He laughed. “Here—” he thrust a pristine, folded white handkerchief at her “—use this for that other dramatic gesture B-grade girls love. Wipe it across your mouth and make the necessary sounds of disgust.” His eyes glittered wildly in the half light.
Ignoring the shaky feeling inside, Victoria quirked one expressive, dark eyebrow. “Girls do that to you often?”
“No … but then the women I know don’t threaten to slap me, either.” His not-so-subtle emphasis of the word women caused color to flame in her face.
She balled the handkerchief in a fist, and he flinched as she raised it to his mouth.
“Stand still.” Her voice was tight. “Better I wipe my lipstick off your mouth.”
The curves of his mouth felt full and sensual under the fabric. “There, I’m done.”
Connor stared down at the red stain on the white cloth and his lips twisted. “You should have left your mark on my mouth.”
He raised his head and Victoria felt the force of his reckless attraction hit her like a surge of current. “Why would I want to do that?” She injected scorn into her voice.
He shrugged carelessly. “It would have given all the gossips something to talk about other than my scurrilous split from Dana.”
“I don’t want to be linked to you.” Victoria was appalled at the idea. “So we’re going to go back to the table and smile like crazy—for Suzy and Michael’s sake. But after today I intend to take great pains to keep as far away from you as possible.”
“That won’t be necessary. You’re hardly my type …” he paused, then added tauntingly “… Elizabeth.”
Victoria spun away and stalked inside and quite spoilt the moment by failing to remind him that her name was Victoria.
Chapter Three
August, present day, two years later
Late on Monday afternoon, Connor walked out of the morgue in the small Northland town where the bodies had been taken and gulped in a lungful of crisp, fresh air. Michael. The face he’d known so well in life had been unrecognizable in death. And all the dazzling laughter had left Suzy forever. Connor craved the deep, cleansing peace of tears.
But grown men didn’t cry.
Nor did he have time to grieve. Picking up his pace, he jogged across the car park to where the Maserati waited.
But once inside, he sat motionless, staring blindly through the windshield.
He should call Victoria. The thought came from nowhere. He sighed. What the hell was the purpose? Except to upset her further.
Pulling out of the car park, he headed for the highway. Not far from the exit to the town he saw again the sickening skid marks, and the white symbols the police had painted on the tarmac.
Driven by a nameless, senseless urge Connor pulled over and got out.
The grass verge was peppered with glass, and he stepped over the deep furrows Michael’s tires had gouged out of the turf. A light country breeze blew across his face and cars whizzed past. There was none of the sense that Michael’s spirit still lingered—as Connor realized he’d hoped for when he’d pulled over.
It’s not fair. They should be here! Victoria’s words rang in his ears.
Balling his fists against his eyes, he faced the fact that he would never again see the slight smile that changed Michael’s expression from intellectual to human. He would never again play squash against that killer competitive drive that few people knew Michael possessed.
A tidal wave of sorrow swept over him, and a moment later the aftershock of loneliness set in, paralyzing him.
Even after the fiasco with his ex-girlfriend and his business partner, he’d been able to act. He hadn’t even missed Dana—he’d kept himself too busy. Working like a fiend to get the Phoenix Corporation up. Going to the gym. Squash and beers with Michael. Dating a string of women who entertained but didn’t enthrall. While all the time Michael watched him with that quiet smile and offered advice that Connor hadn’t taken.
And now he’d never see Michael again.
Even fighting with Victoria had to be better than this miserable emptiness. Then he remembered her face as he’d last seen it yesterday. Devastated by the loss of Suzy. Again the compulsion to call Victoria nagged him.
Michael …
Hell.
He dropped his balled fists to his side, blinked rapidly and swallowed, furious at the hot tightness in his chest. Never was a long time. And right now it stretched before him endlessly.
He wasn’t accustomed to being powerless.
The only things left for him to do for Michael were so final—so futile. Arranging the funeral. Carrying the coffin. Executing his will. Ensuring that Dylan was protected.
A car swept by in a rush of air, the driver hooting, jerking him out of his trance of grief.
Dylan.
Connor raked both his hands through his wind-ruffled hair. Michael had loved Dylan; he loved Dylan, too.
No doubt about it, Dylan was special. Never had a baby been more loved. And that’s the way it had always been meant to be.
When, shortly after his wedding, Michael had confessed to Connor that he was sterile as a result of contracting mumps as a boy, Connor had agreed to donate sperm to allow the Masons a chance at a baby. It hadn’t been a hard decision for him to make. Anyone who knew Suzy and Michael could see that they were made to be parents. Perfect parents. Yet they’d worried about how their baby might one day react if he discovered Conner was his biological father.
Michael and Suzy had wanted the truth about his biological father to stay forever secret—and Connor had acquiesced to their request. The baby had always been intended to be theirs. Not his.
But now Michael and Suzy were dead.
Connor flinched at the finality of the word. But he would not break his vow to the Masons. At least not until Dylan was old enough to understand why he’d been created from his father’s friend’s seed.
The foggy lethargy that had clung to him for most of the day started to lift. Connor strode back to the Maserati.
At last he had something to do. Something worthwhile. He had a duty—one he would not fail in. He would bring Dylan up to remember the fine man that Michael had been. And someday, when Dylan was older, he would explain how much his parents had loved him—and wanted him. That would be the time to tell Dylan—and the world—the truth.
Victoria reached for the shrilling phone and Dylan’s eyes, which had been growing heavier, popped open. He again started to suck greedily on the bottle she’d been feeding him.
Juggling the handset and the bottle, she waited for him to settle again in the crook of her arm before saying, “Hello?”
“I’ll be there in under an hour.”
Her heart started to knock against her ribs. “Who is this speaking, please?”
“Don’t play games, Victoria,” growled Connor. “It’s been a hell of a day.”
Victoria fell silent. Her day had been pretty awful, too. First thing this morning she’d called Bridget Edge, the managing partner at work, to let her know she wouldn’t be in, that she was taking compassionate leave because her best friend had died.
There had been a short silence. Then, after uttering perfunctory condolences, Bridget had asked when she would be back at work.
Victoria had known in that moment it wouldn’t be wise to say anything about Dylan. Yet.
Bridget would never understand. She wasn’t married and had no children. How could Victoria have confessed that Dylan needed her right now? Or that she needed Dylan more than anything in the world? Bridget would’ve thought she’d lost her marbles. Finally Victoria said she would be back as soon as the funeral had been held.
Suzy had placed Dylan in a day care center a month ago. So far he’d only been going for half a day as Suzy eased herself back into teaching part-time. But if Dylan returned, it would save her from needing to make other arrangements—and keep his routine normal. Tomorrow she’d call the supervisor, let her know to expect Dylan back.
Tomorrow—when she’d gotten a handle on her grief and could talk without her throat tightening up.
Oh, Suzy!
She certainly didn’t feel like facing Connor in less than an hour. Her emotions were too raw, her heart too sore. “I’ve just gotten Dylan to sleep and I’m about to take a bath. Perhaps we can talk tomorrow?”
“I thought you might want a copy of Michael and Suzy’s will.”
“Michael and Suzy’s will?” Good grief, she hadn’t even given a thought to a will. Most unlike her. Her gaze dropped to Dylan, whose mouth was now just twitching on the teat. Emotion overwhelmed her in a hot, poignant wave. The baby had kept her mercifully busy most of the day. He’d been querulous, almost as if he knew.…
Except that wasn’t possible.
Connor was speaking again. She forced herself to concentrate.
“Yes, a joint will. I’ve just dropped the original at my solicitor’s so they can start winding up the estate.”
“I could’ve done that. It’s not going to be a complicated estate.”
“You’re too busy. Besides I’m the executor.”
Hurt blasted her. She’d been the executor of Suzy’s will before Suzy had gotten married.
Dylan grunted uneasily.
Cuddling the baby closer, she rocked him in a slow rhythm. “I didn’t know Suzy and Michael had a joint will.”
She’d nagged Suzy a couple of times to update her will when she was pregnant, but after Dylan was born, Victoria had forgotten all about it in the hectic pace of everyday work. That would have been around the time she’d taken over two new, big accounts on top of her already crippling workload. She’d finally built the practice she’d always wanted, but not without sacrifice.
“My solicitor updated it for them about a year ago.” Connor’s voice was clipped. “There’s not a great deal in the estate.”
“They both worked for state schools. They had expenses.…” Victoria broke off, then added lamely, “And debts.” She’d promised never to reveal her part in Dylan’s conception. It certainly wasn’t for her to reveal the staggering costs involved—she’d contributed a large sum despite Suzy and Michael’s resistance.
“Not surprising,” Connor concurred, “given they had a mortgage, too. But Michael took out life insurance to cover that.”
Victoria knew Connor had spent hours helping Michael renovate the Masons’s home. He’d even organized grants from a historic trust for assistance.
A sense of guilt filled her. Connor had clearly sorted out Michael’s money matters, whereas she, an accountant, had failed to protect Dylan and Suzy’s interests, leaving it to her new husband to look after her. And would his life insurance cover the IVF debts?
I’ll make it up to you, Dylan.
She stroked the baby’s soft head. He would want for nothing that was in her power to give him.
She’d contributed to Dylan’s coming into the world, given Michael and Suzy the precious eggs they’d needed.
Dylan was a part of her.
“Are you still there?” The impatience in Connor’s voice jerked her back.
“Yes. I was just thinking.” The baby had just fallen asleep with the suddenness that still took Victoria by surprise. “Once the estate’s been wound up I can invest the proceeds for Dylan.”
There was a deafening silence.
Then Connor said, “I’ve always looked after Michael’s business affairs.”
And she’d always helped Suzy. Except when she’d become too busy. Discomfort filled Victoria.
This was not a time for a power struggle. She had to do her best to accommodate Connor; already he’d done a better job of looking after Suzy—and Dylan—when she’d been remiss.
But it will never happen again, she silently promised the baby in her arms. She was nothing like her parents. She would never neglect Dylan.
“Connor, as executor of the estate, of course you’d need to approve the investments. I’m sure we’ll be able to work together in Dylan’s best interests.” She might not like him but they were both grown adults.
“I’m sure we will.” Connor didn’t sound nearly as convinced. “As Dylan’s—” he broke off “—guardian you can bet your bottom dollar I will be very interested.”
Her heart stopped. “Guardian?” she croaked. Her mind raced. Had Michael decided to appoint Connor North the baby’s guardian? “You are Dylan’s guardian?” Oh, Suzy, how could you let this happen?
Connor’s voice, terse and cool, came over the line. “That’s what I want to talk to you about. I’ll be there in half an hour.”
By the time Connor arrived, Victoria had laid Dylan down in his traveling cot, showered and changed into a simple long-sleeved dress, and had just poured herself a cup of tea.
Rushing across the living room to open the front door before Connor could ring the doorbell, she pressed her finger to her lips and motioned him into the kitchen. “I just got him to sleep.”
In the kitchen, Victoria honed in on the subject that had been eating at her since their telephone conversation. “I’d like to see the will.” She did her best to keep the hostility out of her voice, to keep it level and professional.
Connor drew a leather document holder from under his arm and eyed the counter, which was covered with dirty dishes.
Embarrassment spread through Victoria. But then he hadn’t been looking after a baby all day.
A surreptitious glance revealed lines of tiredness etched deep into his face, though they failed to mute the impact of his hard, handsome features.
Only the loosened tie and undone top button of his white shirt hinted at the turmoil he must be going through.
The will could wait—whatever it held would not change now. And Connor looked like a train wreck.
“Would you like a cup of coffee?”
“God, I don’t know if I need more stimulants,” Connor muttered, leaning against the counter.