LITMIR.BIZ

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to say, but she was struggling to control her voice. ‘No, of course I’m not scared.’ She glared at him.

      His eyes hadn’t left her face. ‘Did you hear that, George?’ He glanced slyly over at his son. ‘Mommy’s going to come swimming with us.’

      ‘I didn’t say that—’ But as George began jumping up and down, she gave up. She held up her hands. ‘Okay, okay—I’ll go swimming. But later.’

      Her face grew warm as she felt his dark eyes slowly inspect her, his narrowed gaze rolling over each of her ribs like a car over speed bumps.

      ‘That colour really suits you,’ he said softly.

      Leaning forward, he tipped her book upwards to glance at the cover and she felt his thigh press against hers. Her mouth suddenly dry, she stared across at him.

      ‘Thank you.’ She felt her lips move, heard her voice, but none of it felt real. Nothing felt real, in fact, except the hard length of his leg.

      ‘Mommy? Please may I have a juice?’

      Turning towards her son, she nodded. ‘Of course, darling.’

      ‘I’ll take him.’ Aristo stood up, and she clenched her muscles against the sudden, almost brutal feeling of loss as she watched her son trotting happily beside her ex-husband towards the villa.

      * * *

      Later, she joined them in the pool, and then she dozed in the sunshine while Aristo taught George to do a kneeling dive.

      It felt strange, watching the two of them. In fact she felt the tiniest bit jealous of her son’s fascination with Aristo, for up until now it had always been just the two of them. Mainly, though, she was stunned but happy at how quickly and effortlessly they had bonded, and at the fact that Aristo seemed as enchanted by George as she was.

      A knot began to form in her stomach. It had caught her off-guard, Aristo being so gentle and patient with his son. Growing up, that had been all she’d ever wanted from her own father—to be more than the fleeting focus of his wandering attention. And the blossoming relationship between Aristo and George was not merely a reminder of what she’d missed out on growing up, it also confirmed what she’d already subconsciously accepted—that there was no going back. They were going to have to tell George the truth.

      Gazing down at the open but unread page of her book, Teddie felt a flicker of panic. Not about her son’s likely reaction to the news, but about what would happen when they left the island and returned to normal life.

      Aristo might appear to be fully focused on George right now, but this was the honeymoon period, and she knew how swiftly and devastatingly things could change. Back in New York, her son would no longer be the only item on Aristo’s agenda. He was going to have to compete for his father’s time against the allure and challenge of work.

      The tension in her chest wound tighter and tighter and she gripped the edges of the book, remembering how glorious it had been to feel the warmth of his gaze. And how cold it had felt when she’d been pushed into the shadows.

      But it was too late to worry about that now. George wasn’t going to stay as a three-year-old for ever, and sooner or later he was going to want to know who his father was. And—as she’d already discovered—there was never a right time to tell the truth.

      ‘I thought we might eat together later tonight. Just the two of us.’

      Aristo’s voice cut into her thoughts and her chin jerked up. They were lazing by the pool beneath a gleaming white canvas canopy. His gaze was steady, his voice measured.

      ‘We need to talk,’ he said quietly. ‘And, much as I love having our son around, it’ll be easier to do that when he’s not there.’

      She knew her face had stilled. Her heart had stilled too, at the thought of spending an evening alone with him. But, ignoring the panicky drumming of her heart, she nodded. ‘I agree.’

      And then, before her face could betray her, she lowered the brim of her hat and leaned back against the sun lounger.

      * * *

      Three hours later, the heat of the day was starting to drop and a faint breeze was riffling the glassy surface of the pool.

      Glancing down at her cup of coffee, Teddie felt her spine tense. The meal would soon be over, but she still hadn’t managed to say even one word of what was whirling inside her head.

      Looking up, she felt her heart drop forward like a rollercoaster. Aristo was watching her, his gaze so calm and knowing that she felt as if she’d been caught with her hand in his jacket. Except he wasn’t wearing a jacket.

      Just a washed-out black Henley and a pair of cream linen trousers.

      ‘You’re quiet,’ he said softly.

      ‘Am I?’ She felt her cheeks flush, hearing the nervousness in her voice.

      ‘Yes, unnervingly so.’ His eyes looked directly into hers and she suddenly wished that it was whisky, not coffee that she was drinking.

      She frowned. ‘I’m just thinking…’

      ‘Whoa! I wasn’t getting at you. I don’t want to fight.’

      He held up his napkin and waved it in a gesture of surrender, but she barely noticed; she was too busy following the lazy curve of his smile.

      Her own smile was instant, instinctive, unstoppable. ‘I’m not looking for a fight either…’ She hesitated. ‘I was just thinking about us, and George, and…’

      He sat watching her, waiting, and she looked away, fearful of what she would see in his eyes.

      ‘And… Well, I think we should tell him tomorrow that you’re his father.’

      There was a stretch of silence.

      Aristo studied her face.

      Caught between the flickering nightlights and the darkness she looked tense, wary, apprehensive and he could sense the effort her words had taken.

      Of course, logically, now he and George had met, it was inevitable that they should tell him the truth, and it was what he wanted—or at least a part of what he wanted. But, as much as he wanted to acknowledge his son as his own, these last few days had taught him that the decision needed to come from Teddie.

      And now it had.

      He exhaled slowly, relief vying with satisfaction. It wasn’t quite the hand of friendship, but it was a start.

      His eyes wandered idly over the simple yellow dress she was wearing, lingering on the upward curve of her breasts. And anyway, he wanted Teddie to be a whole lot more than just a friend.

      ‘Are you sure?’ He spoke carefully. ‘We can wait. I can wait.’

      He was rapidly becoming an expert in waiting. Shifting against the ache in his groin, he gritted his teeth and glanced away to the white line of slow-moving surf down on the beach.

      Teddie felt her heart jump against her ribs. Incredibly, Aristo was giving her a choice, but to her surprise she realised that now was the right time.

      ‘I’m sure.’

      And once they did then there really would be no going back.

      She felt a spasm of panic, needle-sharp, like a blade beneath her ribs. Was she doing the right thing? Or had she just doomed her son to the same fate that she’d endured? A childhood marked with uncertainty and self-doubt, with a father who would cloak his absences beneath the virtuous task of supporting his family.

      ‘He needs to know.’ Hearing the words out loud, she felt tears coming. Quickly she bolstered her panic. ‘But I need to know that you understand what this means.’

      He frowned. ‘If I didn’t I wouldn’t be here.’

      Pushing back her chair, she stood up unsteadily. ‘So this is all about you, is it?’

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