Part-Time Father (Harlequin Presents) Read online

  ‘I have a proposition to put to you.’

  ‘Go on,’ she said, very quietly.

  He spoke with a certain reluctance. ‘I’m prepared,’ he said heavily, ‘to offer you a financial incentive of your own if you agree to call the wedding off. If, on the other hand, you refuse and the wedding goes ahead, then I’m warning you that you will receive nothing from Duncan’s inheritance unless I am satisfied that the marriage is a good one, and one with solid foundations. Do you understand?’

  The grey eyes were so hard and so cold, making a mockery of the rugged perfection of his features, and another shiver of apprehension sent icy claws scrabbling all over Kimberley’s skin. ‘It isn’t just because I’m older, is it?’ she whispered, shaken by his venom, her desire for revenge for his insults momentarily forgotten. ‘Or even because you think that I’m marrying Duncan for his money? You really don’t like me, do you?’

  He went perfectly still, so still that he might have been carved from some unforgiving stone. ‘No,’ he said eventually. ‘I don’t think I do like you, if liking can be gauged after such a short acquaintanceship, but you are correct in your assumption in one way— your age and your greed are not the real reasons why I want you to call the wedding off.’

  ‘Why, then?’

  ‘It’s simple. Because you are not the right woman for him.’

  Stunned by the sheer unremitting force with which he spoke, Kimberley stared into his hard, cruel face. ‘What on earth gives you the right to say that?’ she whispered.

  ‘This does,’ he said, in a voice which was brutal with some unnamed emotion, and he caught her by the waist and bent his dark, savage face to kiss her.

  Something happened to her—something irrevocable and mind-blowing. Something which was to change her life forever. What the hell had he done to her with just one kiss? she wondered desperately. Because sexual desire, fiery and hot and potent as life itself, began blazing its way through her veins as his mouth found hers.

  Oh, God, but it was heaven.

  Heaven.

  She opened her mouth to him as though she had waited all her life for that sweet, punishing kiss. She found herself trembling, almost swaying, now wanting more, much more than his kiss. She wanted him to touch her where no man had ever touched her; she wanted those long fingers to remove her T-shirt, to kick away her jeans. She wanted him to lay her down on the floor and make love to her right there…

  But then reality crashed in with a sickening sensation as, distantly, somewhere in the house, she heard the sound of someone shouting. She felt his hands drop from her waist, felt, too, his tongue withdraw from her mouth, where it had been inciting her with provocative little movements which had mimicked what no man had ever done to her.

  She gave a kind of automatic protest as he lifted his head up and stared down at her dazed face, and she read the contemptuous look in his eyes.

  ‘I rest my case,’ he said insultingly.

  Kimberley straightened her spine and stared back at him, hiding her shame behind the frosty glitter in her blue eyes.

  In her eyes sparked the hatred she felt for him. To illustrate his point he had treated her no better than a whore, and in a way she had responded no better than a whore. The way she had felt in his arms had frightened her with its intensity, so that all her carefully fought for self-control had vanished like the wind. She was the vanquished, he the victor. He had all the power, and she had none. And she never wanted to see him again, not as long as she lived.

  Never.

  But then Kimberley discovered something else. She could see that behind the contempt which distorted the angular features there remained a hunger—a savage, sexual hunger which made his eyes glitter blackly and beat a frantic pulse at the base of his neck. He wants me, she thought, yet he despises me. And he’s a man who gets exactly what he wants.

  Oh, my God, thought Kimberley weakly. He’ll come and find me. And what if I can’t—what if I just can’t resist him? What will a man who despises me offer other than instant heartbreak?

  Unless she somehow contrived to make him despise her so much that he’d leave her alone forever.

  She gave a small, smug half-smile, and allowed the kind of cold, calculating look which she knew he would be expecting to come into her eyes.

  ‘This—er—financial incentive you’re offering,’ she purred. ‘How much are we actually talking about?’

  Some light in his eyes died. If she had thought she’d read scorn and derision there before, it was nothing to the look which now replaced it. He looked at her as though her very presence contaminated the air surrounding him.

  He mentioned a sum, and she allowed a rapacious little smile to curve her lips upwards as she nodded. ‘I’ll do it,’ she told him. ‘On one condition.’

  He shook his head, the contempt hardening his mouth into an unforgiving line. ‘No conditions, sweetheart,’ he drawled coldly. ‘Unless I make them.’

  She shook her head. ‘I won’t do it unless you agree not to tell Duncan anything about what’s happened here this afternoon. I want to tell him— to break things off—in my own way.’

  He stared at her incredulously. ‘Do you really think I’d hurt my brother like that? And, much though I’m tempted to tell him about his lucky escape, I’m really not cruel enough to disillusion him with the knowledge that he fell in love with a cheap little tramp. Do I make myself clear?’

  ‘Perfectly.’ She held out a slim white hand, which was miraculously free from tremor. ‘And now, if we can conclude our business.’

  She saw his barely concealed shudder of distaste as he took a cheque-book out from the inside pocket of his suit and began to write.

  What she hadn’t expected was that it should hurt quite so much…

  Kimberley raked her hand roughly through her hair, as if the frantic movement could somehow magically dispel the image of Harrison which burned on her mind’s eye as if it had been branded there. After more than two years, she thought despairingly, it shouldn’t be quite so vivid. She wasn’t naïve enough to have expected to forget a man like Harrison Nash, but surely by now just the merest thought of him shouldn’t be enough to make the heat rise up in her blood with its slow, insistent throb?

  She picked the tea-tray up to carry it back through into the sitting-room where her mother was waiting.

  Why remember all that now?

  Because she remembered it every time she came home; it was one of the reasons why her visits were more infrequent than either she or her mother liked. This place was tainted with memories of Harrison Nash and that one fateful kiss.

  The day after he had kissed her she had done several things. Firstly, and most importantly, she had gone to Duncan and gently given him back his ring. He had not railed or argued with her; he had quietly accepted her stumbling explanation, saying that deep in his heart he had not been completely surprised.

  The following day Kimberley had fled to stay with an aunt in Scotland, where she had remained for a fortnight, quietly licking her wounds. She had also cashed the cheque which Harrison had given her and given the money to charity. More importantly, as she’d handed the huge wad of money over to the bemused representative of Save the Children, she had made a solemn vow. That she would put Harrison Nash out of her mind forever.

  And so far, at least, it hadn’t worked.

  ‘Kimberley!’ came her mother’s voice. ‘Where’s this cup of tea you promised me?’

  ‘Just coming!’ Fixing a smile on to her face, Kimberley took the tray and biscuits in, and poured out two cups.

  The Earl Grey tea was deliciously refreshing, but Kimberley, though hungry, took only one bite out of a biscuit then left it—still ruffled about remembering that extraordinary day.

  Forcing her mind back on to safer subjects, she offered the plate of biscuits to her mother. ‘How are you going to manage with your foot bandaged?’

  ‘Oh, I expect I’ll be all right,’ her mother replied unconvincingly.

  Kimbe
rley hid a smile. Her mother, love her, was like an open book! ‘Would you like me to come and stay with you until you’re up on your feet properly again?’ she asked.

  Mrs Ryan’s smile could have lit up Oxford Street. ‘Oh, would you, dear? I’d be so grateful!’

  Kimberley’s mind skipped along. She could telephone her bank later. She was a conscientious highflyer in the merchant bank where she’d worked for the past five years—she doubted whether they’d mind her taking a break at such short notice. ‘Of course I don’t mind,’ she said. ‘But I’ll have to drive back up to town to get some clothes.’

  ‘That’s fine, dear,’ said her mother contentedly as she eyed the teapot. ‘Is there another cup in the pot?’

  Kimberley poured her mother another cup. ‘So, who’s Duncan marrying?’ she asked, glad that the boy she’d been so fond of had found someone else to love.

  ‘Some girl he met in America—an heiress, apparently.’

  ‘That will please Harrison,’ commented Kimberley acidly.

  Her mother gave her a shrewd look. ‘I don’t know why you won’t hear a good word said about that man. He’s actually very charming.’

  ‘Charming?’ About as charming as a snake-pit! Kimberley gave a forced little laugh. ‘That’s the last adjective I’d use about him!’

  ‘But why do you dislike him so much?’

  ‘How can I dislike him—I’ve barely met the man?’ said Kimberley dismissively, then relented. ‘If you must know he stands for everything I hate— all that arrogance! He thinks he’s God’s gift to women——’

  ‘A lot of women tend to agree with him,’ cut in Mrs Ryan in amusement. ‘Or so I’m told.’

  Kimberley resisted the temptation to scream. ‘I’d better leave now,’ she said hurriedly, in order to stop her mother from regaling her with any anecdotes about Harrison’s life. ‘If I set off now, I can be in London and back before dark.’

  Her mother frowned. ‘Well, do drive carefully, won’t you, dear?’

  ‘Don’t I always?’

  ‘Do you? You’re a little too fond of the accelerator, in my opinion!’

  But Kimberley was a good, careful driver—though she was slightly on the fast side. She made good time to London, and just over an hour later her scarlet sports car drew up outside her delightful honeysuckle-covered cottage in Hampstead.

  She phoned her office and spoke to her boss, who told her to take as long as she liked off work.

  ‘Seriously, James?’ she laughed.

  ‘No! Take all that back—I’ll miss you too much!——’

  ‘I’ll call you when I get back—I should only be a few days!’

  ‘Call me sooner, if you like. That’s if you need a broad, manly shoulder to lean on.’

  ‘I’ll bear that in mind, James,’ said Kimberley, before ringing off.

  James had never made any secret of his admiration for her, but he was confident and rich and handsome enough not to take her laughing refusals to go out on dates with him to heart. She had told him she never dated people she worked with, which was true. Although she actually had a reason for not dating anyone who happened to ask her.

  She had tried dating, and it didn’t work. She couldn’t cope with the physical thing. The unfortunate legacy of her brief kiss with Harrison was that no other man moved her in any way that even remotely resembled the way she’d behaved in his arms that day.

  Which was a good thing, she reasoned, since she had been so disgusted with herself afterwards. If passion turned you into a wild, mindless creature at the total mercy of your body—then you could keep it! Kimberley would manage just fine with her brain!

  She emptied her fridge, cancelled the milk and switched on the answerphone, threw her suitcase into the back of her MG, and set off back up the motorway.

  Her journey was uneventful, save for the episode when a low, black and infinitely more powerful car than her own forced her to move over into the middle lane and then roared off spectacularly into the distance. For Kimberley, who took some pride in her driving and was fiercely competitive, this proved irritating.

  Obviously a man, she thought, slightly unfairly. Probably someone who’s into phallic symbols to compensate for his own weediness.

  She saw the car again, parked outside the one really up-market restaurant in the village, which was a few miles from her mother’s house and well off the beaten track—not a tourist trap at all. And she wondered vaguely who, round here, was driving such an expensive piece of equipment.

  She arrived back at her mother’s, unpacked and then concocted some supper from the food she’d brought with her. The two women were just enjoying a quiet glass of wine when Mrs Ryan dropped her bombshell.

  ‘Er—Kimberley?’

  How well she recognised that voice! Kimberley felt a bubble of amusement welling up inside her. ‘Mother?’

  ‘I’d like to ask you a favour, dear.’

  ‘I somehow thought that you might. Go on—ask away.’

  ‘Er—it’s a little difficult to know how to put it.’

  Obviously a very big favour, thought Kimberley. ‘Mmm?’

  ‘You know I mentioned that Duncan’s got engaged?’

  Kimberley smiled. Mothers could be so transparent! ‘Yes, Mum—and I don’t mind, honestly!’

  Mrs Ryan gave her a severe look. ‘I wasn’t imagining for one minute that you did—since you were the one to break it off. Still, better before the marriage than after, I always say.’

  Kimberley sighed. ‘You were saying?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Well, the thing is that he’s due to arrive in a couple of days’ time and, with my leg and all, there’s no one to get the place ready for him…’

  Kimberley put her wine-glass down on the table and looked incredulously at her mother. ‘I’m not sure what you’re getting at, exactly.’

  ‘Well, I was wondering if you could help me out?’

  ‘Help you out?’

  ‘Just stand in for me—until my leg is better.’

  ‘You mean—clean Brockbank House for you?’

  ‘That’s right, dear.’

  Kimberley shook her head. ‘I’ll pay someone from the village to stand in for you.’

  Mrs Ryan shook her head. ‘But I doubt you’d get anyone at this short notice, and so near to Christmas. Besides, you know how fussy Margaret Nash is—she won’t let just anyone near all those antiques.’ She caught a glimpse of her daughter’s expression. ‘You wouldn’t have to do much, darling,’ she said hastily. ‘Just hoover the place and flick a duster around. And the kitchen floor could probably do with a bit of a wash. I mean’ she gave Kimberley another stern look ‘—look on it as a kind of atonement, if you like.’

  Kimberley blinked in astonishment. ‘Atonement?’

  ‘Mmm. It would be rather a nice gesture, wouldn’t it—after jilting Duncan? Getting the house nice for him. Unless, of course, you’re not being entirely truthful with me. Perhaps you are a tiny bit jealous…?’

  Kimberley stared at her mother very hard, before throwing her head back and laughing loudly. ‘You know, Mum, for sheer cheek you’re world-class!’ Then she thought of something else. ‘But surely Mrs Nash wouldn’t want me near the place?’

  ‘Oh, no, dear—she’s quite happy to have you there. She likes you, you know—she always has. She always said that she thought you were quite wrong for Duncan.’

  Interesting. She hadn’t said a thing at the time. ‘Oh, did she?’

  ‘Will you do it, then?’

  Kimberley sighed. ‘I suppose so! Anything for a quiet life. But only on one condition.’

  ‘Yes, dear?’

  ‘Where’s—Harrison?’

  ‘Oh, he’s in France or Germany or somewhere. Living there while he takes over another company. His mother says he works himself into the ground. She says——’

  ‘Fascinating as I’m sure you and Mrs Nash find it,’ Kimberley interrupted coolly, ‘I really have absolutely no interest in hearing about Harrison.’
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  Her mother’s face said, Well, you did ask me!— but to her eternal credit she didn’t utter another word.

  It was just unfortunate that hearing about him was one thing, but trying not to think about him was another—and the moment she set foot over the threshold of Brockbank House more memories of that hateful, scheming man came flooding back to haunt her.

  Kimberley wondered how she could have allowed herself to be talked into doing this particularly distorted ‘favour’ for her mother. She hadn’t been near the house, not for over two years, not since that dreadful day when Harrison had given her the cheque.

  Despite her mother’s assurances she had been dreading seeing Mrs Nash, but Duncan’s mother held her hand out immediately she opened the front door. She was a tall, graceful woman, with Duncan’s soft brown eyes; Harrison, Kimberley knew, was the image of his father who had been killed in a yachting accident when both boys were quite small.

  ‘Hello, Kimberley,’ said Mrs Nash. ‘It’s good of you to help me out.’

  ‘It’s no trouble. Really. Mother insisted I stand in for her.’

  Mrs Nash smiled. ‘Eleanor’s so terribly conscientious. I really don’t know what I’d do without her.’ There was a pause. ‘She told you that Duncan’s getting married?’

  ‘Yes, she did.’ Kimberley hesitated. ‘I’m very happy for him, Mrs Nash. Really, I am.’

  Mrs Nash smiled. ‘I rather thought you might be.’ She laid her hand on Kimberley’s arm. ‘Won’t you come and have some tea with me?’

  Kimberley shook her head. ‘Another time, perhaps. I’d rather get started, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘I understand.’

  Did she? thought Kimberley. Not really. She imagined that even the fairly liberal Mrs Nash would be shocked if she knew the real reason for Kimberley’s reluctance to linger any longer at Brockbank House than she needed to. What would she say if Kimberley told her that the sight of that framed silver photograph of Harrison on the hall table was playing havoc with her equilibrium?