there’s a great idea!’ He patted the child’s head, his eyes on Taylor. ‘I’m free Monday,’ he said, finding the fury in her green eyes nostalgic.
‘Monday’s no good! Mel will be too tired after her first day at school.’
‘That’s okay,’ he said. ‘Tuesday’s equally good for me.’
‘Tuesday she has ballet!’
‘There’s always Wednesday—’
‘No, there isn’t!’ she said triumphantly. ‘I have basketball practice until seven.’
‘We’ll make it after seven, then,’ Craig countered, his hands balling into frustrated fists in his pockets.
‘Er...no, I...’
‘Say seven forty-five?’
‘I...I...um...I—’
‘Oh, please, Mummy? Pretty please?’
Melanie’s beseeching look and misty eyes tugged at Taylor’s maternal instincts while Craig’s arrogant smirk pushed at her violent streak. Great! She had a choice between a confrontation with the devil in Craig and a crying jag to rival the deep blue sea from Melanie. She could either score points for herself or break her daughter’s heart.
Her resigned sigh and half-hearted nod sent such a tide of relief rushing through Craig that he knew he was smiling like an idiot. ‘Thanks, Taylor, I’d love to come.’
Her response was a murderous look and he was relieved to have the kid nudge his leg to gain his attention.
‘Aren’t you gonna thank me, too?’ she asked him.
‘Eh, well sure,’ he said, crouching to put himself on the same level as the girl. The small arm that snaked out and hooked around his neck in an instinctively trusting action caught him off guard. He quickly lifted his eyes to the woman who bad conceived this child against his wishes, seeking her guidance as to what was expected of him. But she’d turned away.
‘Well, Melanie...’ He paused, still at a loss as to what to say to the owner of the huge smile and innocent brown eyes fixed on him. ‘I...eh...thanks for lunch. And...and I guess I’ll see you Wednesday.’ Quickly he set her away from him and stood up.
Blinking the blur from her eyes, Taylor made a production of looking for her car keys, hoping he’d say a quick goodbye and leave.
‘Taylor?’
She lifted her head impatiently. ‘Yes?’
‘She seems a nice kid.’
He was so close she could count the rate of the pulse in his neck. Traitorously her mind recalled how quickly passion accelerated that pulse, how it had felt to have it throbbing beneath her tongue as she licked the sweat of lovemaking from the skin covering it.
‘What’s your address?’
From her body’s reaction to his voice, he could have been asking her to strip. Goose bumps carpeted her skin, her own pulse went into a tailspin and her vocal cords seemed paralysed—along with every other part of her his eyes touched. It became a mental struggle to recall where she lived and her voice trembled slightly when she finally told him.
Taking hold of her wrist and softly brushing his thumb over it, he murmured, ‘Sure you’re not free beforehand?’
For Taylor the temptation to say to hell with basketball was almost overwhelming. She swallowed hard before answering in case the wild idea verbalized itself. ‘Seven forty-five Wednesday,’ she said firmly, removing her hand from his grasp.
‘I’ll be there.’
‘Melanie will be looking forward to it.’
‘She won’t be the only one, will she, Tay?’
Tay! No one but him had ever called her that. His use of it now was intended as a deliberate reminder of shared intimacies. Ha! As if she’d needed reminding.
He uttered no other farewell, and, determined she wouldn’t, either, Taylor took Melanie’s hand and walked away. The child twisted, waving cheerfully to the tall, darkly handsome stranger who was her father.
‘I think he likes me, Mummy,’ she said proudly, buckling her seat-belt. ‘Why else would he ask if he could come and visit me next week?’ she mused aloud.
Why? thought Taylor, revving the car with more vigour than was necessary. Because, dammit, he used you as a means to see me! And heaven help me, I let him do it!
CHAPTER THREE
AFTER an hour of torture at the hands of old memories, Taylor sprang from her bed and slipped into her robe. The silk was cool against her heated skin and she descended the stairs wishing she could at least pretend the summer heat was the cause of her restlessness and inability to sleep. But knowing she’d find no reprieve in wishful thinking, she crossed the moonlit family room to the bar.
She reached for the bottle of tequila knowing alcohol cured nothing and that two previous encounters with the potent Mexican liquor had proven she and it incompatible. But desperate times called for desperate measures, and since she’d never taken sleeping pills in her life, booze was her last resort. Unscrewing the lid on the bottle, she poured what amounted to roughly a triple shot of the alcohol, then, deciding that was too desperate a measure, trickled half back into the bottle. For a moment she pondered the idea of adding ice.
‘Oh, great, Taylor!’ she muttered, recalling how Craig in their first year of marriage had set a precedent, which had made ice a special treat for hot summer nights like this one. ‘Ice cubes are the last thing you should be thinking about!’
Determinedly she downed the straight tequila, shuddering when she lowered the glass and dreading the thought of how her head would ache in the morning. Yet the prospect of the blissful oblivion the alcohol would induce overrode all the other negative factors. Even an almost paralysing hangover was preferable to the achingly arousing thoughts that had been dominating her mind since lunch.
Back upstairs, she crawled between her lilac sheets praying the effects of the alcohol would rapidly overpower both her sleeplessness and the sensual memories invading her head.
The heat gave the air the consistency of marshmallows, sapping a person of all energy, and she half wished she was back in the air-conditioned luxury of her parents’ bayside home. So much had changed in the past six months, she more than anyone or anything and far more than she would ever have imagined. In the midst of tossing to free herself of the sheet twisting around her lower body, she started as something cool and moist brushed her cheekbone.
Drowsy confusion continued to fog her mind as the slippery coldness edged down along her jaw and across her bottom lip. Instinctively her tongue sought to identify the cause. It tasted cold, hard wetness and warm male flesh. She quivered, a ribbon of pleasure fluttering through her.
‘Craig...’ Her voice emerged as a breathy query, yet her body’s sensual reaction confirmed his identity even before he spoke.
‘You expecting someone else to slip into your bed tonight?’
