So Now You're Back (31 page)

Suddenly, all those glowing reports over the years, of all the amazing, fabulous, astonishingly awesome stuff Lizzie did in Paris while she was with Luke, could be viewed in a very different light. Was it possible they had never been a stick to beat Halle with? Had Lizzie simply been sugar-coating the truth to protect her daddy and the bond she had with him?

And to think Halle had always thought she'd hidden her anger towards him so well. She'd even boasted about it to the family therapist, when the woman had probed. No, she didn't have any communication with Lizzie's father, but she'd never spoken a disparaging word about him in her daughter's presence. She'd congratulated herself on her forbearance, her magnanimity, her ability to be the bigger, better person. But what if Lizzie had known exactly how she felt all along, and had kept that knowledge a secret, because she'd thought she had to, to keep Luke in her life?

Apparently, hindsight is a bitch, too.

‘Lizzie always told me what an amazing time she had with you,' she said. ‘I hated that you were Super Dad while I could never quite manage to be Super Mum.'

‘I can assure you,' Luke said. ‘All the therapy in the world
couldn't really make me Super Dad. Most of the time it felt like Lizzie was parenting me. She's so smart and capable. Just like you always were.'

‘Not like me,' Halle corrected. ‘If I had been as smart and capable as I thought, I might have realised that by trying to be Super Mum I never gave Lizzie the room to be imperfect. To fail and know it was OK.'

‘No need to worry, Super Mum.' Luke's hand rested on her knee. ‘I had the failure-by-example part of her parenting well and truly covered.'

She smiled. Even though she knew now she'd never even come close to being Super Mum.

‘So are we good now?' he asked.

The steady gaze made her feel shaky and far too aware of him. She had the closure she'd needed for sixteen years. That was enough. It had to be enough. ‘Yes, we're good.'

He framed her face. ‘Then how do you feel about a spot of make-up sex, to seal the deal?'

She laughed, the giddy rush of endorphins going some way to explain the crazy leap of her pulse. ‘Make-up sex sounds good.'

‘You're sure?' he said, the hesitant smile scarily sweet. ‘Because I'm not sure I can pull out like that again without causing myself a serious injury.'

‘I'm sure,' she said, grasping his head to tug him closer.

He slanted his lips across hers. The kiss was deep, hungry, leaving her breathless and yearning. She worked his towel loose, to find him hugely erect. She caressed the thick column from root to tip, loving the feel of him, the velvet steel so soft, and yet so hard, as he groaned.

Threading her fingers through his hair, she brought his face to hers.

‘I need you inside me,' she said.

He grasped her waist, wrestled off her T-shirt, the tension dissolving as his rough palms stroked her sides. ‘I know.'

She stretched out on the bed, pulling his arm until his body covered hers. His thumb circled her clitoris, one thick finger sliding into her. The coil of longing yanked tight inside her.

‘Seriously, Luke, this is one of the few times I don't need foreplay.'

He laughed, the sound strained as he held her hips, positioning her underneath him. She spread her thighs, angled her pelvis until his penis nudged her slick sex. Wrapping her legs around his waist, she grasped his buttocks, ready to beg.

But then he sank into her in one solid thrust.

Her breath expelled from her lungs as she adjusted to the fullness. Her muscles clenched round the thick intrusion as he filled up all the spaces inside her that had felt empty for so long.

‘How does that feel?' he asked.

‘Good.'

‘Better than Bugs?'

She slapped his arse. ‘Shut up and move, Best.'

‘You asked for it, lady.' He hooked his hands under her knees, leaving her fully open to him, unable to resist the punishing depth of his thrusts, as he established a steady rhythm, which quickly became more furious, more frantic.

The fever built in hot waves, her sex clenching and releasing as he worked a spot deep inside. Maybe size mattered, after all.

His eyes met hers, the pupils dilated, and then his hand splayed across her back and he lifted her to clamp his mouth over a straining nipple.

The hard suction, the shock of memory, sent her spinning as he sucked the rigid nipple to the roof of his mouth.
The fireball of need blazed through her, sending her soaring towards the final edge.

The brutal orgasm slammed into her as his hips pistoned, the deep thrusts gathering pace and purpose. Her mind spun free, the cries of fulfilment echoing off the polished wooden walls.

He grunted as she massaged his thick length, then shouted out as he came and collapsed on top of her.

They panted in unison, the heavy weight of him crushing her into the mattress. He nuzzled her neck, sending sensation echoing into her sex.

‘That was fast,' he said.

‘It's been a while.' Her throat clogged with the new rush of emotion—the poignant moment of shared intimacy. ‘You remembered.'

He lifted off her, his still-firm penis sliding out. ‘Remembered what, exactly?' he teased, all mock innocence.

She would have laughed if she didn't suddenly feel so scared.

‘You know perfectly well what,' she countered.

‘I bet Bugs can't do that,' he said, lifting his eyebrows to accompany the naughty grin.

She gave him a playful punch and chuckled. ‘Will you please shut up about Bugs?' And forced back the fear.

Don't be a muppet. You're a smart, successful and eminently sensible career woman now. No way would you ever be idiotic enough to confuse sex with love a second time. Even great sex. Even great mind-blowing make-up sex.

As they lay side by side, both staring at the ceiling fan, the silence disturbed only by the regulatory clip of the fan's blades, he grasped her fingers and raised them to his lips.

‘Of course I remembered.' He buzzed a kiss across her knuckles. ‘You never forget your first, Hal.'

Her heart punched her ribs, because she didn't feel very sensible any more.

‘L
izzie, are you up?'

A low voice beckoned Lizzie out of dreamland, along with the light tap on her bedroom door.

She clicked on her iPhone. Squinted at the luminous digital clock. Seven a.m. ‘Just about.'

A nimbus of light from the hall silhouetted Trey in the doorway. ‘Sorry, you're still in bed.'

Thrusting the mess of hair off her face, she smiled at the light blush on his cheeks. ‘It's OK, I'm not naked.'

He coughed into his hand. And she could have sworn his gaze flicked to her breasts. Her nipples rose accordingly, thrusting against the thin cotton camisole she wore with pyjama bottoms. She'd seen that look quite a few times, ever since their X-rated snog in the park. Intent and wary, and observant enough to make her mouth water and her thighs go all trembly. However much he might want to deny it, Trey was as aware of her now as she was of him and it felt … empowering. In a Beyoncé ‘Single Ladies' kind of way. Because she knew however much he wanted her, Trey would never ask. Never cross that line. And never try to shame her into putting out the way Liam had. So it was
entirely up to her to take the initiative. The thought would have crippled her with nerves a week ago. But, after all those secret looks, now it made her feel strong and sexy and, well, empowered.

She flung back the duvet, leaped out of the bed and whipped her robe off the pile of magazines and assorted other crap littered all over the floor. ‘Come in, Trey.'

He stood stranded in the doorway, watching her every move as she tied the robe. ‘I need to ask you a favour,' he said, taking a cautious step into the room.

She crossed to the door and pushed it shut behind him. He stared down at her mouth for a moment. A long, exhilarating moment.

‘What's the favour?' she asked finally, when he didn't continue.

He snapped back to full consciousness. ‘Could you take Aldo to school this morning?'

‘Yes, of course.' She put her anticipation on lockdown. Noticing the smudged hollows under his eyes for the first time. He'd gone out last night after putting Aldo to bed. And she didn't know when he'd returned. ‘Is it your mum?'

He gave a weary nod. ‘It's probably a false alarm. I've had a few of those. But the hospice nurse called and said I might want to come in a bit earlier today. She's had a rough night.'

‘Stay as long as you need to. I can pick up Aldo, too, if you want.'

‘Thanks.'

But as he reached for the doorknob, she slid her hand into his. ‘Trey, wait.'

He turned back. Letting go of his hand, she stretched up on tiptoes and placed her hands against his chest. He felt warm and solid, but the ripple of tension wasn't far behind.

‘You look like you could use a hug.'

‘Better not,' he said, not denying it.

She touched his cheek, inhaled the scent of his citrus shaving soap and peppermint toothpaste. And waited for his gaze to meet hers.

‘I'm not fragile, you know.' She certainly didn't feel fragile any more. ‘You don't have to protect me.' The rush of tenderness was as potent as the rush of endorphins. Whatever happened between them in the long-term, even if it was nothing, here and now, she knew he needed her. And she wanted to show him she cared. She peered up at him, then cradled his cheeks and pulled his mouth to hers. ‘And it's only a kiss.'

She touched her lips to his. His hands bracketed her hips and, for a second, she thought he would push her away, but then he groaned and tugged her closer, opening his mouth to let her in.

She sank her fingers into his hair, massaging his scalp. The kiss was hot, and tempting, the sweetness and need leaving her breathless. He broke away, his breathing ragged, but held her for a few minutes more, his nose buried in her hair.

‘Thanks, that was nice,' he said, ridiculously formal and polite, but with the hint of dry humour.

She drew back, enjoying the amused twist on his lips. ‘It was entirely my pleasure.' At least she'd managed to take the misery away for a moment. ‘I'll be here when you get back. If you need someone to talk to, call.'

‘OK.' He pressed the back of his hand to his lips, as if sealing in the sensation.

‘And don't worry, I'll cover for you with my mum when she calls.'

‘I can't ask you to do that.'

‘You're not asking.' Lifting on tiptoes, she kissed him once
more. The chaste peck one of affection, of understanding and reassurance, this time.

‘Thanks,' he said again. Then left the room.

She floated back towards the bed, on a cloud of bliss, until she spotted the clock on her iPhone.

Crapola.
Ten past seven, she had a measly forty minutes to get Aldo up, clothed, fed and pack-lunch enabled. A tall order for Super Nanny, let alone a girl with the worst bed hair in the history of the world.

G
et a room, people. Extreme PDAs are the last thing I need this morning.

Halle glared at the couple canoodling on the bench at the far end of the reception building's porch. They were the third loved-up pair she'd spotted this morning since slipping away from Luke, whom she'd left snoring softly in her bed, to jog over to the resort's reception for the noon Skype call she'd scheduled with the kids. She pulled her iPhone out and plugged in the earbuds so she wouldn't have to hear the nauseating murmur of sweet nothings being exchanged ten feet away. She wondered vaguely what Luke was going to do about his exposé, if it turned out Monroe's methods actually worked?

The panic that had propelled her out of Luke's arms like a rocket twenty minutes ago whizzed up the back of her neck and set her scalp alight.

Don't be ridiculous. Monroe's method is just a clever con. Last night was an illusion. The perfect storm of hot make-up sex and long-overdue closure. The ultimate stress buster after surviving a ten-day emotional and physical assault course.

You are not falling for Luke again. That much is non-negotiable.

Signing on to the resort's Wi-Fi, she opened up her Skype app, checked the time and then waited for Lizzie to pick up.

Her daughter's face flashed onto the screen, the bright smile a surprise. ‘Hi, Mum, how's things in the US?'

Halle shifted round so only the resort building's white-shingled wall was in view and sent up a small prayer of thanks for the grainy image quality. ‘Hi, honey, everything's great.' She pushed the prickle of guilt aside, promising herself there would be no more lies. Once she returned home. ‘More to the point, how are you guys doing?'

‘We're good, but I asked first. And I want details.' Lizzie leaned into the shot as if trying to peer past her. ‘What city are you in? And how have the signings been going?'

‘I …' Halle's mind blanked as the prickle of guilt became a thorn, stabbing her in the back. ‘I'm in Tennessee. And the signings have been good.' The lie sat on her tongue like a wad of cotton wool, making the fire in her scalp flame hotter. ‘It's not like you to be interested,' she said, the reflex action purely defensive, until it occurred to her how hostile the comment sounded.

She braced herself for a tirade. A tirade that for once she thoroughly deserved.

‘I know,' Lizzie said, the expected corrosive tone noticeably absent. ‘I'm sorry, Mum. I've been so shitty about your career the past couple of years. I feel really bad about it now.'

‘You do?' Halle yelped, the guilt starting to strangle her, at the look of genuine contrition on her daughter's face.

She'd waited for years for Lizzie to turn this corner and stop sniping at her every time a meeting overran, or they got stopped by a fan wanting an autograph or she had to stay late at the studio. But why did her daughter have to turn
this pivotal corner today? The very morning after Halle had spent a long and energetic night getting up close and far too pornographic with Lizzie's father … while not being on a whistle-stop book tour of the US.

Halle Best's epic timing strikes again.

‘I mean it, Mum,' Lizzie replied, her voice thick with an eighteen-year-old's complete sincerity. ‘I've been a real baby about it. When you get home, I want a full report about the book tour. OK?'

Shit.

‘Of course, that's fabulous, sweetheart. But when did this happen?'
Time to deflect and deny until you can regroup.
‘You seemed so upset when I left.' And they had basically avoided talking about Lizzie's last epic sulk ever since, in a series of rather stilted phone conversations, during which her daughter had used any available excuse to pass the phone to Aldo or Trey. But not today. Of all days.

‘I totally overreacted, as usual. So tell me more about the signings.' The request was filled with the open curiosity and enthusiasm Lizzie had been bursting with before she hit puberty and which Halle had mourned the loss of for years. Until this precise moment. ‘What cities have you been to so far?' Lizzie added, perkiness personified. ‘Anywhere cool? I hope you took photos.'

‘Um … no. Nowhere that exciting really.'
Unless you count a camp island on Fontana Lake with your father.
She cringed, hoping the image was as grainy on Lizzie's end. And her daughter couldn't see the blaze of heat fire-bombing her cheeks.

‘Is Aldo there? And Trey?' She rushed to fill the gap in the conversation before Lizzie asked any more awkward questions that would require the ability to lie like Walter Mitty to answer convincingly. ‘I need to touch base with
them before the battery on my phone runs out.' She winced, hating herself even more for the lie.

It's official, I am going to Bad Mother Hell when I die. Where I shall be forced to go to Aldo's parent–teacher conferences for all eternity.

‘Um, Aldo's busy. And so is Trey.'

‘They are? What are they busy doing?' It was nearly seven o'clock at night in the UK. Surely they couldn't be
that
busy. Trey would have ensured Aldo had done all his homework and was winding down by now, ready for bed at nine.

There was a long pause on Lizzie's end. ‘Minecraft. They're busy building something on Minecraft.'

‘Well, do you think you could ask them to stop building whatever they're building for a minute? I won't keep them long.'

‘Fine. All right, then, I'll go get them, since I'm not good enough,' Lizzie replied, slouching off and looking a lot less perky.

It took a good five minutes, while Halle stared at the view of her empty study and ignored the couple at the end of the porch still staring into each other's eyes with goofy expressions on their faces. And shoved the problem of how she was going to invent enough convincing anecdotes of a whole book tour of the US without gagging on her guilt into Future Halle's domain.

The sound of a hissed conversation off-screen neatly sidetracked the guilt as her mum's alarm bells began to buzz. Was that Lizzie and Aldo she could hear? What were they whispering about so furiously? And where was Trey?

Then Aldo popped into view and sat on the chair, followed by Lizzie, who perched on the arm and slung her
arm over Aldo's shoulders. Which was even weirder—their body language hadn't been that friendly since Aldo was six.

‘Hey, Mum,' Aldo said. ‘Lizzie told me to tell you I'm good.'

Told me to tell you …
The alarm bells got louder. ‘That's great, honey. Is everything OK?'

‘Yes, Mum, but …'

Lizzie nudged his shoulder. Hard. And he stopped talking.

‘But what, honey?' Halle prompted.

Aldo stared at his sister, then turned back to her. ‘But nothing, Mum. Everything's good.'

‘Are you sure?' she said, suddenly feeling like a hostage negotiator. Her mum's alarm bells were going bonkers. ‘How about at school?'

Maybe something had happened and they were trying to keep it quiet. She felt an odd burst of pleasure at the thought. While she certainly hoped Aldo hadn't punched anyone, it would be wonderful to see Lizzie and Aldo being co-conspirators again. As they had been when Aldo was little. As Luke had suggested they still might be.

The thought of Luke brought with it the memory of a muscular arm around her waist and the musk of warm sexually satisfied male that had enveloped her when she woke up. Heat blazed into her cheeks. And she nearly dropped the iPhone.

‘Yes, Mum.' Aldo rolled his eyes and stretched the syllables with the harassed patience of a bored ten-year-old. ‘But Marcus Ellis is still a total dick.'

‘Ignore him,' she said on autopilot. ‘So what were you building on Minecraft?'

‘Huh?'

The alarm bells kicked off again, but before she could question Aldo further, Lizzie leaned across him. ‘Listen,
Mum, we've got to go. Happy signing. Don't get any hand cramps. Bye.'

‘Wait a …' she began, but she was already staring at a blank screen where her children had been, her mum's alarm bells now sounding off like the cannon fire finale from the 1812 Overture.

She made two more Skype calls, with no answer. Then tried Trey's mobile and got no joy there, either. Finally forced to give up, she left Romeo and Juliet on the porch giggling like besotted teenagers and headed back down the path towards the cabins.

Each step she took, though, brought with it a rising tide of dismay … and apprehension. But her predicament as a mother, whose kids were clearly hiding something from her, paled in comparison to the much bigger problem posed by the man probably still lying sound asleep in her bed back at the cabin.

She had four days left at the resort, in the company of a man who was as irresistible to her now as he had been twenty years ago.

Four days that, according to Monroe's very helpful brochure, would involve spending ‘quality time rebuilding the bonds of intimacy'.

I.e.: four days of waking up with Luke's muscular arms around her. Four days of playing house with him. Four days of discovering even more about the fascinating man he had become. Four days of having his crazy new sex skills and magnificent penis entirely at her disposal. And four days of struggling against all the odds to stop from getting struck by lightning a second time.

Because what were the chances of her coming out of the next four days with her sane, perfectly happy, well-ordered
and successful life intact, given the effect he'd already had on her?

On last night's damning evidence, not a lot, frankly.

Turning round on the path, she took out her phone and hurried back towards the reception building, prepared to give free rein to her mum's alarms bells, if they would just drown out the siren call of her still needy, still misguided and still stupidly reckless heart.

Luke gazed out onto Halle's porch, the forest canopy giving the midday sun a muted glow. Kind of like the persistent glow in his nuts. That had been going most of the night.

Halle had snuck out a good hour ago. He'd been half awake, his dick getting way ahead of itself as he listened to her skulking around the bedroom. But she'd gone before his consciousness had a chance to catch up with the call for action, leaving him to drift back to sleep, only to wake up again hard as an iron spike courtesy of the scorching-hot memories of their night together and the cloud of her scent that clung to the sheets.

Fully awake now, he levered himself up in bed and tried to get his head around exactly what had happened last night.

In the end it hadn't been that hard to tell Halle stuff he'd only ever told his therapist.

Exhausting themselves with sex afterwards had seemed like the obvious way to go.

But something was nagging at him now. Something that had been nagging at him most of the night, each time he'd seen the shocked arousal in her eyes, each time he'd touched her and revelled in her open, instant response. And especially when they'd snuggled up together, her bum nestled in his crotch and his heart attempting to beat right out of his chest.

She was the only woman who had ever come close to touching that lonely, isolated part of himself, which had crippled him as a kid. And which should have been dead and buried, but apparently wasn't any more—because that lonely kid was popping out again now when he thought about how much he was going to miss Halle, when they both went back to their normal lives.

Sure, they'd have Lizzie—and that was some compensation. He'd be able to call on Halle while forging a new and more honest relationship with his daughter. But while he was already looking forward to having those conversations, they weren't the only conversations he wanted to have with Halle. Because the past ten days had made him realise how much he'd missed the fine art of conversation with someone who was his emotional and intellectual equal in the past sixteen years, who was mature and smart and confident enough to challenge him, who was wise to all his bullshit and who didn't have English as a second language.

The real reason he'd screwed up so badly with Chantelle was because she'd been so young and so adoring. She'd stroked his ego, let him get away with murder, and he'd been paying so little attention he hadn't even realised she actually thought they had a future together.

That would never happen with Halle, because she knew all his tricks, all his faults, and she was as cynical about the L-word as he was.

And what about the sexual connection between them? It was as strong and exciting as it had ever been, but with a brand-new wow factor, because they both knew exactly what they wanted now and weren't afraid to demand it.

No doubt about it, it was a crying shame they had only four days left to explore all these new aspects of their relationship.

Not that he was looking for anything permanent. He wasn't cut out for long-term commitment. No amount of therapy would be able to solve that. But that didn't alter the fact that four days felt like far too short a time to explore all the good stuff, now they'd put all the crap stuff behind them.

He threw off the duvet and headed for Halle's bathroom, refusing to let the melancholy envelop him. They'd achieved much more than he could have ever hoped for. It was all good.

Her scent—bold and floral—drifted around him as he stepped into her shower cubicle. He turned the dial to scorching, contemplating the rest of their day together. And the nights to come. Absently soaping his erection. Eager for her to get the hell back to the cabin so they could get started.

He was climbing the spiral staircase to the mezzanine level and his own bedroom when he heard the cabin's front door opening.

Wherever she'd run off to, she was back. The blossom of warmth that hit his belly disturbed him a little. Four days was more than enough, as long as they made the most of it.

He took his time shaving away two days' worth of beard to prove to himself he wasn't
that
desperate to see Halle again. After yanking on jeans and an old T-shirt, he headed down to the kitchen, drawn by the delicious aroma of cinnamon wafting up the stairwell.