Her Secret, His Child

Nicolas smiled an indulgent smile. ‘Yes. I can see that she might be that.’

Serina knew she had to get off that topic and quick.

‘And what of you, Nicolas?’ she countered. ‘Have you anyone waiting for you back in New York? That pretty little Japanese violinist perhaps.’

His eyebrows lifted. ‘You know about Junko?’

So he was sleeping with her!

‘I know of her. Felicity did an Internet search and showed me what you’d been up to over the years.’

‘I see.’

‘You’ve had a lot of beautiful women, by all accounts.’

‘True,’ came his cool reply.

Dear heaven, but he was annoying.

‘You never wanted to marry any of them?’

‘Yes. Once. But it didn’t work out.’

‘When was that?’

‘Years ago,’ he responded nonchalantly, as though it was of no importance. ‘Look, I can see that making idle chitchat is not our forte. Not this afternoon, anyway. Let’s get out of this bath and back to what we do best together.’

He rose up through the water, soapy bubbles clinging to various parts of his body—his shoulders his chest…

She stared up at it, then up at him.

‘As you can see,’ he said drily as he stepped out of the bath and reached for a towel, ‘I have recovered sufficiently to continue. Now put down that champagne, beautiful. I need someone out here to dry me, someone who knows just how I like it done.’

Serina’s heartbeat quickened at his command, her head whirling with hot jabs of desire. At last it was going to begin again. At last, she could touch him as she’d been dying to touch him.

Foolish man, Nicolas was to think thirty seconds later. She didn’t dry herself at all, her beautiful body glistening with moisture as she proceeded to dry him, slowly, sensuously, dabbing at his arms, shoulders and back, then moving around to press the towel against his buttocks before slowly running it down the back of his legs. His gut tightened when she began to move the towel up between his legs.

‘Delay,’ he’d read in the last chapter of an old sex manual he’d once bought, ‘is the best way to increase the intensity of one’s climax.’

Serina had obviously learned that lesson well. She pulled the towel away and walked round to face him. There, she stood before him and rubbed the towel slowly over her own body, her dilated eyes showing him that she was just as turned on as he was.

‘Throw the towel away,’ he groaned.

She did.

‘Kneel down.’

She obeyed once more. Without question, without hesitating.

‘Now tell me that you love me.’

Her head tipped backwards as her eyes flew up to his.

‘You don’t have to mean it,’ he ground out, his hands reaching to tug her hair down from where she’d wound it up on top of her head, out of the reach of the bath water. ‘Just say it. So that it makes what you’re going to do seem right.’

‘Nicolas, don’t,’ she croaked out.

‘Don’t what, my darling?’ His fingers splayed through her hair, spreading it out onto her shoulders. ‘Don’t humiliate you this way? How can it possibly be humiliation when you want this as much as I do?’

Her sob filled him with self-loathing. But nothing was going to stop him. Not her distress, or his conscience.

‘No one has ever done it better than you, Serina,’he crooned.

When her head drooped and her hands lifted from her sides, he thought she was about to burst into tears. Instead, she reached up and touched him, enfolding delicate fingers around his aching penis and pressing the tip against her lips.

His whole body shuddered as though lightning had struck it. She didn’t stop there, however. She opened those soft sweet lips and took him into the wet heat of her mouth. He stared down at her as her head lifted and fell in a slow but merciless rhythm. He wanted to cry out, to scream. He wanted, more than anything, to hate her.

And he did hate her in that moment when he knew he could no longer contain his desire. For as his body raced towards a climax, the victory suddenly felt like hers. She was the one in control here. She was the one doing the using and the rejecting once again.

Serina wanted him gone from her life. And she was prepared to do anything—even this—to achieve her goal.

Such thoughts brought bitterness and a dark desire, not to witness his own ragged release, but hers. She was the one he wanted to see out of control. Had he forgotten his threat to make her beg? He was hardly achieving that this way.

At the last moment he found the strength to pull free of her, glorying in the glazed and confused eyes she raised up to his face.

‘I’ll take a raincheck on that, my love,’ he said as he lifted her onto unsteady feet. ‘I have other things in mind for this afternoon. And for you… ’

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

NICOLAS shook his head ruefully as he gazed down at Serina’s sleeping form. So much for his intention to indulge in a whole afternoon of vengeful sex, where she’d have lost control and begged for mercy.

If only he hadn’t brought her back to bed.

The bed had been a mistake, as had his unsuccessful attempt to arouse her so much with his own mouth that she’d plead for release. She’d been aroused all right, he was pretty sure of that. But not as much as he had been. Before he knew it he was reaching for another condom. Even worse, he’d taken her in the spoon position, which meant he hadn’t even been able to see her face when she came. If she had, that is. Men could never be too sure about such things, he’d discovered over the years. All in all, things hadn’t gone according to plan. Afterwards, she’d fallen asleep.

A glance at his watch showed it was just on three. Of course he could wake her up and start all over again, this time reliving a few of the more erotic foreplays and positions that they’d explored at length all those years ago.

The possibilities were endless. But he just didn’t want to. He didn’t want to feel what he felt every time he touched her.

It wasn’t hate at all.

Nicolas knew that he could not face another three hours of this emotional torment. It was time to call a halt before his thoughts and feelings got the better of him.

‘You’re a sad case, Nick, my man,’ he muttered to himself as he rose from the rumpled bed and headed for the bathroom.

Five minutes later, a dressed Nicolas was shaking Serina’s right shoulder.

She moaned softly, rolling over onto her back and stretching voluptuously before blinking open her eyes.

Nicolas was glad he was fully dressed. His body was still, unfortunately, on a different wavelength to his mind.

‘Time for me to take you home, sweetheart,’ he said, his voice as hard as his poor tormented flesh.

She blinked and sat up, her full breasts moving in a most provocative way. ‘What?’

‘You heard me. It’s time for me to take you home.’

Alarm filled her face. ‘It’s six o’clock already? Why didn’t you wake me? Oh no, I didn’t ring Felicity.’ She glanced at the digital bedside clock before throwing him a confused look. ‘But… but… it’s only just after three o’clock!’

‘I’ve changed my mind about the length of this afternoon’s activities,’ he interrupted in a cold, crisp voice. ‘I’ve had enough.’

‘Enough?’ she echoed rather blankly.

‘Did I not make myself clear? Then let me put it another way. You’re still one heck of a good lay, but I can see that you were right. Our relationship, such as it was, is dead in the water. All that was left was some lingering flames. This afternoon snuffed out the last of those flames, good and proper. For which I am grateful. Now I can go back to my life the day after tomorrow and not give you a second thought. And you, my love, will surely do the same.’

Serina was grateful that he turned away from her at that point. For her face had to have betrayed her shock at this last statement.

Not give him a second thought?

Was he insane, or just seriously deluded?

‘Better shake a leg,’ he said over his shoulder as he strode from the bedroom in the direction of the living room.

She stumbled out of the bed, only then realising that her clothes were out in the living room. Where he was.

To walk out there naked after what he’d just said sent a shiver running down her spine. Not once, in the past, had Nicolas referred to her as a ‘lay’, either good or otherwise. The word was repulsive in her eyes. Didn’t he know how much she still loved him? Hadn’t he felt the love in her lips? In her willingness to do whatever he wanted?

Of course not. Why would he? She’d acted like a tough cookie on the way here, saying that sex was all he was good for. She only had herself to blame for the way he was treating her.

But, oh… it had been wonderful for a short while. She’d been able to pretend that nothing had changed, that they were young lovers again, where nothing existed for her but the heat of the moment. She’d wallowed in the thrill of obeying his commands; in playing the role of his love slave.

But the time for pretence was over now, she realised as a bleak dismay filled her heart. It was time to go back to the real world and her real life. Time, too, to get a grip.

Gathering herself, she hurried into the bathroom, where she grabbed a towel and was wrapping it tightly around her nakedness when she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the vanity mirror.

Goodness, she could not go back to the office looking like that! Her hair was a mess, her lips looked puffy and her eyes…

If eyes were the windows to one’s soul, then her soul was in big trouble!

Steeling herself once more, she hurried out to the living room where she found Nicolas making himself a cup of coffee in the kitchen. Ignoring his sharp, top-to-toe glance, she set about scooping up her clothes from the floor. Finally, and without a single word, she snatched up her handbag as well and bolted back to the bathroom.

Serina had just made herself look respectable when her mobile phone rang. She stiffened before rifling the handset out of the bottom of her bag and whisking it to her ear. Since the terrible call about Greg’s death, she experienced a rush of anxiety whenever her mobile rang at odd times. Felicity knew not to ring her on it unless there was an emergency. But who else could it be?

‘Yes?’

‘It’s only me, Serina,’ her mother replied somewhat wearily. ‘Not Felicity. You have to stop worrying about that child, dear. She’s extremely capable of looking after herself.’

‘Yes, Mum. I do know that. So what’s up? It’s not like you to ring me on this phone.’

‘I tried the office number but it was engaged. That’s why I rang you on your mobile. I thought you might like to know how things went with Mrs Johnson today.’

‘Oh, yes, yes, I would. But can you tell me quickly? I’m still in Port Macquarie, and I told Felicity I’d be home by four.’

‘What are you doing in Port?’

Serina swallowed. ‘Having lunch with you know who.’

‘Who? Oh, you mean Nicolas Dupre. Really? I’m surprised. I got the impression you weren’t too pleased with Felicity for securing his services as judge for the talent quest.’

‘I wasn’t. And I didn’t want to have lunch with him, believe me,’ she said. ‘But he asked me in front of those silly girls in my office and they made it impossible for me to refuse.’

‘You’re right. They are silly, those two. But nice girls all the same. So what’s he like these days? Still handsome, I would expect.’

‘Mum, could this conversation wait till later? I’m running out of time and I can’t talk whilst I drive.’ It seemed wise to let her mother think she had her own wheels.

‘It will have to be much later. I haven’t left Newcastle yet.’

‘So how is Mrs Johnson?’

‘Healthy as a horse. The doc gave her some mild blood pressure pills and told her to lay off the sherry.’

‘Which she won’t.’

‘I doubt it. Anyway, dear, off you go and I’ll ring you when I get home.’

‘Please do.’ And she hung up.

‘Who were you talking to in here?’ Nicolas said as he flung open the door.

‘My mother,’ she replied brusquely, and dropped the phone back into her bag. ‘She rang to let me know how Mrs Johnson is.’

‘And?’

‘She’ll live till she’s a hundred. Now, if you don’t mind, I need to get back to Rocky Creek.’

‘You’re the one who’s been taking your time. Let’s go.’

The drive back to Rocky Creek was excruciating. Neither of them spoke, not a single word.

Serina stared through the passenger window and tried not think about what she’d just done. If her mother ever found out she’d jumped into bed with Nicolas within hours of his returning, she would not believe her. Of course, her mother never knew about the highly sexual nature of their teenage affair. She probably thought her dear darling daughter had gone to her wedding night a virgin.

Serina would have liked to confide in her mother. To confess everything. But she couldn’t. Her mother would not understand. She would be totally shocked, and bitterly ashamed.

I’ll have to do what I’ve always done, Serina thought wearily. Keep my mouth shut and all my dark dirty secrets to myself.

Just after they’d gone through Wauchope, Nicolas’s own brooding silence began to seriously bother her. If he considered their relationship dusted and dried, as he’d claimed, then why was he so angry with her?

And he was. She could feel his anger hitting her in waves.

They were just coming down the hill towards the bridge that crossed Rocky Creek when she decided to speak up.

‘There’s no need for this, Nicolas,’ she said with more calm than she was feeling. ‘It’s childish.’

‘What’s childish?’

‘Giving me the cold-shoulder treatment. Look, I’m sorry if things haven’t worked out the way you might have imagined. I’m sorry I’m not the girl you remember. Like I said, things change. So do people.’

His sidewards glance showed a reluctant flash of admiration. ‘You’ve certainly grown up a lot.’

‘Marriage and motherhood has a tendency to do that.’

‘Are you saying I haven’t grown up?’

‘Not at all. But parenthood has a way of forcing a person into early maturity, and into being less selfish.’

‘Ah, so you’re saying that I’m selfish.’

‘Don’t put words into my mouth, Nicolas. You would know better than me if you’re selfish or not.’

Nicolas nodded. ‘I suspect that I am. My mother always said I was.’

They both fell silent again as he drove into town. Despite knowing she would see Nicolas again the next day, Serina didn’t want this day to end badly.

‘Can’t we part friends, Nicolas?’ she asked, her voice cracking a little.

He did not reply at first. But then he nodded. ‘If that’s what you want.’

Oh, yes, of course it wasn’t what she wanted. But what she wanted—what she’d always wanted—just couldn’t be. She’d made her bed all those years ago. And now she had to lie in it, till the end of her days.

‘It’s what I want,’ she said.

He pulled into the car park of Brown’s Landscaping and Building Supplies, but didn’t bother to park, just drove straight up to the front door. The face he turned towards her was totally unreadable.

‘Friends, then,’ he said, and bent to give her a peck on the cheek. ‘See you tomorrow.’

Her eyes met his for a long moment. She almost said it.

I love you.

I’ve always loved you.

But only almost.

When tears pricked at her eyes, she did the only thing she could do. She smiled, then got out of the car and waved him off.

She didn’t go into the office. She could not bear to make conversation right at that moment, couldn’t bear any more pretending. She went straight to her own car and drove straight home.

Felicity wasn’t there yet, thank heavens. Her daughter wasn’t renowned for punctuality. Just as well, because by then serious tears were threatening. Serina just managed to get herself inside before the floodgates opened.

‘Oh, Nicolas,’ she cried as she sank down to the floor, her back against the front door, her head dropping into her hands. ‘Why did you have to come back?’

An equally distraught Nicolas was thinking exactly the same thing as he drove back to Port Macquarie. If he hadn’t promised Felicity to judge that stupid bloody talent quest tomorrow he would have taken the first available flight back to Sydney. He didn’t want to see Serina again. He didn’t want to have to pretend to everyone that they were just ‘good friends’. His life had been much easier when she was just a memory, one which had occasionally tormented him but which he’d been able to put aside, most of the time.

Impossible to put aside a flesh-and-blood woman in the same room as him, one who only a short time earlier had been kneeling, naked, before him.

Nicolas shuddered.

He had to stop thinking about that. Had to stop thinking that he’d never meant anything more to her than just a piece of meat.

But she’d said as much, hadn’t she?

Sex is all you’re good for, Nicolas.

They were her very own words.

She’d also said he was childish. And selfish.

As Nicolas drove back to Port Macquarie, he mulled over everything she’d said and done that day. By the time he let himself back into his apartment he’d come to the conclusion that Serina was right. He was childish and selfish. And extremely egotistical to think she might still love him. Which of course was what had brought him here in the first place. That vain hope.

Very vain.

It saddened him to face the truth, but it had to be faced. He’d lost his chance with Serina twenty years ago. That episode at the Opera House had meant no more to her than a one-night stand. As had this afternoon.

Opening one of the wine bottles, Nicolas poured himself a long glass and sat down to drink. Think of tomorrow as a job, he lectured himself. A series of auditions for a show. He’d always liked auditions. Liked the anticipation of discovering someone with real talent. Who knew? Maybe someone in Rocky Creek primary school has real talent…

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

NICOLAS sat down at the judge’s table and kept his eyes glued to the stage. That way he wouldn’t be tempted to look over at Serina, whom he knew was sitting in the first row of seats, a little to his left. He’d managed to avoid her in the main, although even a short hello and a few miserable glimpses had burned her appearance into his poor besotted brain.

She was wearing white, pure virginal white. Unfortunately, she looked anything but, her dress being halter-necked with a deep V neckline, a tightly belted waist and a gathered shirt that emphasised her hourglass figure and gave rise to the kind of erotic thoughts she always evoked in him.

Felicity walking onto the stage was a good distraction. He hadn’t forgotten that she was going to play at some stage this afternoon and he was really looking forward to it, though he rather suspected Mrs Johnson’s effusive praise earlier over Felicity’s abilities as a pianist might be exaggerated.

‘Reminds me of you, Nicolas,’ the old lady had said.

Unlikely, given Felicity was a girl and only twelve. Although she looked older standing there in a pale blue dress and shoes that had heels. Her long dark hair swung around her slender shoulders the way Serina’s did when she walked. She was, however, taller than her mother. There again, her father had been tall.

‘Act number one,’ Felicity announced into the microphone, ‘will be Jonathon Clarke. Jonathon is in fourth grade and he’s going to juggle. Jonathon?’ She waved towards the wings and a skinny, nervous-looking boy with short brown hair and glasses emerged. Some taped music started, but Jonathon didn’t. Whoever was behind the scenes stopped the tape, then started again.

Nicolas had a feeling that he wasn’t seeing the winner.

Rocky Creek Primary School didn’t have a great deal of talent, Nicolas accepted by the time he’d sat through eight very mediocre acts. But what the kids lacked in talent they made up for in enthusiasm. There was a real buzz in the hall, which was full to the brim with parents, locals and some concert-goers not so local.

None of them seemed disappointed with the acts so far, applauding wildly at the end of each. Nicolas, who appreciated he’d been spoiled by years of seeing top performers all over the world, put aside his super-critic hat and kept his comments on the kind and constructive side. The audience seemed appreciative of his ability to find praise for even the worst performance.

So far he’d endured the hapless Jonathon, who’d dropped more clubs than he caught; a gymnastic-style dance troop of fifth-grade girls whose movements often got out of sync; a poetry reading of ‘The Man From Snow River’, complete with stick horses thundering across the stage in the background; two separate country and western singers with absolutely no originality; a twelve-year-old magician whose magic was straight out of a do-it-yourself manual; an Elvis impersonator, who’d been hilarious, because he was so atrocious. And last but not least, a ten-year-old boy named Cory, playing the spoons.

Actually, he wasn’t half-bad. If no one better came along, Nicolas was going to give Cory first prize.

Only two to go, according to the program. A twelve-year-old hip-hop dancer named Kirsty. And an eleven-year-old girl—her name was Isabella—singing ‘Danny Boy’.

He should have known ‘Danny Boy’ would get in there somewhere.

Kirsty was somewhat of a pleasant surprise. She was darned good. But Isabella was clearly the star act of the night, the audience falling silent the moment she opened her mouth, her voice as pure and as clear as a bell.

Everyone clapped wildly when she finished, Nicolas included. He didn’t have to think too hard over who would win, or who would be runner-up. He’d make that second prize a dead heat between Kirsty, the hip-hop dancer, and Cory, the spoon boy. It would be simple to add a bit of money to the prize pool himself, if need be.

But before any of this could happen, however, there was one event left: Felicity’s special performance.

Nicolas found his heartbeat quickening when she walked back out onto the stage.

Surely he couldn’t be nervous for her.

But he was, nervous as hell.

Nicolas had never been nervous himself before a performance. He used to be excited. He could not wait to get out there, to show what he could do, to blow his audience away with his brilliance.

But then he’d always been super confident when it came to playing the piano. Girls—especially young girls like Felicity—rarely possessed that kind of confidence.

Yet as he watched her cross to the centre of the stage, there was no hesitation in her stride. She stopped there for a moment, faced the audience and bowed, at the same time throwing him a smile that wasn’t just confident. It was super confident.

‘Wait till you hear this,’ Felicity’s principal whispered from where he was sitting beside Nicolas at the judge’s table. ‘Felicity would have won hands down if she’d entered, you know.’

It was a telling remark, coming so soon after Isabella’s almost faultless rendition of ‘Danny Boy’.

Nicolas watched, his mouth drying as Felicity moved over to the piano that had not been used as yet that night, Isabella having sung unaccompanied and the dancers using recorded music.

Another smile came his way after she sat down on the stool and lifted her hands to the keys.

‘I have chosen to play this medley of pieces in honour of our very special guest here tonight,’ she said to the audience. ‘I cannot hope to play them as well as he once did. But I will do my best and hope he forgives my mistakes.’

What mistakes? Nicolas was to think numbly thirty seconds later as Felicity’s fingers flew over the keys. He’d never heard Rimsky-Korsakov’s ‘Flight of the Bumblebee’ performed any better by one so young. In no time the fast, flashy piece was over, Felicity switching with effortless ease and surprising sensitivity into the haunting adagio from Beethoven’s ‘Moonlight Sonata’. Lastly, just as everyone in the audience was almost in tears, she launched into Chopin’s very showy polonaise ‘Heroic’, a piece requiring great technical brilliance and showmanship.