her chin.
She looked again—and accepted that her daughter’s father really had arrived and was going to be crawling around behind her in the dark for the next hour or so. Without any premonition on her part or warning on his. Excellent. Not.
To her disgust, she’d never found a man who could hold her attention quite so effortlessly. Apparently, that inevitable fascination was still the same.
An immense man, and harshly handsome, with that mouth she only remembered for its humorous and sexy slant. Now there was grimness—which, unfairly, didn’t detract from the picture as much as it should—hence the reason to watch him with the wary fascination she’d have if he were a magnificently coloured red-bellied black snake on a bush path.
Apart from his dark, dark eyes and his way too sexy lips she could see her daughter in him, something she’d always wondered about and a fact that perusal of the newspaper photographs had hidden.
Chloe’s dad was here. Holy freakin’ cow. And why now?
What did this mean for Chloe? Or Faith?
What made Raimondo present today when he hadn’t responded when she’d written of her pregnancy?
He had been equally silent to her brief note after Chloe’s birth. No reply by mail or any form of correspondence. Not even to enquire if they were both well, which had shown a coldness she hadn’t predicted.
Well, the silence had been unexpected but understood. Sort of. After that phone call from his brother that had ended everything, Raimondo had announced he’d been going home to marry another woman. Hence the never coming back. Or responding to mail either, apparently.
Yet she’d planned to send another note when Chloe started school next year. And perhaps another when her daughter began her senior years.
She’d fought against allowing his disregard to inflame her because she should still pave the way if Chloe wished to pursue meeting her father in the future.
This had never been about Faith—it was about Chloe.
All about Chloe.
But now he was here. Raimondo’s dark eyes travelled slowly over her and, surprisingly, they narrowed, as did his mouth. Even as the eternal optimist, Faith could see something was wrong.
Well, whatever it was, she knew it wasn’t her fault. She lifted her chin higher.
The possible implications of Raimondo revisiting her life opened like an unexpectedly dark flower in front of her and sent a flutter of maternal panic to quicken her breath.
He had rights.
She’d confirmed his claim in letters.
His name on the birth certificate, something she’d considered long and hard, saw to that as well.
She frowned and looked away in out-of-character confusion until accidentally glimpsing Dianne, her caving mentor, her caring friend and also her silver-haired boss, at the counter gesturing to Raimondo and the clock. The tour owner’s hands were making exuberant waving motions as she encouraged Faith to commence the tour.
Faith glanced guiltily at the time. Five past ten already. The group peered her way expectantly.
All who had paid, including the man at the door, had arrived and it was time to leave. Good grief. It felt like too much to switch brains to tour guide after the shockwave of Raimondo’s arrival.
Compartments.
Faith could do compartments.
Faith would have to do emergency situation compartments. Navigating herself and other people through life challenges was her bread and butter in her real profession as a midwife and she’d just have to drag that skill across to caving tours with the man she’d thought she’d never see again.
She could do that.
Mentally she clanked shut doors and boxes in her brain like a theme park gate keeper—clang, bolt, lock until all darting terrors were mostly inside… But Raimondo still loomed across the room. The man who was never coming back. And with a scowl as if he’d been the one left holding the baby.
Faith moistened her suddenly dry lips and cleared her throat.
Later. It would have to be later. ‘Good morning. My name is Faith.’ She remembered the way his soft vowels had caressed her name and, darn it, she could feel the heat on her cheeks but she pushed on and smiled more determinedly. ‘I hope you’re all as excited as I am to enjoy the glories of Binimirr Cave this morning.’
Her gaze swept over the others, avoiding the tall, overwhelming presence of the Italian man who’d positioned himself to the back of the group. With a tinge of tour guide unease she hoped his shoulders would fit through one particular narrow opening she could think of in the labyrinth ahead, but reassured herself he’d managed last time. When she’d given him the private tour all those years ago.
Her gaze refocused on the other participants, realised belatedly that the backpackers were in shorts and shook her head. She should have seen that earlier. Every time she crawled through the labyrinth she came home with scratches on her knees and she always wore jeans.
She said gently to everyone, ‘This isn’t your normal ramble through the paths and steps of a tourist cave. This adventure tour you’ve signed up for is off the level track and through rough confines. Which means you have to crawl over rough gravel on your knees, squeezing your shoulders and balancing on uneven rocks.’
Faith smiled, admittedly a little blindly, as her brain batted at her like a bat outside a window trying to comprehend why Raimondo would come back when he’d explained very gently five years ago why he never could or would.
Stop it. Clang. Stay locked.
She rubbed her own elbows and knees. ‘Unless you’re okay with losing your skin I’m very happy to give you a few minutes to pull some jeans on or buy some knee and elbow guards.’
Most of the participants had arrived on the dusty bus parked outside the shop and the scantily clad young couple peeled off from the group and headed for the tour bus at a fast jog. They were very sweet to be so eager. The quiet, nervous man crossed to the inexpensive knee supports and selected a set to purchase.
From the corner of her eyes she could see Raimondo standing to the back like a dark predator, motionless, an ability she suddenly remembered and had admired then, as others shifted and chatted, and against her will she slowly turned her face his way. Their eyes locked, his cocoa irises merging with the pupils, eyes so dark and turbulent with unexpected questions. And hers too, seeking answers and maybe reassurance as well.
Until the flare of connecting heat that she remembered from their first ever shared glance, all that time ago, hit her like a blast from a furnace. The flush of warmth low in her belly jumped into life and warned that despite her attempts at blocking out the past she ‘knew’ this man. In the biblical sense. Knew him too many passionate, mind-blowing times in that brief window of craziness.
A hot cascade of visceral memories flashed over her skin the way it had when he’d explored her with his hands. So long ago.
Heat scorched suddenly sensitive skin and molten memories surged with a thrust of explicit
