LITMIR.BIZ

       CHAPTER THREE

      BUT IT WASN’T long before Damon was questioning her again. ‘So what happened to your dream of attending that art college in Switzerland?’ he pressed as their cabin sank steadily towards the ground

      ‘I had lots of dreams when I was eighteen.’

      Unfortunately they hadn’t tallied with her stepmother’s plans for Lizzie, and as those dreams would have been paid for by her father, using other people’s money—mostly Damon’s family’s—Lizzie realised now they had been meaningless.

      ‘I owe you an apology.’

      ‘For showing loyalty to your father?’

      Damon read her so easily, Lizzie thought as his powerful shoulders lifted in a shrug.

      ‘You don’t owe me a thing,’ he insisted.

      Their stares met and held for a potent few seconds, but all that did was allow Lizzie time to consider the big truth she wasn’t telling Damon. She couldn’t tell him yet. Not until she was sure of him—or as sure as she could be.

      ‘We were discussing your dreams?’ he prompted.

      ‘You were,’ she argued, with a spark of her old dry humour. ‘Life’s a series of compromises, don’t you think? If you can’t adjust, you flounder.’

      ‘And you’ve had to do a lot of adjusting?’ Damon guessed.

      She remained silent.

      ‘I can’t imagine you floundering,’ he admitted. ‘Even at eighteen you had a good head on your—’

      ‘Reckless shoulders?’ Lizzie supplied. ‘I had too much emotion in play back then.’

      ‘And not enough now?’

      His suggestion silenced her. Damon’s searching glance was disturbing in all sorts of ways. She couldn’t regret her rebellion eleven years ago, or her search for one night of love—which was probably the best way to describe the most memorable night of her life. How could she regret anything, when making love with Damon had created Thea?

      ‘Penny for them?’

      The smile that could heat her from the inside out was back, tugging at the corner of his mouth. ‘You wouldn’t want to know.’

      ‘Try me,’ he pressed.

      Confide her concerns in him? Tell him how much of a struggle it was to keep the boat afloat, or that when Thea needed something for school Lizzie couldn’t always guarantee she’d come through? This was the man who had walked out of her life without a backward glance—as her father had. This was the man she had been unable to reach again and again. She had to remember that—always. She couldn’t face that coldness again. She had more pride than to do so. And more love for Thea than to allow her precious daughter to live through something similar.

      And there was another way of looking at it. Damon might not want to know. What respectable billionaire would want to hear that he had a child with the daughter of a convicted felon? Would Damon believe Thea was his child? The shame of her father’s crime had tainted Lizzie. Sometimes she believed she would never throw it off. That same shame taunted her now, with the thought that even if Damon were prepared to accept that Thea was his daughter he might not entrust her to Lizzie’s care?

      Whatever the consequences, her course was clear. She must first tell Thea, and then Damon.

      ‘We’re down,’ he said, startling her.

      ‘Yes...right...’ she said, glancing around to see the cabin had settled on its stand. ‘What a relief.’

      ‘Vertigo can be devastating, can’t it?’ Damon commented, but his look was shrewd and it stripped her lie bare.

      They didn’t stay at the funfair. By mutual silent consent, they headed back to the bike.

      ‘Where did you live when you left home after the court case?’ Damon asked as the noise of the fair began to fade into the background.

      ‘On a park bench,’ Lizzie said bluntly, thinking back.

      ‘I’m being serious,’ Damon insisted.

      ‘And so am I,’ she admitted. ‘I spent the first night on a park bench—well, most of it...until it started raining.’

      ‘And then?’ His face had tightened into a grim mask.

      Lizzie thought back to her first and thankfully her only terrifying, freezing night as a homeless person. She had quickly figured out that she must find a place to live fast or, quite simply, her appearance and the fact that she couldn’t wash properly would make respectable people turn her away. With no money, that had meant finding a job—any job.

      ‘I got a job the next morning,’ she remembered. ‘As a cleaner. I was good at that. I’d had plenty of experience,’ she said dryly. ‘My stepmother was too mean to pay anyone to do her cleaning, but she had me and she was very particular. It stood me in good stead,’ she admitted.

      ‘I can imagine.’

      Could he imagine the woman who had insisted Lizzie must clean the floors on her hands and knees, rather than with a mop, and take a toothbrush to the corners of the room? Could he imagine that same woman making Lizzie do it all over again, after her stepmother had thoughtlessly trampled on the floor in her muddy boots?

      ‘Actually, the cleaning jobs I managed to get were easy after my work at home,’ she reflected.

      ‘And where do you live now?’

      ‘Haven’t you asked Stavros?’

      Damon dipped his chin to stare into

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