The dark-haired image that flared took him by surprise. Any affection he’d felt for Christine had died when she’d proved faithless. He hadn’t seen her since he’d walked out of her apartment for the last time after telling her the relationship was over, and why. He’d rarely thought of her either.
They’d both spent nights in each other’s homes but he’d held back from inviting her to live with him. Looking back that should have been a red flag that he had misgivings. Thankfully he’d told no one of his plans to propose to her.
Admitting he’d been stupid for assuming mutual friends and lifestyle expectations would be a good basis for a modern marriage hadn’t been easy. He wasn’t sure he’d ever consider that life-changing step again.
God, he hated being here handling this mess. He’d hated even more being in London where people gave him sympathetic looks and wondered what had happened.
Letting out a heartfelt oath, he banished both women from his mind. There were emails to read and respond to, and he’d promised his mother he’d be there for dinner. He grabbed his coffee mug, feeling the urgent necessity for another caffeine boost.
* * *
Nearly two hours later he pulled into the kerb outside his parents’ house, switching off the engine to give himself time to prepare for the evening ahead. He regretted the loss of unwavering respect for his parents, wished he’d never found out his father had been having affairs. He’d lost a small part of himself when he’d come home that evening nine years ago, and had never been able to obliterate what he overheard from his mind.
‘I suppose this one’s as gullible as the rest and believes she has a future with you. How many more, Marcus?’
‘Man wasn’t meant to be monogamous. If you want a divorce, be prepared to lower your standard of living.’
‘Why should I suffer for your indiscretions? I’m giving up nothing.’
Somehow his mother’s acceptance of his father’s infidelities made her complicit. In disbelief he’d fled to his room, changed into a tracksuit and taken off, pounding the footpath trying to drive what he’d heard from his mind. His hero had fallen. He’d returned to a silent, dark house where, for him, nothing would ever be the same.
He scowled, thumping the wheel with an open hand. He’d always been confident, sure of himself and his judgement of cheating and affairs. Now he felt remorse as his father had turned into a stranger who’d made drastic mistakes in the last eighteen months, sending Dalton Corporation on a downhill path.
Pride dictated he fix those glitches and return the company to profit status, along with preserving its good name. Only then could he consider his own future, and for that he’d need a clear head. The only people he’d give consideration to would be family and his partners in London.
He started the engine, and drove through the elaborate gates, grimacing as he entered the luxurious house. This was his father’s dream, a symbol of wealth and prestige, bought during Matt’s absence abroad. He hadn’t told his mother their financial status was in jeopardy. If Lauren Taylor was as good as her reputation, and he’d inherited any of his father’s entrepreneurial skills, he might never have to.
* * *
Adelaide had a different vibe from the city Lauren remembered. Not that she’d seen much of the metropolitan area when she’d lived here, or much of anywhere besides ovals and training grounds. Beaches in summer, of course—swimming and running on the sand were part of the family’s fitness regimen.
As she’d strolled past modern or renovated buildings a window display advertising Barossa Valley wine triggered a light-bulb moment. The Valley, the Fleurieu Peninsula and the Adelaide Hills, plus many other tourist areas, were all within easy driving distance, and she’d been promised a two-week vacation as soon as the assignment ended. All she’d need were a map, a plan and a hire car.
She picked up Chinese takeaway, and spent the evening poring over brochures and making notes. In full view from her window a group of young athletes were training in the parklands over the road. On the side-lines some adults watched and encouraged. Others sat on the grass with younger children, playing games or reading with them.
Her eyes were drawn to a man sitting with a boy on his lap, their heads bent as small fingers traced words or pictures in a book. Her chest tightened and she crossed her arms in a self-hug. Why didn’t she have any memories of those occasions? Why had she never asked either parent to read to her or share a favourite television show with her? She’d always been too afraid of rejection.
Why had they never noticed her quietly waiting for some of the attention claimed by her boisterous brothers? If it had been intentional maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much. Being overlooked cut deeper than deliberately being ignored. And she’d never been able to summon up the courage to intentionally draw attention to herself.
The boy looked up, talking with animation to his father. Eyes locked, they were in a world of their own.
It conjured up the image of Matt Dalton holding her gaze captive as they’d talked. Even thinking of those weary blue eyes spiked her pulse, and memories of that long-ago kiss resurfaced. Her balcony secret she’d never revealed to anyone. Never intended to.
* * *
Lauren chose a different route to work in the morning. She felt more herself, determined to show her new boss she was the professional his friend had recommended.
Last night no matter how many positions she’d tried or how often she’d thumped the pillows, sleep had eluded her. Reruns of her two encounters with Matt Dalton had kept her awake until she’d given in, got up, and researched the company. Something she normally avoided to keep distance and objectivity.
There’d been no reference to him, only a Marcus Dalton who’d become successful by investing in small businesses, and persuading others to participate too. The website hadn’t been updated since November last year, indicating there’d been difficulties around that time.
No, wait. She’d been asked to assess twenty-one months. So the anomalies had been discovered only recently but long-term deception was suspected.
The sleep she’d eventually managed had been deep and dreamless, surprising since her last thoughts and first on awakening had been of full grim lips and jaded midnight-blue eyes.
* * *
The door adjacent to Mr Dalton’s was still locked. From the piles of folders on his desk and extension, he’d arrived very early. He appeared even wearier, the shadows under his eyes even darker.
Lauren tried to ignore the quick tug low in her abdomen, and the quickening of her pulse.
‘Good morning, Mr Dalton. Would it be possible to have the outer door unlocked so I won’t disturb you going in and out?’
Or be disturbed by my immature reaction to you.
Intense blue eyes scanned her face, reigniting the warm glow from yesterday.
‘Good morning, Ms Taylor. I’m not easily disturbed.’
Of course you’re not. You’re a cause not a recipient. Ignite a girl’s senses with a soul-shattering kiss then forget her. Though to be fair she’d been the one to run.
‘My
