the heat of the day was starting to drop and a faint breeze was riffling the glassy surface of the pool.
Glancing down at her cup of coffee, Teddie felt her spine tense. The meal would soon be over, but she still hadn’t managed to say even one word of what was whirling inside her head.
Looking up, she felt her heart drop forward like a rollercoaster. Aristo was watching her, his gaze so calm and knowing that she felt as if she’d been caught with her hand in his jacket. Except he wasn’t wearing a jacket.
Just a washed-out black Henley and a pair of cream linen trousers.
‘You’re quiet,’ he said softly.
‘Am I?’ She felt her cheeks flush, hearing the nervousness in her voice.
‘Yes, unnervingly so.’ His eyes looked directly into hers and she suddenly wished that it was whisky, not coffee that she was drinking.
She frowned. ‘I’m just thinking…’
‘Whoa! I wasn’t getting at you. I don’t want to fight.’
He held up his napkin and waved it in a gesture of surrender, but she barely noticed; she was too busy following the lazy curve of his smile.
Her own smile was instant, instinctive, unstoppable. ‘I’m not looking for a fight either…’ She hesitated. ‘I was just thinking about us, and George, and…’
He sat watching her, waiting, and she looked away, fearful of what she would see in his eyes.
‘And… Well, I think we should tell him tomorrow that you’re his father.’
There was a stretch of silence.
Aristo studied her face.
Caught between the flickering nightlights and the darkness she looked tense, wary, apprehensive and he could sense the effort her words had taken.
Of course, logically, now he and George had met, it was inevitable that they should tell him the truth, and it was what he wanted—or at least a part of what he wanted. But, as much as he wanted to acknowledge his son as his own, these last few days had taught him that the decision needed to come from Teddie.
And now it had.
He exhaled slowly, relief vying with satisfaction. It wasn’t quite the hand of friendship, but it was a start.
His eyes wandered idly over the simple yellow dress she was wearing, lingering on the upward curve of her breasts. And anyway, he wanted Teddie to be a whole lot more than just a friend.
‘Are you sure?’ He spoke carefully. ‘We can wait. I can wait.’
He was rapidly becoming an expert in waiting. Shifting against the ache in his groin, he gritted his teeth and glanced away to the white line of slow-moving surf down on the beach.
Teddie felt her heart jump against her ribs. Incredibly, Aristo was giving her a choice, but to her surprise she realised that now was the right time.
‘I’m sure.’
And once they did then there really would be no going back.
She felt a spasm of panic, needle-sharp, like a blade beneath her ribs. Was she doing the right thing? Or had she just doomed her son to the same fate that she’d endured? A childhood marked with uncertainty and self-doubt, with a father who would cloak his absences beneath the virtuous task of supporting his family.
‘He needs to know.’ Hearing the words out loud, she felt tears coming. Quickly she bolstered her panic. ‘But I need to know that you understand what this means.’
He frowned. ‘If I didn’t I wouldn’t be here.’
Pushing back her chair, she stood up unsteadily. ‘So this is all about you, is it?’
‘That’s not what I’m saying.’
He was standing now too.
‘That’s what it sounded like.’
She heard him inhale and her anger shifted to guilt. It wasn’t fair to twist his words when she wasn’t being honest about her own feelings.
‘I just mean that being a father is a lifetime commitment.’
His face hardened. ‘I’d like to say that’s not something I’m going to forget but, given my own childhood, I can’t. All I can say is that I am going to be there for George—for you.’
Teddie fought the beating of her heart. He was saying all the right things and she wanted to believe him—only believing him set off in her a whole new spiral of half-thought-out fears and uncertainties.
‘Good.’ She was trying hard to let nothing show in her eyes but he was staring at her impatiently.
‘Is it? Because it doesn’t sound like it to me.’
He moved swiftly round the table, stopping in front of her. The paleness of her face made her eyes seem incredibly green, and he ran his hand over his face, needing action to counteract the ache in his chest, unsure of his footing in this uncharted territory.
‘Teddie…’ He softened his voice.
She lifted one hand to her throat and raised the other in front of her, as though warding him off. It was a gesture of such conflicting vulnerability and defiance that he was suddenly struggling to breathe.
‘I’m not just saying what I think you want to hear.’
‘I know.’ She gave him a small, sad smile. ‘And I want you to be there for George. It’s just it’s only ever been me and him. I know you’re his father, but I’ve never had to share him before and it feels like a big deal.’
Aristo stared down at her. The fact that Teddie loved her son so fiercely made something wrench apart inside his chest and, taking a step forward, he pulled her gently towards him.
‘I’m not going to take him away from you, Teddie,’ he said softly. ‘I couldn’t even if I wanted to. You’re his mother. But I want to be the best father I can be. The best man I can be.’
He felt some of the tension ease out of her spine and shoulders, and then, leaning forward unsteadily, she rested her head against his chest.
Listening to the solid beat of his heart, Teddie felt her body start to soften, adrenalin dissolving in her blood, his clean masculine scent filling her chest.
The air around them was suddenly heavy and charged. She felt weightless, lost in the moment and in him, so that without thinking she curled her arms around his body, her fingers following the contours of the muscles of his back. And then she was pushing up his T-shirt and touching smooth, warm skin.
His hand was sliding rhythmically through her hair, tipping her head back, and his mouth was brushing over her cheeks and lips like the softest feathers, teasing her so that she could hear her own breathing inside her head, like the waves rushing inside a seashell.
She took a breath, her
