The Aristocrat and the Single Mom Read online

He may well go ballistic.

  He may well say unforgivable things.

  Kate wanted to drop her head to the table and groan, but Simon was watching her with that direct grey gaze, so she couldn’t.

  ‘Where is she?’

  The question didn’t surprise her. She lifted her mug and drank the last of her coffee. This time she didn’t taste it either. ‘I don’t know.’ She set the mug back on the table.

  ‘I don’t believe you.’

  ‘That can’t be helped. I guess it’s even fair enough, because even if I did know where she’s staying, I wouldn’t tell you.’

  His mouth turned grim then. His nostrils flared. ‘So that’s that then, is it?’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’ A sigh of regret stole through her. ‘I’m sorry, Simon, but Felice is of age and, I believe, capable of making her own decisions.’

  He folded his arms and scowled.

  Kate had liked the charming stranger with the to-die-for accent, empathised with the worried big brother with the clear grey eyes…but this scowling, thwarted man made her shift in her seat and wish herself elsewhere. She wondered what face he showed most often to Felice?

  She recalled the panic in Felice’s voice and found her answer.

  And then it hit her—the scowling and the glaring; it was just a foil for his fear. It was obvious he’d spent the last few months worried sick about his sister. Instead of telling Felice he loved her and was glad she was okay, he’d lashed out at her as if…

  As if he expected rejection.

  What on earth had happened between them?

  ‘What now?’ he demanded. ‘What the hell is she doing, anyway?’

  She’d bet more people bowed and scraped to His Lordship than stood up to him. She wanted to tell him to stop acting like a spoilt child, only when she looked at him there was nothing of the child in the sensual firmness of his lips, or the broad, lean strokes of his body.

  ‘She’s seeing some of the world, back-packing like she always intended. She’ll be home in a fortnight.’

  ‘Home?’ He pounced on the word. ‘Her home is in England!’

  Oh, dear. ‘Back, then. She’ll be back in a fortnight.’

  Kate’s back started to tighten and ache—like it always did when she felt torn. She loved Felice and had given her word. Yet it didn’t stop her from feeling an enormous surge of empathy for this man sitting opposite her. She knew what it was like to fret over a sibling. She knew what it was like to worry about a child.

  And Simon’s expression told her he still thought of Felice as a child.

  His expression also told her he needed to loosen up.

  ‘What am I supposed to do in the meantime?’ he demanded.

  ‘You could return home to England,’ she offered. ‘I promise to make sure Felice calls you when she gets back.’

  He shook his head once decisively. ‘I’m not leaving till I see her.’

  Good. Instinct told her he should stay if he wanted to mend his relationship with Felice.

  ‘Well, then.’ She gestured to the view. ‘You’re in the centre of a tourist Mecca, my Lord.’ He was in Nelson’s Bay, one of the main towns of Port Stephens—three hours north of Sydney and, in Kate’s opinion, one of the prettiest places on earth. ‘If you’re intent on staying, have a holiday.’

  ‘I don’t have time for a holiday!’

  She took in the tight set of his shoulders. ‘Why not?’ She might not be a doctor, she wasn’t a nurse, but she had a first aid certificate and she could tell a holiday was precisely what he needed.

  ‘I have an estate to run. I—’

  ‘Is that more important than hanging around here and waiting for Felice?’

  ‘No.’

  Right answer. And he hadn’t even hesitated. It made her lips curve into a grin. He blinked. His eyes narrowed, but she ignored his suspicion. ‘Have you forgotten how to have fun? I bet all you do is work and sleep.’

  And worry about Felice. She’d met men like this before. Men like her father, who thought they’d find relief in work. Hard work had helped her father up to a point. If only he’d put as much effort into winning back Kate’s mother—the love of his life. Maybe then he’d have been happy.

  ‘I—’

  ‘You need to loosen up, Simon. You need to stop and smell the roses. Do you have rose gardens on your estate? I bet you do. Roses aren’t our specialty here in Nelson’s Bay, but salt is. And coconut oil.’

  He stared at her as if she’d lost her mind. ‘You want me to stop and smell the…coconut oil?’

  ‘Absolutely. Everyone should stop and smell the coconut oil.’

  He kept staring at her as if she’d just confirmed her craziness. Perhaps she had, but she couldn’t help it—she wanted to make Simon laugh and forget his troubles like she did when Jesse came home from school glum, with the weight of the world pressing down on his seven-year-old shoulders.

  ‘C’mon.’ She stood. ‘You need to feel sand between your toes and be at the centre of a lot of squawking.’

  CHAPTER TWO

  ‘I…WHAT?’

  Simon stood too, but he looked far from decisive. That was okay because she’d be decisive enough for both of them. If Simon wanted to rebuild his relationship with Felice, he had to learn to loosen up. ‘First things first.’ She twinkled at him. ‘We need to get you out of that suit.’

  His eyes boggled and she had to stifle a giggle.

  A giggle! For heaven’s sake, she wasn’t twelve. And that skippety-skip in her pulse had nothing to do with anything.

  There was no denying, though, that the blood surged through her veins with a new kind of vigour.

  Maybe that was a bad omen, not a good one?

  She pushed the thought aside. This was about him, not her.

  ‘I’m guessing you don’t want to ruin that gorgeous Italian suit?’

  ‘Bond Street,’ he said automatically, as if he couldn’t help it.

  ‘That’s a no then, is it?’ She didn’t wait for him to answer but tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow and tugged him towards a rack of clothes outside a nearby shop front. He was far too polite—or was that stunned—to resist.

  ‘Ooh, end of season sales. We’re in luck.’ She pulled out a pair of board shorts for inspection. ‘These look like they’d fit you.’

  ‘I’m not wearing those!’

  They were pink and white candy-striped. ‘Pity.’ She hung them back up and pulled out another pair in loud red and yellow. She took one look at the expression on his face and shook her head. ‘No,’ she agreed. Then a bolt of pure mischief shook her. ‘Stop press! I’ve found the perfect pair.’ She pulled them out and held them triumphantly aloft.

  Simon’s jaw dropped. ‘That’s the Union Jack.’

  ‘It is,’ she said, eyeing them with satisfaction. ‘And I think they’d suit your Lordship down to the ground.’

  She suddenly found her shoulders seized in strong hands and Simon glaring down at her. His fingers curved into the soft flesh of her upper arms, firm but not hurting her. The barely contained power of the man transferred itself through his fingers to her arms…and then her brain. It made her pulse leap and jerk. For one fateful moment she thought he meant to kiss her.

  If he did, she had an awful feeling she might just kiss him back.

  Bad omen! Very bad omen.

  ‘Can we drop the Lordship thing?’ he growled. ‘Will you please just call me Simon?’

  She swallowed and nodded. ‘Yes.’

  He blinked as if he hadn’t expected such easy acquiescence. For some reason she found that…unbelievably sad. ‘I wouldn’t have teased you about it if I’d known you hated it.’ She had a feeling the lord thing would get right up her nose too. ‘I’m sorry.’

  For a moment he looked lost and she wanted to hug him.

  ‘That’s okay.’

  His voice sounded hoarse, then his gaze dropped to her lips. His eyes darkened from mist-grey to charcoal. Although he didn’t move a finger, his h
ands at her shoulders became gentler and almost seemed to cradle her. And he kept staring and staring at her lips. They tingled in response. They wanted to part, to offer him a provocative invitation.

  Bad move. Reckless. But she couldn’t remember the last time a man had looked at her with such naked hunger. She couldn’t remember the last time a man had elicited a matching hunger from her. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been reckless.

  Gloriously and wondrously reckless.

  She wasn’t free to be reckless.

  But…

  No. Not a good idea with a man who’d be gone in the blink of an eye.

  ‘Simon?’ she said, at the same time as he pulled his hands away and took a step back. She wondered if she looked as nonplussed as he did. She lifted the Union Jack board shorts, holding them up like a barrier. ‘That’s a no then, is it?’

  He cleared his throat. ‘That’s a resounding no.’

  ‘Well?’ She gestured to the rack.

  She watched his gaze dart along it. He pounced on a sky-blue pair. ‘These will do nicely.’ Then he did a double-take.

  Kate started to laugh. ‘I dare you to,’ she challenged. The colour had obviously lulled him into a false sense of security. Overlaying the sky-blue was a Hawaiian print of golden beaches, palm trees and Hula girls. Exuberant and colourful.

  Reckless.

  He glared at her, raked a hand back through his too-short hair. ‘I take it there’s a point to all of this?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘And are you going to enlighten me?’

  ‘Perhaps. It depends on how wholeheartedly you throw yourself into it.’

  ‘Into what?’

  ‘Ah, if you can answer that at the end of the afternoon then I’ll most definitely enlighten you.’

  His mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.

  ‘Simon—’ her hands went to her hips ‘—do you have anything else planned for the day?’

  ‘No, but…’

  ‘Then just go with the flow.’

  ‘The flow?’

  Before he could think of another objection, Kate sped along to the next rack—T-shirts. ‘Any preference for colour?’ she tossed over her shoulder. ‘And do you like a tight T-shirt or something a bit roomier?’

  He was staring at her as if she’d lost her mind. Again.

  She cocked her head to one side and pretended to study him, tapping a finger against her chin. ‘I think you’d look great in a tight T-shirt, but for reasons of comfort I’d understand if you prefer a looser one.’

  And finally he smiled.

  She wanted to dance a victory jig. She didn’t. She just smiled back.

  ‘Are you always like this?’

  She forced her eyes wide. ‘Like what?’ She handed him a shirt—blue-grey. It’d match his eyes.

  ‘Incorrigible.’

  She touched a hand to her throat in mock surprise. ‘Moi?’ Then she pushed him into the interior of the shop. ‘Dressing rooms are that way. If the clothes fit, leave them on. The salesman will give you a bag for your suit.’

  ‘I—’

  ‘And you’ll need a pair of thongs.’ He gazed at her in horrified incomprehension and she added, ‘You know, flip-flops.’ She pointed to a row of them, then turned on her heel and left him to it, her heart racing and her palms sweaty. She swiped them down the front of her shorts. Go with the flow? As long as the flow didn’t contain any more thoughts of kissing and cosying up to Simon Morton-Blake, she’d be just fine.

  She pulled her cell phone from her pocket.

  ‘God! Has he gone?’ Felice demanded, answering immediately and dispensing with pleasantries.

  ‘He’ll be busy for at least ten minutes, I think.’

  ‘Please tell me you’ve talked him into going home.’

  ‘You are joking, right?’ Kate cast a glance back towards the menswear shop. ‘I’m not even going to try. He claims he’s not leaving until he sees you.’

  Felice uttered something midway between a groan and a snort. ‘Don’t worry, he won’t hang around in Australia for a whole fortnight waiting for me to show my face.’

  Kate sensed the hurt that stretched behind those words. ‘We’ll see.’ She bit her lip. ‘Want to tell me about it?’

  ‘There’s nothing to tell. Other than the fact that he’s a total tyrant and too stuffy to step even a big toe out of line.’

  Kate mulled that over for a moment. ‘You know what? I don’t think you should give a moment’s notice to anything other than enjoying your honeymoon.’ A girl only got one honeymoon. ‘I’ll take care of everything at this end, including Simon. I don’t want you to give it another thought.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Positive.’

  ‘Thanks, Kate.’

  Felice rang off. Kate turned to wait for Simon.

  When he emerged from the shop ten minutes later, she tried to wolf-whistle, but she’d never been able to wolf-whistle to save her life. Simon was definitely wolf-whistle worthy, though. ‘I’ve been dying to see your knees,’ she teased. He had great legs—strong calves, muscled thighs…even if said legs were a tad pale. A fortnight in the sun would set that to rights.

  Simon didn’t smile. ‘I feel like an idiot,’ he grumbled.

  ‘You look like a holiday-maker,’ she returned.

  Actually, he didn’t. He still looked too tense and…buttoned up for a holiday-maker.

  And a bit too crisp and clean.

  She could set that to rights, at least.

  ‘These are impossible to walk in.’ He lifted a thong-clad foot.

  ‘You’ll get the hang of them. C’mon.’

  She led him across the road, through the park and down to the beach. She kicked off her canvas tennis shoes and closed her eyes, groaning in enjoyment as she dug her feet into sun-warmed sand. Heavenly!

  She kinked open one eye and found Simon staring at her in appalled fascination—thongs still on his feet and two enormous plastic carrier bags clutched in his hands. His spine was as stiff as a surfboard. She opened her other eye and shook her head. ‘Simon, when was the last time you had a holiday?’

  ‘Holiday?’

  Hmm…That said it all, really. She took the plastic carrier bags from his hands and set them carefully on the beach beside her tennis shoes. ‘Thongs there,’ she ordered, pointing.

  He complied.

  ‘Now do this.’ She twisted her body from side to side until she’d sunk up to her ankles in sand.

  To his credit, Simon didn’t glance around to see if anyone was watching, but followed her instructions to the letter.

  ‘Doesn’t that feel glorious?’ she demanded.

  ‘Er…yeah.’

  He stared at her as if trying to work out what reaction it was she wanted. For the briefest moment her eyes stung. She wanted to yell, Don’t think about me. Do what feels good for you.

  But if he hadn’t had a holiday in a long time…

  ‘You live in Europe, right?’

  ‘Last time I checked, England was still a part of Europe, yes.’

  ‘Oh, ha ha, everyone’s a comedian.’

  He gave her a kind of half-grin. She gave him a full grin back. ‘Well, Spain is nearby, isn’t it? Don’t you go on annual holidays to…Aruba?’ She pulled the name from some dark recess of her mind.

  ‘Kate…?’

  Ooh, her name sounded divine in that to-die-for accent. She started to twist again. ‘Mmm?’

  ‘Aruba is in the Caribbean.’

  Was it? ‘What’s a holiday destination between friends?’ she said with an airy wave of her hand.

  Simon threw his head back and laughed. She watched in satisfaction. She’d find the holiday-maker in him yet. Still grinning, he gazed out over the water of the bay and she recognised the flare of yearning that lit his eyes. ‘Why don’t you go in for a dip?’

  ‘I don’t have a towel.’

  She shrugged. ‘So run across the road and buy a beach towel. Or dry off
after on your T-shirt.’ That’d take the crispness out of it. In fact, it’d leave him deliciously rumpled.

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘I didn’t bring my swimsuit.’ She stared out at the water wistfully. ‘Though I have gone swimming in shorts and T-shirt more times than I can count.’ She pulled back. ‘No, no. I have to go back to work in a couple of hours. I have a meeting with my accountant.’ Which was a good thing, she told herself—a very good thing.

  Then the scent of hot chips hit her and she forgot everything else.

  Simon swung towards her when she groaned. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘I am soooo hungry.’ She pulled her feet free from the sand. ‘Stay here. I’ll be right back.’

  It took her less than two minutes to race up to the kiosk, buy three cones of hot chips and race back.

  She handed Simon one. He grinned at the two she still held. ‘You weren’t kidding, were you?’

  ‘One for you, one for me and one for the seagulls.’

  ‘One for—’

  She didn’t hear the rest of his sentence because she’d already thrown a chip in the air and seagulls descended from every direction to fight over it. ‘Your turn.’ She held the cone out to him. He took a chip and threw it. Seagulls dived and squawked. The air became alive with the flapping of wings. She laughed. He laughed. Feeding the seagulls was definitely a holiday thing. Fun.

  When the cone was finished she tossed it in a nearby bin. ‘These ones are mine and I’m not sharing,’ she shouted to the seagulls, covering her cone with her hand. ‘Come and paddle,’ she said to Simon.

  He blinked. ‘Whilst eating chips?’

  She didn’t miss a beat. ‘It’s called alfresco dining.’ She cocked an eyebrow. ‘You English lords aren’t too high and mighty to get your feet wet, are you?’

  ‘Nah,’ he said, entering into the spirit, ‘it’s the colonials who eat with their fingers that frighten me.’

  She laughed in delight. ‘I didn’t see you exactly rushing to bring out the silver service.’

  ‘I’d need a table for that.’ His eyes laughed down into hers. ‘Not to mention a butler.’

  She’d known he had to have a sense of humour. He was Felice’s brother, after all.

  They paddled and ate their chips. She watched the tension ease out of his shoulders, watched him lift his face to the sun.