semi‐dried tomatoes and a packet of thinly sliced smoked salmon. He’d even packed a cheese knife and some paper serviettes.
He obviously wanted to change the subject, and she was happy to go along with him: any discussion about dads who didn’t know they had a baby was a little too close to home.
So they sat on the picnic rug, with the platter of delicious nibbles between them, and Kelly wondered how Ben, the teenager who’d lived on takeaways, toast and two‐minute noodles, had become so domesticated.
The answer came to her with disturbing clarity—a woman—or more likely, women.
He was good‐looking, personable, sexy. And sensuous. Only a man who loved women, who enjoyed and appreciated women, would kiss in the way he did. Of course there would have been women, probably lots of them, in the intervening years since she’d seen him.
She experienced a bolt of pure, sickening jealousy at the thought, followed immediately by a mental telling off. Don’t even go there. She accepted the cracker and cheese he handed her and reminded herself she had no claims on this man. She’d banned him from her life the best part of seven years ago, so whatever he’d done with other women in the meantime was none of her business.
And because she really didn’t want to think about what Ben Carter may or may not have done with other women, she gave herself up to small talk.
“I’ve always thought it was beautiful here on a summer evening,” she said. “And look at the sky. Don’t you love the way it gets tinged with that gorgeous soft pale pink after the sun’s set and then it turns purple?”
A Father at Last
“Oh, yeah, I love the sky,” he said. But he was watching her, smiling a little, and Kelly wondered what he was really thinking.
So she kept talking, about the beach, about their school days, about some of the old school friends she’d kept in touch with.
And it wasn’t that difficult, she decided, as long as she stuck to safe topics, as long as she told her mind to switch off every time it gave her a full screen view of the picture Dylan had drawn, every time it reminded her of her task ahead. But the champagne was making her feel relaxed and chatty, and really, Ben wasn’t bad company.
They talked and ate and sipped their drinks under the now black velvet sky. In the dark, the sea rolling into the narrow confines of the horn‐shaped bay sounded louder than it had in the daylight, and Kelly commented on it.
“That’s because darkness intensifies our senses,” he said simply, looking across at her. The glow of a nearby street lamp cast deep shadows across his face, so she couldn’t read his expression, but the sultry timbre of his voice sent shivers down her spine.
“Does it?” It was a question, but she knew what he said was true. Her own senses had gone into overdrive: he was heartbreakingly desirable to look at, his voice caressed her auditory senses, he’d used a subtle, fresh man‐fragrance that did great things to her sense of smell—which just left taste and touch.
“I have to get going,” she blurted out, moving to stand up, but he was one step ahead of her, leaning over the picnic platter and placing a large hand gently but firmly on her shoulder.
“Not so fast, my lovely,” was all he said, in an almost‐whisper, deftly removing the platter and the now empty glasses from between them, and then he was right beside her, his thigh pressed hard against hers. Both his arms went around her and he lowered her carefully onto the rug, so he was above her, leaning on one elbow, his mouth a couple of inches from hers.
“Hello, beautiful lady.” His words were full of hidden promise.
He dropped his mouth to hers and let his lips rove over her soft, sensitised flesh, igniting fires Kelly had no idea she harboured. Then he pulled back.
“Still want to go home?” A smile teased his lips.
She groaned and grabbed a handful of his shirt to pull his face down to
He obviously wanted to change the subject, and she was happy to go along with him: any discussion about dads who didn’t know they had a baby was a little too close to home.
So they sat on the picnic rug, with the platter of delicious nibbles between them, and Kelly wondered how Ben, the teenager who’d lived on takeaways, toast and two‐minute noodles, had become so domesticated.
The answer came to her with disturbing clarity—a woman—or more likely, women.
He was good‐looking, personable, sexy. And sensuous. Only a man who loved women, who enjoyed and appreciated women, would kiss in the way he did. Of course there would have been women, probably lots of them, in the intervening years since she’d seen him.
She experienced a bolt of pure, sickening jealousy at the thought, followed immediately by a mental telling off. Don’t even go there. She accepted the cracker and cheese he handed her and reminded herself she had no claims on this man. She’d banned him from her life the best part of seven years ago, so whatever he’d done with other women in the meantime was none of her business.
And because she really didn’t want to think about what Ben Carter may or may not have done with other women, she gave herself up to small talk.
“I’ve always thought it was beautiful here on a summer evening,” she said. “And look at the sky. Don’t you love the way it gets tinged with that gorgeous soft pale pink after the sun’s set and then it turns purple?”
A Father at Last
“Oh, yeah, I love the sky,” he said. But he was watching her, smiling a little, and Kelly wondered what he was really thinking.
So she kept talking, about the beach, about their school days, about some of the old school friends she’d kept in touch with.
And it wasn’t that difficult, she decided, as long as she stuck to safe topics, as long as she told her mind to switch off every time it gave her a full screen view of the picture Dylan had drawn, every time it reminded her of her task ahead. But the champagne was making her feel relaxed and chatty, and really, Ben wasn’t bad company.
They talked and ate and sipped their drinks under the now black velvet sky. In the dark, the sea rolling into the narrow confines of the horn‐shaped bay sounded louder than it had in the daylight, and Kelly commented on it.
“That’s because darkness intensifies our senses,” he said simply, looking across at her. The glow of a nearby street lamp cast deep shadows across his face, so she couldn’t read his expression, but the sultry timbre of his voice sent shivers down her spine.
“Does it?” It was a question, but she knew what he said was true. Her own senses had gone into overdrive: he was heartbreakingly desirable to look at, his voice caressed her auditory senses, he’d used a subtle, fresh man‐fragrance that did great things to her sense of smell—which just left taste and touch.
“I have to get going,” she blurted out, moving to stand up, but he was one step ahead of her, leaning over the picnic platter and placing a large hand gently but firmly on her shoulder.
“Not so fast, my lovely,” was all he said, in an almost‐whisper, deftly removing the platter and the now empty glasses from between them, and then he was right beside her, his thigh pressed hard against hers. Both his arms went around her and he lowered her carefully onto the rug, so he was above her, leaning on one elbow, his mouth a couple of inches from hers.
“Hello, beautiful lady.” His words were full of hidden promise.
He dropped his mouth to hers and let his lips rove over her soft, sensitised flesh, igniting fires Kelly had no idea she harboured. Then he pulled back.
“Still want to go home?” A smile teased his lips.
She groaned and grabbed a handful of his shirt to pull his face down to
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