Saved By Their One-Night Baby

Never mind. Or, as they said around here, tant pis.

After spending years living under canvas his first instinct was to sit outside on the terrace in the fresh air as he was used to, but the thunderstorm that had threatened as his plane was landing had become a reality, so he was forced to stay in the bar. Even so, the place was quiet with just a few suited singletons dotted at the tables staring at smartphones and laptops, probably in Marseille on business given the outfits.

The end of April was too early in the season for the sun crowd, though he suspected the port city would be busy all year round. He ordered his whiskey and soda, and slumped down at the bar, trying not to engage in extended conversation with the bar staff, which left him plenty of scope to chill and get his head round being back here, in the place that still gave him nightmares.

His instructions were on his phone. He tugged it from his pocket and ran through them again with the same trepidation he’d felt the first time he’d read them. How had he agreed to this?

6.30 a.m. Orientation with Medicine For All Search and Rescue Co-ordinator Chase Barrington on the bridge of the SOS Poseidon.

7.00 a.m. Pre-launch safety briefing

7.30 a.m. Under way

So that was it. A six-week deployment to pluck refugees from the Mediterranean Sea, assess and treat those with medical needs and transport them to a receiving port.

And somehow survive.

‘Aperol spritz, s’il vous plaît.’

A woman’s voice behind him cut through his thoughts. After his initial knee-jerk disquiet at hearing the French language again he was impressed to realise he still understood it a little.

‘Merci. It’s a beautiful night. I love thunderstorms. I know...crazy.’ As she seamlessly switched from French to English she laughed, a soft sound that breathed life through the dull, stale atmosphere in the bar, and continued her conversation with...whoever. ‘Here’s to freedom, excitement. Adventure.’

A strange toast that conjured up all manner of stories in his active imagination. Curiosity getting the better of him, Ethan turned to see who the laugh belonged to and who needed all of those things. A little further along the bar was a petite woman dressed casually in contrast to the suits in a dark blue flared skirt and a navy-and-white-striped T-shirt, a dark silk scarf looped loosely round her neck and a small black leather backpack slung over one shoulder. Very chic. She had large, dark eyes and loose honey-coloured waves framing her face. Pretty too.

As if she felt him looking, her gaze sought him out. Whoa. So much more than pretty. She had the kind of face that pulled you to her, a heady charisma, eyes buzzing with energy, a generous smile, olive skin that had him thinking of cloudless skies and skinny-dipping. And now he was just getting carried away.

Glancing around the room, he noticed all the single suits watching her too.

Ethan looked away. No point getting in any deeper than one look. Tomorrow he was facing a demon or two and he had to keep his head straight. He tried to shrug off the trepidation of meeting up with Chase after all these years, and spending the next six weeks rescuing refugees. The doctoring part he could do in his sleep, but living on a ship would only add more spice to his nightmares. He looked down at the menu but the gnawing sensation in his gut had nothing to do with hunger.

She laughed.

Oh, what the hell? He chanced another look, because he couldn’t not. Something about her compelled him to take a second viewing. And there wasn’t anything else to look at in this place other than a baby grand piano that no one was playing, dark velvet drapes and that bar menu, which he’d scanned and disregarded a dozen times already.

She was talking to, but standing a little away from, a guy who had about fifteen years on her. Thin, wiry. Like a stoat. No, a weasel, in a shiny, cheap suit that was clearly tailored to bulk him up. They seemed oddly matched. Too old to be a boyfriend, too young to be a parent.

The weasel leaned in, leering. Unsteady. He had the kind of smile that was all mouth and no eyes. Greedy. He said something to her.

Her body snapped taut as she stepped back. ‘No. I’m not interested, thank you.’

Something about her reaction and the fleeting shock in her eyes had Ethan on high alert. He edged closer to listen.

Weasel guy’s empty smile kept on giving as he ran a bony finger over her hand. ‘I’m sure you are. A drink. Some fun. Maybe I just need to persuade you?’

Persuade? Nausea roiled in Ethan’s gut, he’d seen way too much fallout from men persuading women in his line of work. But this wasn’t his business. He sat back.

Sure, it wasn’t his business, but he kept a watchful eye open.

Another step back, a flick of her hair as she shook her head. ‘I said I’m not interested. Please, leave me alone.’

‘Oh, chérie. Come on, let’s have some fun.’

Knowing he beat the guy hands down on height and strength and definitely smarts, Ethan walked over and tapped him on the shoulder. When the weasel wheeled round and looked up at Ethan he gulped. Swallowed. Paled.

Ethan stepped into his face. ‘She said leave her alone. So do it. When a woman says no, she means no. And even when a woman says yes to a guy like you, she means no. Okay?’

‘I wasn’t trying anything.’ The man raised palms slick with a sweaty sheen. ‘Just being friendly.’

Ethan shook his head. ‘No. It’s not friendly, it’s creepy. And you’re not trying a thing, mate, because you’re leaving.’

‘Okay. Okay. I get it.’ The wiry man shook his head back, imitating Ethan. Then he nodded sharply to the woman. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’

‘Merci.’ The woman breathed out as the weasel disappeared out the door. ‘But I was handling it.’

‘I know you were, but I also know men like him. It’s just easier if we outnumber them.’

‘We?’ Her eyebrows lifted. ‘For a minute there I thought you were going to play the part of my boyfriend. You know how it goes... Hi, honey, sorry I’m late. Big bisous. That would have given him a definite hint to leave too.’

‘Big kisses.’ There was a thought. A highly inappropriate thought given the circumstances. He caught her eye again and this time she looked away, two red spots blooming on her cheeks. He reached for an excuse to make her smile again because he liked it when she did that. ‘Just checking my French. For a minute I thought you said bison. And I wondered if it was normal in France for a boyfriend to bring buffalo along to a date.’

‘Buffalo are great on dates, don’t you do that in England? You’re all so weird over there. Yes, bisous means kisses.’ As she laughed, her gaze settled on his mouth and that stoked something deep in his gut. Then she was back to eye contact again. ‘Your French is good.’

‘I’m very rusty, it’s been a long time since I was in France.’ Not long enough. ‘Your English is far better.’

‘My mother is English. French father.’ She drained the luminous orange drink and put the glass on the bar. ‘Okay, Monsieur Knight-in-Shining-Armour, that’s me done. Time for bed, I’m heading up to my room. Thanks again for rescuing me when I didn’t need it.’

‘Hey, any time you don’t need rescuing, I’m your guy. I’ll walk with you to the lift to make sure he’s gone.’ He kept a healthy distance but caught the fresh scent of coconut and hibiscus. She smelt good. She looked good. She made him laugh. In another life he might have made a move. But not tonight. She looked too sweet to want what he could give her; which was a one-night stand and nothing more.

As they reached the lift she nodded goodbye politely to him, stopped and pressed the button and he headed towards the stairwell door. Which didn’t move when he pushed it. He pushed again. No. No movement. He heaved his right shoulder against it, but no. ‘Strange. It can’t be locked. It’s a fire door.’

‘Maybe there’s something leaning against it on the other side? Or perhaps it’s jammed?’ The woman called to him. ‘The lift’s on its way down. Hop in.’

‘No, thank you.’ He tried the shoulder heave again. No dice.

A ping. ‘Quick. Going up. Come on.’ She ran over, tugged his hand. Tugged again and laughed. That soft sound had his gut contracting. He gave one last long look at the closed fire exit door and shrugged. It was just an elevator. It would be a matter of seconds, a minute at most, and he’d be on his way to bed.

It was just an ancient elevator with one of those concertina doors that he’d seen in black and white movies. As he tugged the heavy lattice across she asked him, ‘Floor?’

He controlled his raging heartbeat. It was just a damned elevator. ‘Eleven. Please.’

‘Oh. Same.’ Her gaze snagged his and she smiled as if there was some meaning there. ‘Funny coincidence.’

He didn’t believe in coincidences. ‘At least there isn’t any muzak playing, like the Beatles on strings or some such crime against our eardrums.’

Filling his lungs with as much oxygen as he could, he fixed his eye on the green LED display.

‘Lifts aren’t your thing?’ There was laughter in her voice. ‘Or is it the music you don’t like?’

‘I prefer stairs, that’s all.’ He couldn’t be in here and do small talk and breathe all at the same time.

Floor One.

She tapped her foot. She was wearing flat black shoes with a little bow on the front. Like something a ballerina would have. It was amazing to see something so dainty. Most of the women he’d spent time with over the last few years had worn hiking boots or had bare feet. It was weird being here with no dust, and with regular things like reliable electricity and running water, clean clothes. Elegant shoes. A beautiful woman who smelt of fruit and flowers instead of dry dust and sweat. A body that looked fit from exercise but not too much. Just enough curves that in that fictional other life where he’d consider making a move, he’d relish exploring. Her hair shone and was shot through with wisps of gold and light.

And, man, he really needed to get to floor eleven before he got carried away on pointless poetics which were so unlike him he forced himself to do a quick reality check.

France. Lift. Tomorrow. Which was enough to send any wayward thoughts scuttling back to where they’d come from.

Floor Two

‘So why is a knight in Marseille? Business? Holiday?’ she asked, her smile refreshingly open and unguarded.

‘Business.’ If he said out loud what he was here for it might actually make it real, and he wanted to live in the blissful pretence that he wasn’t going to set foot on a ship tomorrow and meet up with a ghost from years ago. ‘You?’

Floor Three

‘An adventure, actually.’ Her eyes lit up, her dark brown irises dilating a little. Whatever she was going to do in Marseille, she was certainly looking forward to it.

Floor Four

‘Ah, yes. How did it go? Freedom, adventure, excitement?’

‘Oh! You heard me?’ She pressed her lips together and chuckled again.

Floor Five

He nodded. ‘It sounds intriguing. Have you just been released from prison or something?’

Her hand hovered over her mouth. ‘I can see how it could have sounded like that. Yes, I’m a mysterious, elusive thief who’s just escaped from gaol.’

‘If you were elusive you wouldn’t be in gaol, or telling me about it.’ She was good value, that was for sure. A woman who didn’t take herself too seriously. A delicious distraction.

‘Good point—Oh!’ The elevator jerked sharply and she grabbed his arm to steady herself. There was a weird thumping sound. The gate rattled. A bump. Another jerk. Then...nothing. No sound. No movement. Nothing.

Floor Six

Kind of. Maybe? Who knew? Just an elevator. Breathe.

Her hand was still on his arm and he realised he didn’t want her to let go, not just yet. She turned her face up to him, eyes still lit by excitement. ‘A power outage? Must be the storm. It happens. In France.’

‘It happens everywhere.’ So much for reliable electricity. And why she was excited by this he couldn’t fathom.

‘At least the light is still on, that’s something.’ But her smile faded as the bulb flickered and fizzed and died. ‘Wait, wait...damn.’

Was it him or was it hard to breathe right now?

‘Hang on.’ He slid his phone out of his pocket and flicked on the torch. An eerie glow lit the tiny space and he fought back the memories that still walked through his dreams.

Broken walls, bare wires, the weight and the pain.

Her grip on his arm was a little tighter now. Maybe she had a thing about lifts. He needed to show her that it would be fine. He covered her hand with his and looked into her eyes, trying to ignore the little fizz of electricity that shot over his skin at that slight touch. Geez, what would his body’s reaction be to something more intense, like kissing her? Getting naked?

And that was such an inappropriate thought that he let go of her hand. ‘It’s going to be okay, we just need to get it going again.’

All would be fine. He hammered a fist on the number eleven button. Then on the gate. Then back to the eleven. Eight. One.

‘Hey, are you all right?’ She touched his back, making him pause.

Not wanting to look too deep inside himself, he busied himself with pressing the red security button. ‘I’m fine.’

‘Sure. Me too. I love getting stuck in lifts.’

‘We’re not stuck.’

‘Okay. I love getting not stuck with a man who wants to not rescue me. Too many nots.’ She put her hand to the back of her neck and moved her head from side to side, as if soothing the knots there too.

‘No one’s answering, I don’t think the help button is working. There’s usually a phone somewhere.’ He stabbed at a metal plate on the wall. It swung open, revealing a loose wire hanging over a shelf where a phone had once been. Little beads of sweat pricked the back of his neck.

‘No phone. Tant pis. I’ll use mine. Call the manager. Bring your light over here so I can see.’ She tapped her phone. Twice. Two little lines appeared on her forehead. ‘No signal. Looks like we’ll just have to wait. I’m sure it won’t be long.’ She slid to the floor and pulled him to sit next to her, but not before he’d put his phone in the metal box where the real phone should have been. A shaft of pale light hit the far corner and the rest of the elevator was shadows. ‘By the way, my name is Claire.’

‘Ethan.’

‘Pleased to meet you, Ethan. I’m a...’ She grinned and bit her bottom lip. ‘What am I, if I’m not a thief? What could I be? I always wanted to be a singer in a rock band, but I can’t sing a note. Or a ribbon acrobat, but I’m not keen on heights. Who should I be today?’ She thought for a moment. ‘I know, I’m a princess of a small principality. I have wealth beyond measure but I work endlessly to help people less fortunate than me. You?’

‘I’m not a princess, no.’

That sparkling laugh again. Heat suffused his skin. He’d never found a woman’s laughter particularly sexy before but hers had a direct line to his groin. ‘Play the game, Ethan. Come on. You don’t know me at all so you can pretend, make something up, be anything you want to be. How would I ever know the truth? Let your imagination wander. Hmm... I know, you’re a dashing knight who likes to drive racing cars. Very fast. Very rich. From...somewhere exotic. You have that look about you. From...?’

‘England, actually.’

‘No. Play the game. How about Monte Carlo? Somewhere fabulously rich where they won’t let you live unless you have at least thirty million in the bank.’

‘I’m not big on games, Claire.’ Unable to just sit there, he powered back up the wall and hammered on the gate, managing to stop himself from shouting because that wouldn’t get them anywhere.

‘Why not?’ At his silence she said, ‘I’m just trying to distract you from the fact we really are stuck in a lift and no one seems to be rushing to our aid.’

‘I don’t need you to distract me. I’m not a child. It’s just a damned elevator.’ If he said it enough he’d believe it.

‘Don’t waste your energy banging and cursing. If the electric’s out, we’ll be here until it’s fixed.’ Her hand snaked into his and she tugged him back down next to her. ‘Tell me, why does a man insist on taking the stairs, and get frustrated when he can’t? Why does he hesitate to get into a lift with a woman he’s having fun with?’

‘Maybe I just wanted some exercise.’ Ethan shuddered. How could she see through him? It was unnerving. ‘Maybe I didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable after that creep was coming on to you.’

‘And maybe there’s a lot more to your story, but you clearly don’t want to talk about it.’

‘No, I don’t.’

She shrugged. ‘So now you do want to play the game. A mystery man who doesn’t like broken lifts.’

Hot damn, why did he feel a need to explain? ‘It’s a normal, natural reaction to being trapped. I’d prefer it if we weren’t at the mercy of mechanical things.’

‘You’ve had a bad experience in one before?’

‘Something like that. A long time ago. I was stuck under a collapsed building.’ He breathed out. He’d never said anything about this to anyone in over fifteen years and yet here he was saying this to a stranger. Maybe it was easier to say these kinds of things to someone you knew you were never going to see again, who wouldn’t call you out on the fact that sometimes you got a little jittery in a tin box. That just happened to be broken. ‘It took a few hours to get me out. Other people died. I was lucky.’

Lucky. Yeah, he should be grateful for the nightmares—at least he got to wake up. But grateful wasn’t the emotion he generally experienced, not when guilt fitted him like a second skin.

She put her hand on his arm. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed you. I don’t even know what to say to that. It must have been so frightening.’

Understatement of the year. He blew out a slow breath. ‘Yes, well, as I said, it was a long time ago. I’d prefer it if we changed the subject.’

‘You want to forget it. I understand.’ A beat. Two. Then her sing-song voice again. ‘Hey, do you want a drink? I have a secret stash.’ She dug into her bag and pulled out a silver hip flask, unscrewed the top and took a drink. Coughed. Wiped the top with her palm and handed the flask to him. ‘It could be a long night so we might as well make it a good one. Luckily my papa knows his cognac.’

‘Yup.’ Ethan enjoyed the burning sensation sliding down his throat and he felt some of the tension ease. ‘You’re the kind of person I’d like to be stuck with on a desert island.’

‘You’re the kind of person I’m enjoying being stuck with in the lift. And, for the record, you don’t make me feel uncomfortable at all.’ She looked at him through wisps of hair that he ached to touch. Then she smiled and it was so uninhibited and free that something in his chest expanded.

She made him feel hot and a damned sight less stressed. Awareness flared through him as he tried to find words that weren’t filled with innuendo. That wasn’t who he was or what she needed so he tried to get the conversation on to safer territory. ‘Good to hear. And, yes, I’m from England but I’ve been working in Africa for years.’

‘Ah. That explains the tan. You like it there? I’ve never been but I’m pretty sure I’ll get there one day. Some of those places sound amazing.’

‘It’s perfect for me.’ Not wanting to tarnish the romantic image she clearly had of the place, he didn’t mention the work he did there. ‘So what’s this adventure you’re embarking on?’

‘Oh, nothing too major.’ But her grin told him otherwise. ‘I’m running away to sea.’

CHAPTER TWO

‘WHAT THE HELL...?’ Ethan almost choked on his second mouthful of brandy. He’d expected her to say a holiday or a new job, not something so...out there. Plus, the prospect of going to sea seemed to excite her whereas the thought of stepping on that ship tomorrow filled him with dread. Given what he knew of her so far, she could probably make watching paint dry sound like an adventure, but then she was most likely sailing the Med on one of those super-yachts, or a cruise round the Greek islands. She was ethereal, unreal, a dream. A fun-loving, beautiful, laughter-filled dream. ‘Why would you choose to do that?’

‘I’ve just had a lucky escape from a crappy relationship with a man who made a million promises and then let me down on every single one of them. We had everything worked out—the wedding, our future, how many kids we were going to have and at what intervals. And it’s gone. All gone. Pouf!’ She brought her fingertips to her lips and blew out, splaying her fingers. ‘When I looked at what had happened to us I realised we’d been so caught up in the mundane we’d kind of lost all the fun. So I’m grabbing my freedom with both hands, doing things I’ve only ever dreamed of doing. Kind of like a bucket list, but not because I’m dying, because I’m living. Starting again. My girlfriends made me write it as therapy to get over him. I was, like, how do I want my life to look? Who do I want to be?’

‘What’s on the list?’

‘Run away to sea. Get a tattoo. Drink kava in Fiji. Swim with sharks. Blah-blah...the usual things.’

Oh, yes, he’d heard it all before. Many of the volunteers he worked with had come to the refugee camps because of their own bucket lists. Whereas he’d started doing the voluntary work precisely because he liked not having lists, not being tied to anything or anyone or any place. ‘So I’m guessing being stuck in a lift with a stranger isn’t on there?’

‘Dance with a stranger is there, but getting stuck with one never crossed my mind. Maybe it should have.’

‘Maybe it should.’ Possibilities ran through his head—kisses, his hands in her hair. Her up against the wall. Something hot bloomed in his gut.

‘And there’s bigger things too, like grasping opportunities, taking risks. I was always too scared to step outside my comfort zone, but here I am.’ Her eyes brightened, shimmering with life and excitement, and he couldn’t look away. God, she was breath-taking in every way; beautiful, sexy as hell, seriously funny.

‘Here you are. I hope they get the lift working soon so you don’t miss your boat.’ He hoped they got the lift working soon, period.

‘It’s not leaving until tomorrow.’ She shrugged, but her gaze caught his and the awareness tightened and tugged. ‘We have all night, Mr Knight.’

‘Looks like we do.’

‘Can I tell you a secret?’ She leaned closer and he wasn’t sure who held whose hand first, fitting fingers together, skin sliding over skin. Him? Her? Both at the same time? Awareness turned into an urgent need, as if all his nerve endings were heightened and sensitive to her touch. This dream was getting real and for the first time in his life he wasn’t praying it would end.

He stroked her palm. What were they doing? Don’t ask questions. They were consenting adults. ‘Sure, tell me your secrets, Claire.’

She smiled coyly. ‘I’m a fake really. I might sound as if I’ve got it all sorted, but I’m wobbling. I feel as if I’m walking—running even—on a tightrope and there’s no safety net. The girls said it’d be fun to have an adventure and I’m trying to work out whether I’m wildly excited or whether the bubbles in my gut are made from pure terror.’

‘Sometimes it’s the same thing. Two sides of the same coin. Here...’ He pulled her to standing and positioned her in one corner of the lift. The space was so damned cramped. He fought the rising sensation in his gut. It’s just an elevator. They’d be out of here soon. He wasn’t pinned down. He wasn’t trapped. He wasn’t staring death in the face. He was looking at the prettiest women he’d seen in a long time and thinking about kissing her. He wasn’t going to let his stupid panic take over. He would take a leaf out of her book and just fake it.