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‘Ah, your little bedtime story. Sometimes fact is stranger than fiction.’
‘I don’t really remember.’ She wasn’t sure she imagined that he relaxed slightly at her lie. ‘But I do want to thank you. I’m very sorry I was such a...nuisance.’
He moved towards her at an immediate physical disadvantage due the disparity in their heights, and she felt her heart quicken. The baby on her shoulder stirred as her grip tightened slightly around his warm body.
‘Hush,’ she murmured, brushing his soft cheek with her lips. The baby’s presence felt a protective shield, whether from his guardian’s disturbing high-voltage presence or her own bewildering feelings around him. Both possibilities were equally confusing.
Her mouth ran dry as their glances connected. The contact lasted a second before he was rubbing a hand down his stubble-roughened jaw line, no doubt thinking of nothing more sexy than a shave and shower, she mocked herself. The rest was in her head. The knowledge didn’t stop her tipping over into babble-inducing panic mode.
‘Was your mother shocked?’Horrified, she tacked on silently, at the very leastnot happy. Her son demanded the extra mile from all his staff, why should the mother be any different? Though in this instance the son was being quite surprisingly understanding for a man who had spent the night in an armchair with a baby, afraid, as far as she could tell, to move a muscle. His reputation was not one of patient understanding, fair but tough.
‘Less shocked, more—’ He hesitated, the indent between his dark brows deepening as he recalled her comment...‘You need my help? That’s a first, darling.’
‘My mother is not really shockable.’
He’d last seen her at the funeral, along with her present husband of ten years. Guy had lost more hair and the age difference was a lot less obvious. Guy was ten years older than Liam, who never got to worry about a receding hairline or hear his baby’s first word.
Rose observed the fading of his half-smile and for a moment she glimpsed emotions that were more layered and complex. But before she could begin to interpret them the effective shield of his ebony lashes came down in what she understood as a ‘subject closed’ action, so she was surprised when he supplemented his original comment.
‘She is still shaken by the death of Liam and Emma. Liam was a scholarship boy at my boarding school. Being in foster care, he used to spend holidays with us. She used to say she wished I was more like him.’ Liam had always been more tactile and demonstrative than Zac was growing up.
‘She struggles with unhappy endings.’ Even though they were the norm in life. ‘In my mother’s world true love always leads to a happy ending.’ The harsh cynicism in his voice made Rose wince in silent protest. She had a fondness for happy endings herself, though as yet not much first-hand experience of them. ‘A prime example of stubborn optimism over experience considering her track record,’ he mused.
‘Is she not—’ She stopped, bit her lip and apologised, cursing her runaway tongue.
‘Yes, she is happy, my mother is a great believer in the power of love and an equally strong proponent of family and marriage. She believes in it so much so that...well, I have three half-sisters.’
‘I know,’ she began, and stopped, remembering too late she had claimed amnesia when actually she remembered every word he had said. His voice had been an anchor to cling to in a sea of pain. She smiled and lifted a hand to her head. It was so very good not to hurt.
‘You still have a headache,’ he accused, picking up on the gesture. She was finding it was worrying just how much he noticed.
‘No, I’m fine.’ She produced a slightly manic smile to prove the point and turned the subject. ‘Was your father, was he her first—’ Turned in the wrong direction. It was immediately obvious even without the frost in the air that she’d hit a nerve. Her dad had once called her a social liability and he wasn’t far out in this instance. ‘Sorry, that was—’
‘Clumsy, yes. She didnotmarry my father. He is dead.’
If she had felt bad before, now she felt mortified. ‘I’m so sorry.’
He looked at her curiously. On most people’s tongues the trite phrase was meaningless, but Rose meant it. Her sincerity was not in question, but his sanity was.
He had been cornered by the slickest of clever interviewers, every variation of every trick, surprise, ambush, flattery, had been tried, but he had never discussed his biological father, never revealed even a snippet of information, not even that he knew his identity. He’d never given even the smallest foothold to provide them with leverage, not even ano comment. To his knowledge only he, Kairos and his mother knew the man’s true identity, who and what he had been.
Zac’s biological father had been whathewas never going to be, a weak, abusive bully, which was why he was never going to oblige his mother by marrying or having children. Why risk passing on his tainted genes to another generation?
This redhead, who wore her emotions so close to the surface it musthurt, had achieved what no experienced investigative journalist had and, with no pushing or coercion, he had voluntarily given out information.
He was stone-cold sober so he didn’t even have that excuse!
Ironically the recipient was oblivious to what she had been handed, but even if she had known he was certain she would not have used it.
Or could it be an act? Just because she seemed to have dragged some hidden weakness of his own to the surface, he owed it to Marco to consider this possibility. Could she just be very good at pulling strings? His jaw flexed, the fine muscles quivered, growing taut at the idea of anyone pullinghisstrings. In his view it made sense to be wary especially of something that was too good to be true, and he could see for some Rose Hill might fill that brief—shewastoo good to be true, all warmth, sincerity, beauty, a hint of fire and blazing sensuality.
He’d see this thing through even though he suspected his report to Marco would be short and boring, but this wasn’t the moment to go with his gut instincts. If he was wrong, if he made the wrong call, it was Marco and Kate who would suffer.
He knew that part of the reason Marco had tasked him with finding out if Rose was one of the good guys or her father’s daughter was not just because of their friendship but because it would not have crossed his old friend’s mind that Zac would be anything less than objective. Emotions wouldn’t cloud his judgment.
Zac would not have questioned his ability to deliver this objectivity, even given the lust factor,beforehe saw her willing to drag herself to the baby’s side when she was in agony, before she shook loose feelings that he still couldn’t bring himself to acknowledge.
It would be easy for him to say case closed right now, and tell Marco you got exactly what you saw: the face of an angel with the lush lips of a sinner...missing out the part that she heated his blood like no woman he’d ever encountered.
