Page 38 of His Best Mistake

“I’m sorry about this,” she said, glancing over at him and inwardly cringing at the look of thunder on his face. What must he be thinking? she wondered with a silent groan. His family was normal. His parents would never forget about him. Family meant something to the Macleans. She bet they’d circled the wagons around him when his wife had died, and she tried not to envy him. “I’m so sorry for wasting so much of your time.”

“You, sweetheart,” said Jack, sounding so icily furious that she actually shivered, “have absolutely nothing to apologise for.”

*

How Jack kept it together on the drive back to London he had no idea. He was so angry he wanted to punch something. How could Stella’s parents have done that? How could any parents have done that? Were they really so self-absorbed that they’d just forgotten to tell her they were going away? Or had her phone call even registered at all? Christ. Even the fucking cats got more attention than she did.

He looked at her for a second and his fingers tightened on the steering wheel. She was trying to put a brave face on it, but her smile was too bright and her voice was strained as she chatted valiantly about this and that. It was clear she was devastated. And why wouldn’t she be? Family was supposed to be there for you, the way his had been when Mia had died. Hers weren’t. She had no support. Apart from him.

He hoped she knew she could count on him. She should. He didn’t hold hands with just anyone. He hadn’t even known he was going to take hers until it was done. But just in case she didn’t, he was going to try and make this easier for her, the way she’d tried to make things easier for him by moving in. He would give her no cause to regret her decision. He’d distract her. Charm her. Make her laugh. He might be out of practice but he’d once been pretty good at that sort of thing. It couldn’t be that hard to dust off the rust. And even if it was, it would be worth doing because right now, whether she liked it or not, Stella had no one else but him.

Chapter Ten

The week following their return from Norfolk whirled by in a blaze of, well, what Stella could only describe as fun. Showing no intention of returning the office, Jack had clearly decided to make it his mission to keep her mind off her abysmal excuse for parents and he’d thrown himself into it with an energy and enthusiasm that she couldn’t help but revel in. He’d taken her to the exhibition of an up-and-coming abstract artist she’d read about and loved. They’d gone rowing on the Serpentine. He’d even accompanied her to a pregnancy yoga class. He’d been attentive without being smothering and when it came to actual conversation, she hadn’t been able to shut him up, a development she found delightful.

She fully realised he was overcompensating but she found it hard to care. It was so lovely to have someone on her side for a change, to be the focus of someone’s attention, to feel that she mattered. She’d had boyfriends over the years, yet she’d never realised how very lonely she’d been. How she’d come to accept that that was all she deserved. All those years of parental neglect had left her starved of attention and affection and she now realised that they were exactly what she’d been looking for in her previous relationships and which had always been missing.

After a week of such close contact with Jack she couldn’t think of a better father for her child. It was a relief to learn that they shared the same values and seemed to be so similar in their outlook. Her canvases remained untouched and everything boded well for the future.

Well, not quite everything, Stella amended, glancing up from her sketchbook to look at him as he sat at his desk and scowled at his laptop. One side effect of all the time they’d spent together was that she now found him more attractive than ever.

For a while the desire she felt for him had been dampened by other concerns, but now, unfettered, it raged through her like wildfire. She constantly wanted to be near him. Any excuse to touch him, she took. He frequented her dreams, and that moment he’d taken her hand outside her parents’ house, such a tiny thing, had taken on a significance she just couldn’t contain.

She’d drawn so many sketches of him her book was full. Halfway through she’d realised she’d got his hair all wrong. It wasn’t just brown. There were darker bits in it. Lighter bits. His eyes had flecks of gold in the brown and there was a tiny mark on his jaw that somehow, despite having explored pretty much every delicious inch of his body, she’d missed. She’d gone back to make the changes and wondered what else she might have missed.

The one thing she could never get down on paper was his scent. She could barely even describe it. She detected no artificial hint of aftershave, maybe just some shower gel, some deodorant and something uniquely him. Whatever it was, whenever it floated over to her it inevitably made her go a bit dizzy. She found herself leaning towards him and breathing in deep, the urge to put her mouth to his skin and taste him overwhelming.

But she knew she just had to ride it out. It was only lust. It would fade. In the meantime she’d simply have to strengthen her resolve, but goodness it was hard when she kept remembering how good he’d felt inside her.

She must have made a sound, a moan perhaps, because Jack suddenly looked up sharply, his dark eyes intense, a frown on his face. “Are you OK?”

“I’m fine,” she said, her voice a little hoarse.

“What’s up?”

A bad case of unrequited lust, she thought, but since there was no way in hell she was going to admit that, said instead, “Just thinking about my birthday.”

“Your birthday?” he echoed in surprise. “When is it?”

“The day after tomorrow.”

“Do you have plans?”

“No.”

He studied her for a moment with those eyes that saw way too much, then said, “Do you ever have plans?”

“No.”

“You do this year.”

*

The hotel Jack had booked them into to celebrate her thirtieth birthday was like no hotel Stella had ever stayed in. It was a vast, magnificent stately home, and as they’d driven up the long, gravel drive she was sure she recognised it from a TV period drama.

The building was perfect in its symmetry. In the centre, soaring columns held up a portico decorated with an intricate coat of arms. Two storeys of a dozen windows on each stretched the whole width of the house, and a dome sat on the top of each corner. On either side were low level wings supported by colonnades. The silvery-white eighteenth century stone was bathed in the early afternoon sun and glowed. The interior was just as spectacular. While Jack had checked in and a member of staff had materialised to take their cases, Stella had stood looking round in awe, taking in the marble busts, the old Masters and the galleried landing.

Now she was in her room – one of the three, yes, three, that made up their suite – lying on the enormous bed and staring up at the beautifully carved wooden ceiling and thinking she could definitely get used to this. Not that she would of course, because she knew perfectly well it was a one off, but still. As birthdays went this one wasn’t going to be too bad at all.

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