of helpless bliss, she cleared her throat. ‘Fascinating though this is, Aristo, I don’t really think there’s any point in us carrying on with this conversation,’ she said. ‘Small talk—any kind of talk, really—wasn’t ever your strong point, and we got divorced for a reason—several, actually.’
He held her gaze. ‘Are you refusing to talk to me?’
‘Yes, I am.’
But she didn’t want to explain why. Didn’t want to explain the complex and conflicting emotions swirling inside her.
Her heart was banging against her ribs and, breathing in deeply, she steadied herself. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out a pen and a notebook and scrawled something on a page inside it. Tearing the page free, she folded it in half and slid it onto the table.
‘I don’t expect to hear from you again, but if you have to get in touch this is my lawyer’s number. Goodbye, Aristotle.’
And then, before he’d even had a chance to react, let alone respond, she turned and almost ran out of the hotel lounge.
Left alone, Aristo stared at the empty seat, a mass of emotions churning inside him. His heart was beating out of time. Teddie’s words had shocked him. But, although she had no doubt intended her curt goodbye to be a slap in the face, to him it felt as though she’d thrown down a gauntlet at his feet.
And in doing so she’d sealed her fate. Four years ago she had waltzed out of their marriage and his life and he’d spent the intervening years suppressing hurt and disappointment. Now, though, he was ready to confront his past—and his ex-wife.
But he would do so on his terms, he thought coldly. And, reaching into his jacket, he pulled out his phone.
* * *
Three hours later, having fed and bathed George and tidied away his toys, Teddie leaned back against the faded cushions of her sofa and let out a long, slow breath. She felt exhausted. Her apartment—her wonderful apartment—with its bright walls and wooden floors, which was usually a place of sanctuary, looked shabby after the high gloss of the Kildare Hotel. And, although her son was usually a sweet-tempered and easy-going toddler, he must have picked up on her tension. Tonight he’d had a huge tantrum when she’d stopped him playing with his toy speed boat in the bath.
He was sleeping now, and as she’d gazed down at her beautiful son she had felt both pride and panic, for he so resembled his father. A father he would never know.
She felt a rush of guilt and self-pity. This wasn’t what she’d wanted for herself or for her son. In her dreams she’d wanted to give him everything she’d never had—two loving parents, financial security—but she’d tried marriage and it had been a disaster.
Even before Aristo’s obsession with work had blotted out the rest of his life she had felt like a gatecrasher in her own marriage. But then what had they really known about one another? How could you really know someone after just seven weeks?
Maybe if their marriage had had stronger foundations it might have been possible for them to face their problems together. But they’d had no common ground aside from a raging sexual attraction which had been enough to blind both of them to their fundamental incompatibility. He had been born into wealth. She, on the other hand, had grown up in a children’s home with a mother dosed up on prescription drugs and a father in prison.
And sex wasn’t enough to sustain a relationship—not without trust and openness and tenderness.
Divorce had been the only option, and, although she might be able to face that fact she still wasn’t up to facing Aristo. Thankfully, though, she would never have to see him again.
Her pulse twitched as she remembered telling him to talk to her through her lawyer. She could hardly believe that she’d spoken to him like that. But she’d been so desperate to leave before she said anything incriminating about George, and even more desperate to ensure that he would be out of her life for good.
Stifling a yawn, she picked up her phone and gazed gloomily down at the time on the screen. All she wanted to do was crawl into bed, pull the duvet over her head and forget about the mess she’d made of her life.
Unfortunately Elliot was dropping round to discuss the Claiborne meeting.
For a moment she considered calling him to cancel. But being on her own with a head full of regrets and recriminations was not a great idea.
Anticipating Elliot’s partisan comments as she relayed an edited version of the day’s events, she felt her mood lighten a fraction and, standing up, she walked into the tiny kitchen that led off from the living room.
She was just pulling a bottle of wine from the rack when she heard the entryphone.
Thank goodness! Elliot was early. Buzzing him up, she picked up a bottle of wine and two glasses.
‘Don’t be thinking we’re going to finish this—’ she began as she yanked open the door.
But her words trailed off into silence. It wasn’t Elliot standing there, with that familiar affectionate grin on his face. Instead it was Aristo, and he wasn’t smiling affectionately. In fact, he wasn’t smiling at all.
‘I WOULDN’T DREAM of it,’ he said softly.
He held out his hand, his eyes locking with hers, and his sudden, swift smile made her heart lurch forward.
‘You forgot these, and I was passing so…’
It was the pack of cards she’d left at his hotel.
She felt her breathing jerk. For a few seconds she couldn’t answer—couldn’t find the words to express her shock and confusion at finding him on her doorstep. Actually, not on her doorstep—he was already leaning against the frame, one foot resting negligently over the threshold so that shutting the door wouldn’t just be a challenge, but a virtual impossibility, given the disparity in their respective weights.
‘You were passing?’
She felt a shiver run over her skin as his dark gaze made a slow inspection of her, from the damp hair tumbling over her shoulders to her bare toes. Even if she’d been fully clothed she would have felt naked under his intense scrutiny, but she was wearing nothing but a T-shirt that was barely covered by her bathrobe.
There was a pulsing silence and then, tilting his head slightly, he glanced past her into the apartment. ‘Aren’t you going to invite me in? Or do you always entertain your guests in the corridor?’
‘You’re not a guest. Guests are invited, and I didn’t invite you.’ She stared at him suspiciously. ‘And I didn’t tell you where I lived either, so how did you find me?’
‘I looked up “beautiful female magician” in the phone book.’ His dark eyes glittered with amusement. ‘You were there—right at the top.’
Her skin was suddenly prickling, her stomach flipping over in response to his words. She’d spent so long remembering his flaws that she had forgotten he could make her laugh and it was an untimely
