Therese Beharrie - From Heiress To Mum

Autumn.

She sighed, knocked her head lightly against the headrest of the recliner. She couldn’t help him if she felt like this. Since she’d already agreed to it, she didn’t have much choice now. She would just be...cautious. She would try and protect herself.

Though she wasn’t sure how she was going to do it, she was content with realising she had to. Content enough to close her eyes and sleep as the sun’s rays touched her legs.

* * *

Grace would be bringing Eli, his son, over in an hour. He paced the room, the thought of it, the realisation of it, worrying him as he waited for Autumn to arrive. He needed her with him so his mind would stop tripping over itself. So his heart wouldn’t feel as if it were beating in a compressed space.

He ignored the guilt that accompanied the need.

It had encouraged him to offer to pick her up, though. She’d refused.

‘Even if we ignore how silly it would be for you to drive an hour out of the city to help me,’ she’d started in a tone that had brooked no disagreement, ‘how would you take me home when you have a three-month-old to get settled?’

He hadn’t even considered that, which had pushed his thoughts back over a cliff.

He was worried, deeply, that he wouldn’t be a good father. That he’d follow his father’s footsteps and act selfishly. Or that he wouldn’t be able to give his son what he needed.

That fear was deeper than the ones he had about repeating his father’s mistakes, though more obscured. He could see it was there, like a red light flickering under black material, but he didn’t know what it said. His emotions curling into themselves, rocking back and forth, told him it had to do with Janie. But he couldn’t unfurl the emotions or still their movement long enough to figure it out.

So they stayed in his stomach, making him ill. And he waited for Autumn to arrive so he wouldn’t have to focus on them.

The doorbell rang then; an answer to his prayers. He nearly flung it open in his haste, and his throat went dry. Every part of him stilled, his eyes sweeping over Autumn.

There was one tiny part that began moving again though, jumping up and down, telling him he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t be overwhelmed by how beautiful she was. He had to pretend he didn’t find her attractive. But he nearly snorted at that part because he had eyes in his head. He couldn’t pretend the woman standing in front of him didn’t take his breath away.

She was wearing a pretty summer dress, peach-coloured, which somehow stood out against and moulded to her bronze-tinted skin. Her hair had been tied back into a bunch of curls at the nape of her neck. He was sure that when she turned around, he’d see a ribbon the same colour as her dress keeping it there.

The dress scooped over her neck, giving him a tantalising glimpse of her cleavage; it ended right above her knee, giving him a generous view of smooth, defined legs. The gold sandals she wore wound around feet he’d always thought extraordinary and clung to ankles he could remember kissing.

Logically, he knew he wouldn’t be able to run from the fact that he was attracted to her. Because it was simply that—a fact. And he was an adult, who could process facts and control impulses.

But he wouldn’t lie: at that moment, it felt as if the universe were testing his ability to do either.

‘I was going to say hello,’ Autumn said slowly, ‘but considering your expression, I now feel like I should ask about your fire extinguisher?’

A fierce blush hit his face.

‘I have wine.’

‘Hello to you, too,’ she said, amusement making her even more beautiful. Annoyingly so. He nearly growled. ‘Wine sounds lovely.’

She walked in, past him, and he let out a tight breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. After giving himself a stern talking-to, he followed her into the kitchen, and poured her a glass of wine. He didn’t pour himself one, though he wanted it. Or something stronger. But he couldn’t drink when he had to take care of a kid. Besides, he’d been put off by drinking since it had put him in his current predicament. Abstinence—in more than one way—was his strategy moving forward.

‘You’ve set the table,’ she commented, sipping from her wine, looking around.

His eyes moved over to the dining room, which he’d decorated with the white runner his mother had sent him when she’d visited the Seychelles some time back. Since he’d opened the glass sliding doors leading into his garden—things had seemed too stifling otherwise—he’d added two citronella candles on either side of the table. He’d thrown some straw placemats around the table after, thinking it made his place look homely. Now, he wondered.

‘Too much?’

‘No, it’s nice.’ She turned to face him, and her expression softened. ‘You’ve got to calm down, Hunter.’

‘I’m perfectly calm,’ he lied.

Her brow arched. ‘Really? So that twitch at your right eye is because you’re Zen, huh?’

‘Just a tic.’

‘The frown, too?’

He immediately relaxed his forehead.

She rolled her eyes. ‘Why are you nervous?’

He made a hand gesture that was supposed to indicate everything. She nodded.

‘Well, the upside is things can hardly go worse than the first two times you’ve met her. Neither of them was particular positive, I don’t think.’

‘Hey,’ he said without heat.

‘What?’ she asked dryly. ‘You think you’re a stud when you’re drunk? Because I’ve got to tell you—’

‘You’ve never complained.’

‘You always made up for it sober.’ Her mouth curved up at the side, though the rest of her face was tight. ‘She didn’t have that opportunity.’

He grunted. Tried to figure out what he felt about the casual way she was talking about him having sex with another woman. It couldn’t be easy for her—or perhaps he was overestimating how much she cared about his love life. Then he remembered how she’d needed him to tell her nothing more was going on between him and Grace. And what her face had looked like as she’d asked.

Maybe not.

Except that she was dealing with this pretty casually, which was messing with his head. Did he have to tiptoe around it? Or could he talk about it freely? Not that he wanted to.

‘Just ask me whatever’s going on in your head instead of trying to figure it out,’ she told him wanly. He took a deep breath, then let it out with a shake of his head.

‘Fine, then.’ Her grip was tight on the wine glass. ‘I’ll ask you this. Why does she trust you to take care of the child? She doesn’t know you.’

‘She doesn’t have a choice. She doesn’t have any family. She was visiting a friend here when...’ He trailed off.

Her eyes narrowed. ‘There’s more.’

‘She thinks I’m decent,’ he said, unsurprised by her intuition.

‘Based on what?’

‘Not sure. You’ll have to ask her.’

‘What’s available on the Internet does make you look good.’ She gently swirled the wine in her glass, tilting her head to the side. ‘The fact that your company provides renewable energy to townships. The charity work. That video of you—’

‘Autumn.’

‘I was going to say presenting the cheque to the CF Institute,’ she said dryly. ‘Also, the donation to the non-profit caring for orphaned CF kids. How you spent the day with them.’ The pause before her next words lasted only seconds. ‘Though being the Bakery Boyfriend must have been what swayed her.’

She grinned. He wanted to scowl back, but of course he didn’t. Instead, he smiled, and wished he could capture the moment to return to later. The little bubble of warmth floating in his chest because of her would no doubt pop soon, and he wanted to protect it for as long as he could.