A Father At Last (13 page)

“I’ll never eat all that,” she protested.

He just smiled and said, “Give it a go. I’m sure I’ll be able to help if you’re not up to the task.”

“I’ve been watching what I eat lately, and this…” she waved a hand towards the dessert, “…all this chocolate and cream…it’s practically all calories. It’s pure sin.”

“Mm‐m. As I recall, pure sin is something you do rather well, darlin’.” His eyes lingered on hers as he savoured a mouthful of pudding.

She felt her cheeks warming.
Pure sin.
Nearly seven years had passed, but the pictures were there, clear in her mind: she was lying on Ben’s bed, naked, pure, while he did things to her that made her desperate—absolutely, painfully,
pathetically
desperate—to experience sin.

And she had—in all its colourful, mind‐blowing, fireworks‐inducing glory. The vision was still planted in her brain of him then, young, tender and just as desperate as she, his golden‐bronze limbs slicked with sweat on the hot late summer night. At the beach the other night, she’d discovered his body, matured now into full manhood, felt just as good—

or even better than it had six years and nine months ago, and she knew that if she thought about it now, about the hard ridge of muscle down his back, the tight, strong stomach, and goodness knows what else, she wouldn’t be able to concentrate enough to eat.

Julie Mac

She picked up her spoon and took a small mouthful of the dessert, savouring the smoothness of the cream and the sweetness of the brownie, punctuated with its hard little chips of chocolate.

He smiled across the table, and she smiled back.
Thank God he can’t read my
thoughts.

She put down her spoon, picked up her serviette and dabbed delicately at her lips, mainly to hide the blush she was sure was creeping up her neck and over her cheeks. “I think I’ve had enough. I can’t eat any more.”

It was true. His revelations about her father had shocked her to the core, dampening any desire for more food. And then her thoughts of the last couple of minutes had ignited an appetite that excluded food totally. What was it about Ben Carter that could send her emotions spiralling from one end of the spectrum to the other?

She picked up her wine glass, watching—and enjoying the view—as he demolished first his own dessert and then hers.

“Put your wallet away.” He pulled a wad of notes from his own wallet. “I’m paying.”

“But I always pay for myself.” Kelly held out her credit card to the woman behind the café’s counter, who simply ignored it and took Ben’s proffered notes.

While she was sorting out his change from the till, he turned to Kelly and said quietly, “It might be the habit of your loser‐buddy website dates to go fifty‐fifty on the bill, but when I ask a lady to dinner with me, I expect—I
want—
to pay for her. Okay?” His black brows were pulled together in a thunderous frown.

The almost irresistible and unexpected urge to laugh out loud brought to mind the teenage Ben who’d never let her pay her own way if they went to the movies together.

Then, she’d taken delight in winding him up by buying the tickets in advance and paying for them herself.

Now, she was adult enough to simply smile and put her card away. And, she had to admit, it felt good to have an attractive, attentive man taking care of her. When had a man—a date—last treated her to dinner? She couldn’t remember, and really it didn’t matter.

She could enjoy this special moment, this tiny, unreal snippet of time with Ben, her old friend, taking care of her, because soon—like in the next five minutes—she’d be hopping in her car and heading home to her lonely bed in her empty house, where she knew sleep would elude her.

She pulled her car keys from her handbag, fumbled, dropped them on the floor, bent to retrieve them and swore under her breath as reality kicked in.

“I can’t drive home,” she said, straightening up and facing him. “I’ve had two‐and‐a-A Father at Last

half glasses of wine in quick succession. I’ll have to call a taxi.”

But even as she said it, she made a quick mental calculation—the gardens and café were a good twenty‐five minutes from her home. On a Friday night, the cabs would be busy and she’d be lucky if the fare came in at less than a hundred dollars. She didn’t have that amount of cash on her, and not all the cabs let you pay with a card. Then another thought occurred to her.

“Unless…” She saw his pupils dilate. “Unless, you dropped me home, Ben?” It was a simple, practical suggestion—a perfectly innocent suggestion—so why did it send her pulse into overdrive and cause her to practically gabble incoherently? “I can get one of my friends to drop me out here tomorrow to pick up my car—”

“I can’t do that, Kelly, love.” His voice low, he moved his body slightly so he faced away from the woman at the café counter.

Kelly understood—it embarrassed him to turn down her request for a lift home. Ben might be a criminal, with people to meet, deals to do on this night, but in a strange twist of irony, he had good old‐fashioned manners. And for a second there, the thought of riding in the car with him, sitting close, breathing the same air he breathed, listening to music maybe—or just sharing simple conversation—had lit up her mind like a full moon emerging from the clouds on a dark night.

“But there’s another option,” he said, swinging around to the café proprietor. “Are there any rooms vacant in the bed and breakfast?”

The middle‐aged woman handed him his change, smiling, sending a quick glance across to Kelly and back to Ben, and said, “You’re in luck. The three rooms in the main house are all booked, but the studio suite in the garden is available. It’s rather gorgeous actually.”

Her smile widened. “We call it the honeymoon suite.”

Little sparks ignited in the base of Kelly’s stomach.
Honeymoon suite!
There would never be a honeymoon with Ben. But she could pretend, couldn’t she? Just for one night, she could pretend that the handsome man standing beside her, the complex, romantic man with his endearing sense of humour and strong protective streak, was hers and hers alone.

She could even pretend he didn’t have a serious character flaw, which set him on the opposite side of the law to her.

“My friend will take it.”

His words were a sharp slap. But a timely reminder. She hoped her disappointment didn’t show on her face. She watched Ben write ‘Kelly Atkinson’ on the register, and didn’t even try to protest when he pulled out more notes to pay for the room. She’d make sure she repaid him the money.

“I’ll just phone through to my husband and get him to prepare the studio for you,”

the woman said. “It’ll take fifteen minutes max. Would you like a cup of coffee in the meantime—on the house?”

Julie Mac

“So, any thoughts on when we could visit your father?” They’d declined the offer of coffee and opted instead for a stroll down the garden’s Scented Walk while the room was being prepared.

With a path of fragrant prostrate thyme underfoot, deliciously scented flowers tantalising her nose and Ben at her side, the walk should have been bliss.
Why couldn’t life
be that simple?

“I’m scared, Ben.” When they’d set out, he’d taken her hand easily, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to do, and now, as she stopped and turned to face him, he took her other hand in his.

“What are you scared of?” The naked flames of flares lining the path cast strange shadows on his face and she shivered, although the night was warm.

“That I won’t know him—won’t recognise him…won’t…like him. And…” She looked away from his face, focussing on the creamy perfect flower of a magnolia on the other side of the path.

“What, Kelly?” He gave her hands the gentlest squeeze of encouragement.

“I’m scared—really scared—that he won’t like me.” She almost whispered the last words.

“I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

She looked back at him. He’d moved slightly, so the shadows from the flares had shifted and he looked more like the Ben she knew—had known—so well.

“Why not? I’ve treated him pretty shabbily for these last nine years, haven’t I? I wouldn’t speak to him at Mum’s funeral, and then when he came out of prison, I refused to see him. I’m ashamed, Ben. I know as well as anyone—better than most, I guess—that people can atone for their wrongdoing. They can take their punishment, change their ways, make a fresh start.

“But I couldn’t forgive him. I was angry as a kid, and somehow the anger stayed with me.”

“Let it go, darlin’, let it go.” He pulled her in close to his body and wrapped his arms around her.

She let herself settle into his embrace, let his warmth flow around her in a protective mantle.

“It wasn’t all bad though, was it?” he murmured in her ear. “There were some advantages to having your father in prison.”

His words had her wanting to tear free. And maybe thump him. “Name one!” She placed both hands on his chest and pushed hard, but he wasn’t letting go.

A Father at Last

“The teachers at school—they looked out for you and made allowances. In many ways, the other kids envied you for that. The students, especially once we got to high school, respected you for your strength and courage in the face of adversity. And you were always cool and calm and a bit more grownup than the rest of us. Why do you think you got voted in as head girl?”

She stopped pushing against his chest and stared at him in amazement. “The other kids envied
me
?”

“You got it, sister,” he said, a silly grin forming. “And now that we’re agreed that your father isn’t the devil incarnate, can we decide on a day to go and see him? Maybe in your lunch hour or after work. This week’s good with me.”

Kelly couldn’t help smiling.
The other kids envied me!
“Monday I’ve got…um, things to do. Then Tuesday I’m going to Wellington all day with one of the partners to see a client and we won’t be back till late, but Wednesday’s okay. Straight after work?”

“Wednesday it is. I’ll call you and we can meet at his work. Yeah?”

“Yes.” It was a still evening, but a sudden rogue breeze rustled the trees and bushes beside the path, and sent the shadows from the flares skittering. And amid the rustling of leaves, she fancied she heard a woman’s voice say ‘Good girl.’

“Yes,” said Kelly again, more loudly. “On Wednesday, I’ll see him.” With Ben by her side, it would be okay.

Julie Mac

Chapter 7

Ben leaned in and kissed her cheek, fighting the demons that told him to forget about the cheek and head straight for her mouth. Then he pulled back before he lost control totally.

Her beautiful eyes, a luminous silver in the light of the flares, were huge. In them, he saw sadness, hope—and most gut‐wrenching of all—trust. Trust in him. Trust that he was persuading her to do the right thing.

God, he hoped her trust was well placed. He would do his best. But right now, more than anything in the world, he wanted to take her warm, willing body in his arms and never let her go. He wanted to make her his forever. He wanted to hold her,
love her
, set her body on fire so the flames of passion devoured the sadness in her eyes.

Instead, he released her from his embrace, and, still holding one of her hands, started moving back in the direction of the studio. The woman had shown them where it was, and given him the key. It would be ready now.

He was walking too fast for her, he knew, almost dragging her along, but he didn’t dare slow down and let her come close to him, brush his arm maybe, because right now, he didn’t entirely trust himself.

When he’d bent to kiss her cheek, the perfume she was wearing flooded his senses and threatened to undo him. It was the scent she’d worn the night they’d made love, the one he’d bought for her the other day. Despite the heavy fragrance of the flowers they were passing on the path, it was still there in his consciousness, subtle but sensuous.

Just like Kelly herself.

He almost groaned out loud, and was relieved when they reached the little side path that led to the studio suite.

They rounded a corner marked by a big, golden gleditsia tree, and it was in front of them, a small weatherboard structure with a steep pitched roof and a wooden veranda out front.

It was surrounded by garden beds full of some sort of white flowering plant, and in front was a little pool, bordered by ferns, rocks and delicate lights that reflected in the water. A narrow wooden walkway spanned the pool and led to the veranda.

“It’s gorgeous,” murmured Kelly beside him. “Oh, Ben, don’t you think it’s lovely?”

“Yeah, super.” He knew he sounded sarcastic, but what he saw in front of him screamed security risk. He was leaving Kelly here alone, and he’d have preferred she was sleeping in the main house where there were other people close by.

A Father at Last

Then he told himself he was being paranoid. Danger was part of
his
life, but she would be safe here. The big house was only twenty metres away, and the woman had told Kelly she could pick up the phone to contact the house if she wanted anything at any time.

The solid wooden door to the studio looked sturdy enough, and he’d check all the windows before he left her.

He breathed deeply, glad of the wake up call. Right now it was better to be thinking about security risks than dwelling on the sensual allure of the woman beside him. He made himself a promise; one day, when this current gig was over, he would take her somewhere romantic where he could enjoy every inch of her gorgeous body—if she’d have him.

Not tonight though. Tonight, or rather in the early hours of tomorrow morning, there was a rendezvous to keep.

But now, she was tugging at his hand, urging him forward across the narrow walkway. He slid the key in the door and pushed it open.

Newly lit candles lent a soft glow to the room, and a big bunch of dewy fresh flowers graced the coffee table. Beside him, Kelly gasped in delight, and rushed off to explore the suite.

She disappeared around a corner and called out, “Oh‐hh, Ben, you should see the shower. It’s made for two people. And they’ve lit candles in here. And there’s little travel pack thingies with toothbrushes, and fluffy robes and—oh, my gosh, they’ve thought of everything.”