closer.’
Patrick stopped, holding his hands up in surrender. He was pleased that the daggers in her eyes were purely metaphorical because she looked like she could do damage with a sharp pointy weapon right about now. ‘Let me explain.’
Miranda laughed at his audacity. ‘Oh, okay, fine.’ She folded her arms again. ‘Go ahead. Explain to me how you’re married but not really and how it doesn’t make you and me lying, cheating, despicable human beings?’
Patrick heard the tap, tap, tap of her clog against the hard floor. Saw the determined little tilt to her chin. God, he couldn’t go into it all here. It was a life he still found difficult to believe he was living. ‘Not here, Miranda. It’s … complicated.’
Miranda nodded. She knew all about complicated relationships. Growing up an illegitimate child of the other woman, she was intimately acquainted with complicated.
‘Yeah,’ she said, ‘the married ones always say that.’
Patrick frowned. What on earth did that mean? ‘Why don’t we get coffee or lunch together today? I can explain, Miranda.’
Miranda shook her head. It didn’t matter. What was done was done. And having lunch, coffee or any contact with this man simply wasn’t on the table.
Thankfully Edna and Geneveive bustled back through the door and she was spared from any further conversation.
Miranda rushed to the school later that afternoon. Flexibility of hours at St Benny’s had been one of the draw cards, along with its closeness to home, but it was unavoidable that Lola was going to need to use the after-school care facilities from time to time—her grandmother already did too much without adding to her burden of care. Luckily Lola was a social little girl who made friends easily.
Today, though, not even thoughts of her daughter could elicit a smile as she went over and over her conversation with Patrick, her head thumping a little harder each time. Thankfully she’d seen very little of him for the remainder of the shift and then only at a distance. Twice it had looked like he was going to approach her and she wasn’t too proud to admit she’d deliberately walked in the other direction.
A squall of emotions had taken up residence in her belly and she didn’t want him near her until she’d thought them through.
It was hard to get her head around the startling implications of his beringed presence and its impact on her sense of self. Dressed in pink scrubs, he had indeed looked like the sex god he’d been declared but having grown up the casualty of infidelity Miranda hadn’t allowed his devastating sexual attraction to be a factor.
She’d formed very early opinions of the sanctity of marriage that she had staunchly lived by. Married men were simply off limits.
No exceptions.
No grey areas.
And yet she’d slept with one. The mere thought kicked up the squall in her stomach another notch.
Sure, he’d said he could explain and she had no doubt there was some tale of woe about being separated, about how his wife didn’t understand him or how they had an open marriage.
She was sure there was some easy patter about the technicality of his marriage.
But she didn’t want to hear any of it.
What they’d done had been unforgiveable. What he’d done had been unforgiveable. And after eight hours of stewing over it she was even more annoyed now than she had been initially. White-hot anger boiled in her belly.
Add to that disgust, abhorrence and humiliation and she had a headache the size of Australia banging away at her frontal lobe.
Frankly, she couldn’t wait to go home and have a shower and wash away the guilt and the stain of her transgression. She’d spent six months fantasising about that night, living every deliciously sexy moment over and over, and he’d dashed it all in one day.
She felt dirty. She felt used.
She felt like a fool.
All she wanted to do was get home, have that shower and hug her daughter hard.
Lola gave her one of those big, girly, whole-face grins as she walked into the centre and Miranda felt her headache ease a little. Her heart did its usual squeeze in her chest.
Being a teen mum had been hard and it would never have been a choice she’d have made for herself voluntarily, but her little blonde-ringletted baby girl was simply the best thing that had ever happened to her. Lola filled her heart with joy every day and Miranda couldn’t even begin to imagine life without her daughter.
Lola ran across the room in her usual excitable way and threw herself at Miranda’s body. ‘Mummmmmy!’
Miranda laughed as she clutched her daughter close, kissing her beautiful curls. It was hard to believe that an insane teenage coupling born from rebellion and disaffection had resulted in the perfect little person in front of her. Sleeping with a transient surfer dude only a couple of years older than herself had been a three-week moment of madness but his DNA could not be faulted.
‘Come on, darling,’ Miranda said, crouching down and accepting an enthusiastic kiss. ‘Get your bag. Let’s go home.’
‘Can my new best friend in the whole world come too? For a tea party? We could have Nan’s cupcakes and drink Earl Grey just like real ladies.’
Miranda gave an inward groan as her headache thumped in earnest. The very last thing she wanted to do now was to entertain another child. ‘I’d need her mummy’s permission, Lols. Let’s do it another day, okay? Maybe at the weekend? I’ll get her number from the phone tree.’
Lola clasped her hands together as if she was an orphan asking for more food. ‘Oh, no, Mummy, pleeeeeease? I love her. I love her. I told her she could come.’
Miranda smiled despite her tiredness and felt her little girl’s passionate entreaty worm its way under her skin. ‘Lols …’
Lola shifted from foot to foot and clapped. ‘I’ll go and get her.’
Miranda stood and sagged in resignation. Any other day she’d have brushed off Lola’s sneaky big-eyed plea with a firm ‘Not today’ but life had battered her a little too much these last eight hours and children could always spot a weakness.
She turned to ask the teacher for the list of parent phone numbers. She seriously doubted the other mother would say yes—she certainly wouldn’t let Lola go to a place she wasn’t familiar with and to people she didn’t know—but maybe they could set something up for the weekend.
The very last person she expected to see walking through the front door was Patrick.
For a moment she forgot he was a lying, cheating sneak who had put her in a morally untenable position and just rode the surge of undiluted lust that brushed her skin in a crimson flush. Memories of his kiss, of his heat, of his hardness flooded in and muscles deep inside her tightened in recognition.
God, she wanted him again. Wanted to drag him into the little room where she knew they kept the supplies, strip his clothes off and do him against the wall.
