Emma Darcy - The Father Of Her Child

“Never missing a piece of the jigsaw, Mr. Timberlane?” she queried, niggled by his assumption of having all-seeing eyes. Nobody saweverything.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Evan broke in jocularly. “What’s all this Mr. and Ms.? We’re at a party, not a stuffy reception.”

“One must be careful not to assume too much these days, Evan,” Michael Timberlane answered his friend good-humouredly. “How do I know I’m not meeting a raging feminist who’ll take offence at inappropriate familiarity?”

Evan laughed. “I’d think it’s obvious Lauren isn’t a raging feminist.”

“Appearances can be deceptive.” Michael raised his eyebrows quizzically at Lauren. “Would you be so kind as to shed some light on the matter?”

Why did she have the sense he was playing out some secret agenda, toying with her, waiting to pounce if she didn’t keep on her toes?

“You have my permission to call me Lauren,” she said with a disarming smile, neatly sidestepping any argument about feminism.

“Then I shall not stand upon dignity,” he replied with mock gravity. “Please feel free to call me Michael.”

Lauren laughed at him. There was a certain spice to the game, a challenge. She couldn’t recall any man ever having put her quite so much on her mettle before, certainly not at first meeting.

“I’ve never liked Ms.,” Tasha remarked artlessly. “It sounds like a mosquito.”

“I think that’s spoken from the complacency of being a Mrs., Tasha,” Michael reproved lightly. “Lauren may feel differently.”

Another test, another nudge.

Tasha flushed, her brown eyes shining an apologetic appeal. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think. I guess it has its place.”

There was a fragile vulnerability, a simple innocence about Tasha Daniel that automatically touched Lauen’s protective instinct. She was not street-wise, and with Evan as her husband had probably never had the need to become so. In a way, Lauren envied that, never having to confront the darker games men and women played.

“It saves making a mistake with Miss or Mrs.,” she gently explained. “Like Mr., it doesn’t carry the label of being single or married.”

“Will you keep Ms. when you do marry?” Tasha asked curiously.

“That’s assuming she wants to marry,” Michael pointed out. “Many career women choose not to take on a commitment that could interfere with their life goals.”

“Oh, dear!” Tasha pulled a rueful grimace. “I’m really putting my foot in it, aren’t I?”

Lauren smiled to set her at ease again. “Being politically correct can be carried too far. I don’t mind your questions, Tasha. I’ve been married, and I was very happy to be a Mrs. then.”

Michael’s face jerked towards her. Surprise. Reappraisal. Lauren had a sense of factors being shifted, energy zapping through him as his inner vision was rearranged.

“Now I’m divorced,” she went on matter-offactly, “the title of Miss is fine by me.”

Tasha looked pained. “Another broken marriage. Michael’s been through it, too. So sad.”

One revelation had bought another.

Michael Timberlane was divorced-single-free! The equation zipped through Lauren’s brain, and she didn’t feel sad at all. She felt as though wonderful fireworks were exploding in fabulous cascades of brilliant colour, lighting up a world that had been empty of dreams.

She was twenty-nine, looking down the barrel of thirty. Unattached, intriguing and attractive men like Michael Timberlane weren’t exactly thick on the ground. Attractive was far too weak a word, she swiftly corrected. He was dynamite. He had both her mind and body shaken to acute awareness of all sorts of exciting possibilities.

Hope was definitely not dead!

“No reason to be sad, Tasha,” Michael said. “It’s a matter of statistics in today’s society. Two out of three marriages end in divorce. You and Evan are the lucky ones. You should let us in on the secrets of your success.”

Tasha smiled and reached out her hand to her husband. “It’s wanting the same things,” she said with moving simplicity. “Isn’t it, Evan?”

“Yes,” he agreed, beaming his love at her as he took her hand and fondled it indulgently.

Lauren fought down an emotional lump in her throat. They were lucky to have found what they wanted in each other. She wondered what had gone wrong with Michael Timberlane’s marriage. Who had left whom, and why?

“I didn’t know you’d been married, Lauren,” Evan commented with a look of puzzlement at her.

She shrugged, inwardly recoiling from that bad time. “Does anyone like talking about their mistakes?”

Evan shook his head. “I can’t imagine why any man wouldn’t fight tooth and nail to keep you with him.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she said, smiling to hide the bitter irony behind it. Wayne had certainly fought to keep her with him. Abusively. On a sudden wave of fear, she turned to Michael Timberlane and bluntly asked, “Did you fight to keep your wife?”

For one fleeting moment she saw a turbulent core of savagery flash through the windows of his soul. It sent a shiver down her spine. Then the silver screen of his extraordinarily compelling eyes clicked into place again, glistening with outward interest in her, reflecting nothing of what was within.

“It’s difficult to fight a saboteur,” he said with a sardonic twist. “The damage is done behind one’s back.”

He’d hate that, she thought.

“Besides, when the illusion of love and commitment has proven false, why fight to keep it?” he went on. “I’m a great believer in facing realities and moving on.”

“Yes,” she agreed, elated that he shared her attitude and convictions.

But it was one thing to leave the experience behind, another to forget. She wondered what damage he carried, what his wife had been like, why she had taken a lover? The reference to a saboteur pointed to another man in her life, and infidelity certainly destroyed the illusion of love and commitment.

“Do let’s get off this painful subject,” Tasha pleaded. “I wish I hadn’t brought it up. This is a happy night.”

“Indeed it is!” Lauren quickly supported her, switching on a bright smile. She didn’t want this electric sense of anticipation tarnished by memories of relationships that had failed to bring the happiness they had initially promised. Determined not to brood on her past or Michael’s, she turned teasingly to Evan. “I’m looking forward to your speech. It’s your first public tryout, and I don’t expect you to disappoint.”

Evan pulled a doleful look. “Pressure, pressure. My editor said the same thing. My wife wants me to shine. Michael thinks I don’t need his applause.”

“I promise to clap if no one else does,” Michael interposed.

“It’s a wonderful speech,” Tasha declared. “I know, because he’s been rehearsing to me.”

“Such loyalty is the voice of love, my darling,” Evan said, almost purring. “And I appreciate it. I truly do.”

They bantered on in light party style. Waitresses circulated with fancy finger food, Melba toast with smoked salmon, fish cocktails, spicy chicken legs, mini croissants with savoury fillings. Both Evan and Tasha helped themselves liberally, enjoying the novelty. Lauren wondered if Michael’s stomach was in the same state as hers. Both of them declined everything offered.

“Dieting?” Michael asked at one point.

“No.” She looked directly into his eyes. “Are you?”

“No.”

There was a magnetic flash of unspoken but unmistakable recognition and understanding. Their hunger was for other things.

But would it be answered?

Lauren stayed at his side, wanting to know more of Michael Timberlane.