possibly come a time when they would blame him as an adult and their father for allowing them to make a decision they were at present too immature emotionally to make. And it was for that reason, for their sakes, that he had been at such pains to keep his divorce from Hillary and the subsequent custody case as unacrimonious as possible.
As it was, it would be a long time before he forgot the telephone call he had received from Hillary three months ago, hysterically demanding that he fly over to America immediately and collect the children because they were destroying her relationship with her new husband, who had demanded that she make a choice between the children of her first marriage and him.
Predictably, being Hillary, she had chosen him. But then, Hillary had never been a particularly maternal woman. They had married impetuously and without really knowing one another, and Saul still felt guilty about the fact that despite knowing how ill-equipped emotionally Hillary was to cope with two small children, how resentful of them she felt, he had given in to her desire to have a third child to try to mend their failing marriage.
But much as he might regret the reasons for Meg’s conception, Meg herself he could never regret, and he was determined that she would never know that in many ways she had been the final nail in the coffin of her parents’ faltering marriage.
‘I never wanted children. I don’t like children,’ Hillary had stormed petulantly at him during one of their all too frequent rows.
And Saul was ashamed now to remember that he had re taliated equally bad-temperedly. ‘Well, you certainly don’t seem to like mine.’
His. Well, they were certainly his by law as well as by birth.
‘But how will you cope?’ Ann, his mother, had asked him anxiously when he had initially told her of his decision to fight for full custody of the children. ‘I’ll do what I can, of course, but...’
‘Look,’ Saul had told his mother, ‘you and Dad have your own lives to lead. We all know how much Dad is looking forward to retiring. I’ll manage, don’t worry.’
And so far he had, but there were times, like tonight for instance, when his regular babysitter couldn’t make it and he was forced to swallow his pride and turn to his family for extra help.
One answer, of course, would be to employ someone full time to live in, but he didn’t want the children to feel that he was offloading them onto someone else and he certainly didn’t want them to start thinking that he didn’t either love or want them and especially not little Meg, who had come back from the States so heartbreakingly insecure and clingy.
‘Did you have a nice time at Auntie Livvy’s?’ Meg asked him.
‘Very nice, thank you,’ Saul fibbed.
When Olivia had telephoned him to invite him over for dinner and to tell him excitedly about her friend who was relocating to work for the same firm as him, reminding him that they had previously met both at her and Caspar’s wedding and Amelia’s christening, he had had no intimation or warning of what the evening held in store.
Yes, he remembered Tullah. What red-blooded heterosexual man would not? She had the kind of looks, the kind of figure, that was instantly appealing to the male psyche. There was something about that combination of thick, lustrous hair, creamy skin and wonderfully curvy body that suggested a sensuality, a lushness that had a far more instant and dizzying effect on male hormones than any bone-thin, media-lauded model-type of woman.
What man looking at Tullah’s full, soft mouth and her even fuller and softer breasts could resist imagining what it would be like to lose himself in the sheer pleasure of touching her, caressing her, kissing her, making love with her?
Politically incorrect such thoughts might be, but they were undoubtedly an important part of what made a man a man, and to Saul’s mind at least, tolerably acceptable as long as they remained restrained and controlled in the male mind. But then, as he had discovered tonight, Tullah had her own inimitable way of ensuring that any private male fantasies involving herself were very quickly squashed.
Perhaps it was the shock of the contrast between the soft, feminine lushness and apparent warmth of her body and the antagonistic, almost aggressive sharpness of her manner that had made him feel so taken aback by her obvious hostility towards him, or perhaps it was simply a rebel male gene of vanity because she was so plainly dismissive and contemptuous of him. He didn’t know. What he did know was that he had a hard time fighting with himself not to respond to her aggressive and spiked remarks both as a defendant and a protagonist.
And the problem wasn’t confined to the fact that she was simply a friend of Olivia’s. There were other complications. She was going to be working for the same organisation and...
Meg made the little snuffling sound that meant that she had finally fallen asleep. As he bent down to gently kiss her cheek and tuck her in, Saul wondered wryly what on earth he had done to offend fate so much that she insisted on sending him so many problems.
First his marriage to Hillary and then the problem he was currently facing with Louise and now this. Tiredly he made his way back to his own bedroom, throwing his robe onto a chair before pushing back the covers and getting into bed.
It was ironic the effect a bad marriage—a bad relationship —could have on you. He now actually enjoyed sleeping alone. It was a relief to wake up in the morning without Hillary there next to him, both of them ready to begin the next round in their ongoing battle.
Wearily he closed his eyes.
Saul groaned pleasurably in his sleep, inhaling a deep, sensual breath of the delicious scent of the woman in his arms; she smelled not of some expensive designer perfume but of her own special, deeply feminine and intensely erotic scent. He had been aware of it and her all through dinner and had ached then to do as he was doing right now, breathing in the scent of her; he tasted it on his lips as he kissed the soft curve of her throat, nibbled his way along her jaw towards her mouth.
Her hair was a heavy, silky dark cloud of satin softness where it lay against his skin as subtly perfumed as the rest of her, her arms as rounded and smooth as the intoxicatingly female contours of her breasts. He deliberately delayed allowing himself the longed-for pleasure of kissing her mouth.
Drawing his lips along the velvet softness of her inner arm, he felt her whole body quiver as he gently caressed the inside of her elbow with the tip of his tongue until she wrenched her arm away from him to wrap both of them tightly around him and begged him to make love to her ‘property.’
‘Properly...what do you mean properly...what is properly?’ he teased her huskily whilst she pressed herself closer and even closer to him, the hard points of her breasts pushing against his skin, driving him insane with their sensual demand for attention.
‘Stop talking and kiss me,’ she whispered, her palm insistently turning his face towards her own, her lips already parting....
‘Mmm...’ Saul stroked his hand down the side of her body, trying not to allow himself to linger anywhere, not even on the satin warmth of the inside of her thigh when she trembled as he caressed her. ‘Oh, I’m going to kiss you all right, Tullah,’ he told her thickly. She gave another soft, protesting moan and writhed eagerly against him. ‘I’m going to kiss you until that deliciously soft, irresistible mouth of yours is—’
‘Daddy...daddy. Wake up. I feel sick...’
Reluctantly Saul opened his eyes and blinked dazedly up at his son.
‘I
