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Authors: Lexxie Couper
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stomach rolled.
“How old is Josh, Lauren? You hate his father. His father’s not on the scene. The only piece to the puzzle I don’t have is Josh’s age.”
“There’s no puzzle,” she said, but even to her ears the words sounded hollow. “He’s a teenager, Nick. Stop looking for something that isn’t there.”
His nostrils flared. “Isn’t it?”
A sour taste filled the back of Lauren’s throat. “Jesus, you and your ego. Don’t you think if you were the father I would have tapped your sizeable income by now? Let the world know the Nick Blackthorne has a son? Raising him would be a whole lot easier with a billionaire father, that’s for certain.” She shook her head. “And if he was yours, you gave up the right to anything in my life the night you walked away from it.”
Her stomach churned again. She felt sick. Sick and sorry and so goddamn lost.
“That’s not fair, Lauren.”
“Neither is throwing what we had aside for a horde of groupies.” She closed her eyes, letting out a trembling breath. What happened to a quick drink with Jennifer this evening, followed by a weekend relaxing with Josh? How had she found herself skirting such a gaping, surreal chasm so quickly? How had she gone from laughing through Wombat Stew without a care in the world to being on the edge of a mental breakdown in one afternoon? How had this happened? And whose fault was it?
Yours? For not telling Nick fifteen years ago what he deserved to know?
She opened her eyes and gave Nick a level look. “I’m going. Please don’t follow me.” She snatched up her trousers from where they had fallen to the floor during their last kiss and shoved her legs into them, refusing to look at him as she did so. “I’m sure if you leave now you’ll get back to Sydney before midnight. Drive safely.”
“Lauren,” he began, but she ignored him. She had to. As hard as it was, she ignored him. She strode from Jennifer’s bedroom, through her best friend’s home, out the front door. The winter night air wrapped around her instantly, turning her flesh to goosebumps and her nipples to aching points of flesh. And even as her traitorous mind reminded her how wonderful Nick’s lips felt wrapped around those nipples, she walked on, leaving Nick standing on Jennifer’s front porch, his stare on her retreating back like a caress she longed to succumb to. She walked to her car, climbed in and drove away. He didn’t follow, just as she’d asked.
And it wasn’t until she was unlocking her front door, a bag of hot fish and chips from Murriundah’s only take-away café hanging from her fingers that she allowed herself the weakness to think of him again, and even then, it was only to wonder how he’d found her in Murriundah to begin with.
“Doesn’t matter,” she grumbled. “As long as he’s not here when the sun comes up.”
“Finally!” Josh yelled from the living room, his voice a deep baritone as smooth as silk. “I’m starving!”
She heard his feet—already an enormous size eleven—thump on the floor and then Josh was in the kitchen with her, complaining about how hungry he was as he tore open the bag of food and stuffed a hot chip into his mouth, his grin just like his father’s, his eyes even more so.
Lauren’s chest squeezed tight. Damn it. How was she to ignore Nick Blackthorne in her life when all she had to do was look at her fifteen-year old son to see him?
Chapter Five
Nick watched the night swallow Lauren’s beat-up old Honda Civic, the taillights fading to two dull red spots in the darkness before disappearing completely. He dragged his hands through his hair, ignoring the chilling winter air turning his flesh to goosebumps. He didn’t know what surprised him the most—that Lauren still drove the same car she had fifteen years ago, or that he wasn’t going after her.
He wasn’t going after her. Shit, was he actually going to let her drive away? After dropping a bombshell like that? A son? A
“How old is Josh, Lauren? You hate his father. His father’s not on the scene. The only piece to the puzzle I don’t have is Josh’s age.”
“There’s no puzzle,” she said, but even to her ears the words sounded hollow. “He’s a teenager, Nick. Stop looking for something that isn’t there.”
His nostrils flared. “Isn’t it?”
A sour taste filled the back of Lauren’s throat. “Jesus, you and your ego. Don’t you think if you were the father I would have tapped your sizeable income by now? Let the world know the Nick Blackthorne has a son? Raising him would be a whole lot easier with a billionaire father, that’s for certain.” She shook her head. “And if he was yours, you gave up the right to anything in my life the night you walked away from it.”
Her stomach churned again. She felt sick. Sick and sorry and so goddamn lost.
“That’s not fair, Lauren.”
“Neither is throwing what we had aside for a horde of groupies.” She closed her eyes, letting out a trembling breath. What happened to a quick drink with Jennifer this evening, followed by a weekend relaxing with Josh? How had she found herself skirting such a gaping, surreal chasm so quickly? How had she gone from laughing through Wombat Stew without a care in the world to being on the edge of a mental breakdown in one afternoon? How had this happened? And whose fault was it?
Yours? For not telling Nick fifteen years ago what he deserved to know?
She opened her eyes and gave Nick a level look. “I’m going. Please don’t follow me.” She snatched up her trousers from where they had fallen to the floor during their last kiss and shoved her legs into them, refusing to look at him as she did so. “I’m sure if you leave now you’ll get back to Sydney before midnight. Drive safely.”
“Lauren,” he began, but she ignored him. She had to. As hard as it was, she ignored him. She strode from Jennifer’s bedroom, through her best friend’s home, out the front door. The winter night air wrapped around her instantly, turning her flesh to goosebumps and her nipples to aching points of flesh. And even as her traitorous mind reminded her how wonderful Nick’s lips felt wrapped around those nipples, she walked on, leaving Nick standing on Jennifer’s front porch, his stare on her retreating back like a caress she longed to succumb to. She walked to her car, climbed in and drove away. He didn’t follow, just as she’d asked.
And it wasn’t until she was unlocking her front door, a bag of hot fish and chips from Murriundah’s only take-away café hanging from her fingers that she allowed herself the weakness to think of him again, and even then, it was only to wonder how he’d found her in Murriundah to begin with.
“Doesn’t matter,” she grumbled. “As long as he’s not here when the sun comes up.”
“Finally!” Josh yelled from the living room, his voice a deep baritone as smooth as silk. “I’m starving!”
She heard his feet—already an enormous size eleven—thump on the floor and then Josh was in the kitchen with her, complaining about how hungry he was as he tore open the bag of food and stuffed a hot chip into his mouth, his grin just like his father’s, his eyes even more so.
Lauren’s chest squeezed tight. Damn it. How was she to ignore Nick Blackthorne in her life when all she had to do was look at her fifteen-year old son to see him?
Chapter Five
Nick watched the night swallow Lauren’s beat-up old Honda Civic, the taillights fading to two dull red spots in the darkness before disappearing completely. He dragged his hands through his hair, ignoring the chilling winter air turning his flesh to goosebumps. He didn’t know what surprised him the most—that Lauren still drove the same car she had fifteen years ago, or that he wasn’t going after her.
He wasn’t going after her. Shit, was he actually going to let her drive away? After dropping a bombshell like that? A son? A
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