‘What in the name of Cornish pixies …? Look at this.’
Layla’s mother had given her a bundle of newspapers and magazines to use to catch paint drips. She opened one and whose face should greet her but Nick’s.
He’d dusted off the coffee machine and grinder in Maggie’s kitchen and bought some beans. The enticing smell of fresh coffee filtered through the house, mingling with sea air from the open windows, and a hint of paint.
As he stood in the doorway holding two mugs of coffee, she was doing her best to avoid the distraction of his very kissable lips. The corners creased and he smiled as she took her mug from his hand. She was getting too used to being the subject of that cracking smile. She’d been living in the moment since he’d arrived and one amazing night had turned into one more and then another and another and another.
‘What?’
She’d reacted spontaneously when she’d spotted his picture. Taking in the gist of the article she wished she hadn’t said anything.
‘Nothing.’ She shook her head, turning the mag over to put the page she’d been looking at face down on the floor.
He stole a kiss and took it deftly from her fingers. ‘Let me see.’ He gulped coffee and glowered at the story. ‘What have they got? “Where’s Nick Wells?”’ With exaggeratedly dramatic emphasis he read out the words that had been jumping off the page. ‘“While his socialite (presumably ex) royal girlfriend Toni Vanbrand flirts with her latest lover, Bertrand Flavio, former bodyguard to her father Crown Prince Ronaldo, actor Wells has vanished from the scene. Looking relaxed and happy with Flavio, now head of security at the mountaintop palace in the Principality of Monteluna, Princess Toni flashed a diamond as big as the ice cubes in her G&T onboard the family yacht in the South of France. The couple is reported to be expecting the patter of tiny feet early next year, and a private wedding ceremony at the family home is reportedly in the offing. Wells was unavailable for comment, however a close source said, ‘Nick is thrilled for Princess Antonina. He wishes the couple all the best for the future.’ The actor, also rumoured to have popped the question to the princess, has gone to ground after a scrap involving the enigmatic royal and a paparazzo. Here at Dazzle Magazine we’re wondering who’s next on his alleged eligible spinster list!”’
Picking up a small brush soaking in an old jam jar full of water, he dipped it in one of Layla’s pots of non-toxic paint. He carefully painted spectacles and a moustache on the bodyguard.
‘Is that true?’
‘Which part?’ He passed it back to her. ‘I didn’t ask her to marry me and there isn’t a list.’ Layla took the brush from his hand and painted a heart shape around the photo of the happy couple.
‘I didn’t think so,’ she said.
‘As for the wedding?’ He stared without a flicker of emotion at the beautiful bride-to-be. ‘It certainly looks like it.’
Layla and Nick had been having the best week. Both Trish and Shelly had hired card-in-the-window Emily. Layla had been working flat out on the mural, Nick’s bruise was healing up nicely, and they’d been bonking each other’s brains out. They were looking neither forward nor back.
Nervous tension prickled through her. It was none of her business. But a question had jumped into her brain, bursting to spill out of her mouth. Between sips of coffee she clamped her teeth together. It was no good. She couldn’t hold back the burning question.
‘You don’t have to answer this.’ She shrugged, acting nonchalant. ‘I mean, feel free to ignore this, but …’
‘Spit it out.’
She bristled. She was prying, the feeling too strong to contain, she couldn’t help herself.
‘Is there any chance that baby could be yours?’ As soon as it was out she cringed at her nosiness. The atmosphere between them crackled like a lightning storm.
He ran an index finger back and forth over the furrows in between his eyebrows, then turned away from her and stared out the window at the sea beyond the rooftops like he was searching for something on the horizon.
‘No,’ he said darkly. After a moment of silence, he added, ‘That’s impossible.’
‘Just saying.’ Her attempt at nonchalance had failed.
‘Toni and I.’ There was a heavy pause. ‘We were seen at parties together – but we were hardly ever together together. We didn’t …’ Another pause. ‘… By the time we split we hadn’t slept together in a long while.’
‘Do you think she cheated?’
Nick shook his head. ‘That’s not her style. The press gets hold of a sniff of news, twist it into something it isn’t and call it a story.’ He paused, thoughtful. ‘Toni’s a party girl, but she has the greatest respect for her father. If she’s getting married it won’t be without his blessing. As for the baby rumour? Frankly, it’s probably a fabrication. My guess is she’s fallen in love.’
‘So you and her weren’t serious?’
‘It’s painful to admit this, but no, we wouldn’t have led to anything meaningful. Toni flew in from Monteluna for the movie wrap party. The press pack called her my party princess and at the end of the day that’s all she was. She’s how I got this.’ He pointed to his eye. ‘There was a scrum of paparazzi outside a Paris nightclub. I’m guessing they got wind of that!’ He snarled in the direction of Dazzle. ‘I stepped in to protect her and got whacked in the eye by a long lens. I’ve no idea who the source is. Studio PR probably.’
Composing herself, thrown by the mishmash of truth and lies, Layla picked up her paintbrush.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘What for?’
‘For being intrusive.’ Whatever the facts, he clearly wanted to believe the best of his ex. ‘I shouldn’t have asked. I jumped to all the wrong conclusions. I feel awful.’
He placed his hand on her chin and gently turned her face up, dropping a kiss on her lips. ‘You had every right.’ Painful silence hung in the air. ‘I did think about asking Toni to marry me. Some day. It ended without really getting started.’ He turned to walk away, had second thoughts, and turned back. ‘Anyway, something happened.’ His voice had lost its confidence, it sounded like his words were trapped in his throat. ‘Someone I knew years ago. She’s going through a bad time at the moment and she got back in touch. It’s complicated.’
A muscle twitched in his cheek and her heart flipped. Nick’s real life had seeped into their bubble. Suppressing the question ‘How complicated?’ she asked instead, ‘Do you want to talk about it?’
He shook his head, his lips a thin line, zipped. Then he turned his back and marched out without a word, leaving her with an empty feeling, knowing she’d overstepped a boundary.
* * *
Hours later Nick leaned in the doorway of the nursery watching Layla paint. His face had healed sufficiently to reschedule Paris. He had a new date for the photo shoot. With a bit of luck and photo-shopping he’d pull it off. He’d kept things back from her, but he preferred not to drag her into his ugly mess unnecessarily.
Seconds before he’d seen Toni into a taxi outside that nightclub she’d air-kissed him sweetly. ‘Au revoir. Don’t feel bad. I knew we wouldn’t last. You aren’t marriage material. It’s not in your DNA.’ His big stupid ego had ached to prove everyone who believed that wrong. He shared his DNA with Alex, and his brother had found forever. He never would. How could he when, in his gut, he believed the rumours about him himself.
After he’d left Layla, he’d gone for a drive through sunken lanes with hedgerows full of wild flowers. On the open road he’d passed by the mysterious prehistoric standing stones that had stood on the edge of road for going back too many centuries to comprehend. He’d parked in the market square and stocked up on another bag of coffee beans and some picnic provisions at the deli.
He’d have to tear Layla away from her painting because he wanted to sound her out about Paris. Her reaction to the story about Toni grated. He’d like to deserve her trust. The flare-up of suspicion stung, not so much because of her questions, more because he hadn’t been honest, he hadn’t told her about Fran, and Beth. Mervin had summed him up when he’d called him unreliable.
Blanking it out, his eyes roved the seaside-themed painting. She’d blended deep sea greens and blues with lighter shades and pops of primary colours, filling the wall with waves and flowing seaweed shapes, dotted with starfish and an octopus and other fun motifs for the twins to discover.
She dabbed at the wall thoughtfully with a thin brush, absorbed, apparently unaware of Nick. Finally she stood back chewing thoughtfully on the tip of the brush and noticed him standing at the door. ‘What do you think? Will Maggie and Alex like it?’
‘They’ll be thrilled. Blown away. They’ll love it. I love it. I can see Maggie turning cartwheels of delight on the beach.’
The comment earned him a withering look.
‘It’s not that good. And even if it was, Maggie’s never done a cartwheel in her life. The thing is …’
He took the paintbrush from her hand and hooked an arm around her waist, drawing her close. ‘What’s the thing?’
‘Will the twins love it?’
‘The twins will turn cartwheels on the beach – in …’ He stopped to figure out at what age small kids would be capable of gymnastics. ‘… A few years, or so. Your work here is done.’
He kissed her, losing himself in her irresistibility and feeling the strong spike of desire, deep urgency and need that made him want to take her, right now, this minute. She kissed him back, reaching to push her fingers into his hair, and drawing his head down, molding him to her soft body, so that his brain ceased to function, thought driven out by heady arousal, the world closing in on them so that they only existed in the moment.
‘I’m sorry I stormed off,’ he murmured, breaking the kiss. ‘I don’t want to spoil this. Us!’
His fingers worked to explore the skin beneath her overalls. She wriggled and pulled away. ‘I have things to finish.’
‘Like what?’
‘Tidying.’ She bit her lip. ‘And stuff.’
‘Let it wait.’ The kiss had left them breathless. He picked her up and she wrapped her legs around his body, hands hooked about his neck. Wanting to be inside her in that very second he half-carried, half-dragged her like a cave man out of Maggie’s cottage and into her own place. Inside he closed the door behind them and pressed her hard against it, her sweet scent whirling through his senses.
His desire insatiable, all he cared about was her. She’d worked magic on him. No way was he ready to let this thing end. It damn well wasn’t going to just fizzle out. He’d make sure she had a fabulous time in Paris. They’d have a blast.
He sought her lips, eager to get lost again, obliterate the brain cogs that threatened to whirr menacingly. He popped the fastenings on her overalls. They were so baggy he had no difficulty sliding them down over her thighs so that they dropped to the floor and he lifted her out of the crumpled leg holes like she’d been wearing a sack.
‘I want you,’ he drawled his words against her neck in a deep whisper. ‘I need you.’ One by one his fingers unbuttoned her shirt. ‘And in the name of Cornish pixies I’m going to have you.’ She spluttered out a giggle. His mouth found hers as his fingers worked to reveal the enticing lacy bra beneath the paint-splashed fabric. He pushed down the delicately patterned lace, exposed a breast and lowered his head to take the nipple in his mouth enjoying the feel of it harden beneath his tongue. With a gasp she twined her fingers in his hair and drew his head back to her mouth. Backing towards the staircase and pulling him with her she tore her lips from his.
‘Not here,’ she breathed.
‘Yes here,’ he pressed, his arms banding round her and holding her hard against him.
Kissing him long and languid, she slowed him down. He controlled his urgent need, until turning she drew him after her up the stairs. ‘It’s broad daylight,’ she whispered. ‘We need curtains.”
“And condoms,” he said, crazed by the fact that in spite of his best intentions he’d almost lost control because her sparkle had turned into something utterly overwhelming and unfamiliar.