Rags To Riches: At Home With The Boss: The Secret Sinclair / The Nanny's Secret / A Home for the M.D.
going to be miserable if you pass up the opportunity to put this thing we have to bed. You keep trying to deny it. You blow hot and cold because you want to kid yourself that you can fight it.’
Sarah would have liked to deny that, but how could she? He was right. She wavered between wanting him to touch her, enjoying it madly when he did, and being repelled by her own lack of will-power.
‘I don’t like thinking of you going to clubs and meeting guys,’ he admitted roughly.
‘Why? Would you be jealous?’
‘How can I be jealous of what, as yet, doesn’t even exist? Besides, jealousy isn’t my thing.’ He lowered his eyes and shifted. ‘You still have a hold over me,’ he conceded. ‘I still want you …’
‘There’s more to life than the physical stuff,’ Sarah muttered under her breath.
‘Let’s agree to differ on that score,’ Raoul contradicted without hesitation. ‘And it doesn’t change the fact that we’re going to end up in bed sooner rather than later. I’m proposing we make it sooner. We’re unfinished business, Sarah …’
‘What do you mean?’
Raoul took her fingers and played with them idly, keeping his eyes locked to hers. ‘Back then, I did what was right for both of us. But would what we had have ended had it not been for the fact that I was due to leave the country?’
‘Yes, it would have ended, Raoul. Because you’re not interested in long-term relationships. Oh, we might have drifted on for a few more months, but sooner or later you would have become tired of me.’
‘Sooner or later you would have discovered that you were pregnant,’ Raoul pointed out with infuriating calm.
‘And how would that have changed anything? Of course it wouldn’t! You would have stuck around for the baby because you have a sense of responsibility, but why don’t you admit that there’s no way we would have ended up together!’
‘How do I know what would have happened? Do I have a crystal ball?’
‘You don’t need a crystal ball, Raoul. You just need to be honest. If we had continued our … our whatever you want to call it … would it have led to marriage? Some kind of commitment? Or would we have just carried on sleeping together until the business between us was finally finished? In other words, until you were ready to move on? I know I’m sometimes weak when I’m around you. You’re an attractive guy, and you also happen to be the father of my child. But that doesn’t mean that it would be a good idea to just have lots of sex until you get me out of your system …’
‘What makes you think that it wouldn’t be the other way around?’
‘In fact,’ she continued, ignoring his interruption, ‘it would be selfish of us to become lovers because we’re incapable of a bit of self-denial! I don’t want Oliver to become so accustomed to you being around that it’s a problem when you decide to take off! I’m sorry I’ve given you mixed signals, but we’re better off just being … friends …’
SARAH wondered how she had managed to let her emotions derail her to such an extent that she had nearly ended up back in bed with Raoul. The words unfinished business rankled, conjuring up as they did visions of something disposable, to be picked up and then discarded once again the minute it suited him.
Had he imagined that she would launch herself into his arms in a bid to take up where they had left off? Had he thought that she would greet his assertion about still wanting her as something wonderful and complimentary? He didn’t want her seeing anyone else—not because he wanted to work on having a proper relationship with her, but because he wanted her to fill his bed until such time as he managed to get her out of his system. Like a flu virus.
He was an arrogant, selfish bastard, and she had been a crazy fool to get herself lulled into thinking otherwise!
She had a couple of days’ respite, because he was out of the country, and although he telephoned on both days she was brief before passing him over to Oliver, which he must have found extra challenging, given Oliver’s long silences and excitable babbling.
‘I think we’ll tell him at the weekend,’ she informed Raoul crisply, and politely told him that there would be absolutely no need for him to rush over the second he got back, because at that time of night Oliver would be asleep anyway.
On the other side of the Atlantic, Raoul scowled down the phone. He should never have let her think about what he had said. He should have kissed her doubts away and then just made love to her until she was silenced.
Except, of course, she would still have jumped on her moral bandwagon. What had been so straightforward for him had been a hotbed of dilemma for her. He told himself that there were plenty of other fish in the sea, but when he opened his address book and started scanning down the names of beautiful women, all of whom would have shrieked with joy at the sound of his voice and the prospect of a hot date, he found his enthusiasm for that kind of replacement therapy waning fast.
Whereas before he had been comfortable turning up at Sarah’s without much notice, he had now found himself given a very definite time slot, and so he arrived at her house bang on five-thirty to find Oliver dressed in jeans and a jumper while she was in her oldest clothes, her hair wet from the shower and pinned up into a ponytail.
‘I thought we could sit him down and explain the situation to him,’ were her opening words, ‘and then you could take him out for something to eat. Nothing fancy, but it’ll be nice for him to have you to himself without me around. I’ve also explained the whole situation to Mum and Dad. They’re very pleased that you’re on the scene.’
Within minutes Raoul had got the measure of what was going on. She was making it perfectly clear that they would now be communicating on a need-to-know basis only. Her bright green eyes were guarded and detached, only warming when they had Oliver between them so that they could explain the situation.
Finally fatherhood was fully conferred onto him. He was no longer the outsider, easing himself in. He was a dad, and as she had predicted it was a smooth transfer. Oliver had had time to adjust to him. He accepted the news with solemnity, and then it was as though nothing had changed. Raoul had brought him back a very fancy but admirably small box of bricks and an enormous paintbox, both of which were greeted with enthusiasm.
‘Take a few pictures when he starts painting in your living room,’ Sarah said sarcastically. ‘I’d love to see how your leather furniture reacts to the watercolours.’
‘Is this how it’s now going to be?’ Raoul enquired coldly, as Oliver stuffed his backpack with lots of unnecessary items in preparation for their meal out.
Defiant pink colour suffused Sarah’s cheeks. She didn’t want to be argumentative. He was going to be on the scene, in one way or another, for time immemorial, and she knew that they had to develop a civil, courteous relationship if they weren’t to descend into a parody of two warring parents. But she was truly scared of reaching the point they previously had, which had been one of such easy friendship that all the feelings she had imagined left behind had found fertile ground and blossomed out of control. She had let him crawl under her skin until the only person she could think about had been him, so that when he’d finally touched her she had gone up in flames.
‘No. It’s not. I apologise for that remark,’ she responded stiffly, stooping down to adjust Oliver’s backpack, whilst taking the opportunity to secretly remove some of the unnecessary stuff he had slipped in. ‘Now, you’re going to be a good boy, Oliver, aren’t you? With your dad?’ Oliver nodded and Sarah straightened back up to address Raoul. ‘What time can I expect you back? Because I’m going out. I’ll only be a couple of hours.’
‘You’re going out? Where?’
Raoul gave her the once-over.