“Someone would have phoned.”
“Maybe it’s Mack.”
A groan escaped. “All right. I’ll get it.” He pressed another hungry kiss to her mouth before rising from the bed.
She watched her gorgeous husband shrug into a toweling robe and leave the bedroom. In another minute she could hear Cole say, “Gavin-where’s the fire?”
“The family wants you and Catherine to come over for breakfast, but they were afraid you wouldn’t answer the phone.”
“Then why didn’t you just come in and tell us?”
“But yesterday you told me not to barge in!”
“That was yesterday.”
“You don’t sound mad anymore. I guess she’s not afraid of you anymore either?”
“Nope.”
“That’s good, huh?”
“Yup.”
Catherine had to cover her mouth to hold in her laughter. If this was how things were going to be on the Bonnibelle from now on, she could handle a hundred life times of it.
LUCY GORDON
Lucy Gordon cut her writing teeth on magazine journalism, interviewing many of the world’s most interesting men, including Warren Beatty, Charlton Heston and Roger Moore. She also camped out with lions in Africa, and had many other unusual experiences that have often provided the background for her books. Several years ago, while staying in Venice, she met a Venetian who proposed in two days. They have been married ever since. Naturally, this has affected her writing, where romantic Italian men tend to feature strongly.
Two of her books have won the Romance Writers of America’s RITA® award.
You can visit her website at www.lucy-gordon.com.
Playboy’s Surprise Son
CHAPTER ONE
‘THE race is nearly over. The two drivers from the Brent Team are neck and neck. Jared Marriot of Team Cannonball seemed bound to win, but he faded and his challenge is over-no, here he is!-catching up with the front two. Has he enough room to pass? Yes, there he goes, streaking ahead of them both, and there’s the chequered flag to say that he’s won.’
Colours flashed across the television screen as the Cannonball car shot over the finishing line, closely followed by the two Brent cars. The camera honed in on Jared Marriot, waving a hand above his head, fist clenched in victory.
‘He did it, Mummy.’ Mike, the little boy on the sofa, was beside himself with glee. ‘He won! I knew he would.’
‘Of course you did, darling,’ Kaye assured her son.
‘He always wins, doesn’t he?’ Mike insisted.
‘Well,’ she said cautiously, ‘not quite always.’
Mike glared indignantly. ‘Yes, he does,’ he insisted. ‘Always.’
Kaye smiled fondly. At five years old, Mike thought he could make the world do as he wanted. Jared Marriot was his hero, which meant that he won every race, even when he didn’t.
They watched as he climbed out of the car to be greeted with wild acclaim from the team, then leapt up onto the podium and sprayed champagne everywhere-the very picture of triumph.
In the interview that followed he was engagingly modest. Yes, he’d had a few unfortunate incidents lately, but the bad times were behind him. He’d won the World Championship three times, and as for this year-well, we’d see. He said the last words with a knowing twinkle in his eye that made everyone laugh with him, not at him.
That was his gift, Kaye thought wistfully. His laughter was an invitation to join him in a merry conspiracy, and it would take a heart of stone to refuse.
Her heart had never been made of stone, not where the young Jared had been concerned. They’d shared one evening, and the sense of being close to him had been intense and beautiful, making her want to be closer yet, and closer.
Was it really his fault that it had all been an illusion? She’d been eighteen-old enough to have some common sense, so she’d told herself in the despair that engulfed her afterwards. She refused to blame him, for if she did so she would lose something she couldn’t bear to lose.
Mike was still burbling happily about his hero.
‘Mum, when can I drive a racing car?’
‘When you’re a lot older than you are now,’ she said firmly.
‘And then I’ll be like Jared?’
‘If you’re crazy enough, yes,’ she teased.
She wondered at his fixation with one man. There were lots of other daredevil racing drivers. Perhaps he’d noticed that Kaye always watched Grand Prix races, eyes following Jared, and that she tensed up if he had an accident.
Or perhaps there was another reason…
Later that night, when she’d seen Mike safely asleep, Kaye returned to the television and switched on the recording she’d made of the race so that she could watch it again later, when she was safely alone. There was Jared in triumph. When the camera homed in on his face she paused the picture and watched it with an aching longing.
This was the man she remembered from nearly six years ago: a little older, affected by the terrible tragedy that had nearly killed him last year, but still basically the wild and wacky character who’d entranced her from the first moment.
She’d been enjoying a gap year before heading for university to develop her talent for languages. It was that very talent that had won her a job with Brent. Car racing took place in many countries, and an employee who could slip easily from one language to another was useful.
That was how she’d met Jared. He’d been in Monza for the Italian Grand Prix, along with Brent’s other driver, a great name in the sport-known as Warrior and self-obsessed. He had a lucky charm-a silver badge worn under his racing gear-and when he’d accidentally left it behind there’d been a crisis, resolved by sending Kaye to Monza.
There she had endured Warrior’s effusive thanks and spent the next day being treated as his multi-lingual servant.
Second driver on the team had been a young man with laughing eyes and film star looks.
‘Jared will be a fine driver when his time comes,’ Warrior loftily declared. ‘He just needs to be a little patient.’
Jared, overhearing, grinned and winked at Kaye. In the race he came within an inch of defeating Warrior, who emerged from his car pale and ill-tempered.
‘He’s not going to forgive you for that,’ Kaye murmured as they all got ready to leave the track.
Jared chuckled. ‘Wait until the next race. Maybe I can give him something else not to forgive. Bye!’
He blew her a kiss and hurried away to join the glamorous model who was waiting for him, which gave Kaye a stab of jealousy. Her own looks were pretty enough, but she knew she couldn’t attract a man who could take his pick from a wide choice.
For a few weeks she watched Jared’s progress through the races, which he won-to Warrior’s ill-concealed fury-and through a few colourful explosions in the tabloids featuring various curvaceous companions.
She sometimes met him briefly in England, between races. He would recognise her from a distance, wave and be gone. Once he bought her a cup of tea in the firm’s canteen and she enjoyed a few dazzling minutes with him, only slightly spoiled when he addressed her by the wrong name.
Clearly she just didn’t have the ‘something’ that made a girl stand out from the crowd. If only she was more rounded.
‘Much too thin,’ she told her reflection in the wardrobe.
‘You count your blessings,’ her grandmother said, just behind her. ‘There’s many a plump girl would say you were lucky.’
Her mother’s parents had raised her since her own parents had died in a road accident eight years before. Their relationship was affectionate, with no more than the normal inter-generational exasperation on both sides.