as her son. Two sable heads were bent to their task, delving deep into the damp sand at the bottom of a large hole, chucking the sand aside.
As she watched something strange seemed to be happening to her. The two sable heads were so alike. So was the air of concentration. Her gaze slipped to Alexis Petrakis.
Nicky’s father.
But I don’t want him to be. I don’t want him to be Nicky’s father! she thought desperately.
But she could want all she liked and it would not make it less true. Alexis Petrakis was Nicky’s father. His genes were in Nicky—their shared colouring was testimony to that. And as she studied their industrious faces she felt her breath catch. It was more than the dark hair that made them look similar. There was something in the eyes, the shape of the mouth, the contours of the cheeks, that echoed each other. Words drifted back to her—Alexis Petrakis telling her that he had recognised Nicky instantly from his resemblance to himself when young.
Her mouth thinned. Alexis Petrakis could never have been young. He could never have been as Nicky was now, a loving, affectionate, vulnerable child…
Yet he looked different now from the way he usually looked.
He looked younger, she thought suddenly, even though he was nearly five years older than when she’d first seen him. Maybe it was just because he was wearing casual beach clothes, not the sophisticated tuxedo he’d been wearing when—
No. Don’t think about that. Don’t remember it.
But memories stole back. Not the hideous, ghastly morning after, but to the evening before.
He’d just been so incredibly attractive, she hadn’t been able to drag her eyes from him for a moment. And she still couldn’t.
Her eyes flickered over his face. He was in three-quarter profile and she could see the cut of his cheekbones, the strong slash of his nose, the arc of his brows, the set of his mouth. She wanted to go on staring. Just staring.
Something stirred deep within her. Something that had been dormant for a long, long time. For five long, bitter, grinding years.
She didn’t want to feel it. Didn’t want it stirring. Waking.
But it did all the same. Like a flickering heat somewhere deep, deep within her.
She dragged her eyes away from him, back to Nicky.
His son.
Our son.
Oh, God, Nicky was their son—they had created him between them. Created him on that night that had melted her like wax in his arms.
The night had been magical, wonderful, incandescent . She had never known, never dreamt it was possible to feel the way she had.
And yet for him it had never been intended as anything more than a one-night stand—a casual appetite for a woman easily sated.
But if it hadn’t…?
What if that night, five long years ago, had been something quite, quite different?
Her eyes saw them both. Alexis and Nicky.
Her heart clenched, stopping the blood. A mirage floated in her vision. Alexis, her husband, and Nicky, the son they had created together on the first, wonderful night of many, many nights together. They could have been a family together, warm and loving and happy…
The mirage faded. Her heart started to beat again in dull, heavy slugs.
Alexis Petrakis had used her, then thrown her from him the next morning with the harshest, most unjust condemnation. Refusing to let her explain, justify herself.
He wasn’t fit to be her son’s father.
And yet…
She watched them digging, working as a team together, discussing the depth and size of the hole. Quite easy in each other’s company.
The admission came unwillingly, but it came.
She might loathe Alexis Petrakis, might wish with all her heart that he was not the father of her son, but for all that she could not deny—quite extraordinarily—he was good with Nicky. Nicky was responding to him, she could see. It was nothing overt, nothing emotional. But Nicky had…accepted him.
She felt her heart twist suddenly. Nicky didn’t even know who this man was. Still didn’t know that the
As she watched something strange seemed to be happening to her. The two sable heads were so alike. So was the air of concentration. Her gaze slipped to Alexis Petrakis.
Nicky’s father.
But I don’t want him to be. I don’t want him to be Nicky’s father! she thought desperately.
But she could want all she liked and it would not make it less true. Alexis Petrakis was Nicky’s father. His genes were in Nicky—their shared colouring was testimony to that. And as she studied their industrious faces she felt her breath catch. It was more than the dark hair that made them look similar. There was something in the eyes, the shape of the mouth, the contours of the cheeks, that echoed each other. Words drifted back to her—Alexis Petrakis telling her that he had recognised Nicky instantly from his resemblance to himself when young.
Her mouth thinned. Alexis Petrakis could never have been young. He could never have been as Nicky was now, a loving, affectionate, vulnerable child…
Yet he looked different now from the way he usually looked.
He looked younger, she thought suddenly, even though he was nearly five years older than when she’d first seen him. Maybe it was just because he was wearing casual beach clothes, not the sophisticated tuxedo he’d been wearing when—
No. Don’t think about that. Don’t remember it.
But memories stole back. Not the hideous, ghastly morning after, but to the evening before.
He’d just been so incredibly attractive, she hadn’t been able to drag her eyes from him for a moment. And she still couldn’t.
Her eyes flickered over his face. He was in three-quarter profile and she could see the cut of his cheekbones, the strong slash of his nose, the arc of his brows, the set of his mouth. She wanted to go on staring. Just staring.
Something stirred deep within her. Something that had been dormant for a long, long time. For five long, bitter, grinding years.
She didn’t want to feel it. Didn’t want it stirring. Waking.
But it did all the same. Like a flickering heat somewhere deep, deep within her.
She dragged her eyes away from him, back to Nicky.
His son.
Our son.
Oh, God, Nicky was their son—they had created him between them. Created him on that night that had melted her like wax in his arms.
The night had been magical, wonderful, incandescent . She had never known, never dreamt it was possible to feel the way she had.
And yet for him it had never been intended as anything more than a one-night stand—a casual appetite for a woman easily sated.
But if it hadn’t…?
What if that night, five long years ago, had been something quite, quite different?
Her eyes saw them both. Alexis and Nicky.
Her heart clenched, stopping the blood. A mirage floated in her vision. Alexis, her husband, and Nicky, the son they had created together on the first, wonderful night of many, many nights together. They could have been a family together, warm and loving and happy…
The mirage faded. Her heart started to beat again in dull, heavy slugs.
Alexis Petrakis had used her, then thrown her from him the next morning with the harshest, most unjust condemnation. Refusing to let her explain, justify herself.
He wasn’t fit to be her son’s father.
And yet…
She watched them digging, working as a team together, discussing the depth and size of the hole. Quite easy in each other’s company.
The admission came unwillingly, but it came.
She might loathe Alexis Petrakis, might wish with all her heart that he was not the father of her son, but for all that she could not deny—quite extraordinarily—he was good with Nicky. Nicky was responding to him, she could see. It was nothing overt, nothing emotional. But Nicky had…accepted him.
She felt her heart twist suddenly. Nicky didn’t even know who this man was. Still didn’t know that the
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