The Secret Father

“People know about your son?

Is it in the papers?”

“Not yet, but it will be. And you’re so surprised, aren’t you?” he sneered.

“You don’t think that I…” Lindy said in a strangled voice.“Sam, I didn’t…”

“Look me in the eyes and tell me that it wasn’t you.” He dragged his hand heavily through his hair.“Did you really think I kept silent about my son out of choice? Don’t you think I’d have loved to boast about him?”

Lindy swallowed the lump of emotion in her throat.“I’m so sorry, Sam. But I can’t be the only person who knows,” she said desperately.

“You’re the only one I don’t trust.”

The Secret Father

Kim Lawrence

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

SAM ROURKE scanned the diners in the small restaurant. He recognised and exchanged nods with several members of the film crew relaxing over their food. There were three women sitting alone, and none of them bore any resemblance to the divine Lacey, but then that would have been too much to hope for.

He spoke softly to the proprietor, who had materialised as if by magic at his side, and discovered that the woman he was looking for was the only one of the three solitary females not looking at him. In fact she was probably the only person in the entire room—other than the crew members, in whom familiarity had bred a healthy contempt—not looking at him. Sam was too accustomed to attention to do more than subconsciously register the scrutiny.

He had to know every eye in the place was fixed on him, Lindy thought scornfully. She deliberately directed her own blue-eyed stare elsewhere. He positively struts, she decided, furtively taking in the long-legged lope. Her lips twisted in a small derisive smile as she twirled the stem of her frosted glass between her long, shapely fingers. He was lapping it up! She glanced at her watch and frowned; Hope was late, but then her sister’s unpunctuality was legendary.

‘Dr Lacey?’

Lindy started and found herself looking directly up into the face of Sam Rourke. Like most of the civilised world she’d seen his face in close up, enlarged to godlike proportions on the silver screen. A realist, she was quite prepared for a disappointment: make-up, lighting and a lot of hype could transform the most ordinary of creatures.

Sam Rourke was by no stretch of the imagination ordinary! In the flesh, the heavy-lidded eyes were just as startlingly sapphire-blue, the mobile lips just as sensually sculpted and the jawline just as square. His dark wavy hair was brushed back from the trademark widow’s peak and the cleft in his chin deepened as he met her critical stare.

‘Mr Rourke,’ she said, as though she were well used to meeting international superstars over her lunch. She was disgusted to find her nervous system had gone into instant shock when exposed to the undoubtedly high-octane charisma this man oozed. Happily this state of affairs did not show on her calm features. Her delicate colour didn’t fluctuate even a little as she smiled distantly.

‘Hope couldn’t make it.’ Without waiting to be invited, he took the seat opposite her. ‘She asked me to meet you and show you the way to the house.’

So, Sam Rourke knew the way to her sister’s house. How cosy. Lindy couldn’t help speculating just how well Hope, who was professionally known by her surname, Lacey, knew this man. She’d volunteered nothing about him beyond the basic fact that he was her director and co-star in the film they’d been shooting for the past two months here in Maine.

Lindy didn’t know whether to read anything into this unusual circumstance. Hope had a wicked tongue and usually she delighted in telling her sisters how disappointing the famous people she’d met were in real life. Perhaps she hadn’t found Sam Rourke disappointing. They would certainly make a striking pair, her beautiful sister and this man, and it was almost de rigueur for supermodels to be squired by actors or rock stars.

It wouldn’t do either of their careers any harm to be seen together. Lindy stifled this cynical and uncharitable thought. She might be a supermodel, but her sister Hope was curiously untouched by the more unpleasant aspects of the world she moved in; she was as warm and genuine as she had been the day she’d left their English village home.

‘I wouldn’t like to impose,’ she began firmly, not at all happy about the prospect of sharing her table with this larger-than-life individual. She’d made the mistake once of being seduced by a pretty face and these days it took more than a sinfully attractive smile to win her approval. If she was honest, men blessed in the looks department, at least this obviously, had to work extra hard to win her trust.

‘Then I’ll hint if you do,’ her companion replied swiftly, an expression of boredom that made her wince beginning to spread across his features. When people went to these sorts of lengths to treat him normally the conversation frequently became monosyllabic. ‘Have you ordered?’ He flicked a cursory glance at the menu. ‘The lobster’s great here, isn’t it, Albert?’ The maamp2;ˆtre d’ had materialised at his elbow. ‘We’ll have two.’

‘I’m allergic to shellfish.’

‘You’re not!’ He hit his forehead with the back of his hand and gestured to the waiter.

‘No, I’m not,’ she agreed sweetly. This man’s casual, bored attitude and the fact he had taken her co-operation for granted made her normally placid blood quietly simmer. ‘But I could be for all you know. I don’t recall asking you to eat with me. I don’t recall asking you to sit down.’

The famous blue eyes narrowed and he looked at her as if noticing her for the first time. English rose, Hope Lacey had said. No hothouse bloom certainly, but one of those pale pink, delicate things that grew in hedge-rows. Good-looking in a style he’d always found some-what colourless and bland. Nothing about her clothes or demeanour was intended to catch the eye, but she had a good figure from what he could see, and her bone structure was excellent. Her neck was singularly beautiful—long and graceful. He appreciatively let his eyes dwell on the slender curve for a moment.

‘I’m not big on formalities.’

‘I am,’ she said in a calm, unflustered way. ‘It saves confusion.’ I should have kept my mouth shut, she thought regretfully. She hadn’t much wanted to earn herself that rather cool appraisal from those famous blue eyes, but it really did irritate her the way he’d breezed in and taken over, all cool confidence and superficial charm. He was no doubt confident that his blatant sexiness would reduce any female with a pulse to a compliant idiot.

‘Shall we start again? I’m Sam Rourke and Hope asked me to meet you.’ For Hope’s sake he tried to keep his growing irritation from his voice. He didn’t think he’d done anything yet to justify this sort of antagonism.

‘I know who you are, Mr Rourke,’ Lindy said crisply. ‘As does everyone in the room. To be quite frank, this much curiosity would be disastrous for my digestion.’

It wouldn’t do his own much good either, he reflected wryly, but that obviously hadn’t occurred to this woman. If he’d planned to dine here, he’d have been seated in the small secluded alcove that gave him some degree of privacy. It was pretty obvious that his companion held the firm belief that he thrived in being the centre of attention. What the hell? Why disappoint the lady?

Sam turned his head with slow deliberation and gave a dazzling smile to a group of elderly ladies at the next table; they giggled like teenagers. Rick, a member of the crew who had worked with Sam on several occasions, witnessed the action from the opposite side of the room and spilled his soup down his trousers. Sam intercepted the amazed expression on the young man’s face and deliberately winked.

Rick blotted the damp patch on his denims and wondered what on earth Sam was up to. Despite the public perception of the man, Sam Rourke was a disarmingly modest and amazingly self-effacing guy in private. On numerous occasions he’d seen him go to some lengths to avoid the attentions of his legions of drooling fans.

The expression in Sam’s eyes as he returned his attention to Lindy was cynical. ‘You worry when they don’t notice you.’ He could see from the look of disgust in her eyes that the doctor felt a lot better having her suspicions confirmed. Why not give an audience what it wanted?

Lindy gave a fractional shrug; she had no idea that she’d witnessed anything out of the ordinary. ‘Just give me directions to the house and I’ll leave you to eat your lunch in peace. Hold on a moment, I’ve got a notebook in my bag,’ she said briskly, reaching for her leather shoulder-bag.

Sam leant back in his chair, his lips curving in a sardonic smile. ‘Do you have a problem?’ he drawled slowly.

‘Pardon…?’ she said, giving a reasonable impression of incomprehension. Was this the actor’s ego, she wondered scornfully, that needed to be universally worshipped? Was she supposed to stare at him with slavish devotion?

‘I’m just wondering whether to take this personally. Or do you freeze everyone at ten paces?’

Personally, she thought, maintaining a neutral expression. ‘I’ll ask for your autograph if that will help your anxiety attack,’ she offered helpfully. Heavens, she thought in alarm, why on earth did I say that? Isn’t it my role in life to apply soothing oil to troubled waters? Since when did I instigate hostility?

‘Now English reserve I can tolerate, Doctor, but that was plain nasty. Listen, I get the message, you don’t like me, but I gave my word to your sister that I’d see you safely to her place. I’m not about to give you directions, so the only way of finding the house is to stick with me. I suggest you put a brave face on it, honey.’

The easy endearment and the edge of mockery in his voice made her angry. ‘I’m not hungry,’ she insisted, ignoring the growling of her stomach.

‘You’ve just driven all the way from Boston; did I get that much right?’ He inclined his head as she nodded. ‘Then you need to eat; I need to eat. Logic sort of makes a pretty compelling case for us eating together.’

Put that way it was easy to see why he thought she was making a fuss about nothing. No doubt the average female would think finding herself dining with Sam Rourke was as good as winning the lottery. I am making a fuss about nothing, she thought, giving him a concessionary but tepid smile.

The lobster was, in fact, just as delicious as he had suggested and the portion so generous she couldn’t finish it. She pushed her plate away with a sigh. ‘I’m stuffed,’ she said with rueful honesty.

Sam gave a sudden laugh and the sound made heads turn, a fact he seemed oblivious of. ‘You sounded so like Hope,’ he explained as she looked questioningly at him.

‘We are sisters.’

‘It’d be easy to miss that.’

‘She is beautiful,’ Lindy agreed, without any trace of jealousy that her companion could detect. Lindy knew that she was hardly ugly, but competing with her sister was not something she’d ever considered. The Lacey triplets were as dissimilar in looks as they were in personality.

‘I wasn’t talking about physical similarity, or lack of it. I mean Hope is so warm and spontaneous…open.’

‘I don’t make a habit of gushing with total strangers, Mr Rourke,’ she said, her smile fading. Why not just call me a cold fish and be done with it? she thought indignantly.

‘You don’t even trickle, Dr Lacey,’ Sam Rourke commented drily. ‘But then, as I’m sure you’re going to point out, that is none of my business. I’m here to act as guide.’ He couldn’t have made it plainer that the whole thing had become something of a chore to him.

‘I’m sorry I’m not a scintillating dining companion,’ she observed waspishly. His criticism shouldn’t have mattered to her, but inexplicably it hurt.

‘I don’t often get this sort of antagonism from women,’ he remarked, leaning back in his chair and regarding her thoughtfully.

I just bet you don’t, she thought, her scorn reflected in the light blue depths of her almond-shaped eyes.

‘Guys, sure. ‘‘I never watch your sort of movie’’, is quite a common line. Then there’s the other sort who want to show I’m not such a tough guy off the screen…’

‘And are you?’

‘A flicker of interest?’ he mocked. ‘What happened to the ‘‘I’m totally unimpressed by the fact you’re a big star’’?’ He watched the faintest of flushes mount the smooth contours of her cheeks as his words found their mark. ‘To answer your question, I’m not into bar brawls, not even to impress a lady. Besides,’ he said, running a hand down the side of his jaw, ‘I couldn’t risk the face.’ The languid self-mockery in his tone made her look sharply into his densely blue eyes. She averted her gaze as swiftly as she could; he had the most extraordinarily penetrating stare.

‘I suppose it’s an occupational hazard, people confusing you with the characters you play. Even when they’re…’

‘Go on,’ he encouraged as she stopped abruptly, looking uncomfortable.

‘Even when they’re as two-dimensional and stereotyped as the ones you play.’ She lifted her chin and tried not to feel guilty for being so brutal. He had asked!

Sam sucked in his breath behind a display of even white teeth and looked a long way from being mortally wounded. ‘Ouch!’ he said, the last remnants of boredom vanishing from his expression. ‘Aren’t you guilty of judging me by the type of character I portray on the screen? You know, the one who snaps his fingers and has a tall, leggy blonde on his arm…’ He ought to feel guilty for winding her up, but it was irresistible.

‘In his bed, usually,’ she responded with a reluctant smile, recalling the last film she’d seen him in; seen quite a lot of him as she recalled. It was hard to look at his chest and not remember how well muscled those broad shoulders were. Then don’t look at his chest, she told herself crossly.

‘You admit it, then?’

Lindy lifted her slender shoulders fractionally and pursed her lips ruefully. Now that he’d said it, she couldn’t deny that her own instinctively aggressive reaction to him had been partially directed at the type of macho wonder man he generally played. Big-box-office roles, but not exactly stretching; that summed up Sam Rourke’s career.

‘It could be I’m a great actor,’ he suggested. ‘I can see you find that hard to believe.’ He gave a long-suffering sigh.

The lopsided smile was impossible not to respond to. ‘Do you mean you won’t act like an egocentric, narcissistic, shallow—?’

‘Now don’t go expecting miracles. I never make promises I can’t keep,’ he interrupted, holding up his hands to stem the flow. ‘I have unplumbed shallows. Shall we just say I won’t call you babe? It’ll be hard, but I’m a very amenable guy deep down.’

‘That’s a weight off my mind,’ she assured him solemnly, with an answering glimmer in her eyes. She’d seen Sam Rourke do humour, but that had been scripted. This dry, caustic wit was obviously the natural variety and she found it much more attractive than the slick, predictable banter.

It was gradually becoming obvious that, whilst the characters this man portrayed might arguably be two-dimensional, he was much more complex in the flesh. And distressingly perfect flesh it was too, she thought, pulling her glance from the sinewed strength of his forearms meshed with a fine covering of dark hair.

‘Better, Doctor, much better,’ he approved caustically. ‘You know, you’ve got to learn to relax around us glittering, famous types if you’re going to be part of the team.’

‘I suppose I will,’ she agreed doubtfully.

The offer of a job as medical advisor on the set of the film her sister was starring in had seemed like a heavensent opportunity. The doctor they’d had lined up had broken his leg and was in traction. They hadn’t begun shooting any of the scenes with medical content yet, Hope had assured her. It would be a breeze! Lindy had just resigned from her job as a senior house officer at a prestigious London hospital and had needed time to sort out where she was going from there. Now she was here, Lindy was beginning to regret the impulsiveness of her actions.

‘Won’t people resent the fact I got the job because I’m Hope’s sister?’ What am I doing here? she wondered, feeling suddenly very homesick.

‘Nepotism is one of the more savoury ways people get jobs in this business,’ Sam observed drily.

‘You’re not telling me the casting couch still exists, are you?’ she laughed.

‘Such sweet innocence,’ he mocked lightly. ‘I was thinking more along the lines of murder, extortion, blackmail; but the old-fashioned ways are still the best, or so I’m told.’

Looking doubtfully into his cynical blue eyes, she wasn’t sure whether he was joking. ‘It all seems very casual,’ she admitted.

Getting a job to her had entailed gruelling interviews and hard-won references, but here she was being offered a salary that made her blink, to do something which didn’t sound very strenuous.

‘I just got a phone call and a first-class ticket for Boston,’ she said.

‘Don’t look so worried,’ he advised with an amused smile. ‘I’ll make you work for your money. I’d assumed you were star-struck. Don’t explode!’ He raised a pacific hand. ‘But, that obviously not being the case, it must be a man that made you up sticks.’

‘A man?’ she enquired with discouraging hauteur. It occurred somewhat belatedly to her that Sam Rourke was her new boss and it might have been politic to take that into account before she’d started sniping at him. She might just regret her honesty in the near future.

‘Broken heart, love affair, that sort of thing. Though you don’t look the type to…’ Sam paused, weighing his words. Telling a woman, even one as self-contained as this one, that she didn’t look as if she had enough fire in her veins might not go down too well.

‘Make a fool of myself over a man?’

‘My thought exactly,’ he agreed with some relief.

‘I’m not,’ she said flatly. She had no intention of going over her reasons for leaving a job she’d loved. A man had certainly been involved—and love, too, if Simon Morgan was to be believed.

From the moment he’d taken over as consultant orthopaedic surgeon, he’d made his personal interest in his house officer obvious. He hadn’t got encouragement, but he hadn’t needed it. He was one of that breed of men to whom things had always come easily, and he hadn’t thought Rosalind Lacey was any different from anything else he’d wanted.

At first he’d taken her rejection to be part of a game—a game he was happy to play. When he’d discovered he’d been playing alone, things had got ugly and he’d made it quite obvious that the hospital wasn’t big enough for both of them. She could have fought—should have fought—but Lindy hadn’t had the stomach for a messy sexual harassment suit, which could have damaged her professional reputation even if she had won. America had been her way out of a classic catch-22 situation.

‘I admire confidence,’ Sam said softly.

The sceptical note in his voice, of a man who believed no woman was as invulnerable as she professed to be, irritated Lindy.

‘Shouldn’t we be making a move?’ she said, looking around the now half-empty room.

‘See you in the morning, Sam.’ Rick, who was a thin, gangling youth with a shock of carrot-red hair, chose that moment to make his exit via their table. He eyed Lindy curiously.

‘The new medico, Rick,’ Sam said in answer to the silent enquiry.

‘Pleased to meet you.’ A friendly smile beamed out as he sketched a bow and saluted her flamboyantly. ‘Don’t keep Sam up too late,’ he added over his shoulder. ‘Early start tomorrow, chief.’

‘An actor?’ Lindy asked.

‘Crew.’

‘He didn’t think we…you and I were together?’ she asked uncomfortably.

‘I shouldn’t think so,’ Sam said, signing the cheque as he rose from the table. ‘You’re not my type.’

‘How cruel of you to dash my girlish fantasies,’ she responded, taking a bracing breath to weather this casual insult and following him towards the door. He could certainly give as good as he got.

‘You should have locked the trunk,’ Sam remonstrated a few minutes later as he lifted her cases from the rental car in which she’d driven to Maine.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she asked sharply as he proceeded to place her luggage in the four-wheel drive parked next to her own car.

‘The studio’s arranged a car for you; it’s at the house. The hire firm are picking this one up.’ He got into his car and glanced pointedly at his watch.

Lindy swallowed this information and climbed up into the passenger seat beside him. After they’d been driving for a few minutes she asked, ‘Is it far?’

‘About twenty minutes.’ He turned off the highway onto a narrow, uneven dirt road. ‘Hope’s found a gem of a place.’

‘She said it’s right by the sea.’ Lindy tried to resurrect the optimism and anticipation she’d initially felt when she’d embarked on this adventure.

‘Owl Cove,’ Sam said.

‘Will she be working late?’

Sam flicked her a sideways glance. ‘There is no shooting today.’

‘But I thought you said…’

‘I said she couldn’t make it. I didn’t say why.’

There was some indefinable note in his voice that bothered Lindy. ‘Well, say why now, or is it some secret?’

‘Not the best kept secret in the world.’

‘Meaning?’ she said, with an edge in her voice reserved for people who bad-mouthed either of her sisters.

‘Forget it,’ Sam advised, shrugging his shoulders.

‘It’s a bit late for that. Has something happened to Hope…?’

Her hands—well kept, rather lovely hands, he noticed—fluttered as the note of anxiety crept into her voice. He noticed the gesture because all her movements up to that point had been very precise and controlled, just like the lady herself.

‘Nothing like that,’ he soothed swiftly. ‘The word is that Lloyd Elliot and Hope are an item.’

Lindy relaxed; so Hope was in love. ‘Well, I know he’s older than her…’ It had been a good ten years since Lloyd Elliot had starred in a film, but as a producer and director with half a dozen box-office hits under his belt his name was still very much public property.

‘And married—very married.’

Lindy went pale. ‘Hope wouldn’t have an affair with a married man.’

‘If you say so.’

‘I do say so!’ she rapped, glaring at his smug profile. ‘My sisters would never get involved with married men.’

‘I almost forgot, Hope did say you’re triplets,’ he said, half to himself. ‘This sort of thing does happen on film sets, you know. On average I’d say we see a divorce and a handful of illicit romances. It’s a very claustrophobic environment and film-set flings are not that unusual. It’s no big deal.

‘Here we are,’ he said soon after, swinging the car into a driveway that led to a white clapper-board, single-storey building surrounded by a deck that had a view of the rocky and secluded bay. The view was only enjoyed by a scattering of homes that lay clustered on the tree-covered slopes.

Any other time Lindy would have been enchanted by the place, but as she clambered from the high vehicle she was trembling with indignation and shock. That he could accuse her sister and then have the absolute gall to make an affair with a married man sound—how had he put it?—‘no big deal’!

His broad back was turned to her as he proceeded to pull her luggage from the back. ‘How dare you tar my sister with the same brush as yourself?’