Michelle Douglas - The Aristocrat and the Single Mum

‘I don’t have time for a holiday!’

She took in the tight set of his shoulders. ‘Why not?’ She might not be a doctor, she wasn’t a nurse, but she had a first aid certificate and she could tell a holiday was precisely what he needed.

‘I have an estate to run. I—’

‘Is that more important than hanging around here and waiting for Felice?’

‘No.’

Right answer. And he hadn’t even hesitated. It made her lips curve into a grin. He blinked. His eyes narrowed, but she ignored his suspicion. ‘Have you forgotten how to have fun? I bet all you do is work and sleep.’

And worry about Felice. She’d met men like this before. Men like her father, who thought they’d find relief in work. Hard work had helped her father up to a point. If only he’d put as much effort into winning back Kate’s mother—the love of his life. Maybe then he’d have been happy.

‘I—’

‘You need to loosen up, Simon. You need to stop and smell the roses. Do you have rose gardens on your estate? I bet you do. Roses aren’t our specialty here in Nelson’s Bay, but salt is. And coconut oil.’

He stared at her as if she’d lost her mind. ‘You want me to stop and smell the…coconut oil?’

‘Absolutely. Everyone should stop and smell the coconut oil.’

He kept staring at her as if she’d just confirmed her craziness. Perhaps she had, but she couldn’t help it—she wanted to make Simon laugh and forget his troubles like she did when Jesse came home from school glum, with the weight of the world pressing down on his seven-year-old shoulders.

‘C’mon.’ She stood. ‘You need to feel sand between your toes and be at the centre of a lot of squawking.’

CHAPTER TWO

‘I…WHAT?’

Simon stood too, but he looked far from decisive. That was okay because she’d be decisive enough for both of them. If Simon wanted to rebuild his relationship with Felice, he had to learn to loosen up. ‘First things first.’ She twinkled at him. ‘We need to get you out of that suit.’

A giggle! For heaven’s sake, she wasn’t twelve. And that skippety-skip in her pulse had nothing to do with anything.

There was no denying, though, that the blood surged through her veins with a new kind of vigour.

Maybe that was a bad omen, not a good one?

She pushed the thought aside. This was about him, not her.

‘I’m guessing you don’t want to ruin that gorgeous Italian suit?’

‘Bond Street,’ he said automatically, as if he couldn’t help it.

‘That’s a no then, is it?’ She didn’t wait for him to answer but tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow and tugged him towards a rack of clothes outside a nearby shop front. He was far too polite—or was that stunned—to resist.

‘Ooh, end of season sales. We’re in luck.’ She pulled out a pair of board shorts for inspection. ‘These look like they’d fit you.’

‘I’m not wearing those!’

They were pink and white candy-striped. ‘Pity.’ She hung them back up and pulled out another pair in loud red and yellow. She took one look at the expression on his face and shook her head. ‘No,’ she agreed. Then a bolt of pure mischief shook her. ‘Stop press! I’ve found the perfect pair.’ She pulled them out and held them triumphantly aloft.

Simon’s jaw dropped. ‘That’s the Union Jack.’

‘It is,’ she said, eyeing them with satisfaction. ‘And I think they’d suit your Lordship down to the ground.’

She suddenly found her shoulders seized in strong hands and Simon glaring down at her. His fingers curved into the soft flesh of her upper arms, firm but not hurting her. The barely contained power of the man transferred itself through his fingers to her arms…and then her brain. It made her pulse leap and jerk. For one fateful moment she thought he meant to kiss her.

If he did, she had an awful feeling she might just kiss him back.

Bad omen! Very bad omen.

‘Can we drop the Lordship thing?’ he growled. ‘Will you please just call me Simon?’

She swallowed and nodded. ‘Yes.’

He blinked as if he hadn’t expected such easy acquiescence. For some reason she found that…unbelievably sad. ‘I wouldn’t have teased you about it if I’d known you hated it.’ She had a feeling the lord thing would get right up her nose too. ‘I’m sorry.’

For a moment he looked lost and she wanted to hug him.

‘That’s okay.’

His voice sounded hoarse, then his gaze dropped to her lips. His eyes darkened from mist-grey to charcoal. Although he didn’t move a finger, his hands at her shoulders became gentler and almost seemed to cradle her. And he kept staring and staring at her lips. They tingled in response. They wanted to part, to offer him a provocative invitation.

Bad move. Reckless. But she couldn’t remember the last time a man had looked at her with such naked hunger. She couldn’t remember the last time a man had elicited a matching hunger from her. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been reckless.

Gloriously and wondrously reckless.

She wasn’t free to be reckless.

But…

No. Not a good idea with a man who’d be gone in the blink of an eye.

‘Simon?’ she said, at the same time as he pulled his hands away and took a step back. She wondered if she looked as nonplussed as he did. She lifted the Union Jack board shorts, holding them up like a barrier. ‘That’s a no then, is it?’

He cleared his throat. ‘That’s a resounding no.’

‘Well?’ She gestured to the rack.

She watched his gaze dart along it. He pounced on a sky-blue pair. ‘These will do nicely.’ Then he did a double-take.

Kate started to laugh. ‘I dare you to,’ she challenged. The colour had obviously lulled him into a false sense of security. Overlaying the sky-blue was a Hawaiian print of golden beaches, palm trees and Hula girls. Exuberant and colourful.

Reckless.

He glared at her, raked a hand back through his too-short hair. ‘I take it there’s a point to all of this?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘And are you going to enlighten me?’

‘Perhaps. It depends on how wholeheartedly you throw yourself into it.’

‘Into what?’

‘Ah, if you can answer that at the end of the afternoon then I’ll most definitely enlighten you.’

His mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.

‘Simon—’ her hands went to her hips ‘—do you have anything else planned for the day?’

‘No, but…’

‘Then just go with the flow.’

‘The flow?’

Before he could think of another objection, Kate sped along to the next rack—T-shirts. ‘Any preference for colour?’ she tossed over her shoulder. ‘And do you like a tight T-shirt or something a bit roomier?’

He was staring at her as if she’d lost her mind. Again.

She cocked her head to one side and pretended to study him, tapping a finger against her chin. ‘I think you’d look great in a tight T-shirt, but for reasons of comfort I’d understand if you prefer a looser one.’

And finally he smiled.

She wanted to dance a victory jig. She didn’t. She just smiled back.

‘Are you always like this?’

She forced her eyes wide. ‘Like what?’ She handed him a shirt—blue-grey. It’d match his eyes.

‘Incorrigible.’

She touched a hand to her throat in mock surprise. ‘ Moi? ’ Then she pushed him into the interior of the shop. ‘Dressing rooms are that way. If the clothes fit, leave them on. The salesman will give you a bag for your suit.’

‘I—’

‘And you’ll need a pair of thongs.’ He gazed at her in horrified incomprehension and she added, ‘You know, flip-flops.’ She pointed to a row of them, then turned on her heel and left him to it, her heart racing and her palms sweaty. She swiped them down the front of her shorts. Go with the flow? As long as the flow didn’t contain any more thoughts of kissing and cosying up to Simon Morton-Blake, she’d be just fine.