to speak of it.

Every time he thought he was on the right path with her, he did something stupid.

This morning, she'd spent a couple of hours on her laptop dealing with responses to her last blog post and to say her organizational skills impressed him put it mildly.

She was diligent and focused and one hundred percent professional in the way she took a subject some might call irrelevant, seriously. And it seemed her followers loved her for it.

When she went a little pale, he'd made her take a break.

At least she hadn't turned up her nose at the ginger tea Danni had suggested or the dry cookie. She'd kept both down. Result.

Sean decided that Danni Pebbles was an angel because she'd organized a delivery of specially prepared soups and meals.

They'd shared simple food.

 T.C. had managed a clear broth with toasted soda bread.

This afternoon, she'd taken a long nap while Sean caught up with his admin and checked in with Pete to ensure Anastacia was well covered.

An hour ago, he'd heard the shower and the sound of the hairdryer from T.C.'s bedroom.

Now he was preparing a light meal for dinner.

All he had to do was to heat it in the oven, so it was hardly rocket science.

He grabbed cutlery from a drawer and lifted his head to check that the woman who had a personality with more layers than the average onion was okay.

 

At the moment she stood on her balcony.

Seemed it was a favorite spot and he couldn't fault her for that because the view was amazing.

He joined her.

When he placed his hands gently on her shoulders, she leaned back against him.

As one, in total silence, they watched the sunset.

He'd never done this with anyone before, shared the approach of night.

Now he wondered if he'd only think of her now whenever he watched the sun go down.

The thought was terrifyingly right.

"I love this time of year," he said, determined to keep the conversation light and easy and well away from anything that may upset her. "Tell me about your favorite summer."

She thought of the best summer of her life in Greece as they'd sailed on their family's yacht in a blue, blue sea, beneath a blue, blue sky.

"I stayed with my grandpa for a month once while my parents travelled around Europe on business. He had a villa on a Greek island. The days were so long they felt like a week. Days on a beach of white sand. I remember a boy who hired sun loungers. I thought he was beautiful, dark and mysterious."

"Hmm. You were nuts about him."

"I'd spend hours just staring at him. I filled my diary with pages of what ifs. He had wonderful eyes."

"And I bet you kept the diary beneath your pillow."

Her laugh was soft. "Did you have a twelve-year-old sister?"

"Yup." He pressed his cheek to her head. "Your hair smells fabulous, like flowers drenched in spring rain."

"That's a fabulous description. I'm gonna steal it."

"Glad I could help. Did you kiss the boy with wonderful eyes?"

She sighed. "I wish. No. I was too young for a man's kisses."

"How old was he?"

"Seventeen."

"Hmm. You were much too young."

She tipped back her head to smile at him. "That was the day I found Harry laughing like crazy because he'd found my diary and I ran after him, threatening to—"

T.C. stopped dead as the sense of loss slammed into her, wave after tumultuous wave.

Before Sean could grab her, she'd moved out of his arms to grip the balcony rail, her knuckles white.

"He was only little. He'd seen six summers," she whispered.

"Theresa."

She shrugged his hand from her shoulder. "Go home, Sean. It's getting late."

 

Sean found he simply couldn't cope with the tears thick in her voice.

He told himself she needed him.

He told himself to stay.

Her hand was like ice as he took it.

"Let's sit on the couch," he said as he sat and drew her onto his knees and covered them both with a throw. "Have you ever been to Cork?"

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Danni opened the door to her apartment to the very last person she'd expected to see—her father.

Dressed in a well-cut suit in pale grey wool, along with a super-white shirt, old school tie and black brogues, Thomas Pebbles was a tall man with salt and pepper hair. His time in the military meant he stood shoulders back, chin lifted. However, it was the look in his hazel eyes, wary and sad that made her pause.

She opened the door wider and into his hug.

"Hi, Daddy. I know why you're here. Nothing you say will make me change my mind about what I said to Gillian."

He nodded, but said nothing in response as he walked down the hallway and through wide double doors into her sitting room.

Instead of the taking the seat she offered, he moved to look out the window and the view of Hyde park. He thrust his hands into his trouser pockets.

"You were eight when you told your mother and I to stop shouting and listen to each other. I've never forgotten the way you tried to broker peace. A little pixie of a girl desperately trying to referee two grownups who didn't deserve to be called such. Last night I remembered what you tried to do when she walked out and left us. I was in pieces and you told me that ‘it's fine, Daddy, we're better off without her.’ I couldn't cope with a big empty house. I couldn't cope with the responsibility for the health and happiness of a child. Instead, you became the parent to comfort a man so weak and blinded by a love that didn't exist—" he drew a deep breath, turned to look her in the eye. "I've let you down, Danielle, and I am sorry for it. However, I cannot stand by and let your mother destroy your personal happiness."

Danni's heart raced so fast it pounded in her ears. "I saw what I saw."

Very slowly, he shook his head. "You saw what she wanted you to see. It might have taken Gillian nearly eighteen years, but she's finally realized she's overstepped the mark this time. Believe me when I say she received no sympathy from me. Pascale Wolfe has already made it clear to her that if he can persuade you to return to him, she will never be welcome in his home."

"He had his hands on her," Danni spoke through clenched teeth.

Her father sighed, shook his head. "Do you think she hasn't played this game with me over the years? She has. Many times. When a woman launches herself upon a man without warning and kisses him senseless it can take a second, or three, for him to react."

Danni wasn't having any of it. "They knew each other from before. Don't ask me how I know, I just felt it."

Tom Pebbles nodded. "They had met before and believe me when I say she threw herself at him then too. He has everything she ever wanted, looks, wealth and his family's prestige. But I can assure you, that in spite of the convoluted machinations of your mother, nothing happened between them."

She'd gone through a living hell over the last five days, but Danni was absolutely certain of one thing. "Pascale had a certain reputation with women. I believe in giving people a chance. One chance. There's a pattern of behavior emerging within our family and it's one I can't ignore. I will never, ever, go through with anyone what you went through with Gillian."

Now her father sank to the edge of a chair, his elbows on his knees as he studied her set face.

"You are nothing like me, thank goodness. Your mother and I weren't there for you when you needed us. Especially after what happened to you with those boys at University. At the time, we were too caught up in our continuing melodrama. And for that I will never forgive myself. You don't trust men. I can hardly blame you. But I do take the bulk of responsibility for your view of the gender in general."

She heard the regret, the sincerity, in his voice.

Danni sat in the chair opposite him. "You loved her. Love makes a person weak."

He shook his head. "That's not true. It's taken me too long to realize it, but true love strengthens a couple. Love does not weaken a relationship. I became obsessed by a belief in someone, something, that simply didn't exist. The woman I wanted your mother to be did not exist, does not exist and never will exist."

She studied his face. "You've met someone."

The hectic flush on his cheeks made her bite down on her bottom lip to hide a smile. Her father, she realized, was in love. "Yes. And she's so unlike your mother in every conceivable way."

"Am I going to meet her?"

He smiled, his eyes crinkling. "You will, as soon as this mess is cleared up. Since you refuse to talk to him, Pascale reached out to me to ask for my help. Speak to him. Listen to what he has to say."

She blinked.

The thought of the ultimate alpha male, Pascale Wolfe, reaching out to her father stunned her for a moment.

Tom Pebbles rose and opened his arms.

Danni leapt into them to hug a man she loved, in spite of his flaws.

Arm in arm they walked to the door.

He turned to her. "Promise me, you'll think about it."

She nodded. "I'll think about it, but I'm promising nothing."

 

 

 

***

Danni had reached out to him and for that Pascale could only be grateful.

He was a desperate man.

A feeling which was something of a novelty for someone who'd never been desperate for anything in his life. He still found it difficult to get his head around how fast his whole world had unravelled within a matter of hours. When he'd seen Danni's mother, he couldn't believe his own eyes. He'd known her as Gill Stone, an attractive woman separated from her wealthy husband. A woman on the prowl. They'd met in Paris two years ago at a charity function for his luxury accessory brand, Aqua di Redo. She'd clung to him like a limpet and he'd let her down gently. Looking back that had been a mistake. By sparing her feelings he'd left the door ajar for the woman to enter his life again and cause havoc.

Well, he wouldn't make that mistake twice.

When... if, Danni listened to his version of events and believed them, Christ, he hoped she'd believe him, then Gillian would never darken their door.

Ever.

Right now his belly churned with nerves as he sat in a quiet corner of the lounge in the Blue Lagoon club. It was early evening and he knew Danni had chosen the venue because she was familiar with it... neutral territory.

He checked his watch, again.

And wondered if it was possible for time to stand still.

When another five minutes passed with no sign of her, he was just about to order a badly needed drink when she strolled through the door. Not in a hurry, he realized, as he clocked the bored expression on her beautiful face. Her hair was styled in that bell of sleek, shiny copper he loved so much. She wore a cute little sleeveless number in emerald silk with a flirty pleated hem. Hooked over her arm, she carried a stunning leather handbag in burnt-orange leather. She wore matching skinny heels. The shoes and bag were not his, he noted, and ran his teeth over his top lip. If that wasn't a fuck-off message, he didn't know what was.

When she spotted him, she stopped and those stunning hazel eyes narrowed into slits.

Chin lifted, she sashayed towards the table and his heart began to pound against his ribs.

He rose and held out his hand, but since her response was to look at it as if it was a rattle snake, he waited until she sat before he took his own seat.

Once the waiter had delivered their order, sparkling water, ice and a slice of lemon for her, and a stiff JD for him, they eyed each other.

He didn't see love for him in her eyes.

He didn't see hate either.

Something told him, it might have been the raising of her brow and the pout of her mouth, he was in for a hard time.

Even though she'd practised the clever and biting little speech in her head over a hundred times, Danni's mind was a complete and utter blank.

All she could do was stare at Pascale and simply drink him in.

Tonight, his usual immaculate appearance was missing.

He wore tight fitting black jeans, lace up black leather boots and a black leather biker jacket over a white T-shirt. The image was bad boy scruff with tousled hair. And he looked as if he'd lost weight. Gaunt. Which only made him look even more beautiful. Bastard.

The fact her hand didn't shake as she sipped her water told her she could do this.

She'd listen to whatever he had to say and then walk away.

Closure.

The intensity of his stare was somewhat unnerving, but she refused to be intimidated by this man. She could smell him. His scent was so familiar that a prickling began behind her eyes. It cost her, but she focused on the water in her glass and studied the bubbles until the foolish weakness passed.

Pascale cleared his throat. "I met Gillian in Paris two years ago at a charity event my company sponsored. We chatted. She told me she was separated from her husband. I sympathized..."

"I just bet you did," Danni muttered beneath her breath.

He heard her of course, she could tell by the heat in his cheeks and the flash in those eyes that stared unblinkingly into hers. "I never laid a hand on her. She was not my type then or now. I made it clear I was Not Interested. My mistake, I now realize, was to let her down gently."

"How kind of you. How charming..."

The fire again flashed in his eyes. "I am charming. I did not wish to hurt her feelings..."

"How... noble."

He leaned over the table. "Is this how you are going to behave with me? Every time I say something, you insert a rude comment?"

Her brows rose.

A warning.

He'd better watch his mouth or he'd find himself covered in sparkling water.

"I'm wondering how long this long story is going to take. I have a date this evening and I don't want to be late."

The way he paled gave her plenty of satisfaction.

She didn't have a date, but she'd rather be dragged naked over a bed of nails before she'd admit it.

"With whom?"

"None of yours," she shot back, channelling her inner T.C. and taking great exception to his possessive tone.

The man had no right to talk to her like that, as if he owned her.

None.

Pascale drew in a deep inhale through his nose. "When I met her at Ana and Olivier's engagement party, I admit I was stunned to discover she was your mother..."

"I just bet you were."

This time he didn't retaliate, but a muscle at the edge of his jaw tick-tick-ticked.

"She kept staring at me in a way that I knew would bring unwanted attention, so when she went to the restrooms, I followed."

Danni set her glass on the table. "Allow me to take it from here. She launched herself upon you and wrapped her arms around your neck and forced you to kiss her. Am I right?"

He blinked. "Oui. We talked. She told me she was no longer married and made it clear she was still interested in having a... fling... I believe she called it. I told her I am in love with you—her daughter—the next thing I know she's plastered against me and her mouth is on mine."

Danni sat back, folded her arms, crossed her legs and let her foot swing.

Her toe was itching to kick his very fine ass.

"You're what, six foot four and two hundred pounds?"

When he didn't even nod in agreement, but just stared hard at her, she leaned over the table. "And she's what, five three and a hundred pounds soaking wet? And you expect me to believe she forced you to kiss her? Do I look like I came down with the last shower of rain, Pascale?"

Bemused, he blinked. "I do not know what that means."

"It means I am not a fool, Pascale. It means I SAW you with my own eyes and Linda SAW you and filmed it. Trust me, you did NOT put up a fight."

"I was caught by surprise!" he shot back, his cheekbones slashed with heat.

Then a particularly lurid tabloid story about him, an old one, entered her brain and she grasped the straw with something like glee, which meant she didn't think it through before she opened her mouth. "Was it anything like the surprise you had a few years back when you were caught in bed with identical twins? Has your kink now progressed to mother and daughter threesomes?"

He went so white, she thought he was about to pass out.

But he recovered.

Fast.

Now his mouth went so hard and his dark eyes were like flint.

"You believe that trash?"

Actually, no, she didn't.

But that didn't stop her jerky shrug and it didn't stop her mouth either.

"Who knows? Maybe there's no smoke without fire. Ever think of that?"

"I will tell you what I think. I think you are not the woman I thought you were. I think I made a mistake falling in love with you. I thought you were fair and honorable and kind."

"And I thought you were a man who could stick to one woman at a time. Perhaps we both made a mistake." She grabbed her bag and stood. "Goodbye, Pascale."

 

Chest heaving, Pascale watched her walk out of his life.

Again.

Bottom line?

She didn't trust him, not even a little bit, not even enough to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Well, to hell with her.

He was finished.

"Would you like a drink, sir?" A po-faced waiter asked.

"Oui. A double Jack Daniels. No. Bring the bottle."

Might as well get piss-faced since his whole life had gone to shit.

 

 

 

 

***

Four hours later...

Danni had painted her nails vicious red and now waited for the lacquer to dry.

Earlier this evening, she'd cleaned every single closet in her apartment and scrubbed the kitchen until the glass fronted cupboards sparkled and stainless steel appliances gleamed. Of course, none of it helped. Her belly was still a churning mess.

When the doorbell to her apartment rang and rang and rang, she ran to open it thinking it had been a mistake to turn off her cell phone. Maybe something had happened to T.C. or Ana.

But it was neither at the door.

Instead, she goggled at a very dishevelled, and very drunk, Pascale Wolfe.

He opened his mouth and spoke in rapid French, the gist of which was that he loved her. He adored her. He couldn't live without her.

In response to a couple of neighbors who'd opened their doors to watch the show, she grabbed his collar and dragged him through the door.

Like a lost puppy, he followed her into her kitchen-dining arrangement.

He didn't complain when she pushed him into a chair.

His eyes followed her every move as she poured a large glass of water and shook a couple of aspirin in his hand for the hangover from hell he was bound to suffer in the morning.

"Take these and drink this."

"Merci," he croaked in his deep, gravelly voice, and did as he was told like a lamb.

"You smell like a brewery. What were you drinking?"

"Lots of Jack."

Preparing a large pot of strong black coffee, she turned to bean him with a black look.

"Who's Jack?"

He shook his head. "Non-non. Jack Daniels."

Once she'd set the steaming mug down, she sat across from him and folded her arms.

"Why are you here?"

Since he was in the process of knocking back the whole glass of water it took him time to answer. He placed the glass very gently on the table and blinked into her eyes. His were rolling in his head.

Good Lord, the man must have drunk plenty of JD to get him into this state.

"I love you. I cannot live without you. I cannot eat. I cannot sleep. I hate your mother."

"Yes, well, I'm not fond of her either."

He leaned over the table. "She is an evil bitch."

Okay.

Her mother was evil and a bitch.

She stared at him, at the way he was staring at her as if she was his whole world and he couldn't get enough of her. If anyone had told her that Pascale Wolfe could be reduced to a wreck over a woman, she'd never have believed it. The man she knew cut a swathe of superior confidence through life. He never doubted himself. But, now he resembled a man-child and she clearly saw the determined little boy inside the man.

For once, she cursed her soft heart.

And conceded defeat.

There was no way she was ever going to get him out of here tonight.

No taxi driver in his right mind would accept him in this state in his cab.

She stood.

"You can sleep on the couch. I'll leave a plastic bucket on the floor."

His eyes went all teary.

Seriously alarmed she helped him to his feet and pulled his arm around her shoulder.

"You love me," he said.

At least that's what she thought he said.

"You're drunk and over emotional. We'll talk in the morning."

He collapsed on her sofa and let her unlace his boots, remove his socks and shrugged out of his jacket. "You love me. I love you. I want you to have my babies. Lots of babies."

Danni's heart thudded against her ribs.

Omigod.

She blamed the way the room swam on the fact because Ana and T.C. were pregnant.

She was over emotional that was all.

"Yeah, well... we'll talk all about it in the morning."

As she placed a throw over him, he caught her wrist and pulled her close.

"Admit it. You love me."

The heady whiff of alcohol made her eyes water, but she patted his cheek and watched as his eyes closed and he dropped like a stone into sleep. Someone was going to suffer the agonies of hell in the morning.

Idiot man.

 

She told herself to go to bed and leave him to it.

If she got up eight times during the night to make sure he was all right, no one knew about it except herself so it didn't count. And when she settled in a chair with her feet on a footstool and wrapped in her comforter to watch him, that didn't count either.

Then she decided she was a fool.

A fool in love with a foolish man.

They were both fools.

 

 

 

 

"I've never seen anyone sit in a chair like that and type for three hours straight," Sean said to T.C.

She eyed him over the lid of her laptop and continued to type. "In yoga it's called sukhasana or the easy pose. I'm comfortable like this. It keeps my spine in alignment."

Dressed in jeans that had seen better days, but fit him in all the right places, plus a faded navy T-shirt, he looked delectable. He hadn't shaved this morning either and his tawny hair stuck up in damp spikes on top of his head. This morning he'd left her to catch up on her blog and headed to his daily workout at the gym.

He placed a couple of cardboard boxes on the corner of her desk. "Delivery."

She snatched them up and tore them open, oohing and aahing at the contents of lotions and potions and tubes.

Contents which were a complete mystery to him.

When she opened lids and sniffed and made a horrible face, he grinned. "That bad?"

She shook her head. "It's my hormones. Stuff I used to love I can't stand. It's weird."

He poked through a box filled with shredded tissue and found a fat tube of something.

"What's this?"

Peering at the minuscule instructions on the back, her eyes flicked to his. "It's a clay face mask to remove impurities from the skin. Wanna try it?"

The way he reared back on his heels made her smile.

"No way. I'm a man."

Unscrewing the lid, she placed a dollop on the back of her hand and sniffed. "Plenty of men use clay masks and face scrub and moisturize."

"Not any men I know," he growled, affronted.

Fascinated by the way heat scorched his cheeks, she decided to have a little harmless fun.

"Wanna bet your little pal, Pete, uses skin products?"

His eyes bugged. "Does not."

She nodded wisely. "Yup. I can tell by the baby bum peachy skin on his cheeks. He's a man who looks after himself. And you're never too old to begin. Come here."

He backed up, held up his hands in the universal sign of peace. "Nope."

She batted her eyes. "You don't want a beautiful smooth and clear skin?"

His eyes narrowed in suspicion. "There's nothing wrong with my skin. I've had no complaints."

"How many women have stroked their fingers down your cheek?"

"None. Except for you when you're nice to me."

The serious look on his face and in the tone of his voice, made her bite back a smile.

He was so fucking cute the way he looked at her like that, as if she was a conundrum he couldn't work out.

"Do you want me to stroke my fingers down your cheek again?"

"Of course. I'd also like your fingers to stroke something else, but I'm betting that won't happen anytime soon either."

She held up a finger for silence while she rummaged around another box on the table and like a magician producing a rabbit from a hat, held another product. "Ta-da! And here we have a hot wax. I bet you've never had a Brazilian."

His face went sheet white, but he kept it together. "Can't say I have. What is it?"

She squinted at the instructions and made them up on the spot. "It's for scrotum, ass and crack. Heat wax until melted, not too hot, and spread a thick layer over the area. Wait until it has cooled and then very quickly—because speed is essential—rip it off."

The look of horrified shock on his face tipped her over the edge.

She threw back her head and roared with laughter.

By the time T.C. had gathered herself together, he stood next to her.

Bulging arms folded, legs spread, he watched her through slitty eyes.

"Yeah. Keep it up. See what happens."

She lifted a pencil with a rubber at the end and poked it into his hard belly. "Such a big, brave, soldier, all scared of face products and hot wax."

 

Between one beat and the next she was plucked out of her chair, swept up in his arms and carried into her bedroom.

Utterly thrilled, she wrapped her arms around his neck and nibbled on his jaw.

"Hmm. I love your scruff. It makes you look all manly."

He didn't toss her on the bed, instead he laid her down gently and began to strip her.

By the time he had her naked, her breath panted in her throat as his gaze lingered on the satin smooth skin between her legs. "You went through all that to achieve the look?"

"I like how it feels," she whispered, her eyes focused on the way he undressed without hurry.

God, the man was built.

His shoulders and chest were strong and wide, tapering down over impressive sculpted abs to narrow hips and long, long legs.

She couldn't remember the last time she was so aroused it felt like her bones were melting from within. The erection jutting between his legs seemed to swell and grow thick and hard as she stared at the compelling evidence of how much this man wanted her. Needed her. And that thought seemed to click open something in her heart. She'd never been needed before. It felt—good.

"What are you thinking?" he asked as he joined her and drew her into his arms to study her face.

"I like you very much," she whispered and grinned when he batted his black lashes like a girl.

"I like you, too. In fact, I more than like you."

And again, just like that, their conversation had turned from fun to serious.

"Why?"

She wasn't being cute, she truly needed to understand.

His eyes were gentle on hers as his knuckles stroked her hot cheek, as he slid his thigh between hers and felt her arousal. "When I first saw you, I thought the woman of my dreams had just walked through the door."

Her eyes went big. "Did not."

"Oh, yeah, darlin'. I did. Plus, you're real. You say what's on your mind with no filter. You care deeply about your friends. You work hard and give it your very best. I think you care about me. And I want you to know that I am here for you, through everything."

"Everything?"

He nodded. "Everything. Whatever blessings and challenges life brings. I am on your side. I'm only human and will make mistakes, but I will never let you down."

When he dipped his head and his mouth lingered on hers, she was the one who took the kiss deeper. She was the one who licked at his lips and sucked his tongue. She was the one who searched and found him and gently stroked until he groaned into her mouth. She was the one who opened her legs wide and took him in deep. And she was the one who wept through an orgasm so profound and overwhelming it felt as if her whole world shattered and then came together again, different but whole.

As she closed her eyes and curled up tight in the arms of a man who truly did care, T.C. felt as if maybe she had found a safe place, an island of calm in the churning dark ocean of her life so far.

Maybe.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Against the sudden glare of a morning sky burning too brightly in a blue sky, Pascale turned his face into a velvet cushion.

Someone had taken an ice-pick to his skull and buried it deep.

The sound that came from him wasn't exactly a whimper, but it was pretty damn close.

His mouth tasted like sweaty armpit and his heart beat sluggishly in his chest.

"Drink this. You'll feel better after you've eaten some breakfast," Danni's voice spoke from somewhere above his head.

As reality filtered slowly into his aching brain, he groaned.

Had he really turned up at her door blind drunk?

He seemed to remember something about telling her he loved her and could not live without her.

Oh.

Dear.

God.

It took a heroic effort, but when he turned over the world did not end.

His lids fluttered.

And there she was.

Danni.

Dressed in tiny black cotton boy shorts and a matching tiny vest.

Her glorious copper hair was caught on top of her head in a messy updo.

Those endless limbs were long and lean and smooth.

Hazel eyes, filled with zero sympathy, stared into his.

He stared back.

The stirring between his legs told him he wasn't dead.

Not yet.

She held out a glass with something fizzing in the water. "Can you sit up enough to drink this?"

Leaning on his elbow, he took the glass and drank it down.

Whatever was in it was vile to the point where he almost vomited it right back up again.

Seemed Danni was a mind reader because as she plucked the glass from his fingers, she said, "There's a red plastic bucket on the floor. Please do not be sick on my good rug."

Closing his eyes, he gently laid his head on the cushion and prayed for death to take him.

He'd no idea how long he simply endured, but the scent of bacon and fresh coffee had him crank open one eye, just a little. And was he feeling a tiny bit more human?

When he rolled to sitting the world didn't tilt on its axis.

Staying perfectly still, he watched her pour coffee and set a plate heaped with food on a round glass table. She added cutlery and then turned to study him.

"You'll feel better once you've eaten."

His stomach roiled in total disagreement with that statement, but since he didn't want to piss her off more than he'd already done, he shuffled to the table and sat.

Behind a wide glittering worktop of inky granite, she buttered a slice of wholemeal toast, poured herself a coffee and watched him over the rim of the mug.

The fried hash browns, crispy bacon and eggs over easy, slid down without effort and seemed to agree with his stomach. By the time he'd eaten three slices of toast and was on his second coffee, Pascale felt almost human.

Danni slid into the chair across the table and tucked a foot beneath her ass.

Unblinking hazel eyes gazed into his.

He stared back. "I apologize for turning up at your door in such a state. If it is any consolation, I have never done such a thing before."

She didn't smile. "Apology accepted. I've had a lot of time to think about... us. How fast we got together. Maybe too fast. Maybe we need more time to get to know each other properly before we do something we both might live to regret."

The queasy feeling was back.

"I do not regret meeting you, or loving you."

"Do you want the truth?"

"Oui."

"Seeing you with your arms around my mother..."

"My arms were not around your mother. My hands were at her waist to push her away."

She blinked.

A frown creased her brow as she thought about it. "It's a moot point."

Pascale knew he was fighting for his life, for his place in her future. "No. It is not up for debate at all. I did not willingly touch that woman. I do not know what you thought you saw..."

He broke off as Danni leapt to her feet, got her cell phone, slid the screen and then showed him the evidence.

When Pascale clicked on the picture and Linda's short video, something like horror gripped his heart. If only they had been taken a few seconds before and a few seconds after he would be in the clear.

He shook his head and placed her phone on the table.

"That is not what happened. It is not what it looked like."

She nodded, returned to her seat. "I know. My mother has sent me three emails and four increasingly desperate text messages with blow by blow accounts. And my father tells me this is not the first time she's played these games."

Gaze fixed to her face, he leaned across the table. "You believe me?"

"Yes... but..."

Between one heartbeat and the next, he was out of the chair and had her in his arms.

All he wanted to do was just hold her, just like this.

Forever.

"But..." she said, her voice muffled in his chest.

He shifted enough to gaze upon her flushed and beautiful face. "But?"

Wary hazel eyes held his. "I want us to take this slow."

He nodded.

Okay.

He could do slow.

His deep inhale through his nose was filled with a heady relief. "I need to shower."

"Believe me, you do. There's a pair of jogging pants and a T-shirt on the bed."

Again he held her close before releasing her and headed for the shower.

Well, at least she had not thrown him out of the door.

Pascale reckoned that was called good news.

 

 

 

***

After catching up with her fashion blog and sharing shots from readers, Danni touched base with T.C.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

"A lot better today, especially after hot sex with Sean."

Danni had to laugh. "TMI, thank you very much."

"I can't wait to tell you and Ana the story of his reaction to the suggestion to a face pack and moisturizer."

The picture the idea painted in her head had Danni laugh again. "I can't see it myself."

"I thought he was gonna pee his pants, bless him."

The ring of true affection in T.C.'s voice, made Danni's eyes sting. "That's so lovely. You're happy. I can hear it."

T.C. sighed. "You need to quit with the little bow and arrow. How did the meeting go with Pascale?"

"Not great," Danni admitted. "Then he turned up at my door roaring drunk. He kept talking in French—really fast French, saying that he loved me. He can't live without me. Yada-yada."

"Wow."

"Before you ask, he spent the night on the couch."

"And I bet you hovered over him like a mother hen."

Busted.

"He's had breakfast and a shower."

"Where is he now?"

Good question.

Danni hadn't seen hide nor hair of him since.

With her cell at her ear, she padded into her bedroom, to find him dressed in long cotton pants and sound asleep on top of her comforter.

"Snoring his head off on my bed," she whispered.

"Aw. Poor guy. Gillian really put the two of you through the wringer."

As she closed the door and returned to her desk, Danni's soft heart went hard as stone.

"She won't get another chance. She's burned every single bridge this time. And Daddy's found love."

"Really? Good for Tom. Who is she?"

"Dunno. He wants this nasty crap from Gillian to blow over. I hope she's nice. He deserves a little peace and happiness."

"He does. So... are things good with Pascale?"

"I've told him I want to slow the whole thing down. Everything happened too fast between us."

"This has shaken your confidence. I can hear it in your voice."

Danni thought about it as she sat at her desk and scrolled through her email on her PC.

"Do you ever feel things sometimes go too well?"

"Nope."

"I'm over thinking things again, aren't I?"

"Yup."

"I've often wondered what he's doing with me, you know? I mean, he could have anyone..."

"But he chose you, Danni. Unlike me, you have a good and kind heart. Even Sean reckons you're as lovely on the inside as you are on the outside."

"Maybe. But I won't wear Pascale's ring. Not yet."

"Okay. That's up to you. Keep me posted."

"I will. And you take care of you, too. Hugs."

"Hugs rightbackatcha."

When Danni ended the call, she sat for a long time just thinking through the conversation.

It seemed T.C. was on the road to a better place with a man who cared deeply about her.

If anyone deserved happiness, it was T.C.

As for herself, she just couldn't get the picture of her mother and Pascale in a clinch out of her head. A little part of her wondered if she'd ever be able to move beyond the sense of betrayal and a hurt that had burrowed deep into her heart.

 

 

 

 

"Danni's back with Pascale," T.C. told Sean.

A Sean who'd prepared a bag of salad and was in the process of grilling a couple of steaks. An hour earlier, he'd placed two huge baked potatoes in the oven and the smell was sublime.

She'd felt a little queasy this afternoon and he'd insisted she drink ginger tea, have a plain cookie and a nap.

All three seemed to have done the trick.

She tugged at the too big waist of her knee length leggings.

Seemed she was still losing weight, which was weird.

He turned to eye her. "You're becoming too skinny, darlin'."

"I'm not eating chocolate. Who'd have thought I'd need to get pregnant to switch off the sugar gene."

He made a face as he thought about it and nodded. "Plus, you've not been guzzling white wine."

Insulted, she glared. "I never guzzled."

"When you were out partying with your friends, you used to knock back at least a couple of huge glasses. I was there. I saw it."

So?

Who was he to judge?

She narrowed her eyes. "How come one minute I really like you and the next I want to punch you in the mouth?"

He came around the worktop to grab her in a hug and kiss her senseless. "Because what we have is real."

She kissed him back. "Just as well. I don't do hearts and flowers."

"Don't think I haven't noticed."

"Actions speak louder than words," she murmured as she slid her hands beneath his T-shirt and up his bare back to explore his exceptional body.

He wiggled his brows. "This is not Paris and I'm not vulnerable."

She lifted her chin and grinned up into his wonderful face. "I loved the fact you were vulnerable. So, shoot me."

Brandy eyes danced into hers. "Don't think I haven't thought about it," he growled.

In response, she rubbed her pelvis into his. "Big liar."

"Keep that up and I'll burn the food."

"Why is it we can't get enough of each other?"

"Chemistry. Karma. The fact I adore you."

She blinked. "You adore me?"

"I do."

"Well, that's a first."

"I was thinking we could go for a walk after dinner, maybe have a drink at the pub?"

She thought about it and decided it was time she got out of the house.

"Sure."

His nose nudged hers. "And it's a soft drink for you."

"I'm not complaining."

Since she lifted it in invitation, he dropped a soft kiss on her mouth. "That's a first," he mimicked.

"You are such a man, Sean."

He gently spanked her ass.

"One hundred percent testosterone, babe."

 

 

 

***

 

T.C. couldn't remember the last time she'd taken a slow stroll down the sidewalk hand in hand with a man.

She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so content.

The word happy circled in her mind, but she refused to go there.

Little steps.

They meandered through Green Park, heading for a quiet bar with a roof terrace. Since the night was balmy, the place was busy. Sean settled her at a round table overlooking the comings and goings below and T.C. let her mind drift.

He returned with a ginger beer for her and a beer for himself.

She felt his eyes on her and turned to find him thoroughly checking her out.

When she lifted her brows, his firm mouth twitched, but didn't curve. "I like you in a dress," he said.

It was a statement, not a criticism. "I try to make an effort when I go out in public. The downside of working from home is that I can crawl out of bed and stay in my pj's all day, if I feel like it."

"You like being your own boss."

"I do." It was funny, she thought, that when she'd first saw him, the thin scar that ran from eye to mouth had put her off. Now she didn't notice it. This time it was his turn to lift his brow in silent question. She asked, "How did you get your scar?"

He ran a finger down the wound. "Being a brave soldier."

"Is it top secret?"

"Not really. But it's not something I talk about."

Oooookay.

"Tell me about your family," she said, determined to keep the conversation light and easy.

"I am the youngest of four children. I have three older sisters and a mother," he drawled, the dance of Ireland in his voice.

She blinked. "No father?"

"My father was English. He met my mother in Cork during a walking holiday around the coast of Ireland. He died serving his country when I was too small to remember him. My mother took us back to Ireland and brought us up on her own."

"I'm sorry," she said, feeling totally inadequate. "What do your sisters do?"

"They're married. Susan's got one kid and is a staff nurse. Louise has two kids and is a stay at home mother. Jackie is a GP with no kids yet."

"Wow. And what does your mother do?"

"She runs the family farm with help from her two bachelor brothers."

"So as the only boy, the farm will come to you?"

He grinned. "Nope. I don't have a passion for manure and dirt."

"I can see you driving a huge tractor."

"Me, too, for like five minutes."

"Is that it?"

"I also have an uncle and six cousins. They live in the town of Old Ludlow."

"Ah, so that's how you know Nico Ferranti."

He shook his head. "I met Nico through his head of Ferranti Security, Marc Atelier. Marc recently married my cousin Elena. When Anastacia needed protection, Marc suggested my company. And here we are."

"Here we are indeed. What does Elena do?"

"Elena runs the administration team at Ludlow Hall. Liam and Adam are policemen. Joe is an Accident and Emergency registrar. Rourke and Aidan are in the military. Their father, my uncle Daniel, is like a second father to me. He's a retired police sergeant."

"Wow. All of them either serve their community or their country."

He nodded. "My father's side of the family have served Queen and country for over two hundred years."

She noticed there was a quiet pride in his voice in those lion eyes steady on hers.

It struck her that they came from two completely different backgrounds and that they had absolutely nothing in common. Except they couldn't keep their hands off each other. And they'd made a child.

"Never married?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Never met a woman I felt I could live with long term."

For some reason, nerves danced in her belly.

What happened to keeping the conversation light and easy?

"So you want to marry me because of the baby."

"The baby is a bonus I never saw coming."

A determination entered her heart. "I'm going to be THE best mother," she said fiercely.

"I know you are."

The absolute certainty in his voice had her frown. "How do you know? I might be the mother from hell."

"Not possible. I've seen you with Nico and Bronte's children. I've seen the way baby Eve coories into your neck."

"Coories?"

"Irish. It means to cosy her face into you for comfort. She loves you."

"Well, she's a cute kid. I love her, too. But that's not the same as bringing up a child twenty-four-seven. I might scar her for life."

His brows rose. "Her?"

"I can't explain how I know. We'll be pals. Go shopping. Bake cakes."

"You can't cook," he reminded her, his eyes dancing.

"I'll learn," she shot back.

"I'll learn, too."

Utterly thrilled with him, she grinned. "You in an apron? I'd pay good money to see that."

"I'll see what I can do," he drawled.

"I'll pay double if you're naked."

 

In response to her statement, he reached across the table to find her hand and link their fingers. He squeezed gently, and all the while his eyes never left her face. "You are a bad, bad, girl, Theresa. I can safely say that I have never, ever, met a woman like you."

"I'm not sure that's a compliment."

Now his mouth curved. "Looking for a compliment, darlin'?"

"You're dancing on the shaky edge of a punch to the mouth."

He grinned. "And that right there, that snark and the fire in your eyes, is why I adore you."

She took a deep breath, exhaled. "And if I say I like you, too?"

His brows shot into his hairline. "Like? I know you more than like me, sweetheart. But, I'll give you time. I'm growing on you, admit it."

She sent him a hard stare. "Yup. Like fungoid."

His deep laugh of appreciation had people turn to look. "You said that before."

Now her brows rose. "When?"

"That first time I saw you in Ana's office."

"You frisked me."

"I did. And what a pleasure it was for sure. You blew me away."

She blinked. "I did? I seem to remember pissing you off."

"Yes. Your dirty mouth pissed me off. I just remember thinking that you were a blonde bombshell."

Now it was T.C.'s turn to laugh out loud. "A bombshell? Me? Are you insane? I'm curvy..."

The look in his eyes for her, easy affection and pure lust stopped her in her tracks.

"I love your curves," he said softly. "I love the feel of you in my hands, the smell and the sounds you make when I make love to you."

Heat flooded her cheeks.

God, was it suddenly hot in here?

"Would you like another drink?" he asked her.

All T.C. could do was shake her head. "I'm good."

He took her hand. "Then let's go and we can talk more about why you're a blonde, blue-eyed, bombshell."

This time as they strolled towards the park and home, he had his arm around her shoulder while hers was around his waist.

The sun dipped low in a blue sky and she reckoned it was the simple things in life that meant the most.

 

When the moment that changed her life happened, she didn't hear it approach.

There was no warning at all.

Two boys racing bicycles on the sidewalk sped around the corner and cannoned straight into them.

And the world went dark.

 

Danni tip-toed into her bedroom to find Pascale lying on his back, bare feet crossed at the ankles and strong arms folded behind his head.

His amazing chest was bare.

And his eyes were fixed on her.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

And realized the reason for the little dance in her belly was because Monsieur Wolfe was back.

In response, he didn't speak, but reach out his hand, palm up.

Her hesitation didn't last more than a split second.

She placed her hand in his and he drew her right in.

"I am feeling better. Much better. You watched me through the night, did you not?"

Unable to speak for the look in his eyes, for her, she nodded.

"You care for me."

She nodded.

"You love me."

She didn't move a muscle.

His brow rose. "I love you, Danielle."

"Do you?" she whispered.

"Oui. I cannot live without you."

The truth was clear to see in his eyes, in the tone of his voice.

"I'm scared."

"I understand," he said softly. "As far as parental role models are concerned, neither of us have the best examples to follow."

The look of raw pain in his eyes twisted her heart.

He never spoke of his family.

There were so many things she did not know about this man.

And yet, he hid nothing of his feelings from her.

"She said I was too young for you," Danni told him.

Pascale's black brows rose. "I do not see age as an issue. Do you?"

She shook her head because from the moment she'd met him, saw him, her feelings had felt so right.

"I'm not a party animal," she admitted as if it was a cardinal sin.

"Neither am I, in spite of the lurid imaginations of the tabloid press."

"I feel as if she's spoiled everything we had," Danni admitted her innermost secrets and fears in one sentence.

"We cannot look to the past, or the future. We can only live in what we have together now. Do you understand?"

Danni searched her heart, focused on the way his fingers threaded through hers.

His hand was so much bigger and stronger and the skin darker than hers.

And yet, together, they had the chance to find something wonderful.

Together.

The word made her eyes sting, her throat burn.

The man who held her hand never bowed down to anyone.

She knew that.

And yet, he'd come to her drunk, on his knees, to tell her he loved her.

Did she believe him?

Could she take a chance?

Would she be able to trust him?

As her gaze lifted from their joined hands to meet his, he opened his arms.

"I want you here, lying next to me. Naked."

His deep voice, the accent, the bossy tone, everything combined, had her fall into his arms.

Where she belonged.

Hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, Sean stared unseeing out of the window of the hospital waiting room and into the night. The too loud tick of the wall clock was driving him mental. The hot rock in his throat matched the one squeezing his lungs. And, fuck it, his vision blurred. His unborn child was no more, and his woman was still in the operating theatre with an internal bleed.

Ana, Danni and their significant others were huddled together and speaking in hushed tones and Sean wanted to scream for them to just shut-the-fuck-up with all the what-ifs and if-onlys. Who gave a shit why bad things happened? They just did.

Pete materialized at his side. "Hey, wanna a cup of the sludge they call coffee?"

Sean didn't.

But he accepted a plastic cup the color of sand, studied the liquid and took a sip.

He didn't wince with the way his teeth ached, but it was close. "How many sugars did you put in this stuff?"

"Four. You've had nothing to eat. You need the sugar hit." Pete's sigh was sad and weary. "I know this is no consolation, but the police have arrested the boys. They're sixteen and keep repeating that they're sorry. They've admitted running her down."

Regret and guilt punched Sean hard. "I wasn't paying attention to our surroundings. I should have..."

Pete placed a heavy hand on his shoulder and gripped tight.

His strong fingers squeezed. "We both know accidents happen."

"Yeah. I can't stand not knowing what's happening, what they're doing to her."

"The docs are the experts. They're doing their best, Sean."

When a tall doctor dressed in blue scrubs shouldered through the doors, everyone stood.

"Sean Kennedy?"

Heart going crazy against his ribs, Sean lifted his hand.

Sharp brown eyes met his. "She's doing well. We've stopped the bleed. We see no reason why she shouldn't go on to have another baby. She's still in recovery, but once she's moved to a private room, you can see her."

Sean shook his hand. "Thank you for everything you've done."

He turned to find Ana and Danni at his elbow. "You go to her, Sean. We'll come back later."

He accepted their hard hugs.

Before she left, Ana turned to him. "And Sean? She'll shut down. Don't let her push you away."

He nodded. "I hear you."

***

T.C. looked up at him with devastated eyes.

"She's gone," she whispered.

"Oh, sweetheart. I'm sorry. I'm so, so, sorry."

Sean's eyes blurred as he bent over the hospital bed to hold her close.

With three sisters, he was used to a woman's tears.

But he'd never heard a heart break in real time.

Not like this.

After the longest thirty minutes of his life there was still no let up to the way great heaving sobs shook her body.

A middle-aged staff nurse entered to study the scene with narrowed eyes and then left.

She returned a couple of minutes later with medication she inserted into the IV in the back of T.C.'s hand. It didn't take long for the drug to take effect and her eyes closed.

Even in sleep tears trickled down her cheeks.

"Where's her mother?" the nurse barked.

"They're estranged."

"Hmm. So you're all she has?"

The way the question was asked, as if Sean wasn't enough, put his back up. "I'm more than enough," he growled.

His don't mess with me tone had her mouth twitch and something like respect entered her eyes. "The loss of a longed for baby, especially in these circumstances, may cause depression. Her hormones are all over the place too and it may take a number of weeks for her to feel like herself again. The key is patience and plenty of TLC. Think you can manage that?"

"Yes."

"Glad to hear it." Again she studied T.C.'s face. "There's something else going on here. I've been in this job over twenty years and I've seen it all. But that girl's breakdown is more than the loss of a baby."

Sean nodded. "I know. I think it has something to do with losing her brother when she was a child."

"Hmm. I'll give you the name of a good therapist who specializes in bereavement counselling. Might be a good time to give her a ring."

 

Two hours later, Sean had the therapist's telephone number tucked safely in his wallet.

T.C. was due to go home later today and he'd be right there with her, whether she wanted him or not.

 

 

 

 

"Are you hungry? Fancy a cup of tea?" Sean asked her in a patient tone that was slowly driving her crazy. At the moment, she was too tired to care.

T.C. just stared unseeing out of the open folding doors to the sky beyond.

The day was a mix of sunshine and cloud.

She inhaled the scent of tea-roses she'd planted in huge terracotta pots and realized it was true that no matter what happened in life the world went on.

"I don't understand why you're still here," she murmured.

The next thing she knew strong hands lifted her from the bed and she was on her feet on the carpet.

He bent his head to study her face.

Tawny eyes blazed into hers with enough anger to make her blink in shock.

 

She'd gone so white, he thought she was about to pass out.

"What do you want from me?" she whispered.

The dull sheen of defeat in her eyes snapped his patience.

Sean grabbed her shoulders and shook her until her teeth rattled.

"Don't you understand? I love you, you hardass."

She closed her hands over his wrists to hold him away from her and something in her expression made him go utterly still.

He released her.

All he could hear was his own ragged breathing.

All he could see was that broken thing in her eyes.

The raw pain there was laid bare and had him reach out to her.

She shook her head.

"The facts of my life, my past, are undisputed. I am the origin of all my family's misery. I am the cross upon which all our pain is nailed. It doesn't matter how much time passes, we still bleed from the wounds I inflicted in a single moment of supreme selfishness." Her gaze met his. "I knew when I admitted to myself I had feelings for you—I knew something bad would happen. Please don't waste your love on someone like me. I don't deserve it."

Sean felt as if he was having an out of body experience.

T.C., his T.C., truly believed every single word she said.

He couldn't think straight, even when she swiped a stray tear from her face and scowled at him.

God, he loved that scowl.

Sean couldn't think of a single reason why she could possibly believe she didn't deserve love.

What the hell had happened to her?

"That is the craziest thing I've ever heard," he said sharply now. "Everyone loves you. Ana loves you. Danni loves you. Millions of people love you every single day."

"It's not the same thing."

"I don't understand why you believe your family—"

The way she flinched, as if he'd raised his hand to strike her down, stopped him in his tracks.

"My family hate me. They wish I'd never been born."

He shook his head. "I do not believe it."

"No, you probably don't. But it's true. They told me when I was twelve."

His gaze searched hers and he saw the truth. "When you were twelve your parents told you they didn't love you?"

"She said... she, they, didn't care about me one way or the other. Not caring is so much worse than not loving a child, don't you think? And this thing between us, I knew it wouldn't last because it wasn't really what you wanted, was it? You wanted the baby. And now the baby's dead. It's cosmic justice. A life for a life. An eye-for-an-eye, etcetera."

"What life? What justice? I don't understand a word you've said."

Her smile was so terribly sad it broke his heart in two.

"I know you don't. Move on, Sean. There's nothing here for you, nothing left to see here."

"I'm not leaving." He stood his ground as she moved to the door, held it open.

"Goodbye, Sean."

He opened his mouth to speak, then studied how pale she looked, how beaten down, thin and fragile—not a word he'd ever thought to apply to Theresa Catliff.

She'd lost their baby.

They'd lost their baby, he corrected.

And the girl needed space.

And he needed answers, and he knew exactly where to get them.

 

 

***

"Hang on, Sean," Olivier said as he closed the door of his apartment. "You cannot storm in here and make demands."

Sean had thought long and hard about how he was going to approach not only Ana, but T.C.'s parents. However, when Olivier had opened the door, Sean had taken one look at him and his words had come out as nothing more than a growl.

Olivier had every right to stare at him as if he'd lost him mind.

Sean took a breath, nodded, held up his hands in the universal gesture of I-come-in-peace.

Before he could speak, Ana padded across the wide entrance hall on bare feet.

"What's the matter?"

Olivier herded everyone onto their balcony to sit at a round table.

Sean ran a hand through his hair, down the back of his neck and his gaze held Ana's.

"I need your help."

She bit her lip. "Okay."

"Is it true that when she was twelve, Theresa's parents, her mother, told her that not only did she not love her but that she didn't care about her?"

Olivier's eyes popped, and Sean didn't blame him.

"Yes."

Sean blinked. "Why?"

"Because they blame her for the death of her little brother."

Sean frowned. "That's what she meant by an eye-for-an-eye," he murmured to himself. He gave Ana a hard look. "She was twelve. Where were her parents?"

"Swanning around the Cote d'Azur. Little Harry and T.C. were on a Greek island being cared for by her grandfather."

"So where was her grandfather?"

"Having a siesta. T.C. knew she wasn't permitted on the beach, and definitely not in the sea, without adult supervision. But it was a hot day. She decided to hell with it and snuck out. She didn't know Harry had followed her. The family had a pontoon anchored about ten yards from the beach. She swam and reached it without a problem. But Harry..."

"He drowned," Sean finished her sentence.

Ana nodded. "She never knew he was in the water. They found him the next morning. And of course, her parents dumped the blame and their guilt on the shoulders of a little girl."

Sean rose to pace, to think.

"What about her grandfather?"

"He loved T.C. and Harry. When he died, his whole estate passed to T.C. Blood money, she called it. And of course, her parents did everything they could to take it from her, too. She had excellent lawyers who saw to it that her grandfather's will was watertight. However, the split from her parents, even if they are crap, has taken its toll. T.C.'s not stupid, Sean. She understands her feelings of doing a lifelong penance for one mistake and believing that she needs to 'pay' for that mistake again and again, makes no sense. But her mother's words that day tore the heart and spirit from her. Danni and I always spend the 22nd of August with her. This year, we got caught up in our own lives and I cannot tell you how bad we feel about that."

Sean shook his head. "Today, she told me she doesn't deserve love." His gaze held Ana's. "And she meant every single word of it."

"I had no knowledge of this," Olivier said in an awed voice.

Ana patted his hand. "Yeah, well, not every family is as loving and normal as yours." She turned to Sean. "What are you going to do?"

"Visit her parents."

Ana's black brows rose. "I wouldn't do that if I were you, Sean. She won't want them near her when she's raw and hurting."

"Do you seriously think I'd let them within a mile of her at the moment?"

"Then why?" a confused looking Ana asked.

"For them to do the right thing and to show forgiveness and the milk of human kindness to a little girl who received neither when she most needed it."

 

After Sean left, Olivier pulled a teary-eyed Ana on his lap and held her close.

"Do you think that will be enough to help her?" he asked.

"I dunno. But at least it's a start."

Olivier pressed a kiss to the shoulder bared by her sleeveless T-shirt. "I have good news I think may cheer you up."

She turned to him, her heart in her eyes. "What news?"

"I am due to sign a five-year contract for United."

She didn't even blink. "You kept that quiet."

"My agent and the club have gone to great lengths to keep it a secret." His eyes narrowed. "Why are you not surprised and bouncing with excitement."

Ana had long ago decided never to keep secrets between them.

Secrets in a relationship bred mistrust and little lies and pain.

"Your mother let the cat out of the bag at our engagement party."

Olivier looked to heaven. "She did not know which club and I told her to say nothing."

Ana poked him in the chest. "Why did your mother know before me?"

"Because I wanted to give her plenty of warning to get used to the idea."

"She's not pleased you're moving from Italy," Ana guessed.

He shrugged. "I go where I want to go. The time was right for a change. Plus, I need to be near you, to see you each day, to sleep with you each night."

She wrapped her arms around his neck and planted a soft kiss on his very kissable mouth.

"Tell the truth. You told her about the baby, didn't you?" she asked in a soft voice, her eyes steady on his.

"Nearly. But I did not because I respect your wishes and excellent reasoning to keep it quiet."

She rested her forehead on his. "If you tell her and she tells your sisters and they tell their friends and the tabloids get hold of it—I will pin your golden balls to the wall with my stiletto heel."

He paled, but rallied fast. "Is that any way to speak to the love of your life, to the father of our son?"

"Let me put it this way. If you tell your mother I am pregnant, it will be the last son you will ever father. Trust me."

And with that she slid off his lap and marched out the door, her hips swinging.

Was it bad of him that when she was a tough girl, it totally turned him on?

 

T.C. stayed in bed for three interminable days.

She felt half-alive.

Surely, oblivion would be easier than breathing.

The pain of loss was an old friend, one that had tried to kill her twice before.

Perhaps it would be third time lucky and she'd die of a broken heart.

But a person didn't die of pain or hurt.

She'd feel better tomorrow, she told herself fiercely, the way she had when she'd been a young girl and finally realized that her parents cared nothing for her. The way she had after the nights of meaningless sex with strangers, where she'd done the walking away.

The way she had after losing her baby, after telling Sean to leave her in peace.

And if the next day and the next and the next were not better at all, then so be it.

As far as T.C. was concerned living life was all about waiting for pain to subside, even it meant holding on to life with her fingernails. Until a non-terrible day came, no matter how long it took to arrive.

She'd left strict instructions with the concierge—do not disturb.

She ignored all voicemails, all calls.

She couldn't eat.

She couldn't sleep.

She couldn't stop the pain of loss.

The flat of her hand rested on her empty womb and finally, finally, the tears burst through the burn in her throat.

She wanted her baby back.

 

Laden with bags of food, Sean, Ana and Danni entered T.C.'s apartment to stage an intervention.

It hadn't been difficult to get past Edie once he'd explained why everyone was worried sick.

The curtains were closed and the air smelled stale.

Her hospital bag sat where he'd left it.

The place was quiet.

Too quiet.

"I'll open the windows and make something to eat," he decided.

Ana nodded. "I'll wake her up."

Danni shoved up the sleeves of her T-shirt. "And I'll run a bath."

 

 

 

***

"How many times do I need to say it—I do not need a shrink."

Wearing skinny blue jeans and an ancient grey hoodie, Ana stood, legs spread, fists on her hips as she beaned her best friend with a black look.

"It's been three days, T.C. and you haven't even washed your hair."

"So the fuck what? It's my hair. It's my bed. It's my room in my fucking flat."

"That's two F-bombs. I'm gonna tell Sean."

Ana was well aware that statement would certainly pour petrol on the fire of her temper.

Sure enough, T.C.'s blue eyes flashed. "And he can fuck off, too!" she yelled at the top of her voice.

Ana reckoned T.C. shouting and going all looney bitch on her was much better than the stubborn silences they'd all been treated to over the last three days.

T.C. wanted to be left alone and Sean and Ana and Danni were determined that was not going to happen. Typically, T.C. had shut down and refused to come out of her bedroom.

Poor Sean was at his wit's end and Ana had decided enough was enough.

"You have a man out there who loves you and who's worried sick about you."

T.C. shot her a who-gives-a-flying-fuck look. "I don't do love. You know that."

"Bullshit."

"Just because you're all loved up doesn't mean everyone else wants what you have, you know." The sound of a bath being run, made T.C. scowl. "And who the fuck is that in my bathroom!?" she roared at the top of her voice.

Danni's head popped around the bathroom door.

She beamed at T.C. "Me. You stink."

T.C. looked as if she was about to blow a blood vessel. "Get the fuck out of my house."

Again Danni beamed. "No."

T.C. blinked, looked at an Ana whose brows lifted. "You two are something else, you know that? So if I have a bath and a hair wash will you two just leave me the hell alone?"

"We might," Ana informed her, promising nothing.

T.C. got out of bed and marched like a toddler having a tantrum into the bathroom and slammed the door so hard the chandelier on the ceiling danced.

Meanwhile, Ana took the opportunity to open the floor to ceiling curtains and folding doors to let much needed fresh air into the room.

She bit her lip at the squalling cat fight going on in the bathroom. Seemed when Danni was determined and persistent about something, like a new shampoo and bath foam, she got her own way. When T.C. informed Danni she was a skinny skanky little cow and Danni shot back that T.C. had better brush her teeth because the fumes of breath were about to knock her unconscious, Ana simply looked to heaven as she stripped the bed and made it up with clean linens.

Danni opened the bathroom door wide enough to toss filthy pj's and panties out.

She held out a hand for the clean clothes Ana handed her, closed the door and locked it.

Wrinkling her nose, Ana piled all the dirty laundry in a basket and headed out the door.

Her destination—the tiny laundry room off the kitchen.

In the open plan sitting room, Sean's head lifted from his laptop.

In a flash, he was on his feet to take her load from her. "No heavy lifting for you."

"I'm pregnant. Not sick, Sean."

"Don't argue with me, Ana. I'm not in the mood. I heard her yelling. I take it this is a good sign."

"Danni's got her in the bath and they're fighting like a pair of cats. So, yes. I'd say it's a good sign."

As he piled sheets and pillowcases into the washer, he watched Ana pour detergent and fabric softer into the dispenser and turn the dial to the correct setting.

"I've tried to contact her parents. No luck. I don't know what to do," he admitted.

Ana's mouth was hard as she nodded and led the way back to the kitchen-dining-sitting area. She filled the kettle and switched it on before turning to bean him with a dark look.

"We need to break her."

Sean blinked. "I don't understand."

"We've tried sympathy and that didn't work. We've tried understanding and everything else over the years and they didn't work either. So it's time to bring out the big guns."

"I wish I knew how to fix it."

"You're dealing with a deep-seated guilt over something she feels responsible for. Personally, I blame her parents for the whole sorry mess. A mess which has been a dark cloud hovering over T.C. for far too long. She needs to let it go. Don't get me wrong. We're entitled to our own feelings. We all live with different levels of regret. But she cannot let it go. She knows it. Danni and I know it. You know it."

"Don't you think she's had a tough enough time with losing the baby?"

"Of course! But if we don't do something she'll just internalize that loss, too, because that's how she rolls."

Sean opened his mouth, but before he could articulate a sound, Danni shot into the room in bare feet. Her face was flushed and her jeans and T-shirt soaked. She skidded to a halt.

"The eagle has landed. She's crying and beating the crap out of an innocent pillow."

Ana rubbed her hands. "Okay. Showtime."

Kneeling on the bed, Ana held a sobbing T.C. in her arms and rocked her like a baby, letting her own tears flow freely.

She hoped to hell she was doing the right thing. "I want you to stop beating yourself up like this, T.C."

A teary looking Danni and very pale Sean sat on the edge of the bed and simply watched the scene.

Ana guessed that at some point T.C. would run out of steam.

She told herself to have patience and wait.

They didn't have to wait long.

Wet hair piled in a messy knot on top of her head and dressed in black yoga pants and matching oversized sweatshirt, T.C. swiped her wet cheeks with the back of her hand and hugged the battered pillow close.

She closed her eyes.

Her shoulders drooped.

She heaved a deep sigh.

At last, her emotions were utterly spent.

Ana, heart breaking for a misery her friend could not, cannot, will not, escape, stroked T.C.'s arm.

"You need help, babe. Help that is long overdue. You need to talk to a professional to help you think clearly, to help you see..."

T.C.'s mouth went hard as she shook her head and refused to listen. "It won't change anything. This argument is getting old."

"No. But it might change how you're not dealing with it."

"Okay. I'll give the shrink a call," T.C. said, her voice hoarse.

Ana recognized a lie when she heard one and this time she wasn't going to let it go. "Why don't I drive you?"

T.C. lifted her head, opened her mouth, caught the look in Ana's eye and closed it.

"Okay. But I can't see how talking to a stranger is going to change things. This—me losing my baby—it's Karma, isn't it?"

Ana didn't blink. "No. But the problem is that you believe it is."

She let that statement sink in.

T.C. heaved a great shuddering breath. "Do you really think this stranger can help me?"

"She might. What have you got to lose?"

"Nothing."

"There you go. I'll phone and make an appointment."

T.C dropped her head to study her fingers pluck-pluck-plucking at the white cotton of the pillowcase.

"'Kay."

 

As they left T.C. with Sean, Ana knew they weren't out of the woods yet.

But at least T.C. had taken the first step to wellness.

She hoped.

Deep in her heart Ana also knew that Sean Kennedy needed all the luck he could get in dealing with T.C.

Poor man.

 

 

 

 

THIRTY-ONE

T.C. couldn't believe she'd been able to talk from the heart to a strange woman, who looked for all the world like Nanny McPhee without the wart and big nose. She sounded like her, too, which seemed to help.

"It's supposed to be a happy time, but I hate summer," T.C. said, as the random thought entered her mind.

"You've told me a lot about Harry. I suspect he adored building sand castles and paddling the waves."

T.C. nodded as her mouth curved with a sudden happy memory. "He loved splashing me. The little shit."

She'd no idea a single tear ran down her cheek.

"Grief is a wound like any other and it takes time to heal. If you broke a leg and it was a complicated fracture, you wouldn't expect it to heal in a couple of weeks. Internal healing of a physical wound may take a long convalescence, which is comprehensible and easy to understand. It is the same with grieving a loss of a loved one. You need to emotionally convalesce."

"I haven't done that, have I?"

"Sometimes we become stuck and sometimes depressed and we think that is normal grief, when in fact it has turned into complicated emotions or clinical depression. We don't reach out for help and the emotions and depression can worsen. I am here to help you process those emotions and to help you decide if you need medication."

"I medicate myself with wine and random sex."

"How does it make you feel?"

T.C.'s eyes filled. "Like shit."

"You mention summertime. Frequently, when we think we have a handle on life, we hit a grief bump, which appear at the time of year a loss happened or on a special event like a birthday. And those times can bring back the pain as if it were new."

"I don't know how to deal with it."

"Anniversaries of the one we've lost are often sad days. Make a little time to commemorate Harry. Have a conversation with him. Perhaps place a candle or flowers near a photograph. Share how you're feeling with trusted loved ones. Reduce your stress. Simplify and change your traditions."

T.C.'s heartbeat was a pulsing thump behind her breastbone.

Tears stung her nose, were an acrid sting at the back of her throat. "I want my baby back."

"Of course you do. You don't have to pretend to be strong. At the moment you're feeling overwhelmed and exhausted, both from your physical reaction to the loss of the baby and from the stress of the anniversary of the loss of Harry. As much as possible, keep to a routine. Get to bed early and take naps."

"My friends are awesome."

"Try and imagine Harry being present in spirit with your friends. How would he have interacted with them and appreciate and love each of them."

"He'd adore them. He'd adore Sean, too."

"Be patient and kind to yourself. Grief takes us up and down. Let your journey to wellness be what it is."

Sean sat in his car waiting for T.C. to finish her third therapy session.

To be honest, he wasn't sure if they were doing her much good or not.

She'd stopped with the F-bombs. Not that he cared a damn about those.

This week, she'd dropped her regular afternoon nap, although she still went to bed early.

He was determined not to put her under any more pressure.

Therefore, they hadn't discussed their relationship or where it was going, but she'd been content to let him hold her through the night. And for that he was eternally grateful.

Each session always left her emotionally and physically drained and pale.

He'd taken to tip-toeing around her and speaking in soft tones as if waiting for another shoe to fall, but nothing had erupted and he'd been careful to say nothing to upset her or make her break.

Recently, he'd begun to wonder how long he could cope with things the way they were between them. He told himself to man up and put her needs first.

When she slid into the passenger seat, she looked pale but not upset.

No teary eyes.

Thank God.

She turned to him and her mouth curved. "I don't feel like going home. Can we go for a coffee?"

Well now, this was a change for the better.

Delighted with her, he smiled. "Sure. The park café or something swanky?"

"The park's fine."

As Sean steered his shiny black BMW out of the car park, he glanced over to find her staring out the passenger window. Today she wore her blonde hair loose, just the way he liked it. Her black skinny jeans and matching leather flats made her sensational legs appear endless. The sleeveless shirt was the exact color of her eyes. To him, even without makeup, she looked absolutely stunning.

When she reached out and took his hand as they strolled down the cobbled path to the café, he felt something deep inside, a sort of tension mixed with worry, settle. He gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. She squeezed his back. A simple gesture that made him feel as if he was walking on air.

Since the weather was behaving itself, they took a seat outside to people watch.

"I'll have a hot chocolate with whipped cream and marshmallows," she told the young waitress.

Sean had to laugh. "I'll have the same, thanks."

"I'm hungry," she told him by way of an explanation.

"Did I say a word?"

"No. But your face did."

"Nothing I can do about my face. I've had it all my life."

Her mouth twitched. "You have a sort of tough, raw, manly face. I like your face."

He wiggled his brows. "I like your face, too."

Hers went serious as her blue gaze stayed steady on his. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. What did I do?"

"You didn't give up on me."

He took her hand, brought it to his lips to press a gentle kiss on her knuckles. "Never."

"You're incredibly stubborn."

"Persistent."

"That, too."

His eyes popped when their hot chocolate arrived in a huge clear glass cup with two handles. "There must be three thousand calories in this."

As she dug into hers, she grinned, and the old T.C. was back in her eyes. "At the very least."

Sean decided this might be the right time to bring up a plan.

"Nico phoned me this morning. He's taking Bronte and the kids to Lake Como to spend time with Tonio and his uncle Gregorio Ancelotti. He'd like me to come along to head their personal protection team. Pete's doing a great job with Ana."

Her eyes grew wide with a disappointment that was clear to see. "Oh, okay. When do you leave?"

He took her hand. "I don't intend on going alone. Nico wondered if you'd like to come along and be company for Bronte. He's planning two, maybe three weeks. What do you think?"

She smiled. "I'd love to come."

He nodded and kept his gaze on hers. "I thought we could both do with the break and a change of scene."

Then he reached over the table to take her hand, his thumb gently stroking her silky skin.

"You have lovely long fingers."

Her mouth twitched. "Why, thank you. I've had them all my life."

"You don't wear rings."

She blinked. "Well, no. They tend to bug me."

He lifted her hand and pressed his lips to the ring finger of her left hand.

"I think this finger deserves a ring. What do you think?”

The long silence as she stared into his eyes as if catatonic began to scare him.

"Are you asking me to marry you?" she whispered, shock clear in her vivid eyes.

"I'm asking you to think about promising yourself to me. I want everything with you. But I'm not going to pressure you into an answer right this minute—"

She sat up. "You mean to say you're talking to me about rings, but you don't have a ring hidden about your person right now?"

"Actually, I might have a ring hidden about my person."

Her eyes lit up and went wide.

She thrust out her left hand. "Gimme."

And just like that, the old T.C. was back.

Around them, the tables went quiet and all conversation ceased.

Someone whispered, Aww.

Just to torture them both, he patted his jacket pockets until he found the small leather box and placed it on the table.

Instead of diving into it, she pressed her fingers to her mouth and simply stared at the box.

"Want me to open it for you?"

Big blue eyes filled with anxiety and hope met his and she nodded.

He flicked open the lid and her eyes popped.

The ring was a sliver of rose gold with a tiny but flawless peach diamond drop.

"If you don't like it—"

She placed a finger on his mouth.

"Oh, Sean. I just love it."

He slipped it on the ring finger of her left hand.

A perfect fit.

His heart was pounding like a road drill.

"Will you marry me, Theresa, my darlin'?"

Her eyes glistening with happy tears, T.C. nodded and then she was in his arms and his mouth was on hers.

The roar from the tables had T.C. laughing so hard, she couldn't kiss him.

She buried her face in his neck. "Omigod, Sean. I forgot we had an audience."

"We've made their day."

She lifted her face to his in a silent invitation to kiss her again.

He didn't need to be asked twice.

"You've made mine," she said and put his mouth to hers to prove it.

"I love Italy!"

Bronte Ferranti turned to grin at the girl wearing a skimpy red bikini lazing on the sun lounger next to her.

Seven days in the clean air of Lake Como had given T.C. her color back.

At the moment she was happily admiring her engagement ring.

Again.

"It's a gorgeous ring," Bronte told her for the hundredth time.

T.C. turned to beam at her. "I know. It's not a knuckle dragger like some people's I could mention. I bet Danni gave him pointers. Ana could care less about jewellery."

"How are you feeling in yourself?"

The smile slid from her face, but her blue gaze was clear of hurt. "A lot better. Thank you for being there."

Bronte leaned over to rub T.C.'s arm. "I love having you here. And Sean is crazy about you."

A glint of sheer mischief entered T.C.'s eyes. "I know. I'm so lucky to have him in my life. When I first met him I couldn't stand him. I thought he was a muscle bound dimwit Neanderthal."

Bronte had to laugh. "He's anything but."

"Yeah. Well, I know that now, but at the time I just wanted to kick him in the nuts."

"That's a man for you. We either adore them or want to kill them."

"It's weird how they can do that to us. One minute I want to hug him or the next I want to hit him over the head with a blunt instrument. There's no middle ground."

Roars of delighted male laughter came from two sailing boats on the mirror like water of Lake Como.

T.C. propped up on an elbow and used her hand to shield her eyes from the sun. "The kids are having fun. As are the big kids with them."

Dressed in cool kaftan split to the thigh, Bronte had to laugh. "If Gregorio does another bum boogie he'll tip the boat."

"Sean's just as bad. They're all over-competitive."

"They like to be on the winning side alright."

A murmur from the travel cot set beneath a sunshade had Bronte bend to lift her youngest daughter, Eve. She held her high to sniff her diaper. "Nice and clean."

T.C. shifted to swing her legs to the grass. "Can I hold her?"

Bronte popped a sunhat on the toddler's head and handed her over. "Please." She rummaged in a huge padded bag and produced a bottle of milk and handed that over, too.

On her lap, T.C. snuggled a pink-cheeked little cherub.

Eve gripped her bottle and blinked up into T.C.'s face like a drowsy baby owl.

"You are so cute."

Three dark haired boys and an ash blonde girl raced across the grass to pounce on a huge blue cool box like locusts.

"Hold it!" Bronte barked like a sergeant major on parade. "Hands washed before you touch food, please."

All four gave her a gimme-a-break-here-mom face.

Her raised brow was all it took for them to troop into the stunning villa.

Nico sprinted across the lawn with Sean bringing up the rear. "Gregorio said thanks for the offer of lunch, but he needs to make a call. He will join us later. What is the matter with the kids?"

Bronte poked him in his flat belly. "They've gone to wash their hands. You'd think I'd ordered them to clean the toilet with a toothbrush."

"I will check on them." Nico jogged into the villa.

The men wore knee length board shorts and T-shirts that fitted them like a glove.

T.C. took a moment to enjoy the sight of Sean's broad shoulders and those arms that bulged with muscles. Lord knew the man was stunning, even though he also looked hard and dangerous. She'd bet few people ever challenged him, except for her of course.

His lightning grin as his eyes watched her from behind his sunglasses told her he'd caught her open study. He dropped a hard kiss on her mouth before he sat next to her on the lounger.

When his hand rested on the bare skin of her waist, she jumped. "Your hand's wet and cold."

He pushed his glasses on his head and stared into her eyes. "You know what they say, cold hands warm heart."

"You'll disturb Eve drinking her milk."

Sean's gaze fell to the flushed cheeks of the toddler on her lap. "Looks like she's in a milk induced coma."

From her position of arranging picnic food on the table beneath a sunshade, Bronte's head lifted and she eyed her daughter. "I think she's going through another growth spurt because she's sleeping a lot. Let me take her."

T.C. shook her head. "She's fine where she is."

Sean's tawny eyes went all soft. "It suits you."

"What does?"

"Holding a baby."

She turned to meet his gaze, found hers stinging. "Maybe one day we'll get to hold one of our own."

Sean put his arm around her shoulders to draw her in. "Yeah. One day."

Since they were both focused on the child in T.C.'s arms, neither saw Bronte turn away and bite down hard on her trembling lip, or the emotions glistening in her eyes.

If anyone deserved a happy ever after, Bronte reckoned it was Sean and T.C.

 

 

 

"Isn't this place amazing?"

Sean poured two glasses of Chianti from one of Nico's Italian vineyards and strolled out to join T.C. on the softly lit deck of their villa overlooking the Lake.

Resting her elbows on the wooden balcony and dressed in one of her floaty sundresses, she looked stunning. Rested. Her skin shone with good health and her freshly washed hair fell in a blonde river down her back. Her feet were bare.

He handed her a glass. "I think Nico wanted us to have our personal space away from the hotel and their villa. It's a beautiful spot."

She took a sip. "Can we come back again? Often?"

"As often as you like"

For three days he'd carried a letter in his pocket, just waiting for the right moment to give it to her.

"I have something for you."

Sean plucked the envelope out of his pocket and handed it to her.

He hoped to hell he'd done the right thing.

A slight frown creasing her smooth forehead, T.C. sat on the edge of a comfortable chair and opened the envelope.

She read it through once, twice, her bottom lip gripped tight between white teeth.

Nerves danced a jig in Sean's belly.

Eventually, she folded it and placed it in the envelope with great care.

By this time, Sean had decided he'd spoilt a perfect moment.

Her eyes clicked to his and held.

She tapped the letter on the palm of her hand and not once did she blink.

"You did this."

"Um—"

She tossed the letter onto the table and stood and got right up close and personal and all the while her eyes were like lasers on his.

Shit.

Her hands fisted on her hips. "You went to see them, didn't you?"

His brows rose. "I might have done."

"Why?" she barked.

"They were wrong to blame a child for an accident that was not her fault. They were wrong in their neglect of that child. I decided the time had come for them to step-up to their responsibilities."

She poked him in the chest. "You decided?"

He gripped her hand, that fingernail was sharp. "Yes."

"Who are you to decide?"

Their eyes clashed.

Then the fight went right out of Sean and he ran his hands up her arms to her shoulders and held her there. "I am the man who loves you, Theresa. I am the man who wants to be the father of your children. I am the man who will not stand by and see you hurt. Ever. I love you."

When she closed her eyes tight, his heart fell.

Maybe she wasn't ready to hear it, but he'd needed to say the words.

When her eyes opened, the look in them for him nearly brought him to his knees.

Her hands cupped his cheeks as that vivid violet gaze stayed on his.

"I love you, Sean," she whispered.

For a stunned moment he couldn't think, couldn't speak.

His heart beat so fast his whole world spun.

"What did you say?" he whispered back.

Now she stepped into him, hip to hip, and wound her arms around his neck.

"I love you. I love you. I love you."

T.C. had been kissed before, too many times to count, but who knew a kiss given and received in love was a totally different, life affirming, experience?

When he broke the kiss to hold her close, as if she was so very precious to him, her eyes stung. Honestly, these days her emotions were all over the place.

But then she blinked the tears away when she realized Sean's big body shook.

She shifted to look up into his face and what she saw there nearly floored her.

Omigod.

"You're crying."

He shook his head. "Yeah. It's the release of pent-up emotions. You've made me cry happy tears. I never thought—"

She ran her fingers over his cheek to wipe away a tear. "Thought what?" she whispered.

"After everything you've been through and after everything we've been through, I never thought I'd hear you say the words."

"I can promise never to say them to another man."

He had to laugh. "Thank God for that."

She wrapped her arms around his waist and held on tight. "Take me to bed and make love to me, Sean."

His gaze searched hers. "Are you sure you're ready?"

"I feel fine. The doctor told me to follow my feelings. I'm following my feelings, Sean."

 

As they shed their clothes and stood naked before a huge bed, their hands were gentle as each stroked and explored the other. This was no rush to mate. This was a slow and easy seduction of the senses. When she ran her nails over his erect nipple, his whole body shudder made her press her lips to the spot. He shuddered again, so her tongue teased and licked. When she sucked and gave the nipple a gentle bite, she had to smile when he growled low in his throat.

Meanwhile, he filled his hands with her hair.

He brought it to his nose to inhale.

"You always smell amazing. I can never get enough of you."

In response, she ran her hands down his back, over the world's tightest ass and then explored the massive erection between his legs. His cock swelled in her hands as she slowly stroked.

"Keep that up and this will be all over before it begins." And with that, he picked her up and lay her on the bed.

"You don't have to be gentle or go slow, Sean," she whispered as he caged her with his big body.

His response was to kiss the breath from her.

"I do. I want to go slow. I want to kiss you... everywhere."

"Sounds good to me."

She stretched her arms above her head and let him have his way.

He pressed tiny kisses on his way down her throat, between her breasts, lower until he reached her navel.

For some reason he marked her low on the belly with a hickey.

Dirty boy.

But when he placed his shoulders between her legs to feast upon the very heart of her, T.C. found she couldn't think at all as pleasure reigned supreme.

Dear heaven, the man could play her body like the most complex musical instrument.

He seemed to know exactly which strings to pluck, to lick, to suck to toss her into one screaming orgasm after the other.

By this time her trembling hands were in his hair to hold him closer for more, more, MORE!

 

Beneath him she lay all loose and limber with her legs spread wide.

He bit his lip when he rubbed his thumb over his marks upon her skin.

"Roll over," he said and positioned her upon her knees, her shoulders and arms stretched out on the bed.

"Hurry," she begged.

He didn't thrust hard, instead he took his time to sink into her.

She was so hot and tight and wet and so ready for him.

His body ached to take her hard and fast, but although it made him whimper in his throat, he grit his teeth and resisted. He kept up a slow and steady, but relentless pace. His hands on her hips held her perfectly still. The fluttering of her muscles around his dick told him she was on the verge of an epic climax. The sting in his balls and at the base of his spine told him he was ready, too. But he held back until she pressed her face into the pillow to sob his name.

And once her body gripped his tight in spasm after spasm, he followed her over the edge as they fell together, two hearts joined as one.

 

Later, a replete and happy T.C. lay with her head tucked beneath his chin, her fingers gently stroking his flat belly. Their limbs were entangled. And he had his hand clamped upon her ass.

"Harry would have loved you," she said.

"Yeah? What was he like?"

"Naughty and nice. He had a great sense of humor."

 The hand on her butt began to stroke her back from shoulder to hip. "Was he blonde, like you?"

"No. A dark red-head. But I bet he'd have gone that lovely deep auburn as an adult."

Her sigh was sad.

"Did he have freckles?"

"Funnily enough, he didn't. Now I come to think about it, his skin was like Danni's. He had to be careful in the sun, but he went the color of pale honey. He was a beautiful boy."

After a silence that seemed to go on and on, Sean asked. "Was he into dinosaurs or Power Rangers?"

She laughed. "Dinosaurs. He could write his own name when he was four."

"Clever boy."

"He hated sums, but he could count out money without a problem."

"Do you have a picture?"

She nodded. "My grandpa filled photograph albums, but I haven't been able to bring myself to look at them."

"Understandable. Maybe, when we return home, you could choose your favorite pictures of him and have them framed. Maybe place them where you can see them."

She shifted to lean her elbow on his chest and peer down into his face. "Have you been talking to my therapist?"

His brows shot into his hairline. "No. Why?"

"Because that's exactly what she said."

His wonderful mouth curved. "I'm spooky like that."

Since she couldn't resist, she dropped a kiss on his mouth. "You're too clever."

The next thing she knew she was on her back and being kissed until she couldn't think at all.

His forehead on hers, Sean smiled. "I can never get enough of you. I love you, Theresa."

"My heart is yours, Sean," she whispered.

"And I promise to take care of it."

 

 

This is not the end... Read on for a sneak peak of No Rules... coming soon.

Chloe Rucker had to admit Nico Ferranti and his team at the Ludlow Hall Hotel and Spa knew how to throw an engagement party. The Grand Ballroom was decorated for fun and frolics with complicated gold and silver balloons and ivory floral arrangements adorning the centre of each table. The scent of the flowers was incredible. As was the noise from the band, which did nothing to alleviate the stress headache from hell.

She rose from the huge round table reserved for family. Across the table, her mother was deep in conversation with a guest. Then her eyes narrowed as she studied Chloe's face. She loved her mother to bits, but if she thought there was something wrong with one of her girls, the woman was like a dog with a bone.

Chloe's sister, Tanith, grabbed her wrist. "You okay? You look awfully pale and you've been awfully quiet, too. What's up?"

"Headache."

"Need a pain pill?"

Chloe waggled her clutch bag in her hand. "Got some. I'll be back in a minute."

As she turned, her mother lifted her brow in a silent query to Tanith and her sister mouthed, headache, in response.

Ordinarily, Chloe loved a good party.

But there was nothing ordinary going on in her life at the moment.

She'd messed up.

Big time.

As she made her way to the rest rooms and a few minutes of peace, quiet and tranquillity, Chloe wondered how the hell she had been so damn stupid to let herself be so effectively conned?

On the dance floor her half-sister Anastacia, and her fiancée, Italian soccer star, Olivier Conti, were forehead to forehead to a slow number. Bless them. She was so happy to have found Ana, someone Chloe knew she could confide in, but tonight was not the time.

She'd never rain on her half-sister's parade.

She'd made her own mess and she'd fix it.

Once she'd worked out a plan...

 

Mind busy, she walked straight into a hard chest.

Strong hands clamped on her bare shoulders to keep her steady.

"Mio dio. What part of no do you not understand?" the tone of his deep voice was a harsh growl.

Chloe stared up into dark eyes cold as ice. "Understand?"

Of course, she recognized him instantly.

Serge Morretti, billionaire playboy and often described as Sardinia's hottest tourist attraction and unquestionably the last man in the world she would have chosen to meet given her current goal of staying out of the limelight.

"Apologies, baby," his dark eyes now danced with a sheer devilment that made her knees weak. "I thought you were someone else."

"If you let me go, I'll go my way and you can go yours and avoid whoever it is you're hiding from."

"I am not hiding. I am keeping out of trouble."

He was?

That made two of them.

"With you being you, I'd have thought that was an impossible task."

He blinked.

His mouth twitched.

He smelled amazing.

Shame about the man-bun.

"Ah, you have heard the Morretti board is baying for my blood? Worry not. Except for a little distraction last night, this is me being a good boy."

"Hmm," Chloe said, determined not to respond to the wicked smile dancing in his eyes and around the edges of his firm mouth. "If this is what you're like being good, I'd hate to see you being bad."

"I am being so well-behaved tonight it is killing me. Particularly right at this moment. What is your name, bella?"

Chloe knew Serge Morretti thought of women as his own walking all-he-could-grab buffet.

Shame she wasn't on the menu.

Her body adopted the rigor mortis stiffness of a corpse.

Chloe's heart beat too fast.

Almost against her will, her eyes moved from his mouth to dark eyes that captured hers.

She bet her life that if the rumors were correct, Serge was a superb lover.

God knew, he'd had plenty of practice.

Shocked and dismayed by her own thoughts, she took a step back, but he refused to release her. "My name is none of your business. I'll leave you to it. Let's hope last night's little distraction doesn't find you."

He sighed, an exclusively masculine sound. "I can only hope. You did not happen to see her, did you?"

Chloe shook her head, biting her lip at the hard-done-by look on his face. "No. What does she look like?"

"Psychotic and desperate."

Now she laughed. "What's her name?"

"I cannot remember."

"You're a man-slut."

He didn't even blush. "When I meet the right woman I will marry and settle down and have a family."

Her female snort of derision made his eyes narrow with a male interest Chloe had seen many times before.

"Let me go."

His smile went all lazy as his head dipped towards hers.

And she knew he was going to kiss her.

"Chloe!" A little hand tugged on hers. "Chloe! I need to go pee-pee."

Serge released her and took a step back.

Chloe blinked back to reality and looked down to find six-year-old Sophia Ferranti dancing a jig, her huge emerald eyes pleading for help. And since Sophia was one of Chloe's favorite people, she didn't hesitate to take her hand.

Serge did not look happy at the interruption, but it was probably just as well because she was in enough trouble as it was.

"Excuse me," she said and walked away.

She was so focused on the way ahead, Chloe had no idea Sophia looked over her shoulder to give Serge a fierce look and poked out her tongue for good measure.

It wasn't until they were washing their hands in the beautifully appointed rest rooms that Sophia spoke. "I love your dress, Chloe. You look like a model."

In the mirror, Chloe caught Sophia's sparkling eye. "Why, thank you. I love your dress, too. You look like a little angel."

Sophia's dimple flashed like lightning. "Who was that man?"

"No one. I bumped into him."

"He likes you. I can tell."

Chloe's brows rose. "Can you indeed?"

"He's a hand lingerer."

Chloe blinked. "A what?"

"It's what my Auntie Rosie calls a man who leaves his hands on a woman for too long."

Shaking her head at this information, Chloe studied very bright eyes in a young head.

"How old are you again?"

Sophia's dimple popped. "I'm six, going on sixty."

"I bet that's another of Auntie Rosie's wise words?"

"Yep."

Chloe held out her hand and realized her headache had gone. "Take me to Auntie Rosie. I can't wait to meet her."

"My papa says she's a pistol."

"I just bet she is."

 

 

 

It continues ...

 

I don’t send out messages often, but would love to give you a heads up when a new book is coming. Therefore please sign up to my New Release newsletter

 

From my newsletter you'll receive information on my new stories, deals and offers. Your contact details will not be shared with a third party and I promise not to spam your inbox.

 

View Ludlow Nights - His Rules: Book 1 and Her Rules: Book 2 .

My Other Books are available .

Download and read for FREE the story which started the Ludlow Series “Reckless Nights in Rome”

 

Finally, word of mouth, and reviews are essential for independent authors. I wish to thank each and every single one of you wonderful readers, who have taken the time to leave a review. I cannot tell you how much I appreciate it.

 

 

Christine x

 

 

 

Though She Might Be But Little, She Is Fierce

 

William Shakespeare.

"A footballer?" Anastacia shoved dense, dark curls over her shoulder.

She sat back in a chair of butter-soft leather, raised imperious black brows and gave the good-looking man sitting on the other side of her desk a very hard stare. "You cannot be serious, Nico?"

"I hope that is a rhetorical question," Nico Ferranti returned mildly. His wife, Bronte, always said that good things came in small packages.

Well, Anastacia Morgan was a size zero, five foot two inches in her size four bare feet, and a prime example of how good things did indeed come in a small package. She was dressed in an immaculate business suit the color of bone, tailored just for her. A suit which fitted her in all the right places. And Nico knew for a fact Anastacia wore the fashion equivalent of stilts to boost her height. He'd bet good money those stilts were, even now, discarded under her desk. At the moment she resembled a very angry angel.

Nico wasn't worried. He had plenty of experience of dealing with little girls who resembled angry angels. He had two of them at home.

Now Anastacia was glaring at him over black-framed reading glasses perched on her small nose.

 

She read the look on his face, uncompromising, and tossed down her silver pen in disgust. Her behaviour reminded Nico forcibly of his four year old daughter, Sophia, throwing a temper tantrum.

Again those dark eyebrows shot into her hairline.

"Can our soccer star speak in declarative sentences?" she asked in a droll tone of voice that made him raise his own brows.

"Tsk, tsk, Anastacia. Sarcasm is not a good look on you," Nico told her in a very soft voice. A voice that made heat rise in her cheeks and told him his rebuke had been received loud and clear. "Just think of the nice fat fee you will receive."

The look Anastacia sent Nico was her own version of uncompromising. She could stare down the Queen of England with that look, but she couldn't stare down Nico Ferranti.

At thirty-four, Nico was head of a global business which spanned hotels and digital technology. A business he'd begun with a small legacy from his paternal grandfather, brains and balls. Nico ran things his way, and everyone who worked for him knew it. Including the tiny angel who was showing her fangs and glaring at him out of cobalt blue eyes.

Two years ago he'd taken a big chance on Anastacia Morgan.

And he'd never regretted it.

One of Nico's greatest skills was recognizing raw talent in another. In her he'd seen a creative ambition, and a need for a financial freedom that matched his own. She was twenty-three and, thanks to him and her own incredible work ethic, she was one of the top brand managers in a highly competitive and cutthroat business. And since he knew that Anastacia Morgan cared as much for the Ferranti brand as he did, Nico kept her on a very long leash.

Then she narrowed her eyes, pulled out the big guns, and gave him her death stare.

Nico waited.

After another minute Anastacia gave up with a, "Okay. You're the boss. But Nico... a footballer?" The last two words were said in a whine that made Nico bite down hard on his bottom lip. And she wasn't finished, "What's wrong with Tobias Aidin? He's the next big thing. Dontcha watch prime-time TV? In less than six weeks he has over five hundred thousand followers on twitter. Not only does his voice make women's toes curl, he can take direction and..." she paused when Nico gave her wide eyes. He had to admire the way she took a breath and battled on. "Sportsmen, especially soccer stars, freeze, or take the piss when a camera's rolling."

Nico focused on brushing a speck of dust from the sleeve of an immaculate grey suit in lightweight wool.

"As you are aware, the new Boutique hotels specifically target young business executives and tourists who demand the Ferranti quality and value for money. We need a well-known face and a name that resonates world-wide."

"I've never even heard of Olivier Conti," Anastacia threw back.

"Every soccer fan in the world has heard of Olivier."

He noticed the careless little jerk of the shoulder as she shrugged off his comment.

"We're selling a lifestyle here, Nico. Not flashy cars and even flashier women," she said with a sneer that made him again bite down on his abused lip.

Little devil.

"Seven goals in the world cup in Brazil," Nico went on relentlessly. "He's the leading goal scorer in the Serie A..." He shook his head at her wide-eyed blank stare. "...The Italian football league, for four consecutive seasons. Two of the top clubs in the Premier League are prepared to pay over one hundred million pounds for him."

 

Anastacia narrowed her eyes until they were blue slits.

"How come you've got the skinny? Since when do you follow football?"

"Anastacia, cara mia," Nico drawled. "Soccer is in my DNA. I am Italian."

He watched her try not to, but she couldn't help but grin at the way his voice deepened, the way his accent grew stronger.

"Since Olivier is in such high demand, how the hell can we afford him?"

Nico unfolded his tall frame from the skinny chair.

"Let us just say the boy owes me a favor. Do not make plans for this evening. A car will pick you up at six-thirty. I have tickets for the game tonight. Milan against United."

"Who?"

Nico gave the question and the cranky tone in which it was delivered the attention it deserved, none.

He strolled towards the door.

"Hang on just a minute there, buster."

Nico opened the door, turned to look at her over his shoulder, and almost burst out laughing at the unspeakable scowl on her face.

"Si?"

Anastacia sat back, and in a dazzling move that belonged to ballet, stretched up a long leg, pointed to a soft leather platform shoe with five inch heels. "These shoes and this suit are bespoke VB. How is this a good look for a football game? I'll need time to go home, get changed into skinnies and a T-shirt that says, 'Score Me.'"

"Nothing wrong with standing out from the crowd. The suit and shoes are fine. If I were you, I would spend the next few hours boning up on the offside rule," Nico advised before he softly closed the office door behind him.

As he strolled past Anastacia's ferociously loyal PA, he grinned and tossed her a cheeky wink.

With language that turned the air blue, Anastacia spun her chair around to stare unseeing over the city of London with its miles of sky high glass structures and the ancient and famous landmark of Tower Bridge heaving with clogged traffic over the river Thames. In her past, she'd had other views of the city, but they'd been at street level. These days she gazed down upon the city from the fifteenth floor. And one day very soon she would look down from the top floor.

One day.

Anastacia Morgan only looked forward, certainly not into the past. The past was behind her now and that's where the past would stay, thank God.

Again she thrust back the weight of her hair. Hair that was too long, too curly and it drove her nuts. However, her hair had become something of a trademark in the business. It hung past her waist in glossy curls the color of rich ripe chestnuts. A gleaming brown shot through with a rose gold that her friends told her was gorgeous.

Her friends also told her that her eyes were the darkest blue they'd ever seen. A couple of men had also said they felt they could sink in and drown in her eyes.

At the moment Anastacia could care less about her hair or her eyes or her looks. All she cared about was the Ferranti brand. A brand which encompassed the five star hotels, spas, and resorts world-wide. And now the new boutique hotels. Working for Nico Ferranti usually meant there was never a dull moment and plenty of challenges... but football?

Her wide mouth was marred by the sneer on her full lips.

Then Anastacia remembered how much she owed Nico. Two years ago, in the middle of the worst recession in living memory, she'd marched into Ferranti Enterprises with a marketing degree, a smart mouth and a gut-searing desperation for a job. And one twenty pound note in her purse. Never look back, she reminded herself. Nico had taken a chance on her and she would never, ever forget it. Anastacia wanted only the best for the Ferranti brand. If that meant working with a football player, then she'd make damned sure the prima-donna (weren't all footballers drama queens?) did the job.

Determined, she spun back to her desk, snatched up the phone and jabbed a button.

"Linda, get me everything you can on Olivier Conti. Oh, and find me someone who can explain to me in words of one syllable the soccer off-side rule. No, I'm not being funny."

 

 

End of Chapter One – His Rules

 

View Ludlow Nights - His Rules: Book 1

and Her Rules: Book 2 and my other Books

 

 

 

Available Now

 

 

All Books in each Series are Standalone – No Cliffhangers

 

 

LUDLOW HALL SERIES

 

Reckless Nights in Rome – Book 1

 

A Stormy Spring - Book 2

 

Run Rosie Run - Book 3

 

The Trouble with Coco Monroe - Book 4

 

The Fall of Jacob Del Garda – Book 5

 

A Film Star, A Baby. and a Proposal – Book 6

A Christmas Story

 

A Daddy for Daisy – Book 7

 

Delicious and Deadly: Invitation to Eden - Book 8

 

An Affair To Remember: A Ludlow Hall Christmas - Book 9

 

Sean – Book 10 (Introduces The Golddiggers)

 

 

 

LUDLOW NIGHTS SERIES

 

His Rules – Book 1

Her Rules – Book 2

 

 

DESERT:ROMANTIC SUSPENSE

 

Desert Orchid – Book 1

 

 

THE GOLDDIGGERS – Short Stories

 

Ellie – Book 1

Millie - Book 2

Sukki – Book 3

Ruby - Book 4

Pearl – Book 5

Glory – Book6

 

 

PARANORMAL ROMANCE

 

Vampyre Legal Chronicles – Marcus:Book 1

 

Vampyre Legal Chronicles - James:Book 2

 

Vampyre Legal Chronicles - Daniel:Book 3

 

Vampyre Legal Chronicles - Adam:Book 4

 

Christine loves to hear from her readers.

 

You can find her at:

 

For Other Books By CC

 

Website

 

Facebook

 

Twitter

 

Email